So, feeling as anxious as she’d ever felt in her entire medical career, she moved to his shoulders and put her face down in the mud again, nose to nose.
‘I’m going to roll you over now,’ she told him. ‘Don’t try to help me.’
‘If I don’t try to help you then you’ll never do it,’ he muttered. ‘How tall are you?’
‘I’m tall.’
‘You don’t sound tall.’
‘I have a short voice.’
‘I can see you sideways. You look really short.’
‘From where you are I must look eight feet or so.’ She put her hands under his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry but your leg’s going to hurt when I do this. But I want to roll you keeping your back and neck as rigid as possible.’
He forgot about the short bit. She could see him brace.
‘OK. Let’s give it a shot.’
In the end he rolled with ease. There couldn’t be major damage, she decided with relief. He could use his still strong hips to roll himself as she supported his shoulders and neck.
‘Slow,’ she said urgently. ‘Keep it slow.’
A minute later he was lying on his back, practising deep breathing as his leg settled. She took three deep breaths herself and met his gaze. Done. He was still breathing and breathing well. His hands were still moving. There clearly wasn’t an unstable break in the vertebrae.
He was staring up at her with the bluest eyes…
They really were the most extraordinary eyes, she thought, stunned. Or maybe it was just the situation and the relief of having him look up at her with eyes that were lucid.
No. It wasn’t just that. They really were the most extraordinary eyes. His face was mud-stained and etched with strain, the bruise on the side of his forehead was raw and ugly, but she could see laughter lines around his eyes. A wide generous mouth looked as if it was meant for smiling.
He was trying to smile now.
‘S-see,’ he said. ‘No problem.’ After a short pause he added, ‘Maybe you could give me that extra five milligrams of morphine.’
‘You’ve already had it.’ She was checking his chest now, his shoulders, everything she could see of him. ‘I’m sorry but that’s all I can give you.’
‘Damned managing woman.’
‘That’s what I’m famous for. Is it only your leg that hurts?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘I guess it is.’
‘Tell me again why I employed you?’
‘So you can get married.’ She looked uneasily at the car. She was going to have to get him in there. Somehow.
‘You can’t lift me.’
‘No.’
‘But you can’t leave me sprawled in the road for some other dingbat city doctor to run down.’
‘How many dingbat city doctors do you have around here?’
‘Ha,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘You admit it. Dingbat city doctor. That’s an admission of guilt if ever I heard one. Where are witnesses when you need them?’
‘There’s always Phoebe.’
‘Phoebe?’
‘My basset.’
‘Right. Your mother-to-be.’
‘You know, if you just shut up for a minute I might be able to think of a plan.’
‘Yeah?’
He was mocking her. ‘Yeah,’ she said, temporarily distracted. ‘I might.’
‘It’s a hard call. You help me haul myself into your car or…or what?’
‘I’ll think of something.’
‘Fine. Let’s get me into the car first.’
‘And if you’ve broken your back?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s my back. I’d know.’
‘Like you’ve got an X-ray machine.’ Her panic must have shown through, because suddenly the roles changed. He reached out and grasped her hand.
‘Lizzie, I don’t have a broken back,’ he told her in a voice that was suddenly stronger than hers was. ‘You’ve splinted my leg. I have nerve endings tingling all over the place, which tells me I’m fine. But bruised. I’m feeling sleepy already, which will be the morphine taking effect. If you wait any longer the morphine is going to put me to sleep and there’s no way a runt of a little thing like you can drag me unconscious into the car.’
‘I’m not a runt of a thing.’ She was running her spare hand along the side of his neck, checking, checking…
But he was staring up into her face, and he was still gripping her hand, and she was suddenly absurdly aware of how close they were. Which was ridiculous. She was a doctor. He was a patient.
‘Lizzie…’ His voice was starting to slur a little and his other hand came up and grasped her fingers. Which made her even more aware of his closeness. His maleness.
His…need?
‘You can’t do any more for me here in the mud,’ he said softly. ‘This is going to hurt me more than it is you.’
‘I know. That’s why-’
‘Let’s just do it and talk about it later.’
It was a nightmare. Her car was way too small. She reversed it so her rear car door was right beside him but every movement must have sent shards of pain shooting down his injured leg.
She saw his agony but there was nothing she could do about it. Somehow they managed to haul him up into a sitting position on the end of the back seat. Then she supported the leg as best she could while he dragged himself backwards right in. By the time he was safely in, his face was so drained of colour she was afraid he’d pass out.
‘Just don’t let the dog near me,’ he muttered as she hauled the seat belt around him. Phoebe was in the front passenger seat, her great nose drooping over the back support as if she was incredibly concerned with all that was going on. And shocked. And sad.
That just about summed Phoebe up, Lizzie thought bitterly. Concerned, shocked and sad. That’s what her eyes said, but in reality what was going on was a deep internal pondering as to when dinner could be expected to appear. As this deep pondering started approximately two seconds after she’d finished last night’s dinner, it didn’t leave much brain room for anything else.
‘Phoebe won’t jump on you,’ Lizzie told him. ‘She doesn’t do jumping. I don’t think she knows what it is. Are you OK?’
‘No. I have a broken leg. Can I have some more morphine?’
‘You know very well you can’t.’ She cast him a really worried glance. ‘It must really hurt.’
‘You’re not supposed to say that,’ he said faintly, and there was that amazing trace of laughter in those amazing eyes. ‘It should be, “Come on, lad, pull yourself together. You’ll be right by morning. Take an aspirin and have a nice lie-down and give me a call…” Are you sure I can’t have any more morphine?’
‘I’ll get you to hospital and get you settled first.’
‘So if I go into cardiac arrest you can resuscitate me.’
‘That’s the ticket.’
‘Maybe I could just cardiac arrest for the next few minutes so I could pass out on the way.’
‘I’m sure you don’t mean that.’ The seat belt clicked into place, but she was still leaning across him, staring worriedly into his face. ‘I’ll drive really, really carefully.’ She took a deep breath and straightened away from him. ‘Besides, you can’t go into cardiac arrest. Don’t you have a wedding to go to?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Maybe not.’
‘Emily will have kittens.’
‘Emily being your fiancée?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Well, she can have kittens and Phoebe will have puppies and they’ll all live happily ever after. Meanwhile…I’m sorry, Dr McKay, but there’s no easy way to do this. Let’s get you to hospital.’
CHAPTER TWO
Memo:
I will not scream.
I will not panic.
I will not tell this crazy woman and her crazy dog to get out of my town this minute.
I will remember that I might just need them…
BY THE time they reached the tiny township hospital Harry was grey. His face was etched with pain and he was holding himself rigid. Lizzie steered her car into the entrance of the tiny emergency department, switched off the engine and put her hand on the hooter.