Marion Lennox
The Doctor’s Rescue Mission
A book in the Air Rescue series, 2005
Dear Reader,
In 1998 a tsunami hit the coastline of Papua, New Guinea, causing massive destruction and loss of life. My awe at the job done by the medical teams in the wake of such chaos led me to write
Those who provide medical relief and rescue services move into nightmare situations with courage, compassion, skill and endurance. This book is dedicated to the men and women of organizations such as Merlin (www.Merlin.org.uk) or Medecins Sans Frontieres (www.doctorswithoutborders.org).
I write of human drama. These men and women face it in reality, and I hold them in the very deepest respect.
To my readers all over the world, stay safe in these troubled times. Please.
Marion Lennox
CHAPTER ONE
THE call came as Morag prepared for dinner with the man she intended to share her life with. By the time he arrived, Dr Grady Reece was thrust right out of the picture.
The moment she opened the door, Grady guessed something was wrong. This man’s career involved responding to disaster, and disaster was etched unmistakably on her face.
‘What is it, Morag?’
That was almost her undoing. The way he said her name. She’d always disliked her name. It seemed harsh-a name suggestive of rough country, high crags and bleak weather-but the lilt in Grady’s voice the first time he’d uttered it had made her think it was fine after all.
‘We need to talk,’ she managed. ‘But…your family is expecting us.’ Grady’s brother was a prominent politician and they’d been invited to a family barbecue at his huge mansion on North Shore.
‘Rod won’t miss us,’ Grady told her. ‘You know I’m never tied down. My family expect me when they see me.’
That was the way he wanted it. She’d learned that about him early, and she not only expected it but she liked it. Loose ties, no clinging-it was the way to build a lasting relationship.
No ties? What was she about to do?
Dear heaven.
‘You want to tell me now?’ he asked, and she shook her head. She needed more time. A little more time. Just a few short minutes of the life she’d so carefully built.
‘Hey.’ He touched her face and smiled down into her eyes. ‘I’ll take you somewhere I know,’ he told her. ‘And don’t look like that. Nothing’s so bad that we can’t face it together.’
Together…
There was to be no more together. She fought for control as she grabbed her coat.
Not any more.
He didn’t press her. He led her to the car and helped her in, knowing instinctively that she was fighting to maintain control.
He was so good in a crisis.
Grady was three years older than Morag, and he’d qualified young from medical school. He had years more experience than she did in dealing with crises.
His reaction to disaster was one of the things that had drawn her to him, she thought as she stared despairingly across the car at the man she loved-and wondered how she could bear to tell him what she must.
Patients talked to him when they were in trouble, she thought. So must she.
Grady was a trauma specialist with Air-Sea Rescue, a team that evacuated disaster victims from all over Australia. Wherever there was disaster, there was Grady, and he was one of the best.
He’d arrive in the emergency room with yet another appallingly injured patient, and the place would be calmer for his presence. Tall and muscular, with a shock of curly black hair and deep, brown, weather-crinkled eyes, Grady’s presence seemed to radiate a reassurance that was as inexplicable as it was real. Trust me, those crinkling eyes said. You’ll be OK with me.
And why wouldn’t you trust him? The man was heartwarmingly gorgeous. Morag hadn’t been able to believe her luck when he’d asked her out.
As a surgical registrar, Morag’s job at Sydney Central included assessing patients pre-surgery. She’d first met Grady as he’d handed over a burns victim-an aging hippie who’d gone to sleep still smoking his joint. The man’s burns had been appalling.
Morag had been impressed with Grady’s concern then, and she’d been even more impressed when he’d appeared in the ward two weeks later-to drop in and say hello to someone no one in the world seemed to care about.
That had been the beginning. So far they’d only had four weeks of interrupted courtship, but she’d known from the start that this could work. They had so much in common.
They were both ambitious. They both loved working in critical care, and they intended to work in the fast lane for their entire medical careers. They laughed at the same things. They loved the same food, the same lifestyle, the same…everything.
And Grady had the ability to curl her toes. Just as he was doing now. She looked across at her with that quizzical half-smile she was beginning to love, and her heart did a crazy back somersault with pike. He looked gorgeous in his soft, lambs-wool sweater-a sweater that on anyone else but Grady might look effeminate, but on Grady it just looked fabulous-and it was all she could do not to burst into tears.
She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Tears would achieve nothing. She turned away and stared straight ahead, into the darkness.
The restaurant he drove her to was a secluded little bistro where the food was great and the service better. Grady ordered, still sensing that Morag couldn’t do anything other than focus on the catastrophe surrounding her. With wine poured and orders taken, the waiters let them be.
They must look a really romantic couple, Morag thought dully. She’d taken such care with her appearance tonight. Although dressed for a barbecue, there was little casual about her appearance. Her jeans were figure- hugging and brand-new. She wore great little designer shoes, high as high, stretching her legs to sexy-long. Her crop top was tiny, crimson, leaving little to the imagination, and she’d swept up her chestnut curls into a knot of wispy curls on top of her head. She’d applied make-up to her pale skin with care. She knew she looked sexy and seductive and expensive-and she knew that there was good reason why every man present had turned his head as Grady had ushered her into the restaurant.
This was how she loved to look. But after tonight there’d never be any call for her to look like this again.
‘Hey, it can’t be that bad.’ Grady reached out and took her hand. He stroked the back of it with care. It was something she’d seen him do with patients.
Two weeks ago a small boy had come into Sydney Central after a tractor accident and Grady had sat with the parents and explained there was no way the little boy’s arm could be saved. She’d seen him lift the burly farmer’s hand and touch it just like this-an almost unheard-of gesture man to man, but so necessary when the father would
