The Doctor's Proposal (9 page)

The change in her two patients was extraordinary.

Susie was dressed and lying on a camping mattress they'd found yesterday. They'd cleaned it so Susie could lie on it while she gardened. The last of the rain had cleared. The day was already warm. Susie had a trowel in her hand, and she was digging around individual carrots.

Kirsty glanced up to Angus's window and Angus was perched in the window-seat, overseeing operations.

‘You'll do yourself damage, girl,' he called. ‘Wait until I get down to give you a hand.'

She was being put to shame by two invalids, Kirsty thought. Angus needed help dressing and he needed his oxygen checked and he was waiting for her.

Two people who thirty-six hours ago had wanted to die were now both aching for the day to begin.

Was she aching for her day to begin?

Maybe she was.

She was going to help Jake operate this morning, she remembered, but excitement wasn't exactly her overriding emotion.

Maybe there was also a tinge of fear.

Why fear? Was she fearful of the way she responded? Jake had let her know in no uncertain terms that he wanted nothing of that response.

She needed to ring Robert, she decided. Robert, her nice safe
boyfriend back home. He was an optometrist she'd known for ever and their romance had been proceeding placidly—if tamely—when she'd had to leave with Susie.

She hadn't rung Robert for a week. It was time to get in touch with him again. Maybe he'd be surprised to hear from her. Their relationship was lacklustre at the best of times, and she suspected a month's absence was probably killing it for good, but she needed to ground herself somewhere and Robert was eternally useful.

Right. She'd ring Robert. After she'd telephoned Mavis Hipton to see how she'd got on in the night. After she'd organised Angus down to his garden. After she'd bullied Susie and Angus into eating breakfast.

But maybe the bullying wouldn't be because they weren't interested in eating, she thought suddenly. It would be bullying because they'd be too busy to eat.

Suddenly Susie and Angus were excited by life again.

She needed to get excited, too.

She was going to operate with Jake.

She was excited.

There was no relationship, she told herself crossly.

No—but she was still excited.

D
OLPHIN
B
AY
Bush Nursing Hospital was a neat little building made of the deep grey stone of the local cliffs. It had wide verandas and a lovely, rambling garden, and as she pulled into the parking lot she could see half a dozen people pottering in the flower-beds. There were glimpses of the sea through the tangle of honeysuckle and bougainvillea, and a flock of white galahs was screeching and fighting for places on the branches of the towering gums.

She should transplant this place to Manhattan, she thought longingly. What a wonderful place to die.

What a wonderful place to live.

They all knew who she was. The moment she climbed out of the car she was watched, by the gardeners and by the patients sitting in the sun on the veranda, and a chirpy young nurse bustled out to greet her.

‘You'll be Dr Kirsty. I'm Babs. We've been waiting for you.'

Dr Kirsty. Babs. This was as formal as it got in Dolphin Bay, Kirsty thought wryly, but she grinned.

‘Dr Cam— Dr Jake said to be here at ten.'

‘Yes, but Francis is in such a state that if we don't knock him out soon, he'll do a runner,' Babs told her. She ushered her inside and flung open the theatre doors. ‘It's OK, Jake. Kirsty's here.'

Jake was already in theatre gear. He was systematically checking equipment but as Kirsty walked in he turned and smiled, and her heart did that crazy backflip she was starting
to recognise. And starting to resent. Darn, why didn't she get that backflip when Robert smiled?

This man didn't want a relationship. Not!

‘You've been waiting for me?' she managed.

‘We have the world's scaredest patient,' he told her. ‘Francis is sixty years old. Until his hernia got bad he was our local fire chief. Put him in front of wildfire and he'll be the coolest head in the district, but show him a drop of blood and he'll faint. He's still in his room. I thought if we wheeled him along here and he caught sight of theatre gear, he might end up dying of shock.'

‘I'll check him there, then, shall I?' she asked, and he smiled again.

‘If you would. Is there anything else here that you need?'

She did a fast check. This should be a simple procedure—a simple anaesthetic. Even catering for terror.

The little theatre looked brilliant.

‘How many beds does the hospital have?' she asked in surprise.

‘Twenty. Plus ten nursing-home beds.'

‘That's too many for one doctor.'

‘You're telling me. I have to work hard to keep them healthy.'

‘Jake makes his patients work in the garden,' Babs said cheekily from the doorway. ‘He has a method of bowel control that's second to none. You stay regular or you get garden duty.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘He gives out garden duty for everything,' Babs continued. ‘You just sigh in this place and someone sticks a trowel in your hand.'

‘Don't the patients object?'

‘They love it,' Jake said, attempting a glower at the nurse. ‘Babs, go introduce Kirsty to Francis. I want him back here asleep in ten minutes.'

‘That's if my checks are OK,' Kirsty said, attempting to find some vestige of authority.

‘They will be,' Babs said. ‘Otherwise you'll be handed a trowel as well. Our Dr Jake runs a tight ship.'

 

There was no need for the trowel.

Francis was a big man, but he'd kept himself fit, he didn't smoke and he had no underlying medical conditions to give her concern. The only problem was his terror, which was palpable the moment she entered the room.

‘Hi. I'm Dr Kirsty, your anaesthetist. I'm here to make you relax enough for Jake to fix your bump.' Then she hesitated. The man was physically cringing. ‘Am I so scary?'

‘N-no, but…'

‘Does your wife ever get her hair set at the hairdresser? Does she ever sit under a dryer?'

‘Sure,' he whispered, not knowing where this was going.

‘Well, I don't want to scare you any more than you already are, but your wife has more chance of getting electrocuted under the dryer than you do of getting damaged by my anaesthetic. But Dr Jake's telling me you're scared.'

‘I'm not…it's not…'

‘It's not logical,' she said, smiling and lifting his wrist, ostensibly to feel his pulse but in reality to give him the comfort of touch. ‘I know. Like I'm scared of moths. I can't stand them; they make my hair stand on end. But if I had to face them in order to fix my life…'

‘You would?'

‘Actually, I wouldn't,' she conceded with a rueful smile. ‘Not without a lot of screaming and running and general loss of dignity. What I might do, though—if I had to face them—is ask a nice doctor to give me something to make me sleepy and dreamy and away with the fairies, so that any moth could go bump into me and I'd simply wave and smile.'

That drew a reluctant smile. ‘You're saying you could give me something like that.'

‘Ooh, the very nicest of drugs,' she told him. ‘Guaranteed to make you smile and wave till the cows come home.'

‘Till the cows come home,' he said, dazed. ‘I thought you were from New York?'

‘I'm learning the local lingo,' she said, with a certain amount of pride. ‘Australian country talk. I can talk about mates and blokes and anything to do with a heap of dung you care to mention. I think I have an ear for languages. Now I'm staying with Angus, it's Australian with a Scottish accent. So will you let me give you my hallucinogenic substance?'

He seemed even more dazed. Terror had receded in the face of her ridiculousness. ‘It'll make me go to sleep?' he managed, but he didn't sound as if it was a dreadful idea.

‘No,' she told him. ‘Not my dream stuff. It'll simply make you relax. Then, if it's OK with you—and only if it's OK with you—we can take the next step and give you something so you have a swift sleep while Dr Jake fixes your bump. If you don't feel relaxed then you can back out. But you do want your hernia fixed, right?'

‘Right,' he whispered.

‘You really do?'

‘Y-yes.'

‘Well done,' she told him, releasing his wrist and touching the back of his weathered hand lightly with her own. ‘There's courage and there's courage. My moths and your anaesthetic. You want to start now?'

‘Y— Maybe.'

‘Then let's do step one,' she told him. ‘You close your eyes while Babs holds your hand, you'll feel one tiny prick, then we'll see if my fairy dust works. We can take it from there.'

She administered the propofol, then stood and chatted some more, watching as his eyes became confused—but not terrified at all. She was even making him smile.

‘Next step?' she asked, and got a sleepy, fuzzy nod for her pains.

Hooray. She needed to let Jake know they were due to start.

She heard a faint movement in the doorway and turned, expecting to see an orderly.

But it was Jake.

He was looking at her with blatant admiration.

How long had he been here? She felt a blush starting at her toes and working its way up. This man had the power to seriously unsettle her. He was almost as unsettling as moths,

‘You're good,' he told her, and she struggled for composure—struggled to give him her very smuggest smile.

‘I know,' she told him. ‘Francis and I are developing a very nice relationship. Aren't you sorry you're not into relationships yourself?'

She shouldn't have said it.

The operation was done in almost total silence. The atmosphere was so tense it was almost unbearable. Not only did he not want to take their relationship any further, she'd killed any friendship they might have been starting to build.

Which was a shame.

She very much wanted to keep working with him, she decided as she watched his fingers perform the delicate piece of surgery to relieve Francis of his hernia. It wasn't a particularly difficult operation, but his fingers were swift and sure. He was meticulous in everything he did. Francis would be left with minimal scarring and a super-fast recovery because of it.

He was a seriously good surgeon, she thought. He was wasted in Dolphin Bay.

And then she thought, no, he wasn't wasted in Dolphin Bay. A place like this was lucky to have him. Susie would be blessed to have him if she got into trouble at delivery. If every country town could have a doctor as good as Jake…

‘Blood pressure?' Jake snapped, and she told him, aware that she'd been watching him for a moment and this was a ruse to make her look at her dials instead of looking at him. She flushed. There was no need to remind her to do her job. He might be a good surgeon, but she knew enough about anaesthesia for her attention never to stray away for more than a second or two at a time. Francis's anaesthetic was the lightest she could give. She had him intubated but his vital signs were
steady, his colour was great and every indication was that this surgery would cause him minimal discomfort.

‘Reverse,' Jake snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Say please,' she said mildly, and Babs choked.

Jake glared. ‘What?'

‘Say please…sir.'

‘Kirsty…'

‘Politeness is everything. We may as well start the way we mean to go on.'

‘Please,' he said, goaded, and she smiled.

‘That's better,' she approved. She turned to Babs. ‘He's very autocratic for a surgeon, isn't he? I thought you had to be at least an orthodontist before you let go of the
please
.'

‘Can we concentrate on what's important?' Jake snapped, and she very nearly said
Say please
again.

Then she glanced at his face and saw the lines of strain around his eyes and thought better of it.

Whatever was eating him, she wasn't going to break through with laughter.

She probably wasn't going to break through at all.

 

‘Is it over?' Francis surfaced terrified, his eyes wild and frantic. Jake was hauling his gloves off and Kirsty leaned over, took Francis's hands in hers and held. Hard.

‘It's done. You've conquered your fear. You're awake. Jake's fixed your hernia, your wife is waiting to see you and all you have to show is a three-inch square dressing on your tummy. Six stitches. When you wake up a bit more, you can have a look.'

‘It's done?'

‘It is. The operation is completely finished. All that's left is my fairy dust, making you a bit sleepy. If I were you, I'd settle back for a nice long nap.'

He searched her eyes, hope warring with fear, dreading that she might not be telling the truth.

But then Jake was behind her, gripping her shoulder, presenting them as a team.

‘She's right, mate. You're a new man. Thanks to our Dr Kirsty.'

‘She's a ripper,' Francis whispered. ‘A real ripper.'

‘Not a particularly respectful ripper,' Jake said steadily. ‘But a ripper for all that.'

Francis closed his eyes. Jake stepped back, releasing Kirsty. The orderly moved in to wheel the trolley back out into the corridor. Jake moved into the washroom, but Kirsty stood still for a while longer.

Until the sensation of fingers pressing against her shoulder was completely gone.

 

He had a list.

The hernia had been a test, she realised. By the time she'd got rid of her hospital gown Jake was waiting for her, and he handed her a slip of paper.

‘What's this?' she asked cautiously. She was in the corridor outside Theatre. Maybe they could have gone somewhere else to talk. Jake must have an office, she thought, but maybe showing her into an office might get her alone. That might constitute a relationship.

‘Look, I'm sorry,' he said, sounding exasperated, and she knew she didn't have to say it out loud for him to know what she was thinking. ‘I overreacted yesterday.'

‘You did.'

‘So don't rub it in.'

‘Tell me about the list,' she said coolly, and there was a
moment's hesitation while he considered whether to take her antagonism further. But he obviously—and wisely—decided against it.

‘Dorothy Miller has the most appalling varicose veins,' he told her. ‘One burst last month and it came close to killing her. She's eighty and she won't go to the city to get them fixed. She says if she dies she dies, but I'd prefer her not to. Mark has a basal cell carcinoma on his face that's been incompletely excised. He needs a full-thickness excision and a skin graft. It's a simple job, but Mark's wife is blind, they have two small children and for him to leave for a night is a major drama. I told him he'd have to find a way and he agreed, but now you're here I'll do it myself.'

‘Now that I've proved myself competent,' she said dryly, and he had the grace to smile.

‘As you say.'

‘And the osteochondroma?'

Bony growths where they shouldn't be were a common childhood problem so it was no surprise when he said, ‘Scotty is four years old. The osteochondroma is on his leg. I biopsied it and it's fine but it's growing. Scotty's mother is a single mum with three other littlies dependent on her. It'd be a heck of a lot easier if we did it here.'

‘So you really do need me,' she said, cheering up, and he looked a bit shamefaced.

‘Um…yes.' There was another momentary hesitation. ‘What you did with Mavis… I've been out there this morning and she tells me you've already phoned and adjusted the dose. But already the change is miraculous. And here…all these things can wait, but as you're here and not busy…'

‘You may as well use me,' she agreed. She paused, and then decided to push it. ‘You know, you really do need to learn to chat to me, though,' she told him. ‘I'm not accustomed to silence. Maybe we can get piped music in Theatre. Or piped gossip. That's what I'm used to back home.'