Harlequin Medical Romance December 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (21 page)

‘I promise.'

‘That's in front of witnesses.'

‘Joe, Mary, you heard me. The lady stays in Wombat Valley.'

‘Very well, then,' Polly said, her voice wobbling again. Still, she looked straight up at him, as if reading reassurance in his gaze. ‘Drugs, drugs and more drugs, and then Christmas in Wombat Valley. I can...I can handle that. But turkey with three veg has to go, Dr Denver.'

‘You'll get a better Christmas dinner in Sydney.'

‘No Sydney! Promise?'

‘I already have,' he told her but suddenly she was no longer listening. The fight had gone out of her. She had the antivenin on board. Her future was sorted.

The flight-or-fight reflex relaxed. She sank back onto the pillows and sighed.

‘Okay, Dr Denver, whatever you say,' she whispered. ‘I'm in your hands.'

* * *

He had Horace sorted
.
He had Polly comfortable.

There was still the issue of Ruby.

How did you tell a seven-year-old she wasn't going to the beach for Christmas? She'd been counting down the days for months. He'd tried to figure it out all the way back to the house, but in the end he didn't need to.

Lois, his housekeeper, was before him. News got around fast in Wombat Valley and by the time he walked in the front door, Ruby was in tears and Lois was looking like a martyr who'd come to the end of her tether.

‘I'm sorry, Dr Denver, but I can't stay,' she told him over the top of Ruby's head. ‘I promised my son I'd spend Christmas in Melbourne with my grandchildren and that's where I'm going. I leave in half an hour, and I've told Ruby you're not going anywhere. You can see how upset she is, but is it my fault? You went and climbed into that truck. Was Horace worth it? He's a lazy wastrel and his wife's no better. Risking your life, losing your holiday, for such a loser...' She shook her head. ‘I wash my hands of you, I really do. Ruby, stop crying, sweetheart. I dare say your uncle will sort something out.'

And she picked up her handbag and headed out of the house before Hugo could possibly change her mind.

Hugo was left facing his niece.

Christmas. No beach. No housekeeper.

One fill-in doctor in his hospital instead of in his surgery.

He was trapped, but what was new? What was new was that Ruby felt as if she was trapped with him.

His niece looked as if she'd been trying not to cry, but fat tears were sliding down her face regardless. She stood silent, in her garden-stained shorts and T-shirt, her wispy blonde curls escaping every which way from their pigtails, and her wan little face blank with misery. She didn't complain, though, he thought bleakly. She never had.

He knelt down and hugged her. She held her stiff little body in his arms and he felt the effort she was making not to sob.

‘We'll fix it somehow,' he murmured. ‘Somehow...'

How?

Today was Monday. Christmas was Saturday.

He thought of the gifts he'd already packed, ready to be produced by Santa at their apartment by the beach. Bucket and spade. Water wings. A blow-up seahorse.

Lois had even made her a bikini.

He thought of his housekeeper marching off towards her Christmas and he thought he couldn't blame her. Lois was fond of Ruby, but he'd pushed her to the limit.

And there was another complication. It was school holidays and Ruby would need daytime care if he had to keep working. He'd need to call in favours, and he hated asking for favours.

Maybe he and Ruby should just walk away, he thought bleakly, as he'd thought many times this past year. But the complications flooded in, as they always did.

Wombat Valley was Ruby's home. It was all she knew. In Sydney she had nothing and no one but him. His old job, the job he loved, thoracic surgery at Sydney Central, involved long hours and call backs. Here, his house was right next to the hospital. He could pop in and out at will, and he had an entire valley of people more than willing to help. They helped not just because it meant the Valley had a doctor but because so many of them genuinely cared for Ruby.

How could
he
stop caring, when the Valley had shown they cared so much? How could he turn his back on the Valley's needs and on Ruby's needs?

How could he ever return to the work he loved, to his friends, his social life, to his glorious bachelor freedom?

He couldn't. He couldn't even leave for two weeks. He had patients in hospital.

He had Dr Pollyanna Hargreaves in Ward One.

Polly...

Why was Polly so important? What was he doing, hugging Ruby and drying her eyes but thinking of Polly? But the image of Polly, hanging on her appalling handmade swing while every part of her hurt, wouldn't go away.

‘Ruby, I need to tell you about one brave lady,' he told her and Ruby sniffed and swiped away her tears with the back of her hand and tilted her chin, ready to listen. In her own way, she was as brave as Polly, he thought.

But not as cute. No matter how much the Valley mums helped, Ruby always looked a waif. She was skinny and leggy, and nothing seemed to help her put on weight. She was tall for her seven years; her skimpy pigtails made her look taller and her eyes always seemed too big for her face. Her knees were constantly grubby—she'd have been mucking about in the garden, which was her favourite place. She had mud on her tear-stained face.

He loved her with all his heart.

‘Is the lady why we can't go to the beach?' she quavered and he took her hand and led her out to the veranda. And there was another reminder of what they'd be missing. Hamster wasn't there.

Hamster was Ruby's Labrador, a great boofy friend. They hadn't been able to find a beach house where dogs were permitted so he'd taken Hamster back to the farmer who'd bred him, to be taken care of for two weeks.

Ruby had sobbed.

There was one bright thought—they could get Hamster back for Christmas.

Meanwhile, he had to say it like it was.

‘Did Lois tell you about the truck accident?' he asked and Ruby nodded. She was a quiet kid but she listened. He'd learned early it was impossible to keep much from her.

‘Well, the truck fell off the cliff, and the lady doctor—Dr Hargreaves—the doctor who was coming to work here while we were away—hurt herself by climbing down the cliff to save everyone.'

Ruby's pixie face creased as she sorted it out in her head. ‘Everyone?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why didn't you save everyone?'

‘I tried but I got stuck. She saved me, too. And then she got bitten by a snake.'

Ruby's eyes widened. ‘What sort of a snake?'

‘A brown.'

‘That's better than a tiger. Didn't she know to make a noise? If you make lots of noise they slither away before you reach them.'

‘The snake got stuck under the truck. I guess it got scared too, and it bit her.'

‘Is she very sick?'

‘She'll be sick for a couple of days.'

‘So then can we go to the beach?'

He thought about it.
Don't make promises
, he told himself, but if Polly didn't react too badly to the antivenin it might be possible. If those cuts didn't stop her working.

She still wanted to stay in the Valley.

‘I'm not sure,' he said weakly.

‘Will she have to stay in hospital all over Christmas?'

That was a thought. And a problem?

Normally, snake bite victims stayed in hospital overnight for observation. She was a Type One diabetic. She might need to stay longer, but she was already having reservations about hospital food. How long could he keep her there?

He and Ruby had cleared out their best spare room. They'd made it look pretty. Ruby had even put fresh flowers in a vase on the chest of drawers. ‘Girls like that.'

But he couldn't leave the moment she was released from hospital, he conceded. He and Polly would have to stay for a day or two.

He was counting in his head. Monday today. Bring Polly back here on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Leave on Thursday or Friday? Christmas Saturday.

It was cutting things fine.

Food... There was another problem. Sick and shocked as she was, Polly Hargreaves had already turned her nose up at bought pudding.

He had no food here. He'd assumed his locum could eat in the hospital kitchen.

He'd promised Ruby fish and chips on the beach for Christmas, and Ruby had glowed at the thought. Now... He might well have a recovering Polly for Christmas.

He didn't even have a Christmas tree.

And, as if on cue, there was the sound of a car horn from the road—a silly, tooting car horn that was nothing like the sensible farm vehicle horns used for clearing cattle off the road or warning of kangaroos. He looked up and a little yellow sports car was being driven through the gate, a police car following behind.

This was Polly's car. He'd seen it at the crash site but he'd been too distracted to do more than glance at it.

But here it was, being driven by one of the local farmers. Bill McCray was behind the wheel, twenty-five years old and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

‘Hey, Doc, where do you want us to put the car?'

‘What's the car?' Ruby breathed.

‘I... It's Polly's car,' he managed.

‘Polly...'

‘Dr Hargreaves...'

‘Is that her name? Polly, like
Polly put the kettle on
?'

‘I...yes.'

‘It's yellow.' Ruby was pie-eyed. ‘And it hasn't got a top. And it's got a Christmas tree in the back. And suitcases and suitcases.'

There were indeed suitcases and suitcases. And a Christmas tree. Silver. Large.

Bill pulled up under the veranda. Both he and the policeman emerged from their respective vehicles, Bill looking decidedly sorry the ride had come to an end.

‘She's a beauty,' he declared. ‘I'd love to see how the cows reacted if I tried to drive that round the farm. And the guys say the lady doc's just as pretty. I reckon I can feel a headache coming on. Or six. When did you say you were leaving, Doc?'

‘We're not leaving,' Ruby whispered but she no longer sounded desolate. She was staring in stupefaction at the tree. It was all silver sparkles and it stretched over the top of the luggage, from the front passenger seat to well behind the exhaust pipe.

Polly had tied a huge red tinsel bow at the rear—to warn traffic of the long load? It looked...amazing.

‘We're staying here to look after the lady doctor,' Ruby said, still staring. ‘I think she might be nice. Is she nice, Uncle Hugo?'

‘Very nice,' he said weakly and headed down to unpack a Christmas tree.

CHAPTER FIVE

N
IGHT
ROUND
. H
E
SHOULD
be eating fish and chips on the beach right now, Hugo thought as he headed through the darkened wards to Ward One. He'd thought he had this Christmas beautifully organised.

Most of his long-termers had gone home for Christmas. He had three elderly patients in the nursing home section, all with local family and heaps of visitors. None needed his constant attendance.

Sarah Ferguson was still in Room Two. Sarah had rolled a tractor on herself a month ago. She'd spent three weeks in Sydney Central and had been transferred here for the last couple of weeks to be closer to her family. Her family had already organised to have Christmas in her room. She hardly needed him either.

But Polly needed him. He'd been back and forth during the afternoon, checking her. Anaphylactic shock was still a possibility. He still had her on fifteen minute obs. She was looking okay but with snake bites you took no chances.

Barb, the night nurse, greeted him happily and put down her knitting to accompany him.

‘I'm fine,' he told her. ‘I can do my round by myself.'

The scarf Barb was knitting, a weird mix of eclectic colours, was barely six feet long. Barb had told him it needed to be ten.

‘Why my grandson had to tell me he wanted a Dr Who scarf a week before Christmas...' she'd muttered last night and he'd thought he'd made things easy for her by keeping the hospital almost empty.

But Barb did take her job seriously. She was knitting in front of the monitors attached to Ward One, which acted as the Intensive Care room. Any blip in Polly's heart rate and she'd be in there in seconds, and one glance at the chart in front of her told him Polly had been checked thoroughly and regularly.

‘No change?'

‘She's not sleeping. She's pretty sore. If you could maybe write her up for some stronger pain relief for the night...' She hesitated. ‘And, Doc... She's not admitting it but I'm sure she's still pretty shaken. She's putting on a brave front but my daughter's her age. All bravado but jelly inside.'

He nodded and left her to her knitting.

Polly's ward was in near darkness, lit only by the floor light. He knocked lightly and went in.

Polly was a huddled mass under the bedclothes. She'd drawn her knees up to her middle, almost in a foetal position.

She's still pretty shaken...

Barb was right, he thought. This was the age-old position for those alone and scared.

He had a sudden urge to head to the bed, scoop her up and hold her. She'd had one hell of a day. What she needed was comfort.

Someone to hold...

Um...that wouldn't be him. There were professional boundaries, after all.

Instead, he tugged the visitor's chair across to the bed, sat down and reached for her hand.

Um... Her wrist. Not her hand. He was taking her pulse. That was professional.

‘Hey,' he said, very softly. ‘How's it going?'

‘Great,' she managed and he smiled. Her ‘
great'
had been weak but it was sarcastic.

Still she had spirit.

‘The venom will have kicked in but the antivenin will be doing its job,' he told her. ‘Your obs are good.'

‘Like I said—great.' She eased herself from the foetal position, casually, as if she didn't want him to notice how she'd been lying. ‘Sorry. That sounds ungrateful. I am grateful. Mary and Joe gave me a good wash. I'm antivenined. I'm stitched, I'm disinfected and I'm in a safe place. But I've ruined your holiday. I'm so sorry.'

All this and she was concerned about his missed vacation?

‘Right,' he said, almost as sarcastic as she'd been. ‘You saved my life and you're sorry.'

‘I didn't save your life.'

‘You know what happened when they tugged the truck up the cliff? It swung and hit one of the saplings that had been holding it from falling further. The sapling lifted right out of the ground. It'd been holding by a thread.'

She shuddered and his hold on her hand tightened. Forget taking her pulse, he decided. She needed comfort and he was giving it any way he could.

‘Polly, is there anyone we can ring? The nurses tell me you haven't contacted anyone. Your parents? A boyfriend? Any friend?'

‘You let my family know what's happened and you'll have helicopters landing on the roof in ten minutes. And the press. You'll have my dad threatening to sue you, the hospital and the National Parks for letting the Gap exist in the first place. You don't know my family. Please, I'm fine as I am.'

She wasn't fine, though. She still had the shakes.

The press? Who was she?

She was alone. That was all he needed to focus on right now. ‘Polly, you need someone...'

‘I don't need anyone.' She hesitated. ‘Though I am a bit shaky,' she admitted. ‘I could use another dose of that nice woozy Valium. You think another dose would turn me into an addict?'

‘I think we can risk it. And how about more pain relief, too? I have a background morphine dose running in the IV line but we can top it up. Pain level, one to ten?'

‘Six,' she said and he winced.

‘Ouch. Why didn't you tell Barb? She would have got me here sooner.'

‘I'm not a whinger.'

‘How did I already know that?' He shook his head, rechecked her obs, rang for Barb and organised the drugs. Barb did what was needed and then bustled back to her scarf. That meant Hugo could leave too.

But Polly was alone and she was still shaking.

He could ask Barb to bring her knitting in here.

Then who would look after the monitors for the other rooms?

It was okay him being here, he decided. His house was right next door to the hospital and they had an intercom set up in the nurses' station, next to the monitors. Ruby had been fast asleep for a couple of hours but, any whimper she made, Barb would know and send him home fast.

So he could sit here for a while.

Just until Polly was asleep, he told himself. He sat and almost unconsciously she reached out and took his hand again. As if it was her right. As if it was something she really needed, almost as important as breathing.

‘I was scared,' she admitted.

‘Which part scared you the most?' he asked. ‘Sliding down the cliff? Hanging on that nylon cord swing? When Joe Blake did his thing...?'

‘Joe Blake?'

‘You really are city,' he teased. ‘Joe Blake—Snake.'

‘It was a bad moment,' she confessed. ‘But the worst was when I saw the truck. When I realised there were people in it.'

‘I guess it'd be like watching stretchers being wheeled into Emergency after a car crash,' he said. ‘Before you know what you're facing.'

‘Yeah.'

‘But you broke it into manageable bits. You have excellent triage skills, Dr Hargreaves.'

‘Maybe.'

She fell silent for a minute and then the hold on his hand grew tighter. But what she said was at odds with her obvious need. ‘You shouldn't be here,' she told him. ‘You should be home with your niece. Barb tells me she's your niece and not your daughter and her name's Ruby. Is she home alone?'

‘Home's next door. Her bedroom's a hundred yards from the nurses' station. Her nightlight's on and whoever's monitoring the nurses' station can watch the glow and can listen on the intercom. If Ruby wakes up, all she has to do is hit the button and she can talk to the nurses or to me.'

‘Good system,' she said sleepily and he thought the drugs were taking effect—or maybe it was simply the promise of the drugs.

Or maybe it was because she was holding his hand? It seemed an almost unconscious action, but she wasn't letting go.

‘Tell me about Ruby,' she whispered and he sat and thought about his niece and felt the pressure of Polly's hand in his and the sensation was...

Was what?

Something he didn't let himself feel. Something he'd pushed away?

‘And tell me about you too,' she murmured and he thought he didn't need to tell her anything. Doctors didn't tell personal stuff to patients.

But in the silence of the little ward, in the peacefulness of the night, he found himself thinking about a night almost a year ago. The phone call from the police. The night he'd realised life as he knew it had just slammed to an end.

He'd been born and raised in this place—Wombat Valley, where nothing ever happened. Wombat Valley, where you could sit on the veranda at night and hear nothing but the frogs and the hoot of the night owls.

Wombat Valley, where everyone depended on everyone else.

Grace, his sister, had hated it. She'd run away at sixteen and she'd kept on running. ‘I feel trapped,' she'd shouted, over and over. Hugo had been twelve when she'd run and he hadn't understood.

But twelve months ago, the night his sister died, it was Hugo who'd been trapped. That night he'd felt like running as well.

He didn't. How could he? He'd returned to the Valley and it seemed as if he'd be here for ever.

‘Tell me about Ruby?' Polly whispered again, and her question wasn't impatient. It was as if the night had thoughts of its own and she was content to wait.

‘Ruby's my niece.'

‘Yeah. Something I don't know?'

‘She's adorable.'

‘And you wouldn't be biased?'

He smiled. She sounded half asleep, but she was still clutching his hand and he wondered if the questions were a ruse to have him stay.

‘She's seven years old,' he said. ‘She's skinny, tough, fragile, smart. She spends her time in the garden, mucking round in the dirt, trying to make things grow, playing with a menagerie of snails, tadpoles, frogs, ladybirds.'

‘Her parents?'

‘We don't know who her father is,' Hugo told her. He was almost talking to himself but it didn't seem to matter. ‘My sister suffered from depression, augmented by drug use. She was always...erratic. She ran away at sixteen and we hardly saw her. She contacted me when Ruby was born—until then we hadn't even known she was pregnant. She was in Darwin and she was in a mess. I flew up and my parents followed. Mum and Dad brought them both back to Wombat Valley. Grace came and went, but Ruby stayed.'

‘Why...why the Valley?'

‘My father was the Valley doctor—our current house is where Grace and I were raised. Dad died when Ruby was three, but Mum stayed on. Mum cared for Ruby and she loved her. Then, late last year, Grace decided she wanted to leave for good and she wanted Ruby back. She was with...someone who scared my mother. Apparently there was an enormous row, which culminated in Mum having a stroke. The day after Mum's funeral, Grace drove her car off the Gap. Maybe it was an accident. Probably it wasn't.'

‘Oh, no...'

‘So that's that,' he said flatly. ‘End of story. The Valley loves Ruby, Ruby loves the Valley and I'm home for good. I'm not doing a great job with Ruby, but I'm trying. She loved Mum. Grace confused her and at the end she frightened her. Now she's too quiet. She's a tomboy. I worry...'

‘There's nothing wrong with being a tomboy,' Polly whispered, sounding closer and closer to sleep. ‘You don't force her to wear pink?'

He smiled at that. ‘She'd have it filthy in minutes. What I should do is buy camouflage cloth and find a dungaree maker.'

‘She sounds my type of kid.'

‘You do pretty.'

Where had that come from? He shouldn't comment on patients' appearances.
You do pretty
? What sort of line was that?

‘I like clothes that make me smile,' she whispered. ‘I have an amazing pair of crimson boots. One day I might show you.'

‘I'll look forward to that.' Maybe he shouldn't have said that either. Was it inappropriate?

Did he care?

‘So Ruby knows she's safe with you?' she whispered.

‘She's as safe as I can make her. We had an interim doctor after Dad died but he left the moment I appeared on the scene. This valley could use three doctors, but for now I'm it. I've been advertising for twelve months but no one's applied. Meanwhile, Ruby understands the intercom system and she can see the hospital from her bedroom. If I can't be there in ten seconds someone else will be. That's the deal the hospital board employs me under. Ruby comes first.'

‘So if there's drama...'

‘This community backs me up. I'm here if, and only if, Wombat Valley helps me raise Ruby.' He shrugged. ‘It's my job.'

Only it wasn't, or not his job of choice. He'd walked away from his job as a thoracic surgeon. Not being able to use the skills he'd fought to attain still left him feeling gutted, and now he couldn't even get Christmas off.

‘But I've so messed with your Christmas,' she said weakly, echoing his thoughts, and he hauled himself together.

‘I've told you—you've done no such thing.'

‘Would it be better for you if I was transferred?'

‘I...no.'

‘But I'm supposed to be staying in your house. You won't want me now.'

At least he had this answer ready. He'd had the evening to think about it. Polly's tree was now set up in the living room. He was preparing to make the most of it.

‘If you stay, you might still be able to help me,' he said diffidently, as if he was asking a favour. And maybe he was; it was just that his ideas about this woman were all over the place and he couldn't quite get them together. ‘You'll need a few days to get over your snake bite and bruises. You could snuggle into one of our spare rooms—it's a big house—and Ruby could look after you. She'd enjoy that.'

‘Ruby would look after me?'

‘She loves to be needed. She's already fascinated by your snake bite—you'll have to show her the fang marks, by the way. She's also in love with your Christmas tree.'