Prescription-One Husband

CHAPTER SIX

‘DEAR God!’

Alf had unconsciously gripped Fern’s arm in-for Alf-an almost unheard-of gesture of emotional need. He’d throttled right back to dead still.

‘The boat will suck her down,’ Fern whispered.

‘It’s not big enough to pull her right down and hold her,’ Alf said, as though thinking to himself. ‘Too small a boat for huge suction. It’ll put her down a way but she’ll come up again-unless she’s caught…’

‘But…’

‘She’s aimed right for the middle of the slipstream.’ Alf chewed his lip and then gunned his boat forward fast, slowing as they reached the point where Lizzy’s boat had sunk. ‘She’s thought this out, all right.’

There was nothing to see. A vague turbulence swirled on the surface as though air was escaping from the cabin below but there was no Lizzy.

Alf cut his engine. He grabbed the lifebuoy on the side of the boat and tossed it overboard and then tossed a couple of life-jackets over, for good measure.

No one tried to swim to them.

There were no cries for help. Nothing.

There was dead silence apart from the slap of water against the wooden sides of Alf’s boat.

Nothing at all to show that Lizzy had ever been here.

‘She’s gone…’

‘She won’t have drowned yet,’ Alf said grimly. ‘It’s darned hard to make yourself drown if you’re as strong a swimmer as Lizzy Hurst. The slipstream here runs straight out to sea and it’s too strong to swim against. That’s why she’s come here, I reckon. Lizzy’ll be carried out-and the only way we can stay within cooee of her is by letting ourselves be carried with her.’

‘But, Alf…’

‘Water pushes everything along at the same rate,’ Alf muttered. He was talking more to himself than to Fern. ‘See the lifebuoy and life-jackets I tossed over? They’re still almost together. As soon as we start the engine we’ll lose her. Drifting with her is our only hope. Her only hope.’

The old man cupped his hands around his mouth.

‘Lizzy,’ he yelled. ‘We’re here. Swim to us and stop being a damned fool…’

The old man stopped on a spurt of coughing.

‘You yell,’ he said grimly. ‘My lungs aren’t as strong as they used to be. I’m going below to see if I can find a torch.’

‘Lizzy…’

Fern’s yell drifted over the eerie silence like a hopeless dirge.

Ten seconds later Alf was back with his torch-a big flashlight with a powerful beam. He played it over the water while Fern yelled.

On Fern’s tenth yell they both saw her, a frail floating figure that ducked under the surface as the spotlight hit her.

‘Lizzy,’ Fern screamed. ‘Lizzy…’

‘Go away…’ The girl was within thirty yards of the boat, sobbing with despair. ‘Go away. Let me drown…’

And she duck-dived again into the depths.

‘We’ll never get her,’ Alf said morosely. ‘Not if she don’t want to be got The water in this slipstream comes straight from the Antarctic, Fern. She’ll get hypothermia and drown-that’s if the sharks don’t get her first.’

‘Sharks…’

‘Not many round here.’ Alf moved the torch over the water again. Nothing. ‘Water’s too cold. But enough…’

‘So…’

‘If she wants to die, I don’t see how we can stop her,’ Alf said. ‘Guess we just stay here in case she changes her mind. Maybe we ought to radio the local cop-not that he can do anything…’

Of course. The radio…

‘Sam might be more use…’

‘Beg pardon?’ Alf queried but Fern was already clambering below, her thoughts converting to instant action. Fern had spent heaps of time on fishing boats as a teenager and knew how the radio worked. She needed Sam…

Sam thought he was ill. He wouldn’t come.

He must.

Quinn Gallagher would get him here. The thought steadied her. If anyone could help, it was Quinn Gallagher…

There wasn’t any logic in such a thought but Fern was beyond logic.

She wanted Quinn.

She had him.

Every building on the island was connected to marine radio and two minutes later Quinn picked up the radio in the hospital. One of the nurses had answered the relayed call and fetched him fast.

The fear in Fern’s voice was enough to drive the slowest to speed.

‘Fern…! What the…?’

Quinn’s voice made Fern give a sob of relief. The fear took a tiny step back.

‘Quinn, Quinn, is Sam still there?’

Quinn caught the tremor. There was a sharp intake of breath.

‘What’s wrong, Dr Rycroft?’ Quinn Gallagher’s voice was incisive-professional and competent. It cut across Fern’s panic and steadied her further.

She was right. Quinn Gallagher was an emergency specialist. She needed him…

Swiftly she outlined what was happening, knowing that by transmitting on the distress frequency she’d have half the island listening.

It was best this way. There was no time for considering Lizzy’s finer feelings now and the more islanders who knew what was happening the better chance Lizzy had.

‘Sam’s the only one who might…might make her respond,’ Fern told Quinn as she faltered to a halt. ‘If he were here and calling-instead of me. She might come if it was Sam who wanted her.’

‘I’ll get him out there if I have to get four strong men to carry him,’ Quinn promised grimly. ‘Fast. Keep the line open, Fern. Is there any fisherman listening who can take Sam Hubert out to sea…?’

The line crackled with offers.

Most islanders left their radios permanently on by their kitchen tables, tuned low to the distress frequency-just in case. They were a long way from the mainland and the islanders looked after their own. Clearly now the whole island had been listening to the story, aghast.

‘OK, Dr Rycroft,’ Quinn said softly as the offers faded. ‘We have everything we need to move fast. Hang in there, Fern. We’re on our way.’

They didn’t come in one boat. The boat bringing Sam headed a small flotilla.

Ten minutes after the call Barega’s fishing fleet surged out of the harbour in a display of strength that would have made the Armada think twice before invading the island. Their lights twinkled on an already moonlit ocean and if it hadn’t been so deadly serious Fern could have been captivated by their beauty.

She hardly noticed.

Neither she nor Alf had seen Lizzy now for fifteen minutes.

Lizzy must still be somewhere near them, though. The life-jackets and buoy were still floating by the boat The current was too strong to swim against. All they had to do was drift on and hope that somewhere close Lizzy was drifting too.

Alf had his lights on full. The fishing fleet couldn’t miss them, although the currents had now carried them almost two miles out to sea.

They just had to wait…

And wait…

The fleet stopped three hundred yards from Alf’s boat. The fishermen would know that for twenty boats to churn round searching for a girl who didn’t want to be found would probably succeed in cutting her to ribbons on someone’s propeller.

The leading boat edged forward, spotlights spanning out over the water, and Fern recognised a team of Barega’s most able fishermen on the deck of the Wave Dancer.

Their boat was too high, though. The Wave Dancer was six times as big as Alf’s Jeanie. It was too far from the surface for anyone to reach down to Lizzy-if she swam to the side.

The fishermen knew it. The men were already launching a rubber dinghy from the side. It dropped fast to the water’s surface with two men on board.

Sam…

And Quinn…

What on earth was Quinn doing here? Surely he should be with Maud…

Maybe he’d needed to carry out his threat-and carry Sam bodily down to the boat…

If Maud had another cardiac arrest…

She couldn’t think of her aunt now. Fern’s eyes turned back to the water, searching uselessly. Where on earth was Lizzy? Had she slipped away from them?

She’d been in the water for over half an hour.

Only Alf’s boat and the little dinghy were left floating together in the slipstream now. Wave Dancer had backed off about three hundred yards as soon as the dinghy was launched but its vast spotlights still lit the surface of the water like day.

In the background the fishing fleet waited.

It seemed as if the whole world waited.

Lizzy Hurst might be slightly crazy but she was one of the island’s own and every man and woman in this fleet wanted only one thing. They wanted their Lizzy back.

Fern had never felt so much part of the island. She looked across at the massed lights and felt her throat thicken. To be part of this…

There were worse things than to be part of this…

She wasn’t an islander. She wasn’t!

‘Lizzy…’

Sam’s booming voice across the water made her wince.

Every boat had cut its engine and the silence was intense. Sam had a carrying lawyer’s voice at the best of times and in his hand he now held a megaphone.

With the megaphone, Sam’s voice was enough to make anyone respond. That, or face the consequences…

‘Lizzy!’

To Fern’s amazement she heard Sam’s normally carefully modulated, professional voice crack with emotion.

Sam? Emotional? Not the Sam Fern knew.

There was no doubting the fear in Sam’s voice now.

‘Lizzy, you have to come back,’ he shouted. ‘This is crazy, girl. I can’t let you drown…because of me…’

Then a soft cry sounded out over the water and Fern’s breath went out in a rush.

‘Let me go.’

Lizzy’s sad, defeated voice drifted over the ocean like an echo and Fern’s fingers clenched into her palms. ‘I want to die…’ the voice whispered. ‘You love her…’

So Lizzy was still alive.

Sam’s body stiffened perceptibly. He twisted where he sat in the dinghy so that he was facing where the voice had come from.

‘Hell, Liz…’ Sam’s voice broke into the megaphone but started again at doubled strength, sure now that he was being heard. ‘Hell, Lizzy, you’d make an awful lawyer’s wife!’

This was a crazy, crazy conversation.

‘Go away…’

Then, to her horror, Fern saw Sam stand up in the rubber dinghy. He swayed precariously.

Unlike most of the islanders, Sam had not a sea leg to stand on. Quinn, sitting facing him, saw the danger and hauled him down hard.

It seemed that Quinn at least was keeping his head.

‘Lizzy, please…’ Sam pleaded.

‘I won’t make any wife at all…’ The echo drifted around them. ‘I’m drowning…’

‘No!’

Sam’s voice was rising to a howl of outrage as if something deep inside him had suddenly snapped. The big man shoved against Quinn’s restraining hand and then, before Quinn could stop him, the lawyer launched himself out into the water.

No graceful dive here. Sam made a splash like a very large rock, going down.

‘Sam…’

It was Lizzy’s voice again. She’d seen. There was terror in her voice for the first time. She hadn’t been afraid for herself…but for her love…

‘Shark!’

The word boomed out from behind them and Fern swung round. The lights of the Wave Dancer had been playing over the water in all directions, trying to find Lizzy. Now…Now one beam played on a black fin, moving fast.

‘Sam…’ Fern heard herself screaming, her voice adding to the scream of the girl in the water. ‘Lizzy…’

Alf was back at the tiller, his motor spluttering into frantic life and shattering the silence. They couldn’t see Lizzy but they could see Sam. He was twenty yards from the dinghy, swimming with clumsy, heavyhanded strokes.

‘Don’t swim,’ Fern screamed. It was Sam’s thrashing ing that would attract the shark-though it would have been lured first by the fishing boats. The boats often cleaned their kill after their catch and the sharks knew that the boats meant an easy feed.

‘No…Sam…!’ The voice was Lizzy’s again, faint against the roar of Alf’s engine. It was a scream of frantic fear and, thirty yards from Sam, Fern saw Lizzy start to swim desperately toward her love.

‘Take over, Fern. Get in as close as you can…’ Alf hauled Fern in to the tiller. ‘Move, girl.’

Now that Alf could see both people in the water there was no danger of hitting them with the propeller-and if there was a choice of propeller or shark, Fern would choose a propeller any time. At least a propeller travelled in a straight line. A swimmer had a chance to duck. It didn’t swerve in any direction, with its mouth open and teeth razor sharp…

Fern moved without question as Alf clambered to the bow, grabbing something from a niche above the scuppers on the way. This was his domain. As Fern expected a nurse in Casualty to jump to orders, here Fern was subordinate.

There was a motor on the dinghy. Quinn had it started already and the dinghy was starting to move. He’d reach Lizzy and Sam before Alf’s boat could and with the dinghy’s increased manoeuvrability…

A scream smashed out over the water, and it was a scream of agony.

Sam…

‘Not’ Lizzy’s voice was a rising well of despair. ‘Sam…’

Where the girl found the strength after so long in the water Fern couldn’t tell, but Lizzy swam to Sam like a woman possessed. Lizzy reached him before either fishing boat or dinghy, grabbing the big man and pulling him over to lie in her arms.

The shark had already struck.

Sam lay motionless, hanging heavy with shock against Lizzy’s slight body.

From somewhere below an ugly stain drifted to the surface, red in the spotlight’s beams.

And the dark fin was moving in again.

Alf’s shout from the bow made Fern blink. ‘Hard back on the throttle. Now, girl!’

Fern shoved back hard, and the noise died as the motor stalled…

Then another took its place.

It seemed like the world exploded.

The long thin object Alf had grabbed from above the scuppers was a gun. And Alf had just used it…

The shotgun looked like some crazy, theatrical blunderbuss. It looked useless…a joke…

Fern stared from the gun down to the water. The boat was drifting broadside to the swell, letting Fern see those in the water.

The gun had done what Alf intended.

The shark was blasted beyond belief. The water was deep crimson with gore and Quinn’s dinghy had almost reached the pair in the water.

Alf’s action had bought them only seconds of safety.

They wouldn’t be safe now, even in the dinghy.

With so much blood, every shark worthy of the name would be here in minutes. They’d rip apart what was left of their companion and in a feeding frenzy nothing would survive. A rubber dinghy was little protection against such a frenzy…

Apart from the dinghy, Alf’s boat was the lowest and the nearest. Fern already had the motor started again and in gear, and Alf was leaning over the side with the grappling hook.

‘Port, girl…A bit more…’

She couldn’t see now. From the back of the boat where Fern held the tiller she was steering blind. Only Alf on the bow had any idea.

‘Slow…Slow…Cut the motor!’

Once again she cut the motor.

‘Come up here, girl…Fern, get here…’

Alf had the dinghy secure against the side of his boat with the grappling iron and in the dinghy Quinn had Lizzy under her arms, trying to haul her out of the water.

It was some feat as Lizzy was holding on to Sam for dear life.

The whole dinghy was threatening to capsize. The side of the dinghy where Quinn held Lizzy was dipping almost underwater.

‘Hold this, Fern.’ Alf shoved the grappling iron into Fern’s hands.

For a man in his eighties, Alf was moving lightning fast. A man a quarter of his age couldn’t have moved with this speed. As Fern took the grappling hook he disappeared and was back in seconds with rope to secure the rubber craft to the side of the fishing boat.

From nearby the rest of the fleet watched helplessly. There was no time to launch another boat…and their fishing boats were too high…

Then Alf was back. Almost before he’d secured the dinghy, Quinn had assessed what was happening. With the dinghy safe from sinking he could act

‘OK, Lizzy,’ Quinn ordered harshly and his words were tight with strain from hauling the two sodden figures. His voice was still strong enough, though, to cut into Lizzy’s exhaustion. ‘You have to help me. Pull Sam forward and then hang on to the dinghy rope. Now!’

The girl in the water cast a hopeless look back up at Quinn but something in Quinn’s authoritative tone must have got through. She was so exhausted now that the only thing possible was to follow orders.

Fern held her breath. Without Lizzy’s assistance Quinn could do nothing and the dinghy wasn’t big enough to take anyone else’s weight. Neither she nor Alf could help. But if Lizzy held on herself…If she forgot she was intent on suicide…

She had forgotten. With a jagging effort Lizzy hauled Sam further forward and Quinn grabbed him by the collar. Then Lizzy’s hands caught the handhold on the dinghy’s side.

‘Can you pull Lizzy up?’ Quinn demanded of the two in the boat.

‘Sure thing, Doc,’ Alf said as though he were agreeing to pass the salt. ‘Hang on to me, Fern, girl.’

The old man quickly leaned over to the side of the dinghy. Fern grabbed him by the belt as Alf caught Lizzy by the hand and pulled.

He’d never have done it alone.

As soon as she was sure that Alf had his balance, Fern let him go and reached down to grab Lizzy’s other hand. The girl came on board in a sodden, slithery rush.

Fern and Alf hardly had time to see her crumple to the deck. They were back, leaning over to grab Sam from Quinn’s clasp and haul him aboard.

Sam came with more than sea water. A gush of blood followed him on board. Alf was still helping Quinn over the side as Fern started frantically trying to staunch the flow.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

He wasn’t dead.

There was a massive wound on Sam’s side. The shark’s teeth had sliced into his right loin, tearing away skin, muscle and…

And what else, Fern hated to think. Heaven knew what damage had been done under the bleeding but for now the bleeding was the only thing that Fern could worry about. With a wound this size he’d be dead in minutes.

So all Fern had to do was stop the bleeding.

All…

The pressure points…Where were the pressure points here? For heaven’s sake, what was she dealing with?

‘OK, Sam,’ she managed to say in a voice that was almost even. ‘You’re safe now…’

Sam gave an agonised grunt; his head rolled to one side and he slid into unconsciousness.

May he stay that way until they had some morphine!

Frantically Fran tried to assess the wound, feeling in the dim light the extent of the torn flesh and where the bulk of the bleeding was coming from. No pressure point would stop abdominal bleeding. The only thing that might help was pressure on the wound itself.

Fern had looped her cotton windcheater round her waist when she had come out for her walk-hours ago, it seemed now.

There was sacking on the deck-but it stank of rotten fish and the consequences of using that were horrible to contemplate. The windcheater would have to do.

Swiftly Fern folded it into a heavy pad. Then her hands went straight to Sam’s loin, shoving in hard.

Harder…

The gushing blood slowed to an ooze…

On the deck beside her, Lizzy was whimpering with shock and exhaustion. She’d be suffering from hypothermia, Fern thought grimly, but there was no time for Lizzy now…

Heavens, she couldn’t cope with this by herself.

Dear God…

‘What’s the damage?’

Quinn’s voice cut her panic dead. Unnoticed by Fern, Alf had helped haul Quinn aboard from the dinghy. Now Quinn knelt beside her, eyes cool and appraising.

There was no panic here.

‘We need blankets, Alf,’ Quinn said brusquely, as he took in what Fern was doing. His eyes moved momentarily to Lizzy, noting her absolute exhaustion. ‘And, Alf, strip the girl, wrap her and get her below. Get her warm fast. How bad is it here, Dr Rycroft?’

From his tone they might have been back in the casualty department of a major hospital, with all its resources at their disposal. The horror of the night receded a little as professionalism took over.

Sam-this man lying here bleeding to death on the deck-might be the man she intended to marry but with Quinn’s harsh approach Fern could switch back into clinical efficiency. Sam became a patient.

A patient with life-threatening injuries.

‘There’s flesh ripped right out from the side of his abdomen. I can’t see-but his bowel may be involved, at the very least. Heaven knows what else. The wound’s maybe eight inches across…’

‘Right. Hold on there while I fix his position.’

Quinn glanced round fast. Beside them was a piece of planking that Alf used to wheel crates of fish from deck to jetty.

It was perfect.

Quinn hauled the planking across beside Sam. The lawyer was still heavily unconscious, his skin pale, cold and clammy. He’d die of shock and blood loss, Fern thought desperately.

‘We need to get him back to the island,’ she whispered. ‘It’s his only hope. We need saline…plasma…morphine…’

‘There’s saline and morphine in my bag. It’s on the other boat. I yelled at them to bring it over while I was still on the dinghy.’ Quinn was working as he talked, tucking the planking as far under Sam as it would go without lifting Sam’s body. He looked at Fern’s gory hands, noting the slowing bleeding. ‘Hold tight. I’m moving the top half…’

With a swift tug he shifted Sam’s head and chest onto the boards. Without pausing for breath he was down at Sam’s thighs, lifting the rest of Sam’s body across without disturbing what Fern had achieved.

Then to Sam’s feet…

There were folded craypots lying nearby. Quinn lifted the planking with an audible grunt of effort and shoved a couple of folded craypots underneath at foot level. Sam’s body was now lying with head down and the lower part of his body elevated.

It’d help a bit.

Enough?

Alf emerged from the cabin. He’d taken an unprotesting Lizzy below, half carrying her, and he must have undressed and wrapped her with lightning speed. For a fleeting moment it crossed Fern’s mind to wonder just how many young women this crusty old bachelor had been asked to undress in his time but the thought wasn’t enough to bring a smile to her lips. Not now…

Alf’s arms were loaded with blankets.

‘Lizzy’s crook,’ he said grimly. ‘I undressed her like you’d undress a rag doll. I’ve put her in my bunk with the electric blanket up full.’

‘Electric blanket?’ Quinn was ripping off Sam’s sodden shirt and already tucking Alf’s offering of thick wool around him. It was vital that they get Sam warm as well-but they couldn’t shift him below. The less movement the better with a wound like this. ‘How the heck…?’

‘Big batteries.’ Alf grimaced. ‘A man’s gotta have some comfort. What can I do now, Doc?’

‘Get my bag, if you can,’ Quinn told him. ‘It’s on the Wave Dancer.’

The Wave Dancer-the huge boat that had brought out Quinn and Sam-was almost alongside. The crews of the boats must be frantic, Fern realised. They wouldn’t have a clue what was happening.

Then Alf had the motor running again. It was foolhardy for two boats to be alongside when one was without a motor-dangerous at the best of times.

The men knew what they were doing, though. Fern and Quinn could stick to their medicine. If there was one thing the fishermen of Barega were good at, it was coping with the sea.

The boats were manoeuvred as though they were on a lake at midday instead of an ocean swell after dark. In two minutes there were more men clambering onto the deck of Alf’s boat and Quinn’s precious bag was with them.

Morphine…Saline…Everything they needed to try to keep Sam alive…

Everything except luck…

He’d need that, Fern thought grimly, feeling Sam’s cold and clammy skin. Luck, luck and more luck…

There was a sharp exclamation of horror from the bow of the boat and Fern glanced up in time to see the men drag aboard what was left of the dinghy.

Fern’s fear of a shark feeding frenzy had been realised. The dinghy was torn to ribbons.

Sam had been lucky already.

And at least Sam had Quinn Gallagher, Fern thought with gratitude, as Quinn set up a saline drip with a speed she’d never seen before.

If ever there was a man to have around in an emergency it was this man.

If ever there was a man to have around…

Over the next few hours Sam hovered between life and death but by three in the morning Quinn’s skill had loaded the dice in favour of life.

By three in the morning Fern was so exhausted that she was almost past caring.

They’d brought Sam back to Theatre and spent four gruelling hours trying to stem the bleeding and do emergency repairs.

If Quinn hadn’t been a skilled surgeon they wouldn’t have had a hope. The wound was horrendous.

At least the kidneys were clear. Their first task as they reached the hospital was to insert a catheter and watch for blood. The clear urine was the first piece of good news they’d had all night.

There was more.

It was just as well that Sam’s blood group was O positive-if he’d had a rare blood type the task of cross-matching enough blood with the island’s limited supplies would have been a nightmare.

With unit after unit of blood dripping into his veins to make up for the massive blood loss, Quinn assessed the wound and decided that his only choice was a full laparotomy. They didn’t have a clue what damage there was.

If there was liver damage…

It didn’t bear thinking of.

Quinn worked fast but thoroughly, cleaning and debriding the wound as he found and tied off the mass of tiny torn blood vessels that made the wound bleed so freely.

Fern gave the anaesthetic-a job that required her full attention with a patient who was so badly shocked-and could only marvel at the skills Quinn showed.

This man had been trained with the best. He was cool, swift and skilled but he was no textbook surgeon. This sort of surgery-repair of a wound so horribly different-took courage and intelligence, both of which Quinn seemed to have in abundance.

Barega was indeed blessed to have him here.

The bowel had been ripped and a small section completely torn out. Such a wound would have left Fern helpless with horror but Quinn didn’t falter. He hardly talked during the reanastomosis-the joining of the torn ends of the bowel-or as he performed a meticulous peritoneal lavage, carefully washing out the abdominal cavity. Slipshod work here would cost Sam his life.

This was no slipshod work.

The fingers doing the surgical procedures were skilled and sure and Fern knew that Sam wouldn’t be in any better hands if he’d been in Sydney.

The two island nurses stayed in Theatre and it took the four of them, working flat out, to give Sam a chance of life. This job in a major teaching hospital would have warranted a team of seven or eight. Here they had to make do with what they had.

Fern could only marvel as she watched Quinn sew the abdomen closed. There was still a massive defect-the dressing had to be applied over an area with no skin-but Sam now had a chance.

Finally, Quinn had done all he could. Fern adjusted intravenous antibiotics to maximum dosage and reversed the anaesthetic as the last dressing was put in place.

Quinn’s work had been little short of brilliant. It was now up to Sam…

When Quinn wearily pushed his mask from his face, it was more than he who sighed with relief. The nurses pushed the trolley away with their shoulders sagging in exhaustion. Neither nurse had been in such an intense surgical situation since their training hospital-and even then Fern doubted that they’d been under such pressure.

‘That was…That was magnificent…’ Fern told Quinn as she walked unsteadily over to the sink. She hauled her own mask from her face with a feeling of unreality.

‘It wasn’t too bad a job you did yourself, Dr Rycroft,’ Quinn told her and Fern flashed him a look of astonishment.

‘You don’t even sound exhausted.’

‘I guess I am,’ he admitted, ‘but I’ve gone onto automatic pilot.’

‘Some automatic pilot. It’s saved Sam’s life…’

‘I just hope that’s right. It’ll be days before we know for sure. His chances of infection are still high. You realise he’ll have to go to Sydney? It’s a rough job I’ve done tonight. Cosmetic stuff will have to be done by the plastic guys.’

‘As long as he lives…’

‘As you say.’

Fern closed her eyes, exhaustion sweeping over her in waves. The urgent needs past, she felt just plain sick.

Quinn stepped behind her and untied the ribbons of her surgical gown. He flicked his gloves into the waste bin and then put his hands on her waist.

‘You’re all done, Dr Rycroft,’ he said gently. He pulled her back to lean against him and she was too tired to care…

Not true.

She was too tired to resist.

‘Bed, I think, Dr Rycroft.’ Quinn’s head dropped and he planted a light kiss on her hair.

‘I…I think so…’

‘You realise you lost a fiancé tonight?’

Quinn’s voice was coming from a very long way away. Fern leaned back against his chest and let his words drift. They didn’t make an awful lot of sense.

What had he said?

‘Sam’s going to live,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I know he is.’

‘Not with you, he’s not.’

‘Why…?’

She had to force herself to ask the question. What Quinn was saying didn’t seem to matter. What mattered was the feel of his arms around her, the feeling that here-against this man’s body-she was secure against all peril.

The nightmare of the night was just that-a nightmare. It couldn’t touch her now. She was with Quinn.

She was home.

You don’t have a home, remember, Fern? a tiny voice whispered into the back of her head. That voice had been a shout since the night her parents died. Now the shout was fading almost to oblivion.

‘Your Sam nearly went crazy when we told him what Lizzy was doing-that she was drowning,’ Quinn said gently across her thoughts. His arms didn’t slacken for a moment. She was enfolded in a cocoon of compassion as he spoke.

‘I have to admit I thought the man incapable of passion. When I told him Lizzy would drown without him, though, he was out of his bed in seconds. He insisted point-blank I go with him; his theory was that I was a better trained doctor than you, and his Lizzy-his Lizzy-was going to have the best.

‘I still had Maud to consider and you were already out with Lizzy so I refused and I thought Sam would kill me. So it wasn’t me threatening to pick up Sam and take him out to sea-it was the other way round!’

‘Sam…’ Fern said faintly.

‘Sam.’

Quinn’s arms tightened even further. Surely this wasn’t a professional approach at comfort by one imparting bad news…

Surely this was something more.

‘Jess came back from her rounds just then-fortunately,’ Quinn told her. ‘She can do cardio-pulmonary resuscitation and can operate the defibrillator if necessary and she offered to stay with Maud before Sam did me physical violence. But it was a close thing.’

‘Sam…Sam and Lizzy have always been friends,’ Fern whispered. ‘Sam and Lizzy and me.’

‘Well, I think you have to face it.’ Quinn swung Fern round in a gentle but firm movement so that her weary, shadowed face was looking up at him. ‘Fern, I think tonight the “me” was taken out of the equation.’

‘You don’t know…’

‘I do know,’ he told her, his eyes never leaving her face. Quinn’s hands were on her shoulders and without their support she would have toppled. ‘I thought your Sam was incapable of passion and I was right. He was. Your Sam is. Lizzy’s Sam, though…’

‘I don’t want to hear this…’

There was a long silence. The theatre clock ticked above their heads and that was the only sound there was.

‘You have to hear it, Fern,’ Quinn said softly at last. ‘I just wish to blazes I could make you stop looking like that…’

‘Like…’

‘Like a woman Sam’s crazy to abandon…Like a woman I could…’

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t. What was growing between them was too strong for words.

Fern didn’t have to wonder this time whether she raised her lips in invitation to be kissed. She knew she did.

It was no act of flirtation or seduction, though. It was two magnetic poles finding their home. The force pulling them together was something that Fern had never felt in her life before.

She only knew it felt right.

At that moment they had no separate will-only their mutual need-only their mutual acceptance of what was right.

They stayed, locked together, for what could have been hours. Fern didn’t know. The clock ticked above them and Quinn’s lips stayed on hers. His hands held her waist to his body and there was no other movement.

There was no need for further movement.

This wasn’t passionate love-making. It was a process of healing-of bringing together two parts of a separate whole.

The aching void that had been in Fern since the night her family was killed was closing, filling, as though the link between herself and Quinn was feeding her something as essential as the plasma they had placed in Sam’s veins. This wasn’t blood, though. It was a nectar so sweet that it made her want to cry.

But she couldn’t cry when she was here.

She couldn’t cry when she was being kissed by someone like Quinn.

He was still wearing his bloodstained surgical gown and the jeans Fern had on were even more gory than his surgical greens. It didn’t matter. The time for dissembling was over.

There was only Quinn…

She opened her lips to him and her aching heart felt as though it opened at the same time, allowing the sweetness of love to flow through…

His hands came up under her blouse, cupping her breasts with fingers that were exquisitely gentle. It was as if he was touching the most precious thing this world had to offer, Fern thought, and knew that her thought was truth.

What was flowering between them was a gift-a gift so precious that none could deny it.

Certainly not Fern.

Her body arched against him and she heard herself give a soft moan of sheer ecstasy.

He broke away then, holding her at arm’s length, her bloodstained blouse falling back into position. His eyes were dark and demanding, claiming his own.

‘This is right,’ he said, and his voice was thick with suppressed passion. ‘Hell, Fern, you can’t marry Sam after this. You know you can’t’

‘I know…’ Her voice trailed to a whisper.

‘You belong with me.’ His hands gripped more tightly, possessive and urgent ‘You feel it too, don’t

you, Fern? Whoever else has claims-on either of us-we’re one, Fern Rycroft. I felt it the moment I set eyes on you-and we’re wasting time by denying it…’

‘S-Sam…’ Fern whispered. ‘I have to speak to Sam…’ Her tired mind was going round and round in circles. She only wanted to be with this man-with Quinn, with her heart-and yet she was still engaged to Sam. She shouldn’t be here, letting Quinn make love to her, when in the next room her fiancé was fighting for his life.

‘You have to speak to Sam,’ Quinn agreed, pulling her tight to him again. ‘And I…I have organising of my own to do. But that’s all it is, my lovely Fern. Reorganising our lives so we can be in our rightful place. Together.’

‘I don’t know,’ Fern whispered. Her heart was thumping with fear, doubt and passion all at the one time. ‘Maybe…’

‘There’s no “maybe” about it, Fern Rycroft,’ Quinn growled thickly into her hair. He tilted her chin again so she was looking wonderingly up at him. ‘There’s only us.’

‘Are you still here?’

A woman’s light voice, calling from the doorway around the partition from the sink, was the first thing that intruded from the outside world.

Heaven knew how long the voice had been calling. The kiss was deep enough to blot out all but the loudest of alarms.

Quinn swore unsteadily as the lingering kiss finally ceased and they pulled apart. He didn’t release Fern entirely, though-just pulled her round to stand beside him, his arm still encircling her waist.

It seemed almost a gesture of propriety, of possessiveness, though Fern still felt that she’d topple over without his supporting arm. The combination of weariness, shock, relief and…and the nearness of Quinn…was making her dizzy.

It was Jessie.

The young vet peered anxiously around the partition and smiled with relief when she saw them.

‘Here you are. I was starting to think Quinn must have driven you home, Fern, and I rang your uncle hours ago to tell him we’d give you a bed here.’

‘C-can you?’ The feeling of unreality was deepening, if anything.

‘Of course we can.’ Jessie smiled from Quinn to Fern, seemingly oblivious to the position of Quinn’s arm and the burning colour of Fern’s cheeks. ‘Lizzy’s in the ward with your aunt, though, so you can’t stay there. We’ve packed Lizzy with hot-water bottles and sedated her. Her temp’s back up to normal. She was still restless until you finished in Theatre and one of the nurses came in to tell her Sam would most likely live. Now she’s sleeping like a baby.’

‘You…you sedated her?’

‘Needs must,’ Jessie grinned. ‘It’s not so different from sedating a horse.’ Then, at Fern’s look, she laughed and relented. ‘OK, Quinn gave me instructions before he went to Theatre-while you were prep-ping Sam.’

‘I…I see…’

‘I don’t think you see very much at all,’ Jessie corrected her kindly. ‘Fern, you look as exhausted as Lizzy. Bring her down to bed, Quinn…’

‘But…’

‘I have a huge bedroom and two beds,’ Jessie assured her. ‘And I take my parrot up to the kitchen at night-so there’s no need to worry about anything but my snoring. Quinn, you’re not going to bed yet?’

‘Not yet. Not until Sam’s fully recovered from the anaesthetic and settled into natural sleep. It could be a couple of hours.’

‘Then Fern and I had better sleep so that at least someone’s functioning in the morning.’ Jessie’s kindly eyes assessed Fern’s face. ‘Can you walk, Fern, or does Quinn have to carry you?’

‘I can…’

She couldn’t.

Fern didn’t finish her sentence. Quinn had already swung her up in his arms and was heading for the door, squeezing all the protest out of her.

‘For a very clever vet, you ask some very silly questions, Jess,’ he smiled back at the vet, but the tenderness on his smile was all for Fern. ‘My lady has her own method of transport.’