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Doctor at Risk
Alison Roberts
An injured doctor… and his determined nurse!Dr. Ross Turnball and Nurse Wendy Watson fell in love on an Urban Search and Rescue course. It ending explosively, with a dramatic mission to rescue people from a bombed shopping mall—and an accident that nearly claimed Ross's life. Now Ross struggles to regain her health—and he's terrified he'll lose Wendy's love. Wendy knows that as long as she's with Ross nothing else matters. But can she persuade him of that?


‘I’ve been thinking a lot about you since last night, Ross,’ she said a little hesitantly. ‘About us.’
‘There can’t be any “us” any more. I told you that,’ Ross said wearily. Ending their relationship had been even harder than he’d thought it would be last night. He didn’t have the strength to do it again. He closed his eyes. ‘It’s over.’
‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ Wendy said quietly. She blinked hard, determined not to cry, as her fingers moved gently over his. ‘I love you, Ross. Nothing can change that.’
CITY SEARCH AND RESCUE
Life and love are on the line…
The Team
Dedicated professionals—
doctors, nurses, paramedics, police and firefighters—
trained to save lives in urban disasters.
The Dangers
A crowded building collapses, and in the aftermath of
the disaster the team must save innocent lives—
at the risk of their own…
The Romance
Passions run high as the dramas unfold—
and life and love are on the line!
DOCTOR AT RISK
is the heart-pounding conclusion
to Alison Roberts’s
CITY SEARCH AND RESCUE trilogy.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE NURSE’S RESCUE
(City Search and Rescue Book 2—
Joe and Jessica’s story)
CONSULTANT IN CRISIS
(City Search and Rescue Book 1—
Kelly and Fletch’s story)
THE SURGEON’S CHILD
SURGEON ON CALL

Doctor at Risk
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
Chapter One (#u48a83f3b-b728-528f-a8cb-8ccc7c669ccd)
Chapter Two (#u3ede25ac-741b-54eb-9771-c2032863e029)
Chapter Three (#u81e6539d-3110-5906-ac41-97d23de62aa4)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
HE COULD smell the danger.
Mountain rescues could be dangerous enough but they never smelt like this. Of thick dust and heat. Of unwashed and exhausted people. He could smell the sudden fear that kicked in when their hazardous environment reminded them of precisely where they were. Sometimes he could smell the incongruous aroma of foodstuffs or perfume. And sometimes he could smell blood and the dreadful stench of death.
Dr Ross Turnball would have picked a mountain rescue in preference any time. Clean, cold air or the relatively safe smell of wood smoke. The scent of the carpet of decomposing vegetation that might be released by the tread of heavy boots or the far less pleasant aroma of a long-dead possum. He would be hearing the moan of a southerly storm brewing or the rattle of scree dislodged by a careless step to go cascading down a barren slope. Or perhaps he would be listening to the welcome chop of helicopter rotors as back-up arrived.
He wouldn’t be listening to the alien sound of people trying to communicate through dust masks against an almost constant background of crackling radio transmissions, the staccato intrusion of pneumatic tools or the dull roar of heavy machinery shifting rubble. He wouldn’t see the kind of bewildered fear and pain on the faces of the victims they found either. These people hadn’t chosen to enter an environment with inherent risks. They had had no protective clothing and absolutely no warning of imminent disaster.
Yes, he would have picked a mountain rescue in preference but there was no way he would choose to be anywhere else at this point in time. These people needed him and Ross knew he was precisely where he was supposed to be.
Not that any of them had anticipated being in a situation like this so soon. Or of ever being in a situation of this magnitude. At 15.38 hours yesterday, on a sunny Friday afternoon, a massive explosion had occurred in Westgate, a popular suburban shopping mall in Christchurch. Its unprecedented level of destruction made it the largest multi-casualty incident ever seen in the small country of New Zealand, and had resulted in the first full-scale deployment of personnel trained in urban search and rescue.
Including the most recent graduates of the USAR training course held in Christchurch, Dr Turnball among them. Given his medical qualifications, his presence on the course had been welcomed. His years of experience as part of a mountain search and rescue team had put him right at the top of the class but Ross had been eager to add to his knowledge base. He’d wanted to add skills that would enable him to respond to any kind of emergency situation. To reinforce the quiet confidence he already possessed that he could assist or, if need be, lead the kind of people who were willing to risk their own safety to save the lives of others.
That risk was starting to feel familiar enough to make the fear of personal danger seem almost irrelevant. Ross turned to speak to a man standing to one side and well below his own position.
‘If you hold a rope I can tie it round my waist and lean over far enough to reach her.’
‘I could climb down there.’
‘No way.’ Ross swung his gaze back to the small figure in blue overalls perched close to him on the mound of debris. It might be easy to dismiss the fear for his own safety, but Wendy Watson’s was a completely different matter. ‘We have no idea how stable this side of the void really is. You could end up being buried as well.’
‘I’m smaller,’ Wendy protested. Her bright orange safety helmet tilted as she lifted her face to look directly at her senior colleague. ‘And lighter. I’d be less likely to make anything collapse.’
‘We don’t even know if she’s alive yet.’ Ross peered over the concrete slab obscuring the lower half of the woman lying just out of reach below them. The discovery of the woman had been made in Sector 3, when the pile of debris had shifted following the removal of a large beam obstructing the path of rescue workers nearby in Sector 2. USAR Squad 4 had been on their way to a new deployment on the second level of the shopping centre but they had been quickly diverted by news of the discovery. A rapid survey by members of a civil defence team, in consultation with an engineer, had allowed permission to be given for USAR 4’s medics to move close enough to try and assess the victim’s condition.
‘She doesn’t look dead.’ Wendy sounded hopeful as Ross turned his attention to securing the rope around his waist. Her optimism was contagious, despite his exhaustion, but it was probably no more than wishful thinking. The few victims they had found on their last tour of duty had been well beyond their assistance.
‘Ross!’ Wendy’s voice was excited. ‘She moved. Look!’
Sure enough, the woman’s hand was moving, her fingers curling slowly into a fist. A rush of adrenaline surged through the whole squad.
‘I could climb around to the back. Maybe there’s access to the void from that direction.’
‘Stay right where you are, Kyle.’ The squad leader, Tony Calder, had been one of the instructors on the USAR course. He was well used to containing the youngest class member’s enthusiasm when necessary. ‘We’re not going to risk making this situation any more unstable than it already is. You and Matt can hang on to this rope. And be ready to pull Ross clear fast if I give you the signal.’
Making a primary survey of a multi-trauma victim whilst hanging head down was not a skill Ross had previously discovered he possessed. His hands felt heavy and his head was pounding gently as gravity affected his own circulation.
‘She’s breathing,’ he reported a short time later, ‘but the chest movement looks unilateral.’
Wendy was leaning as far as she could without a rope. ‘Possible pneumothorax, then,’ she suggested. ‘Do you want a stethoscope?’
‘Not just yet.’ Ross was rubbing a knuckle on the woman’s sternum. ‘Hello, can you hear me? Hello?’ His voice rose as the woman made an inarticulate sound. ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her. ‘I’m a doctor. We’re here to help you.’
His hands continued moving. ‘Good carotid pulse,’ he called back to Wendy. An air hammer had started up in the vicinity and it was difficult to know whether she could hear him. ‘Trachea’s midline. There’s no obvious cervical deformity and no sign of a major head injury.’
Wendy had heard. She had a cervical collar and was reaching forward to dangle the Velcro strap within his reach.
‘I’ve just guessed the neck size,’ she said. ‘She looks like a medium from here.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Ross responded. ‘You’ve dealt with a lot more spinal injuries than I’ve ever seen.’ He had to wriggle forward a few extra inches to give him room to manoeuvre the collar into position. A shower of plaster dust seemed to come from nowhere and too much of it settled over the victim’s face. The demonstration that she was not unconscious enough to have lost her cough reflex should have been a relief, but Ross was not alone in the alarm he felt at the tiny movement of the concrete slab he was lying on.
Tony raised his hand and dropped it in a sharp cutting motion. Matt and Kyle hauled on the rope to help pull Ross clear quickly. He slid down from the pile of debris and staggered slightly as he tried to catch his balance.
‘You can stop pulling now, Kyle,’ he said drily. ‘I’m out now.’
Wendy was still perched above them to one side of the slab that Ross had been leaning over. ‘We need to get an oxygen mask on her,’ she called. ‘And to listen to her breathing. If she’s got a tension pneumothorax she’ll need decompression.’ Wendy was clearly frustrated by the delay.
‘It’s too dangerous for me to keep leaning over that ledge. My weight and movement could send it right down on top of her head.’
‘There’s room for me to stand down here, I’m sure of it. And I’m only forty-five kilos. If it hasn’t moved too much with Ross’s weight, I could easily get past that slab.’
Ross had to admire her courage. She had weighed the risks—almost literally—and she was determined to carry on. He would probably have chosen to assess the situation a lot more thoroughly before taking action but Wendy’s enthusiasm was contagious. So was her confidence. It was a package Ross couldn’t help responding to and it had been that way from the first moment he’d seen this woman. He recognised all her qualities as being the ones he nurtured in himself but she had a glow that illuminated shadows he’d never known he harboured. Like conservatism and prudence and maybe too much of a professional distance. It was no wonder he’d fallen head over heels in love with this pint-sized powerhouse of a personality, and he wasn’t the only one affected. Poor old Kyle was staring at her with an expression of hero-worship as Wendy put her case. And the squad leader, Tony, was actually grinning—albeit ruefully.
‘If you’re sure you want to try, it’s OK by me.’
‘I’m sure.’ Wendy looked serious now. The hint of mischief that usually lurked in that elfin face was nowhere to be seen. She was far too intelligent not to understand what she was letting herself in for and while Ross felt an almost overwhelming urge to protect her by protesting the decision, he knew his only real option was to offer his support.
And Wendy needed him. Ross took her previous and more secure position, well away from being able to touch the victim but close enough to pass supplies and advice to his medical partner.
‘Breath sounds are absent on the left and it’s difficult to hear the heart.’ Wendy pulled the earpieces of the stethoscope free as she looked up at Ross. ‘I can’t see the trachea or neck veins now with the collar on but her colour’s getting worse and she’s on a hundred per cent oxygen.’
‘I’d say a tension pneumothorax is highly likely. You’ll have to do a needle decompression.’
A look of alarm crossed Wendy’s features. ‘I’m not qualified to do that! The only thing I do with cannulae is put IVs in. We’ll have to get her out so that you can do it.’
‘There’s no time.’
‘But I don’t think she’s actually trapped under that slab. There’s other stuff holding it up and I’m pretty sure I could shift some of it. We could get a harness on her and lift her out.’
‘There’s still not enough time. If it is a tension pneumothorax and she’s deteriorating this quickly you’ll have a respiratory arrest on your hands within the next couple of minutes if you don’t release the air in the chest cavity. You can do it, Wendy.’ Ross was already sorting the gear she would need into a pouch. ‘I’ll talk you through it.’
‘OK.’ Wendy’s tone advertised her trust in his judgement. She still looked scared, however. ‘But I’m depending on you here, Ross.’
Ross had every confidence in his dependability. And in Wendy’s ability.
‘Find the second intercostal space in the mid-clavicular line,’ he instructed calmly. ‘That’s the point for the needle insertion.’
Wendy put clean gloves on, swabbed the skin with an alcohol wipe and ripped open the sterile package containing the cannula. The tiny shake Ross could see in her hands was gone the moment the needle penetrated the skin.
‘Keep the pressure on. It’s tougher than getting into a vein.’
‘I’ve got it, Ross. I can hear the hissing.’
‘Good girl. Well done.’ It was a small miracle that the noise in the surrounding area had dropped with such good timing. The reason for the sudden quiet became apparent as Ross finished his directions for Wendy to secure the cannula. He could hear the faint shout from another USAR squad working nearby.
‘Rescue team here. Can you hear me?’
Wendy had also heard the call. ‘That sounded like Fletch.’ She was reassessing her patient as she spoke. ‘Colour’s improving,’ she reported happily. ‘What next, Ross?’
‘IV access,’ Ross said promptly. ‘We’ll get some fluids running. Then we’ll see what we can do about getting her out. We might try getting her into a body splint, too. There’s no way we’re going to get a backboard down there.’
It took careful management and the skills of more than one rescue team to extricate the survivor but their success made the extraordinary effort worthwhile. By the time the woman was securely strapped into a Stokes basket for transport, her blood pressure had risen thanks to the fluid load, her respiratory distress was only mild and she had regained consciousness enough to tell them her name and thank her rescuers. A life had been saved. Wendy and Ross were congratulated as being the tight single unit everyone knew them to be.
And Ross was walking on air.
He laughed aloud when Wendy rolled her eyes at him to communicate her exasperation with Kyle’s impatience to get back to some action.
‘We’re supposed to be searching Level 2. What’s taking so bloody long?’
Wendy looked tired and Ross knew just how drained she would be feeling as they watched the stretcher carrying their patient pass into the hands of the paramedics waiting at the triage tent. An ambulance was also ready, its beacons flashing. USAR Squad 4 turned back to the mall to continue their shift. Kyle led the way alongside Tony. Ross walked at the back, his arm resting lightly on Wendy’s shoulders.
‘You did a fantastic job in there,’ he told her. ‘I’m really proud of you.’
The smile he received in response temporarily wiped out any hint of exhaustion or discomfort. The rub of grimy overalls, the gritty, sore eyes, the various bruises and scrapes were forgotten. The fact that they were crunching through broken glass and walking into a dark and threatening environment with only the beams from their headlamps to illuminate the hazards did nothing to dim the joy Ross felt. He wanted to say more to Wendy. To tell her just how much he loved her. He wanted to stop and pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Of course, he would do nothing that inappropriate. He would just return the smile and hope that something of what he was feeling would be communicated by the pressure of his arm around her shoulders and the sincere tone of the words he had spoken.
‘Thanks.’ Reading the expression in eyes partially obscured by dusty goggles was unreliable but Wendy’s smile broadened into the impish grin he loved. She spoke loudly enough to make it plain she didn’t share the inhibition Ross found their situation imposed. ‘Love you.’
And suddenly Ross didn’t care where he was or who might overhear either. Or even that it could be considered unprofessional.
‘Love you, too.’
He was still walking on air. And it felt like flying. This kind of joy was so new to Ross. It had been in his life for only a matter of weeks. Since he had met Wendy Watson, in fact, and discovered the unimagined pleasure of being with someone who could only be considered a soul mate.
He could hear Kyle’s voice rising with excitement ahead of the rest of the squad. ‘I heard something. There’s someone here—calling for help!’
Ross moved into position as the team made a line to begin a systematic search of the Level 2 area. A hairdressing salon had partially collapsed into a shop on the ground floor. More internal walls had fallen upstairs and there were piles of debris and voids to search. The signal of three short blasts on a whistle called for silence, and gradually the sounds coming from beneath and around them faded.
Ross started the calls. ‘Rescue team here. Can you hear me?’
He waited. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. ‘Nothing heard.’
‘Rescue team here. Can you hear me?’ Wendy’s small frame could produce a remarkably loud voice and Ross found himself smiling.
It was so much a part of her. That energy...and strength. Making love to her had been a revelation all of its own. Touching that lithe, fine body that defied any attempt to be treated as fragile, because Wendy’s enthusiasm and generosity affected her love-making as much as every other aspect of her personality. Ross had the sudden wish that this incident was over with. That he and Wendy could be somewhere by themselves and negate the horror of the last twenty-four hours by a very private celebration of life...and their love.
He could hear Kyle again but the young firefighter wasn’t using the well-rehearsed calling system. He wasn’t using any words at all. The call rose in pitch and volume. A dreadful scream. And then a cry for help.
‘Help! Someone, help me!’
A figure writhed in the shadows. Ross could see him more clearly as he moved closer. The beam from his headlamp jerked and then steadied and he could see what the problem was. A thin rod of reinforcing steel protruded from a broken concrete slab. The end of the rod was bent into a right angle that Kyle hadn’t seen in the darkness. He couldn’t see the tip of the rod because it had penetrated the thick fabric of Kyle’s overalls and was now lodged in the soft flesh of his calf muscle.
‘Don’t touch my leg, man! It hurts!’
Kyle was still writhing. Was he trying to pull himself clear or push Ross out of reach? Ross could feel the shove. It felt like a blow and it made reality intrude, much as a slap in the face might have affected someone as hysterical as Kyle now appeared to be. The blow was a wake-up call, and in a dreadful moment of truth Ross knew that he was dreaming.
Again.
And he couldn’t escape.
The flying sensation continued, as part of his brain acknowledged that it had to. Any joy, however, had been replaced by a dark and terrible fear. He wasn’t flying.
He was falling.
Spiralling through space, towards the pain and destruction waiting in the unforgiving rubble below. Life as he had always known it was about to end. Ross could feel his heart pounding, his stomach knotting painfully with fear. He tried to cry out but he couldn’t compete with the echoes of Kyle’s screams, and anyway there was no time to force any sound from his uncooperative vocal cords. No time to—
The soft touch distracted him from the effort of attempting the impossible. Wendy was there. He could feel her touch. In another moment he would hear her voice as it reassured and encouraged him. He would be able to look at those elfin features with the mop of blonde spikes and see the love and concern blazing from dark blue eyes. And she would still be there as he learned the worst about his injuries. As he pulled himself from the oblivion of anaesthesia and as he struggled through the dark hours of fighting to breathe...and live.
The gentle shaking continued for just another second but it was long enough to pull Ross back from the brink. To escape. He forced his eyelids to lift and concentrated on trying to slow his breathing as he looked into a face that was nothing like Wendy’s.
‘Another nightmare?’ The nurse on night duty, Megan Leggett, was sympathetic. ‘Are you OK?’
Ross closed his eyes again. The dream was already fading and although the relief was overwhelming, Ross knew there were parts of that dream he didn’t want to relinquish. A tiny sliver of the satisfaction in rescuing that woman surfaced. And a brief snatch of the joy of making love to Wendy. Another split second and they were both gone. Part of the past. Sensations that he would never experience again in anything other than a dream.
‘I’m OK,’ he told Megan curtly. ‘Sorry if I’ve woken anyone.’
Thanks to the incoherent but distressed sounds he had been heard to make, the disturbance to his sleep in recent nights was no longer private. The nightmares hadn’t started until after his transfer from ICU to the ward but they were increasing in frequency. They served to underscore the importance Ross knew he should be giving to sorting out the emotional as well as the physical aftermath of his accident.
‘Sam would sleep through Armageddon.’ Megan smiled. ‘One advantage to having hearing aids that can be switched off, I suppose. And Aaron went home today, remember? I was the only person who heard anything.’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Can I get you anything? A drink maybe?’
‘No. I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Want some company for a bit? Or would you rather just go back to sleep?’
‘I won’t sleep for a while.’ Ross had no intention of inviting a return of that dream. He would be doing his best to stay awake for the next few hours and he had learned how lonely that could be. ‘Some company would be great if you’re not busy.’
Megan pulled up the chair and sat down. ‘I know I shouldn’t tempt fate by mentioning the ‘‘Q’’ word but it is dead quiet at the moment. I’ve caught up on all the paperwork and read the newspaper. If I hadn’t heard you I might have been desperate enough to have a go at the cryptic crossword.’
Ross smiled. ‘Crosswords don’t do much for me either.’
‘What does?’
‘Cycling,’ Ross said wryly. ‘And tramping and rock-climbing.’ His snort of laughter lacked any trace of amusement. ‘Maybe I ought to revisit crosswords after all.’
‘Bit early for that,’ Megan said firmly. ‘According to your notes you’re doing really well. You had four spinal fractures, didn’t you?’
‘Yep—C7, T8, T10 and L5.’
‘But the only unstable ones were T8 and T10?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got a bit of hardware taking care of them now. I’ll set off the metal detectors in the airport from now on.’
‘A Harrington rod.’ Megan nodded. ‘So they’ll be looking at fitting you with a brace and mobilising you into a wheelchair pretty soon, then.’
‘I guess.’ Ross was not prepared to look forward to the prospect of a wheelchair.
‘But that’s great,’ Megan encouraged. ‘You’ll be amazed how much better you’ll feel, getting mobile.’
Maybe having company hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Ross wasn’t in the mood to be encouraged. He knew he was lucky compared to many people these nurses cared for. He knew he should be thankful for what he still had in the way of movement. And he knew that the jury was still out as far as a final outcome—but he had to come to terms with the worst prognosis. That way he could accept any improvement as a bonus, and the agony of grieving for what was lost would not be too prolonged.
Megan clearly sensed that the topic was not welcome. ‘You’re from the Coast, aren’t you? I had an uncle I used to visit over there—in Hokitika.’
‘I grew up in Hoki.’ Ross was happy to accept the change of subject. ‘But I live just outside Charleston now. I built my own house out in the bush.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, not exactly. But I had a lot of input into its design and I cleared the site. A patient of mine was a builder in Greymouth and he helped me with the building in his spare time. It took five years to complete and I feel like I built it myself.’
‘Sounds special.’ Megan rested an elbow on the side of the bed and propped her chin on her hand. ‘My fiancé and I are saving for a section at the moment. I’ve got a few ideas for a house design I’d love to try out.’
‘I tried to make mine blend in with its setting. It’s made of logs with a cedar shingle roof. I use solar panels as the main form of heating and there’s slate floors and lots of internal brickwork to soak up the heat and then release it slowly.’ Ross was unaware of the note of longing in his voice as he described his home. ‘For winter, I’ve got an open fireplace you could roast an ox in.’
‘You must be missing it,’ Megan said gently. ‘I’ll bet you can’t wait for a visit home.’
‘Not much point visiting. It’s not as though I’ll be able to live there again.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s isolated,’ Ross said flatly. ‘And the grounds aren’t exactly manicured. I’ve put paths in to make sure I didn’t fall down any undiscovered gold-mining shafts but they wouldn’t be wheelchair-friendly. And the house is two-storeyed. The bedrooms and main bathroom are upstairs. There’s only a small shower and loo downstairs unless you count the outside bath, and that’s miles away on the edge of the bush.’
‘You’ve got a bath in the bush?’
‘Yeah.’ Ross smiled at Megan’s expression. ‘An old claw-foot, cast-iron model. It’s got a water supply from the creek and it gets heated by a gas burner. You can sit and have a soak under the stars with just a few ancient rimu trees and the occasional morepork for company.’
‘Sounds romantic.’
‘Yeah.’ Ross let his eyelids drift shut for a few seconds. It hadn’t been intended as a romantic setting but that had been before Wendy had been introduced to the property’s unusual outdoor feature. She had loved it as much as she had loved his house. She had also revelled in the exciting hint of danger from uncovered mining shafts and had been enchanted by the limestone cave in the base of the hill behind the house. It had been in that cave, sheltering from some of the rainfall that made the West Coast famous, that Ross had declared his love.
Wendy must have understood how difficult it had been to describe emotions he was experiencing for the first time in his life. She had listened, holding both his hands in her own, and she had looked more solemn than he would have believed she was capable of looking. Then she had simply nodded.
‘We’re soul mates, Ross. I love you, too. I always will.’
Megan misinterpreted the silence. ‘There’s lots of help available to get past things that can seem like big problems, you know. Even with a complete lesion around T10 people often only need a wheelchair for part of the day. Walking can be fully functional.’
‘Yeah.’ The agreement was bitter. ‘With callipers and crutches. And incomplete lesions like mine can leave people severely disabled, despite neurological recovery.’
‘Do you have any family in Hokitika?’
‘No.’ His response was curt.
The arrival of the extra staff on turning duties for the night seemed well timed. Megan was needed to do the rounds of the other patients due for a change of position and Ross was grateful that any further discussion had to be abandoned. He was in enough emotional turmoil without dredging up memories of his childhood and family. Maybe that was what was making the whole business with Wendy such agony. Nobody had ever offered him such unconditional love before. Or matched him so perfectly in his outlook on life. And now he had to take that precious gift and return it virtually unopened.
The grief of losing what he and Wendy had found together was going to be greater than losing the use of his legs, but he had no choice. His recovery, to whatever extent he could make it, was going to require total focus. It would be the biggest physical challenge Ross had ever faced. It would need all the strength he could muster and it was something he had to do alone.
Pride would not allow Ross to offer Wendy an empty shell of the man she had fallen in love with so convincingly. Their shared love of physical pursuits had brought them together and Ross could even pinpoint the moment he had known he was in love with her. Wendy had been below him on a rock-face, laughing at the sheer exhilaration of the difficulty and danger she had been faced with. He had been holding the rope, making sure that if she slipped she would still be safe. He would only hold her back now. His physical disability would be another rope—preventing her from doing what she loved to do so much. And Ross could understand better than anyone how essential doing such things could be for nurturing one’s soul.
He wouldn’t even be able to make love to her again, and the pain of losing something he’d never dreamed could be so fulfilling was unbearable. He hated Wendy touching him now because it was such an instant and searing reminder of that loss.
The timing was just so incredibly bad. If they’d already been together for years, maybe they could have faced and overcome this obstacle together. The emotional bank account of shared and equal support would have been healthy. The memories of countless nights of passion would be enough to draw on in the lean times. But it had been only weeks, not years, and their love was a fledgling that needed nurturing and time to test its wings and gather strength. It couldn’t survive the kind of stress the aftermath of this accident would present, and it would destroy Ross to watch it wither and die slowly.
The pain of that emotional destruction would remove any chance Ross had to fight and win the battle he was now facing. The temptation to draw on the strength Wendy was offering so willingly was overpowering, but the sheer force of that temptation was enough to sound an alarm he couldn’t ignore. He had wanted support like that in the past—had trusted that it would remain on offer, and he knew just how crushing it was to have it rescinded. Even if the support was unwavering, the thought that he could become a kind of emotional leech that drained even a part of the optimism and sheer joy of living from a spirit as vital as Wendy’s was simply unacceptable.
Perhaps—in a few months, or a year, or however long it took to recover—they could try again, but Ross wasn’t going to ask Wendy to wait for him. He had no right to do that when he was faced with the possibility that he might never recover. No. He had to set her completely free. He had to do it for himself as much as for her. Wendy might not understand or agree but she would thank him in the long run. And maybe...just maybe they could remain friends and Ross could keep just a little of what he’d found without feeling like a thief.
Telling her it was over would be the hardest thing he had ever faced in his life, and that was saying something. But he had to do it. And soon. Tomorrow, even, if they had any time alone together.
Yes. He would tell her tomorrow and get it over with. And then he would start coping alone.
Just as he always had.

CHAPTER TWO
‘IT’S not over.’
‘I never said it was.’
The surprised tone from her patient made Wendy blink in momentary confusion. She paused in her automatic task of cleaning around the pin piercing the skin of her patient’s forehead and anchored in the bone of his skull. The realisation that her thought had been spoken aloud was disconcerting. Wendy had been quite confident that her professionalism as a senior nurse would not be compromised by any personal problems, no matter how intensely upsetting they had the potential to be.
‘What’s not over, anyway? You’ve been fiddling with those screw things for ages.’
‘Sorry.’ Wendy dropped the cotton bud into a kidney dish. ‘I’m done now. How’s your head feeling?’
‘OK.’ Martin Gallagher’s eyes swivelled until he caught Wendy’s questioning gaze. ‘Surprisingly good, considering I must look like Frankenstein with bolts sticking out of my temples.’
‘You don’t look anything like Frankenstein.’ Wendy smiled, relieved that the subject of her audible mutter was not being pursued. The insurance of a further distraction might still be prudent, however. ‘Would you like to see? I can find a mirror.’
‘Sure. I’d better check what I look like before Gemma comes in again. Maybe she spent last night crying so much because I’m not as good-looking as I was.’
‘Be back in a tick, then.’
Wendy moved swiftly towards the storeroom to find the hand mirror. She wished she could distract herself so easily from the subject of that verbalised thought.
It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. Not something that strong. That...right. Wendy had never believed in love at first sight but, then, she’d never seen Ross Turnball, had she? The moment their eyes had met had been unforgettable. A defining moment that she might have expected to be wildly exciting—emotional shooting stars would have done the trick—but it hadn’t been like that at all. The feeling Wendy had been aware of had been far more peaceful. Almost one of relief. She’d known she had found something she had always been searching for but had never found because she had never been able to define it adequately. The only experience Wendy could relate it to had been the moment on that Pacific cruise she had taken years ago when the tantalising outline of land had appeared on the horizon of an empty sea. It had been there, waiting to be discovered. Explored...and claimed as part of her own life.
The excitement had come a little later but had made up for the time lag by being a revelation of unimagined heights, and the knowledge of the ‘rightness’ had escalated because Ross felt exactly the same way. He hadn’t meant what he’d said last night. Of course it wasn’t over. Ross probably realised that himself by now and he might well be regretting those words. A break in her eight-hour shift in the intensive care unit would be due before too long and Wendy planned to use the time to go and see Ross in the ward. Telling him about Martin might remind him of just how serious a spinal injury could be and might serve as subtle encouragement for Ross to be thankful for how well he was doing—and how possible a full recovery still was. And how detrimental it could be to even threaten to cast aside their relationship.
Right now, however, she had to concentrate on her job. The mirror was not in its usual place on the bottom shelf. Wendy glanced up as another staff member entered the small room.
‘Have you seen the hand mirror anywhere, Pete? Martin wants to see what the tongs look like.’
Peter shook his head. ‘No. Sorry.’ He deposited a carton of IV cannulae on a stainless-steel bench. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for it, though. I’ve got to do a tidy and restock while my patient’s in Theatre.’
‘Martin might be going in after your patient. They’re going to check whether the fracture has been reduced by traction soon. It should be—he was up to nearly twenty-five kilograms at one stage.’
‘He’s a C6-7 dislocation fracture, isn’t he?’
Wendy nodded as her gaze wandered over the next shelf of supplies. ‘He dived into the shallow end of a pool to retrieve some toy his daughter dropped. He got transferred by helicopter last night with incomplete tetraplegia. He was stabilised with Gardner Wells tongs but there’s been signs of neurological deterioration since then so they’ve had to reduce the traction weight.’
‘Surgery’s likely, then. How’s he coping?’
‘Too well right now. I think he’s in denial.’ Or maybe he was just euphoric that he was still alive. As Ross had been for a brief period after his accident, until the spinal cord oedema had made his condition worse and he’d become too sick to think about anything much. By the time he had been well enough to be aware of where he was again, Ross had also been only too aware of reality. Being a doctor had been an added disadvantage, allowing him to consider the bleakest prognosis, the rarest of potential complications, and to envisage the worst-case scenarios available. Wendy gave herself a mental shake. She was supposed to be thinking about her patient.
‘His wife’s a mess. She was totally grief-stricken when she arrived last night. Apparently Paddy spent ages calming her down before he took her in to visit Martin. Ah...’ The handle of the mirror could be seen poking out from beneath some dressing packages on a higher shelf. Wendy stood on tiptoe but still couldn’t quite reach it.
‘Allow me.’ Peter was grinning. ‘It’s tough being a midget, isn’t it?’
‘I’m almost five foot one,’ Wendy informed him haughtily. ‘And I’m probably a lot fitter than you are, mate.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t try and compete with you on any athletic field.’ Peter handed her the mirror. ‘Any marathons lined up for the near future?’
‘No.’ Wendy tried not to sound despondent. ‘Ross and I were working on a training programme just before the accident to get us on track to do the Coast to Coast race next year.’
Peter’s face advertised his aversion to extreme physical challenges. ‘Whatever spins your wheels, I guess.’ His expression softened. ‘It can’t be easy for you guys at the moment. You’ve lost a lot more in common than most couples would in a situation like this.’
Wendy simply nodded. She didn’t have the heart to keep up with anything more than a minimum jogging routine right now. Not when the reminder of what Ross had probably lost was so painful.
‘I’m not surprised he’s been a bit down for the last day or two,’ Peter added. ‘It’s most likely only just sinking in now. The challenge of recovery is a rather different ball game from choosing to push a healthy body to phys ical limits.’ His smile was encouraging. ‘At least you’ll understand that more than anyone else would.’
‘I don’t think that’s helping,’ Wendy confessed. ‘Maybe I’m too much of a reminder. All the time we’ve had together has been spent doing physical things.’
Peter was grinning broadly now. ‘I’ll bet!’
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ But Wendy’s smile faded swiftly. How long would it be before she and Ross could make love again? And would it ever be quite as wonderful?
‘Things will get better,’ Peter said gently. ‘Hang in there, Midge.’
Wendy’s fingers closed more tightly over the handle of the mirror. ‘I’m not sure about that. We didn’t part on a very happy note when I went to visit last night.’
‘Ah. That’ll be what they’re for.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The flowers.’
‘What flowers?’
‘I was supposed to tell you. There’s a big bunch of flowers at the nurses’ station for you. Red roses, in fact.’
‘Really?’ Wendy sounded less than excited. ‘Again? I hope there’s a card with them this time.’ She had assumed the bunch delivered last week had been from a grateful patient and the card had been lost. The teasing she had received about having a secret admirer had been easily ignored, given her concern for Ross, but it had not been particularly amusing.
‘They’ll be from Ross,’ Peter said confidently. He pulled a rubber band free from a handful of 18-gauge cannulae and added the leftover supplies to the fresh box he had opened. ‘To say sorry.’
‘Doubt it.’ A crease appeared on Wendy’s forehead. ‘I don’t think sending flowers is his style.’
‘How do you know? Has he done anything he’s needed to apologise for before?’
‘No.’
‘There you go, then. It’s classic.’
‘Hmm.’ Wendy summoned a smile as she left the storeroom. It might be classic but it didn’t fit. Ross was too much of an individual to use a hackneyed form of apology like sending flowers. Especially red roses. If he wanted to say sorry, she would have expected something like an invitation to tramp up a particularly difficult hill, had that still been possible. Now she would anticipate some carefully selected words. Just a sincere look from those expressive dark brown eyes would do the trick. However attractive it would be to confirm that Ross had not meant what he’d said, the idea of him sending red roses to do so was somehow disappointing. Wendy put off finding out and returned to her patient instead.
She positioned the mirror for Martin.
‘I can’t see the screws very well.’
‘Having curly hair hides most of it. They shaved a little patch here, see? Then they would have put local anaesthetic in before they screwed in the pins.’
‘It was the local that hurt. I remember that. And I was a bit worried they might screw them right through into my brain.’
Wendy laughed. ‘No chance. One of the screws is spring-loaded so that they know as soon as they’ve attached to the outer table of the skull. They don’t go any further than that.’
Martin was eyeing the band of metal curving over the top of his dark curls. ‘It looks like one of Olivia’s headbands when she hasn’t put it on properly.’
‘There’s an attachment at the back that I don’t think you’ll be able to see,’ Wendy told him. ‘That’s what the weights hang from.’
‘And the weight is stretching my neck so that the bones get back into alignment, right?’
‘We’re hoping so. The next X-ray should let us know whether it’s working.’
‘And what happens then?’
Wendy put the mirror down. ‘That will depend on how well you’re doing. It’s possible you might need an operation to stabilise the fracture.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘You’ll stay here in Intensive Care for a few days.’
‘Why?’
‘We just like to keep a specially good eye on our new arrivals.’
A list of potential complications from a high spinal injury flashed through Wendy’s mind but she had no intention of frightening her patient by describing any of them. Paralytic ileus, where the small bowel ceased functioning and caused an accumulation of fluid and gas, was a common cause of death if unrecognised within the first forty-eight hours due to aspiration of vomitus. Paralysed patients were unable to cough adequately and death from respiratory arrest could be sudden.
Wendy glanced at the monitor beeping quietly and steadily beside the bed as the ECG spikes drifted across the screen.
Cardiac problems were also significant due to disruption to the vagus nerve that influenced heart rate. Something as simple as using suction or turning a patient could stimulate a vagal reaction and provoke a life-threatening slowing of the heart rate.
Respiratory problems were also high on the list of potential complications. Ross had had a bad spell with his breathing for a day or two when continued swelling of his spinal cord had led to a temporary increase in paralysis of the muscles required for breathing. Martin’s recent blood gas results, showing the level of oxygenation, had been good, however.
‘You get a lot more tests and drugs in the first few days as well. Like this infusion.’ Wendy checked the IV cannulation site in Martin’s arm for any sign of irritation and then ran a practised eye back up the line to ensure that the infusion was still running smoothly.
‘What is in there exactly?’
‘Methyl prednisolone. It’s a steroid that’s supposed to minimise any ongoing damage to the spinal cord. You only get it for twenty-four hours so it will stop by tonight.’
‘Do I get this tube out of my nose then?’
‘Probably not. You might have that for a day or two. It’s important because it helps to make sure you don’t vomit. That can be a problem when you can’t move.’
‘Where do I go when I get out of here?’
‘Into one of the wards.’ Wendy put on gloves before changing the bag attached to Martin’s indwelling urinary catheter. She made a note of output. Martin was unusually talkative for a new arrival but it was part of her job to deal with any concerns her patient had about his immediate future.
‘Will I be by myself?’
‘No. The wards have four beds in each room. Most patients find it’s much better to have some company.’
‘They’re all people with spinal injuries here, aren’t they?’
Wendy nodded. ‘Not all from accidents, though. Some diseases like cancer can cause spinal problems and some come from birth defects like spina bifida or cerebral palsy. And not all the injuries are recent. There are people here at all stages of recovery and lots of return patients who come back to have their kidney function checked or some other problem sorted out. Coronation Hospital is a specialist spinal injury and rehabilitation centre.’ She smiled at Martin. ‘It’s the best in the country.’
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Nearly three years,’ Wendy responded. ‘Before that I worked in the intensive care unit of Christchurch Hospital and before that I spent a few years in a specialist spinal hospital in England.’
‘You don’t look old enough to have been working for that long.’
‘I’m thirty-two.’ Wendy grinned. ‘I just look younger because I’m so short.’
‘Is that why you wear your hair all spiked up like that? To make you look taller?’
Wendy laughed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I cut it short because I do a lot of outdoor stuff, like running and rock-climbing. Long hair’s a nuisance.’ She reached up to run her fingers through the blonde tufts. ‘And if I don’t put gel in and scrunch it up then it looks like some sort of weird lid.’
Martin smiled but his face was pinched and very pale.
‘How’s the pain level?’ Wendy reached for the button on the monitor to take a blood-pressure recording.
‘The worst bit at the moment is the back of my head. It really hurts.’
Wendy jotted down the blood-pressure measurement and moved to the head of her patient’s bed. She carefully slipped her fingers under the occipital area. It was a problem spot for pressure sores and she checked carefully for any matted hair that might be making complications more likely before she began rubbing the area gently. ‘Does this help?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
Wendy rubbed in silence for a minute. Martin’s eyes were closed and she hoped that he might be able to sleep for a while before any visits from family, doctors or other staff members, like representatives of the radiology or physiotherapy departments.
‘I’m thirty-two as well.’ Martin kept his eyes shut. ‘But even if I do end up in a wheelchair, it doesn’t mean my life is over, does it?’
‘Of course not.’ There was no chance Martin would escape the fate of being confined to a wheelchair. The best he could hope for would be retaining some function of his arms and hands. Ross had regained almost normal neurology in his upper limbs now. He was even getting some sensation back in his legs. Unfair luck as far as Martin went. Ross had fallen nearly five metres onto a surface jagged with broken concrete. Martin had dived into only one metre of water but his life had changed irrevocably. Wendy hoped he would be able to retain at least part of his positive attitude in the coming weeks.
‘Some people do amazing things in wheelchairs,’ Martin continued. ‘They can still drive cars.’
‘Sure. I know of someone who got their pilot’s licence.’
‘There’s even Olympic Games for people in wheelchairs, isn’t there?’
‘Absolutely.’ Wendy kept up her gentle rubbing. Why couldn’t Ross have an attitude like this? Even if he couldn’t do the kind of physical activities he had been used to, it was no reason to decide that any interest in sport was over. He wouldn’t even watch it on television now. Their mutual love of challenging outdoor pursuits had been what they’d had most in common and it had given them both the perfect opportunity to explore the attraction that made Wendy’s memory of that first classroom session of the Urban Search and Rescue course something of a blur.
* * *
The wait for the morning tea-break had seemed agonisingly long and the opportunity had almost been ruined by the general amusement at the very obvious beeline Kyle Dickson had made to corner Wendy. She had been relieved as well as delighted to turn away from the young volunteer firefighter to respond to the quiet doctor’s comment.
‘You sounded pretty keen on outdoor pursuits when you introduced yourself. I do a bit of running myself.’
‘Do you?’ At close quarters for the first time, Wendy could appreciate the individual features that made Ross Turnball such an attractive package. Standing up showed off his slim, athletic build and Wendy had to look a long way up to catch the thoughtful expression in the brown eyes. Mind you, even Kyle topped Wendy by a few inches and his head only reached the jaw of the man he was now standing beside. ‘Are you into marathons?’
‘I’ve done one or two.’
Wendy liked the quiet modesty of the response. It fitted the impression she had already gained of Ross. He seemed an intelligent and committed GP who was probably happy to work in a rather isolated area due to the fact that he had already sorted out who he was and what he wanted from life.
‘The running’s more to keep me fit for the stuff I really enjoy.’
‘Which is?’
‘Cycling. Surf canoeing. Tramping. It’s why I live on the West Coast. I’ve got the best playground possible literally right at my back door.’
‘I do a bit of running myself.’ Kyle failed miserably in his attempt to imitate Ross’s modest tone. ‘I’m planning on doing a marathon soon.’
‘Good for you.’ Wendy’s smile was a little strained. Kyle had to be ten years younger than Wendy and his over-confidence had jarred more than one person in this gathering already. What Kyle couldn’t appreciate was that his presence was only serving to increase the attraction of the quiet and far more mature man beside him. When her gaze met Ross’s, the silent communication acknowledged the fact that Kyle was trying to move in on her but didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell, and Wendy’s smile curved into genuine pleasure. The connection was mutual and they had already established a platform on which to build.
Wendy was not slow to grasp an opportunity and nobody had ever suggested that she suffered from shyness. Some men had been intimidated by her direct approach in the past, but Ross seemed delighted to respond to her more personal queries over the next few days. She discovered that he was thirty-seven years old, had never been married and lived in an eco-friendly house, which he’d designed himself, in a pocket of the native bush that bordered long stretches of the West Coast. He was a GP but had trained initially as a surgeon and was also on the staff of the local Coast Hospital some distance from his home just out of Charleston. The more Wendy learned, the deeper her conviction was that she had found the man she had been searching for. It was an easy step to invite him out that first weekend.
‘I’m going rock-climbing on Saturday,’ she informed Ross. ‘Well, more bouldering, really.’
‘What’s bouldering?’
‘Rock-climbing without a rope.’ Wendy grinned.
‘Sounds dangerous.’
‘We don’t go too high. It’s a matter of picking a difficult route sideways and using tricky moves. It’s a mental exercise as much as physical. You have to gauge your power-to-weight ratio and be fairly agile. You’d probably be very good at it.’
‘It’s not something I’ve ever tried.’
‘First time for everything.’ Wendy’s cheerful tone disguised the fact that her heart rate had picked up considerably. ‘Why don’t you come with me on Saturday?’
‘What about gear?’
‘I’ve got a friend who’s about your size. I’ll organise some rock shoes and a helmet and I’ve got harnesses and rope and carabiners if you decide you’d like some more traditional climbing.’
‘I’m keen.’ The slow smile indicated a contained but genuine enthusiasm. ‘It’s a date.’
It was a date Wendy would never forget. One that ended up lasting the entire weekend but still seemed to end far too soon.
* * *
‘I’m not going to let this beat me.’ Martin’s soft words interrupted Wendy’s escape into introspection. ‘Nobody can say for sure how bad things will end up being. The doctor I saw at home said I had spinal shock, which can make it seem worse than it is. How long does that last?’
‘It varies. Average time is three to four weeks.’ Ross was only two weeks into that period now. It was far too early to make any assumptions about his outcome.
‘What is it exactly?’
‘It’s basically a disruption of transmission between the brain and the spinal cord. It’s also called altered reflex activity.’
‘So it could be ages before I really know how paralysed I’m going to be, right? I might have a complete recovery.’
He was a fighter, that was for sure. Wendy would have loved to encourage him but she knew that if there was going to be a miraculous recovery from a period of spinal shock, it was normal to see at least some signs of it within the first twenty-four hours after the injury, as Ross had done. In Martin’s case, his level of neurological sparing was deteriorating. ‘We’re going to do our best to make sure your outcome is as good as it can possibly be,’ she responded carefully.
‘You’ll see.’ Martin wasn’t content with such a cautious response. ‘I’m going to win this battle.’
‘Good for you.’ Wendy eased her fingers over the fluid-filled cushion under Martin’s head. ‘I need to check some other things now but we’ll be turning you in fifteen minutes so that will help the pressure on your head.’ She made a note on the chart about the discomfort and then ran off an ECG rhythm strip.
Ross wasn’t looking on his recovery as any kind of battle. Was he just too accepting? Was he going to throw in the towel before he’d even tried to help himself? No. Wendy might not have known Ross for a great length of time but she knew he had far more spirit than that. Nobody who could train himself and then compete in the gruelling Coast to Coast race would ever simply turn away from a challenge. He was fighting in his own way and maybe he was strong enough to do it alone. Maybe he wanted to do it alone.
He had been something of a loner. He’d told Wendy that he’d never had the desire to share his life intimately with anyone on a long-term basis. Until he’d met her. His home stood as testimony to his ability to meet challenges with his own resources. He had chosen and cleared the area himself and had spent five years keeping a hands-on involvement with building the log house he had designed. He had perseverance as well as the ability to think outside the square. The house was a perfect match to its untamed surroundings and Ross had enhanced its setting by avoiding any contrived garden. The solar heating was innovative, large, double-glazed windows helping to harness the heat of the sun, with the bonus of providing amazing views of the unspoilt landscape. The weekend Wendy had spent on the Coast had been memorable for far more than seeing the house Ross lived in, however.
She remembered the exotic intimacy of the outdoor bath, and the warmth and laughter lasting even after the rain had started. She remembered the walk through the forest afterwards with the rain still falling so heavily, but they had been wet anyway, so what had it mattered? Ross had found them shelter in the unique limestone cave the property boasted, and Wendy had the feeling he had deliberately chosen this feature of the land he loved so much in which to declare his love. And Wendy remembered the thrill of the plans for their future they had started to make with such blind confidence.
Wendy sighed softly. That confidence had been shattered by the accident. Instead of leaving her job to be with Ross and work in the hospital on the Coast, here she was, still working in the place where she had helped nurse her lover through the acute phase of his spinal injury. Martin, in fact, was in the very same bed.
The neurological check she was running on Martin was interrupted when the director of Coronation Hospital, Patrick Miller, approached the only occupied area of the six-bed intensive care unit.
‘Hi, Martin. How are you feeling?’
‘Not too bad, I guess.’
‘Is Wendy looking after you well?’
‘She’s the best,’ Martin told the surgeon. ‘Can I take her home?’
Patrick laughed. ‘Her boyfriend might have something to say about that. So would Gemma, I imagine. She’s just arrived to visit you. I came in to check that you were not otherwise occupied.’ A casual glance at Wendy revealed the real reason. He was warning her that Gemma had needed calming down again and Wendy gave an imperceptible nod. Coping with a grief-stricken wife would not help Martin’s condition at present. She would postpone her break and pass up the opportunity to visit Ross so that she could stay close by and curtail the visit if necessary.
‘I’ll be back to give you the once-over soon, Martin,’ Patrick said. ‘We’ll let Gemma have a bit of time with you first, though.’
Gemma Gallagher’s eyes were red but she seemed in control as she came in and kissed her husband’s face.
‘Olivia’s drawn you a picture. Mum faxed it down to me.’
Wendy could see the paper as Gemma held it up for Martin. A tall stick figure stood beside a very short one that was no more than a triangle with legs and a head. One long, spindly arm tracked up to join the hand of the tall figure. ‘Daddy and Olivia’ had been written underneath, presumably by Grandma, but the wobbly Xs had been accomplished by the three-year-old.
‘She sent you a big cuddle and a kiss.’ Gemma’s lips trembled as she delivered the request. Then she sat down and took Martin’s hand between both of hers. ‘We’re going to get through this, Marty. It’s going to be OK.’
‘You bet.’ Martin sounded hoarse and Wendy wondered if the communication from his daughter had upset him enough to be of concern. His heart rate remained steady, however, and his respiration rate and depth appeared unchanged. In any case, Gemma excused herself a short time later when Sally, the physiotherapist, arrived in the unit to treat Martin.
At this acute stage physiotherapy concentrated mostly on preventing the kind of respiratory complications that might be caused by the reduced ability to cough, like airway obstruction from mucus plugging or pneumonia. Even this early, however, the rehabilitation component of treatment was important. It would be considered a disaster if a patient emerged from this period of intense medical treatment with a stiff elbow or wrist that interfered with later mobilisation, so Sally would be putting Martin’s limbs through a full range of passive movements and Wendy knew she had time to take a short break.
Having asked Peter to cover for her if she wasn’t back in time, Wendy slipped out of the ICU. Debbie Stringer spotted her as she went past the nurses’ station.
‘Your secret admirer’s been spending money again. Aren’t you the lucky one?’
‘What?’ Wendy watched the extravagant mass of blooms and Cellophane being pushed over the counter towards her. ‘Is there no card on them?’ Maybe getting flowers from Ross wouldn’t have been so disappointing after all. It might have been a relief.
‘Not that we could see.’ Debbie grinned. ‘And, believe me, we’ve looked. There’s just the florist’s ticket with your name on it.’
‘That’s weird.’ Wendy stared at the flowers. ‘I don’t think I want them, thanks. You have them.’
‘Take them in for Ross.’
‘As if he needs any more after the flood that’s arrived since that article about him in the newspaper.’
‘How ’bout Sam, then? He hasn’t got any flowers.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Wendy grinned as she gathered up the massive bouquet. ‘I’ll just have to hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea.’
Sam was in the same room as Ross. He had never allowed his paraplegia to spoil the enjoyment he’d had from the last twenty years of his life, and despite being in his seventies now he considered the renal problems he was currently dealing with no more than a temporary inconvenience.
Wendy followed a now very familiar route towards the second large room on the left of the main corridor. Sam was sound asleep in his bed by the door, snoring loudly. Her heart sank as she saw that Ross had, once again, had the curtains pulled to screen his corner by the window from the other occupants of the room. As Wendy entered the screened space she saw that Ross was lying in the supine position. He could do little else but stare at the ceiling because of the semi-rigid collar that protected his cervical fracture and he could not see Wendy approaching. She deposited the flowers on the windowsill above the basin and kept her greeting soft so as not to startle him.
‘Hi, there.’ Any anger that Wendy had harboured overnight was gone the moment she looked at Ross and caught his gaze. Touching the hand that lay near her on the bed intensified the familiar wave of love she felt for this man and Wendy found herself breathing out in a soft sigh of relief before her lips curved into a gentle smile.
It wasn’t over.
It just couldn’t be.

CHAPTER THREE
‘I’VE only got a few minutes.’ Wendy sat down on the chair beside the bed, still holding Ross’s hand. ‘My patient’s with his physiotherapist.’
‘Sally said she had someone to go and see in ICU. Sounds like a serious injury.’
‘Fracture dislocation of C6,7. He’s tetraplegic.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘He dived into a pool that was too shallow.’
Ross couldn’t shake his head but the roll of his eyes was eloquent enough. ‘That was pretty stupid, wasn’t it?’
‘Mmm.’ Wendy took a deep breath. She didn’t have enough time to spend it discussing another patient. They had far more important subjects to discuss. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about you since last night, Ross,’ she said a little hesitantly. ‘About us.’
‘There can’t be any ‘‘us’’ any more. I told you that,’ Ross said wearily. It had been even harder than he’d thought it would be last night. He didn’t have the strength to do it again. He closed his eyes. ‘It’s over.’
‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ Wendy said quietly. She blinked hard, determined not to cry as her fingers moved gently over his. ‘I love you, Ross. Nothing can change that.’
The hand beneath hers remained still. Ross’s eyes remained closed. The connection felt one-sided. Professional, even.
‘Takes two to tango.’ The bitterness in the snort that punctuated the statement was very uncharacteristic. ‘And my dancing days are over.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Wendy gave the limp hand an encouraging squeeze as one corner of her mouth lifted in a faint shadow of her customary impish grin. ‘Besides, you told me that you were a terrible dancer.’
Her attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell like a lead balloon. ‘I shouldn’t have bothered telling you that, should I? I could have told you I was right up there with John Travolta or Michael Jackson. It’s not as if you’re ever going to discover the truth.’
‘It doesn’t matter a damn to me whether you can dance or not, Ross.’
The hand moved finally. Ross pulled it clear as his eyelids snapped open to reveal a haunted expression Wendy had never seen before. ‘It matters to me.’
‘I didn’t mean...’ Wendy cursed inwardly as she realised how Ross had chosen to interpret her words. She sighed. The negativity was draining and she knew very well how such an attitude could affect the recovery of a spinal injury patient. ‘Ross, you’re doing so well. You’ve got to give yourself time to recover. You can’t make major decisions about the future based on how you feel right now. Not for yourself. Or us.’
Ross knew precisely what Wendy had meant. And he couldn’t afford to go down that track. He couldn’t let her persuade him that what they had was strong enough to handle the change in his body. He tried to hang onto his deliberate misinterpretation. It was preferable to choose anger over pain.
‘There is no us. Not any more. Look, Wendy—it was great while it lasted but it’s over. We have no future.’
Wendy swallowed hard. Was part of this problem because Ross was trying to think too far ahead? ‘We have the present,’ she said slowly. ‘Are you saying you want me to stay away from you?’ The tears were harder to fight off now. ‘That could be difficult. I work here. You’re going to be a patient here for a while yet.’
Ross sighed heavily. He reached for Wendy’s hand without thinking. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said. He couldn’t bear it if he saw her cry for the first time. It might be enough to undermine the resolve he knew he had to keep. ‘Please,’ he added. ‘This isn’t easy for me either, you know.’
‘Then why do it? It’s not necessary.’
‘I think it is.’
The twitch of the curtains advertised a badly timed intrusion.
‘G’day, mate. How’s things?’
‘Kyle!’ Wendy’s exclamation was followed by a moment’s stunned silence. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her gaze flicked back to Ross to try and gauge his reaction. Surely he wouldn’t want to see the person who had been responsible for his accident? Especially the way he was feeling at present. In fact, how on earth could Kyle have the nerve to appear?
‘Came to see you, of course.’
Ross had an odd expression. A smile that was almost wryly amused. Wendy shifted her gaze back to Kyle and had the disconcerting impression that he had been staring at her while he’d spoken. She hadn’t forgotten how much she disliked the way Kyle Dickson looked at her. Or the way he seemed to assume that he had the right to look just as often and as long as he pleased. Kyle’s presence on the USAR course had been the one aspect that Wendy would prefer to forget. Even now, the memory of Kyle’s eagerness to touch her when she had acted as a patient during practice scenarios was enough to make her shudder.
‘It’s not visiting hours.’ Wendy’s tone was deliberately cool. ‘Who let you in?’
Kyle’s shrug was casual. ‘Nobody was paying any attention. I just looked around till I found his name on the board.’
‘You’ve got no right to do that!’ Wendy was horrified. She’d have to bring up the issue of security at the next staff meeting.
‘He’s here now,’ Ross said quietly. ‘So it really doesn’t matter, does it?’
Wendy bit back the retort she would have liked to have made. Maybe Ross found Kyle’s company preferable to the discussion they had been having. Her resentment at the interruption increased as she listened to the conversation between the men.
‘How’s the leg, Kyle?’
‘Forgotten about it, thanks, mate. It was really no big deal after all.’
‘You certainly made it sound like it at the time,’ Wendy said acidly. ‘Everyone who heard you screaming assumed it was a very big deal.’
‘I guess I overreacted.’ Kyle’s grin did nothing to suggest remorse.
‘It turned out to be a fairly big deal, though, didn’t it?’ Ross found it easy to feed the anger he’d summoned, and it was helping a lot. Kyle had no clue about the repercussions he was dealing with. Or, if he did, he didn’t care. Had he really come here to see him or was he still not over his infatuation with Wendy?
‘Not really.’ Kyle’s gaze wandered from Ross as he spoke. He was looking at the array of cards and flowers lining the window-sill. ‘I pulled it out myself in the end. It was just soft tissue damage and I—’
‘I wasn’t talking about you.’
Another short silence followed the quiet remark from Ross. Kyle’s expression suggested that he was trying to interpret an atmosphere that was inexplicably hostile. Wendy had no hesitation in providing enlightenment.
‘It was your ‘‘small deal’’ that led to Ross being here, Kyle. If you hadn’t been stupid enough to go off on your own this would never have happened.’ And if he hadn’t been hysterical he wouldn’t have been so dangerous to get close to. And if he hadn’t been so close to the edge, Ross wouldn’t have fallen.
‘I went off on my own because I heard someone calling for help. It was our job to try and rescue people...if you remember.’
‘If you heard someone calling it was inside your own head,’ Wendy snapped. ‘Nobody else heard it.’
‘Look, I didn’t ask Ross to come and rescue me. I could have sorted it out by myself.’
‘Shame you didn’t let the rest of us know that at the time.’
The sound from the bed was almost a groan. ‘What possible good is any of this going to do?’ Ross asked wearily.
‘Absolutely no good at all,’ Kyle responded swiftly. ‘I knew you’d see it that way, mate. It wasn’t my fault.’
‘I didn’t say that, precisely.’
Kyle’s green eyes narrowed. A flash of something like resentment showed on his narrow features but the expression was gone as quickly as it had come. His smile held no warmth and he moved out of Ross’s line of vision. He looked around as he backed up towards the basin.

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