Читать книгу: «It Happened One Night Shift»

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

GARETH STAPLETON DROPPED his head from side to side, stretching out his traps as he kept his eyes on the road.

He was getting too old for this crap.

It had been a long, crazy shift in the emergency room and he needed a beer, a shower and his bed.

Saturday nights in a busy Brisbane ER were chaotic at the best of times but the full moon had added an extra shot of the bizarre to the mix. From now on he was consulting astrological charts when requesting his roster.

He yawned and looked at the dash clock—almost midnight—and was grateful for his shift ending when it had. The waiting room had still been full as he’d clocked off and he didn’t envy the night shift having to deal with it all.

Suddenly, the car in front of him—a taxi—swerved slightly into the opposite lane and Gareth’s pulse spiked.

What the hell?

Despite only going at the speed limit, he eased back on the accelerator as the taxi corrected itself. Gareth peered into the back windscreen of the car, trying to see what the guy was doing. What was distracting him? Was he texting? Or talking on the phone?

He couldn’t tell what the driver was doing but at least the taxi appeared to be empty of passengers.

Gareth eased back some more. He may only be driving a twenty-year-old rust box but he had no desire to be collateral damage due to this clown’s inattention. Luckily they were on a long, straight section of road linking two outer suburbs so there were no houses, no cars parked on either side, just trees and bushland.

The taxi wobbled all over the lane again and Gareth’s stomach tightened as a set of oncoming headlights suddenly winked in the distance. His fingers gripped the steering-wheel a little firmer as a sense of foreboding settled over him.

Gareth’s sense of foreboding had served him well over the years—particularly in the Middle East—and it wasn’t going to be disappointed tonight.

He watched in horror as the taxi swerved suddenly again into the path of the oncoming car. Gareth hit his horn but it was futile, the crash playing out in front of him in slow motion.

The driver of the other car slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid what Gareth could have sworn was certain collision. He waited for the crash and the sound of crunching metal but, thankfully, it never came. The taxi narrowly missed the other car, careening off the road and smashing into a tree.

But now the oncoming car was in his lane and Gareth had to apply his brakes to prevent them crashing. Luckily the other driver had the good sense to swerve back into his own lane and they both came to a halt almost level with each other on their own sides of the road.

Gareth, his heart pistoning like a jackhammer, automatically reached for his glove box and pulled out a bunch of gloves from a box he always kept there. He ripped his seat belt off and pushed open his door.

‘Are you okay, mate?’ he asked as he leapt out, his fingers already reaching for the mobile phone in his pocket as he mentally triaged the scene.

He wrenched open the door of the other car, noticing absently it was a sleek-looking two-seater, to find a pair of huge brown eyes, heavily kohled and fringed with sooty eyelashes, blinking back at him. A scarlet mouth formed a surprised-looking O.

A woman.

‘I’m … I’m fine.’ She nodded, looking dazed.

Gareth wasn’t entirely sure. She appeared uninjured but she looked like she might be in shock. ‘Can you move? How’s your neck?’ he asked.

She nodded again, undoing her seat belt. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ She swung her legs out of the car.

‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. ‘Stay there.’ The last thing he needed was a casualty wandering around the scene. ‘I’m Gareth, what’s your name?’

‘Billie.’

Gareth acknowledged the unusual name on a superficial level only. ‘I’m going to check out the taxi driver. You stay here, okay, Billie?’

She blinked up at him and nodded. ‘Okay.’

Satisfied he’d secured her co-operation, Gareth, already dialling triple zero, headed for the smashed-up taxi.

It took a minute for Billie to come out of the fog of the moment and get her bearings. She’d told Gareth—at least that was what she thought he’d said his name was—she was okay. Everything had happened so fast. But a quick mental check of her body confirmed it.

She was shaking like a leaf but she wasn’t injured.

And she was a doctor. She shouldn’t be sitting in her car like an invalid—she should be helping.

What on earth had caused the taxi to veer right into her path? Was the driver drunk? Or was it something medical? A hypo? A seizure?

She reached across to her glove box and pulled out a pair of gloves from the box she always kept there, her heart beating furiously, mentally preparing herself for potential gore. Being squeamish was not something that boded well for a doctor but it was something she’d never been able to conquer.

She’d learned to control it—just.

She exited her car, yanking the boot lever on the way out, rounding the vehicle and pulling out a briefcase that contained a well-stocked first-aid kit. Then she took a deep breath and in her ridiculous heels and three-quarter-length cocktail dress she made her way over to the crashed car and Gareth.

Gareth looked up from his ministrations as Billie approached. ‘I thought I’d told you to stay put,’ he said, whipping off his fleecy hoody, not even feeling the cool air. His only priority was getting the driver, who wasn’t breathing and had no pulse, out of the car.

‘I’m fine. And I’m a doctor so I figured I could help.’

Gareth was momentarily thrown by the information but he didn’t have time to question her credentials. She was already wearing a pair of hospital-issue gloves that he hadn’t given her, so she was at least prepared.

And the driver’s lips were turning from dusky to blue.

He needed oxygen and a defib. Neither of which they had.

All the driver had was them, until the ambulance got there.

‘I’m an ER nurse,’ Gareth said, rolling his hoody into a tube shape then carefully wrapping it around the man’s neck, fashioning a crude soft collar to give him some C-spine protection when they pulled him out.

‘Ambulance is ten minutes away. He’s in cardiac arrest. Thankfully he’s not trapped. Help me get him out and we’ll start CPR. I’ll grab his top half,’ Gareth said.

Aided by the light from the full moon blasting down on them, they had the driver lying on the dew-damp grass in less than thirty seconds. ‘You maintain the airway,’ Gareth said, falling back on protocols ingrained in him during twenty years in the field. ‘I’ll start compressions.’

Billie nodded, swallowing hard as the metallic smell from the blood running down the driver’s face from a deep laceration on his forehead assaulted her senses. It had already congealed in places and her belly turned at the sight, threatening to eject the three-course meal she’d indulged in earlier.

She turned away briskly, sucking air slowly into her lungs. In through her nose, out through her mouth, concentrating on the cold damp ground already seeping through the gauzy fabric of her dress to her knees rather than the blood. She was about to start her ER rotation—she had to get used to this.

She opened the briefcase and pulled out her pocket mask.

Gareth kicked up an eyebrow as she positioned herself, a knee either side of the guy’s head, and held the mask efficiently in place over the driver’s mouth and nose.

‘Very handy,’ he said, noting her perfect jaw grasp and hand placement. ‘Don’t suppose you have a defib in there by any chance?’

Billie gave a half-laugh. ‘Sadly, no.’ Because they both knew that’s what this man needed.

She leaned down to blow several times into the mouthpiece. Her artfully curled hair fell forward and she quickly pushed them behind her ears as the mask threatened to slip. The mix of sweat and blood on the driver’s face worked against her and Billie had to fight back a gag as the smell invaded her nostrils.

If she just shut her eyes and concentrated on the flow of air, the rhythm of her delivery, mentally counted the breaths, she might just get through this without disgracing herself.

‘What do you reckon, heart attack?’ Gareth asked after he’d checked for a pulse two minutes in.

Billie, concentrating deeply, opened her eyes at the sudden intrusion. Rivulets of dried blood stared back at her and she quickly shut them again. ‘Probably,’ she said between breaths. ‘Something caused him to veer off the road like that and he feels pretty clammy. Only he looks young, though. Fit too.’

Gareth agreed, his arms already feeling the effort of prolonged compressions. The man didn’t look much older than himself. ‘’Bout forty, I reckon.’

Billie nodded. ‘Too young to die.’

He grunted and Billie wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. The taxi driver probably was going to die. The statistics for out-of-hospital cardiac arrests were grim. Even for young, fit people. This man needed so much more than they could give him here on the roadside.

They fell silent again as they continued to give a complete stranger, who had nearly wiped both of them out tonight, a chance at life.

‘Come on, mate,’ Gareth said, as he checked the pulse for the third time and went back to compressions. ‘Cut us some slack here.’

A minute later, the silence was pierced by the first low wails of a siren. ‘Yes,’ Gareth muttered. ‘Hold on, mate. The cavalry’s nearly here.’

In another minute two ambulances—one with an intensive care paramedic—pulled up, followed closely by a police car. A minute after that a fire engine joined the fray. Reinforcements surrounded them, artificial light suddenly flooding the scene, Billie and Gareth continued their CPR as Gareth gave an impressive rapid-fire handover.

‘Keep managing the airway,’ the female intensive care paramedic instructed Billie, after Gareth had informed her of their medical credentials. She handed Billie a proper resus set—complete with peep valve and oxygen supply. ‘You okay to intubate?’

Billie nodded. She could. As a second-year resident she’d done it before but not a lot. And then there was the blood.

She took another deep, steadying breath.

Gareth continued compressions as one of the advanced care paramedics slapped on some defib pads and the other tried to establish IV access.

In the background several firemen dealt with the car, some set up a road block with the police while others directed a newly arrived tow truck to one side.

The automatic defibrillator warned everyone to move away from the patient as it advised a shock.

‘Stand clear,’ the paramedic called, and everyone dropped what they were doing and moved well back.

A series of shocks was delivered, to no avail, and everyone resumed their positions. IV access was gained and emergency drugs were delivered. Billie successfully intubated as Gareth continued with cardiac massage. Two minutes later the defibrillator recommended another shock and everyone moved away again.

The driver’s chest arched. ‘We’ve got a rhythm,’ the paramedic announced.

Gareth reached over and felt for the carotid. ‘Yep,’ he agreed. ‘I have a pulse.’

‘Okay, let’s get him loaded and go.’

Billie reached for the bag to resume respiratory support on the still unconscious patient but the intensive care paramedic crouched beside Billie said, ‘Would you like me to take over?’

Billie looked at her, startled. She’d been concentrating so hard on not losing her stomach contents she’d shut everything out other than the whoosh of her own breath. But the airway was secure and they had a pulse. She could easily hand over to a professional who had way more experience dealing with these situations.

Not to mention the fact that now the emergency was under control her hands were shaking, her teeth were chattering and she was shivering with the cold.

And her knees were killing her.

She looked down at her gloves. They were streaked with blood and another wave of nausea welled inside her.

Billie handed the bag over and then suddenly warm hands were lifting her up onto her shaking legs, supporting her as her numb knees threatened to buckle. A blanket was thrown around her shoulders and she huddled into its warmth as she was shepherded in the direction of her car.

‘Are you okay?’

Billie glanced towards the deep voice, surprised to find herself looking at Gareth. He was tall and broad and looked warm and inviting and she felt so cold. She had the strangest urge to walk into his arms.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, gripping the blanket tighter around her shoulders, looking down at where her gloved hands held the edges of the blanket together.

Dried blood stared back at her. The nausea she’d been valiantly trying to keep at bay hit her in a rush.

And right there, dressed to the nines in front of Gareth and a dozen emergency personnel, she bent over and threw up her fancy, two-hundred-dollar, three-course meal on the side of the road.

CHAPTER TWO

BILLIE WAS THANKFUL as she talked to the police a few minutes later she’d never have to see anyone here ever again. She doubted if any of these seasoned veterans blinked an eye at someone barfing at the scene of an accident and they’d all been very understanding but she was the doctor, for crying out loud.

People looked to her to be the calm, in-control one. To take bloodied accident victims in her stride. She was supposed to be able to hold herself together.

Not throw up at the sight of blood and gore.

Billie wondered anew how she was going to cope in the emergency room for the next six months. For the rest of her life, for that matter, given that emergency medicine was her chosen career path.

Mostly because it was high-flying enough to assuage parental and family expectations without being surgical. The Ashworth-Keyes of the world were all surgeons. Choosing a non-surgical specialty was not an option.

Unless it carried the same kind of kudos. As emergency medicine, apparently, did.

And at least this way Billie knew she’d still be able to treat the things that interested her most. Raw and messy were not her cup of tea but infections and diseases, the run-of-the-mill medical problems that were seen in GP practices across the country every day were.

But Ashworth-Keyes’ were not GPs.

And Billie was carrying a double load of expectation.

She glanced across at Gareth, who was looking relaxed and assured amidst a tableau of clashing lights. The milky phosphorescence of the moon, the glow of fluorescent safety striping on multiple uniforms and the garish strobing of red, blue and amber. He didn’t seem to be affected by any of it, his deep, steady voice carrying towards her on the cool night air as he relayed the details of the accident to a police officer.

Billie cringed as she recalled how he’d held her hair back and rubbed between her shoulders blades as she’d hurled up everything in her stomach. Then had sourced some water for her to rinse her mouth out and offered her a mint.

It seemed like he’d done it before. But, then, she supposed, an ER nurse probably had done it a thousand times.

Still … why did she have to go and disgrace herself in front of possibly the most good-looking man she’d seen in a very long time?

She’d noticed it subliminally while they’d been performing CPR but she’d had too much else going on, what with holding someone’s life in the balance and trying not to vomit, to give her thoughts free rein.

But she didn’t now.

And she let them run wild as she too answered a policeman’s questions.

Billie supposed a lot of her friends wouldn’t classify Gareth as good looking purely because of his age. The grey whiskers putting some salt into the sexy growth of stubble at his jaw and the small lines around his eyes that crinkled a little as he smiled told her he had to be in his late thirties, early forties.

But, then, she’d always preferred older men.

She found maturity sexy. She liked the way, by and large, older men were content in their skins and didn’t feel the need to hem a woman in to validate themselves. The easy way they spoke and the way they carried their bodies and wore their experience on their faces and were comfortable with that. She liked the way so many of them didn’t seem like they had anything to prove.

She liked how Gareth embodied that. Even standing in the middle of an accident scene he looked at ease.

Gareth laughed at something the policeman said and she watched as he raked a piece of hair back that had flopped forward. She liked his hair. It was wavy and a little long at the back, brushing his collar, and he wore it swept back where it fell in neat rippled rows.

She’d noticed, as they’d tried to save the driver’s life, it was dark with some streaks of grey, like his whiskers.

And she liked that too.

His arm dropped back down by his side and her gaze drifted to his biceps. She’d noticed those biceps as well while they’d been working on their man. How could she not have? Every time she’d opened her eyes there they’d been, contracting and releasing with each downward compression.

Firm and taut. Barely covered—barely constrained—by his T-shirt.

Billie shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was from the power of his biceps alone or the fact he was wandering around on a winter’s night with just a T-shirt covering his chest.

Why hadn’t someone given him a blanket?

Although, to be fair, he did look a lot more appropriately dressed for a roadside emergency than she did. His jeans looked snug and warm, encasing long, lean legs, and he had been wearing a fleecy hoody.

It sure beat a nine-hundred-dollar dress and a pair of strappy designer shoes.

He looked up then, pointing in the direction she’d been driving, and their gazes met. He nodded at her briefly, before returning his attention to the police officer, and she found herself nodding back.

Yep, Billie acknowledged—Gareth was one helluva good-looking man. In fact, he ticked all her boxes. And if she was up for a fling or available for dating in the hectic morass of a resident’s life then he’d be exactly her type. But there was absolutely no hope for them now.

The man had held her hair back while she’d vomited.

She cringed again. If she ever saw him again it would be too soon.

Gareth was acutely aware of Billie’s gaze as he answered the police officer’s questions. It seemed to beam through the cold air like an invisible laser, hot and direct, hitting him fair in the chest, diffusing heat and awareness to every millimetre of his body.

It made her hard to ignore.

Of course, the fact she was sparkling like one of those movie vampires also made her hard to ignore.

The gauzy skirt of her black dress shimmered with hundreds of what looked like crystal beads. Who knew, maybe they were diamonds? The dress certainly didn’t look cheap. But they caught the multitude of lights strobing across the scene, refracting them like individual disco balls.

As if the dress and the petite figure beneath needed to draw any more attention to itself. Every man here, from the fireman to the paramedics, the police to the tow-truck driver, was sure as hell taking a moment to appreciate it.

Their attention irritated him. And the fact that it did irritated him even more. She was a stranger and they were at an accident scene, for crying out loud!

But it didn’t stop him from going over to her when the police officer was done. He told himself it was to check she was feeling okay now but the dress was weirdly mesmerising and he would have gone to her even if she’d not conveniently vomited twenty minutes ago.

She had her back to him but, as if she’d sensed him approaching, she turned as he neared. Her loose reddish-brown hair flowed silkily around her shoulders, her hair curling in long ringlets around her face. Huge gold hoop earrings he’d noticed earlier as she’d administered the kiss of life swung in her lobes, giving her a little bit of gypsy.

He smiled as he drew closer. She seemed to hesitate for a moment then reciprocated, her scarlet lipstick having worn off from her earlier ministrations.

‘You sure know how to dress for a little unscheduled roadside assistance,’ he said, as he drew to a halt in front of her.

Billie blinked, surprised by his opening line for a moment, and then she looked down at herself and laughed. ‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ she said, although she had absolutely no idea why she was apologising for her attire. ‘I’ve just come from a gala reception.’

This close his biceps were even more impressive and Billie had to grip the blanket hard to stop from reaching her hands out and running her palms over them. She wondered if they’d feel as firm and warm as they looked.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ she asked, engaging her mouth before her brain as she dragged her gaze back to his face.

He did a smile-shrug combo and Billie’s stomach did a little flip-flop combo in response. ‘I’m fine,’ he dismissed.

Billie grimaced. Where had she heard that already tonight? ‘I really am very sorry about earlier.’

‘Yeah.’ He grinned. His whole face crinkled and Billie lost her breath as his sexiness increased tenfold. ‘You’ve already said so. Three times.’

She blushed. ‘I know but … I think I may have splashed your shoes.’

Gareth looked down at his shoes. ‘They’ve seen far worse, trust me.’

‘Not exactly the impression I like to give people I’ve just met.’

Gareth shrugged. She needn’t have been worried about her impression on him—he doubted he was going to forget her in a long time, and it had nothing to do with his shoes and everything to do with how good she looked in those gold hoops and sparkly dress.

And if he’d been up for some flirting and some let’s-see-where-this-goes fun he might just have assured her out loud. He might just have suggested they try for a second impression. But hooking up really wasn’t his thing.

Hooking up at an accident scene even less so.

‘We haven’t exactly met properly, have we? I mean, not formally.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Gareth Stapleton. Very pleased to make your acquaintance—despite the circumstances.’

Billie slipped her hand into his and even though she’d expected to feel something, the rush of warmth up her arm took her by surprise. She shook his hand absently, staring at their clasped fingers, pleased for the blanket around her torso as the warmth rushed all the way to her nipples, prickling them to attention.

Gareth smiled as Billie’s gaze snagged on their joined hands. Not that he could blame her. If she felt the connection as strongly as he did then they were both in trouble.

Just as well they wouldn’t be seeing each other again after tonight. Resisting her in this situation was sensible and right. But if there was repeated exposure? That could wear a man down.

Sensible and right could be easily eroded.

‘And you’re Billie?’ he prompted, withdrawing his hand. ‘Billie …?’

Billie dragged her gaze away from their broken grip, up his broad chest and deliciously whiskery neck and onto his face, his spare cheekbones glowing alternately red and blue from the lights behind him.

What were they talking about? Oh, yes, formal introductions. ‘Ashworth-Keyes,’ she said automatically. ‘Although if you want formal formal then it’s Willamina Ashworth-Keyes.’

Gareth quirked an eyebrow as a little itch started at the back of his brain. ‘Your first name is Willamina?’

Billie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, placing her hand on her hip. ‘What about it?’

Gareth held up his hands in surrender. ‘Nothing. Just kind of sounds like somebody’s … spinster great-aunt.’

Billie frowned, unfortunately agreeing. Which was why she’d carried over her childhood pet name into adulthood.

‘Not that there’s anything remotely spinsterish or great-auntish about you,’ he hastened to add. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her. The very last thing. ‘Or,’ he added as her frowned deepened, ‘that there’s anything wrong with that anyway.’

This woman made him tongue-tied.

How long had it been since he’d felt this gauche? Like some horny fifteen-year-old who couldn’t even speak to the cool, pretty girl because he had a hard-on the size of a house.

Not that he had a hard-on. Not right now anyway. Or probably ever again if this excruciatingly awkward scene replayed in his head as often as he figured it would.

Billie’s breath caught at Gareth’s sudden lack of finesse. It made her feel as if she wasn’t the only one thrown by this rather bizarre thing that had flared between them.

And she’d liked his emphasis on remotely.

She laughed to ease the strange tension that had spiked between them. ‘Only my parents call me Willamina,’ she said. ‘And generally only if I’m in trouble.’

‘And are you often in trouble?’

Gareth realised the words might have come across as flirty, so he kept his face serious.

Billie felt absurdly like laughing at such a preposterous notion. Her? In trouble? ‘No. Not me. Never me.’ That had been her sister’s job. ‘No, I’m the peacekeeper in the family.’

Gareth frowned at the sudden gloom in her eyes. The conversation had swung from light to awkward to serious. It seemed she wasn’t too keen on the mantle of family good girl and suddenly a seductive voice was whispering they could find some trouble together.

Thankfully the little itch at the back of his brain finally came into sharp focus, obliterating the voice completely.

‘Wait …’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Ashworth-Keyes? As in Charles and Alisha Ashworth-Keyes, eminent cardiothoracic surgeons?’

Billie nodded. Sprung. ‘The very same.’

‘Your parents?’ She nodded and he whistled. Everyone who was anyone in the medical profession in Brisbane knew of the Ashworth-Keyes surgical dynasty. ‘That’s some pedigree you’ve got going on there.’

‘Yes. Lucky me,’ she said derisively.

‘You … don’t get on?’

Billie sighed. ‘No, it’s not that. I’m just … not really like them, you know?’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘How so?’

‘Well, I’m no surgeon, that’s for sure. I’m a little too squeamish for that.’

Gareth surprised himself by laughing at the understatement but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Really?’ he asked, looking down at his shoes. ‘You hide it well.’