their care?’
‘Of course it’s not.’
She blinked. ‘Sorry. But…’
‘But nothing. Of course it’s not fair,’ he repeated, savagely. ‘They need a full-time carer. But they’ve both come from such appalling backgrounds that no foster-family will take them. You get Nathan, you get Michael in your life as well, and he’s dangerous. Martin’s mother is just plain weird. She only loves Martin when he’s sick so she tries to make him sick. It’s Munchausen’s by proxy syndrome. He gets sick or is hurt, she gets sympathy and attention. Martin’s starting to believe the way to affection is self-harm. Dreadful stuff. So these kids stay with me or they go into juvenile detention because there’s nowhere else secure enough for them to go.’
‘You’d take on these people…’
‘If I have to. To protect my kids.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, and he thought, She’s right. It’s crazy.
Why the hell did he do it?
He’s crazy, she thought. Nuts.
Dom was focused again on his driving, on the road ahead, on getting to where they had to be without killing them both.
She’d never met such single-minded purpose.
He was…He was…
Um…no. Back in your box, she told herself, feeling weirdly off key.
She’d been off key all week. She hadn’t realised how close Charles was to proposing-she hadn’t figured how much their parents were depending on it. These last few days had been shock enough without falling for…falling for…
Whoa. No!
I must have hit my head last night, she thought. Everything before now seemed out of focus. Unimportant.
What was important was Dom.
She could help him.
‘Will you quit it with the staring?’ he said, and she caught herself.
‘Sorry. I was thinking…’
Thinking what? What should she be thinking?
Work. Of what lay before them. Of course. ‘How equipped are you?’
‘I can do surgery in the middle of the road if I need to, and I might just need to,’ he said grimly. ‘We nearly lost him last time.’ Then he visibly braced himself, and she could see he was slipping into a mode where he could work. She’d seen surgeons do this before a dicey operation. Push away the negatives. Go in full of confidence, even if their hearts should be in their boots. ‘But, hey, it’s daylight so I don’t need lights. I have the gear I need and another doctor with me-even if her footwear does leave a bit to be desired. Who needs theatres and theatre staff?’
Then, as if on cue, another car came into view. It had to be the people they were meeting, Erin thought. The car came over the hump of the hill at such high speed the rear appeared airborne.
Dom pulled off the road, fast. Well off. The Sutherlands’ car was beside them in seconds, brakes screeching, a cloud of black smoke and burnt rubber left in its wake as it skidded dangerously onto the verge. Dom was out of his car and pulling open the back door of their car almost before it stopped. Erin followed. And saw their patient.
On the back seat, cradled in his mother’s arms, lay a child, limp and blue-desperately ill. Erin only caught a fleeting glimpse-enough to make her catch her breath in dismay-before Dom was blocking her view.
She wasn’t here to look. She was here to work. Dom had his medical case on the back seat of his car. She hauled it out, laid it on the grass and tugged it open. Searching for what she needed. Seconds later Dom was laying the little boy down beside her. His hand was on Jamie’s neck, trying to find a pulse.
‘Yes,’ he said.
So there was hope. If there was still a pulse…A little air must have been getting through until now.
But no longer.
The child’s face was swollen. His mouth was open as if he’d been gasping for breath. Even without putting her fingers in his mouth-as Dom was doing now-she could see his tongue was so swollen his airway must be blocked.
His chest didn’t move.
‘Trache,’ she said into the stillness, and Dom nodded. A tracheotomy was the only way they’d save him now.
‘Scalpel and trache tube,’ he snapped.
That was what she was here for. She had what he needed out of the case, ready, before he finished the words, and was tugging a swab package open with her teeth.
Dom felt the little boy’s throat, slowing a little, acting with care. The need was urgent but not urgent enough to risk cutting in the wrong place.
Erin’s fingers held the swab, waiting for Dom to lift his hand. Behind her, Jamie’s mother started sobbing. His dad had sunk to his knees on the verge and was pleading simply, over and over, ‘Please, please, please.’
How many tracheotomies had Dom performed? She’d done them-but, then, Dom only had her word that she was who she said she was. This was no time to verify her credentials.
If Dom had looked unsure she’d offer, but Dom’s bearing was of grim intent, a man who knew what had to be done and wasn’t about to hesitate-or offer the procedure to someone he didn’t know-when hesitancy could mean Jamie’s life.
So she swabbed. She set her hands on the sides of Jamie’s head, making sure he kept motionless.
And Dom didn’t falter. He made a small, neat slit in the central neck, down to the trachea. Into the trachea.
He pressed the tube in-and the thing was done.
But this was no guarantee of life. Jamie’s body was shutting down. It had been two minutes, maybe three, since they’d arrived and she hadn’t seen any sign of breathing. He’d ceased struggling.
Dom leaned over and blew gently into the airway. Again.
And then, magically, Jamie’s chest heaved all on its own. Air sucked into the tube without Dom’s help, sucked involuntarily by lungs that knew what they needed.
Again.
And then the little boy’s eyes fluttered wide. He stared up at Dom in confusion, and the start of panic.
Dom tightened his hold so the airway couldn’t shift out of position. ‘Hey, Jamie,’ he said, firmly, surely. ‘It’s okay, mate. You ate something with peanuts in it, and your throat’s swollen. We’ve popped in a tube to help you breathe. It’s important to keep still until we get the swelling down.’
This was one smart little boy. And brave. He stared up at Dom, and Erin saw recognition; she saw the moment when he decided to trust.
He breathed on. All by himself. His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell.
He’d live.
She felt tears well behind her eyes. Unprofessional? Maybe. She didn’t care.
‘Here’s your mum and dad,’ Dom said, keeping his voice calm and prosaic, still holding Jamie tight. He raised his voice a notch, talking to the woman behind him. ‘Casey, Jamie’s breathing again. Your crying is scaring him. Rob, can you tell your son he’s going to be fine?’
It was a command, no matter how softly spoken, and Jamie’s bravery must be inherited. Jamie’s parents were themselves again in moments.
Casey brushed tears fiercely away from her face. She knelt beside Jamie and took his hand.
‘No cuddling yet,’ Dom said, but he was smiling. ‘Let’s keep Jamie nice and still until his breathing’s settled. You injected the adrenaline pen at home okay? Great. I know, it didn’t work as well as we hoped, but it gave us time. Erin, can you prepare a syringe with light sedation?’
‘Are you a nurse?’ Casey asked her, her eyes not leaving her son’s face.
‘This is Dr Carmody,’ Dom said, answering for her. ‘She’s not like the doctors you’ve met before, eh? Wellingtons must be the latest fashion for lady doctors. Do you reckon they’ll take over from white coats? They’re
