and Lizzie found herself cradling the big dog, holding her close and…yep, she was crying. Good professional technique, Dr Darling. Sob all over the patient first thing!
What damage?
She hauled herself back and made herself turn into a doctor-sort of.
Phoebe didn’t even have gravel rash.
What the…?
She ran her hands over the dog’s big body, lifting-well, heaving-following the folds of flab. Nothing.
Not a scratch.
She’d come down in the cart. She’d been thrown out and the cart had smashed, but Phoebe herself was unscratched.
But why wasn’t she moving?
The puppies…
Phoebe’s eyes were almost speaking. She whimpered and whimpered again.
‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong, girl?’
Phoebe was straining. As Lizzie watched, a spasm seemed to shake her and a tremor ran through the big body. Another whimper.
How long? How long had she been straining? Lizzie had read up in her dog books. Second-stage labour in bitches took at most about half an hour. If things were going wrong…
‘Lizzie?’
She looked up, and there was Harry. He was standing at the top of the cliff and his voice sounded desperate. ‘Lizzie!’
‘I’m down here,’ she called, and she could almost see him sag with relief.
‘I can see that you’re down there,’ he said carefully, with what seemed almost superhuman restraint. ‘Very good. Very informative. How the hell did you get there?’
‘I slid.’
‘You slid.’
‘On my backside.’
She turned back to Phoebe who was moaning and heaving again.
‘I think she’s in trouble,’ she called. ‘I think the puppies are coming but they might be stuck.’
‘Lizzie…’
‘Mmm?’ She was concentrating on Phoebe.
There was silence from the top of the cliff. Harry seemed to be having trouble taking things in.
Finally he asked, ‘Is she hurt, apart from the puppies?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘That figures,’ he said. ‘With that fat.’
‘That’s right. In time of crisis insult the patients.’
‘Are you aware of the risks you took?’
‘Fetch Kim.’
‘Stay there,’ he ordered.
‘Yeah, right. Where do you think I’m going?’
But he was gone.
Where were the puppies? How far away?
How dilated did dogs’ cervixes get? Lizzie wondered. This one looked ready to go. Phoebe was straining. Why wasn’t anything happening? Had she been hurt in the fall? Internal injuries? What-?
‘Move over.’
She stared up. Harry was at the top of the cliff. He had a backpack on and he was holding a rope.
‘You can’t.’ She was on her feet. ‘Are you mad? You’ve got a broken leg.’
‘And you could have broken your neck. I have a rope. Attached to a tree. I’ve been a rock-climber in my time, Liz. There’s only one damned fool in this picture and that’s you.’
‘You can’t,’ she repeated. ‘Harry, your leg…’
‘Move,’ he ordered, and slipped over the edge of the cliff and came down to reach her.
He had indeed done rock-climbing. The way he slid down the rock-face was nothing short of amazing. He was controlled every step of the way-he’d fastened his rope to a tree and was belaying, or whatever rock climbers called it, but he looked thoroughly professional-even if he did have a leg in plaster.
He looked wonderful, Lizzie thought. Just wonderful. And when he landed beside her it was all she could do not to grab him and hold him and…
She didn’t need to. He grabbed her and held her and put his face in her hair and started swearing. Over and over and over.
She didn’t care. She could feel his heartbeat. If this was what it took to get him here, then…
Phoebe.
‘Um…Phoebe,’ she murmured, and he hauled her in closer.
‘Have you any idea what I thought when I heard you scream?’
‘I love you,’ she said tangentially.
‘I thought you were dead.’
‘I love you lots.’
‘I’ll wring your neck. If ever you do anything so damned stupid again…’
He loved her. She could feel it. He just had to stop swearing and admit it.
But they did have a patient in labour.
‘Phoebe,’ she tried again, and this time he heard. He sighed, held Lizzie away from him-with real reluctance- and turned to look down at the dog.
‘She’s in trouble?’
‘She’s panting. She’s been straining. She doesn’t look hurt but, oh, Harry…’
‘Dogs always pant in labour.’
‘How do you know?’
He grinned and pointed to the phone on his belt. ‘I rang Kim. While I ran here. Until I heard you scream. She’s probably still on the end of the line.’
She wasn’t. Nor was she when they tried to contact her again.
‘She was out in the middle of a paddock when I called,’ Harry said, running his hands over Phoebe’s flank. ‘She said she’d come straight away. The reception’s awful between here and the farm she’s been working on.’
‘So do we wait?’
They were stooped over Phoebe. Harry had sat, his plastered leg before him.
‘I should scrub,’ he said, and Lizzie looked startled.
‘Scrub?’
‘She’s a big dog. They’ll be big puppies. I don’t see why the logistics shouldn’t be the same as for people.’ He hesitated. ‘If I use surgical gloves they’ll be antiseptic enough. And lubricant.’
‘You brought those things with you?’
‘Of course I did,’ he told her, trying not to sound smug-but he looked smug.
‘You’re in for it now,’ she told him. ‘Really in for it.’
‘Why?’ He was pulling his gloves from the backpack.
And there was nothing to tell him but the truth.
‘Harry McKay, if you’ve brought surgical gloves and lubricant down this cliff to save my puppies then I intend to marry you. I’m sorry, but there it is. You don’t marry me, I’m abducting you. Em doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in a bushfire.’
‘Neither does Edward,’ he told her, but before she had a chance to respond to that, he became intent on what he was doing with Phoebe.
Silence.
‘I think…’ He frowned. ‘I’m not sure what I’m feeling but it seems as if there’s one stuck. She’s straining against it.’
