Her Very Special Boss

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He’s not just the boss, he’s the best there is!

These heroes aren’t just doctors,

they’re life-savers.

These heroes aren’t just surgeons,

they’re skilled masters. Their talent and

reputation are admired by all.

These heroes are devoted to their patients.

They’ll hold the littlest babies in their arms,

and melt the hearts of all who see.

These heroes aren’t just

medical professionals. They’re the

men of your dreams.

He’s not just the boss, he’s the best there is!

Anne Fraser was born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child, she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.

Recent titles by the same author:

DR CAMPBELL’S SECRET SON

Dear Reader

This is my second novel for Mills & Boon, and believe me it is just as exciting for me as getting my first one published.

It is such an honour to be part of a reading tradition that is a hundred years old. I can imagine our grandmothers and mothers reading the same romances through the years, and although times and settings have changed, the basics of a good romance are still the same—hunky men and gorgeous women that we know just have to be together.

I love writing romances because you can set them anywhere in the world. My husband, baby daughter and I spent fifteen months in Africa. While my husband—a doctor—looked after the patients, I looked after our daughter and taught part-time at a local school. Evening meals were taken communally, in ‘staff house’, and it was there I would listen to the doctors and aid workers discussing their days. I think back to the community often and wish we could have done even more. Things have improved a great deal since our time there, but there is still a lot that needs doing. So many children have lost their parents to HIV/AIDS. Therefore I plan to donate some of the earnings of this book to the children of Africa.

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Best wishes

Anne Fraser

HER VERY SPECIAL BOSS

BY

ANNE FRASER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my husband Stewart and all the doctors and nurses

who work in remote communities for no other reason

than the love of medicine.

CHAPTER ONE

KIRSTY kicked the tyre viciously and squealed in agony as a jolt of pain shot through her ankle. Damn, damn, damn, she cursed as she hopped around on one foot. Could this day—could her life—get any worse?

As if the twelve-hour journey in the cramped rear of the Jumbo hadn’t been bad enough, the airline had lost her luggage. And then, instead of being collected, as she had anticipated, she had found that she had to make the five-hour journey to the hospital on her own in this heap of a car. Keys and directions had been left for her, along with a short note explaining that her driver had to be elsewhere and they would expect her before nightfall. It had taken her much longer than she’d anticipated to navigate herself onto the road heading north and she had found herself going in the wrong direction at least once. What sort of place was this she was going to that they couldn’t be bothered to look after their new staff? What on earth had she let herself in for?

She was tired—no, scrap that, exhausted—and had planned to catch up on some sleep on the journey to the hospital. Instead, here she was in the middle of nowhere, under an endless African sky, with a flat tyre and no idea of how to go about changing it. Under these circumstances back home, she would have phoned road recovery to come to her aid or, failing that, some friend. But here she couldn’t even call for help. She hadn’t got around to converting her mobile phone so that it would work in this country.

Impatiently she swallowed the lump in her throat. No use feeling sorry for yourself, girl, she told herself. She gritted her teeth and studied the directions on the piece of paper in her hand. It looked as if the hospital was only three or four miles along the road—a walkable distance. The air was hot and turgid and Kirsty was aware that if she weren’t careful her pale skin would burn. She should have worn jeans and walking boots, but she had wanted to make a good first impression, so had decided on a white linen blouse, skirt and heels instead. Her shoes with their delicate kitten heels might be the last thing in fashion, but they were no good for a long walk.

One last glance up and down the empty road confirmed what she suspected. She was going to have to complete the rest of the journey on foot. Kirsty had no idea when darkness would fall, but she guessed she’d better get going if she were to make the hospital in daylight.

Alternatively, she could stay in the car. Someone would come looking for her eventually, wouldn’t they? But what if they didn’t? Kirsty shivered at the thought of spending the night on her own. This country was too strange, too vast for her to feel safe, even within the locked doors of the car.

Grabbing her handbag and the tepid water bottle, she set off. The more time she wasted, the more likely it was that she would find herself walking in the dark.

The red dust beside the road coated her shoes as she walked and her ankle began to ache painfully. It was all Robbie’s fault, she thought bitterly. If it weren’t for him she’d never have made the journey to this godforsaken place.

An hour later and, although the sun was beginning to sink in the sky, it was still almost unbearably hot. Kirsty had finished the water and her tongue was beginning to stick to the roof of her mouth. Caked in sweat, she could taste the dust that seemed to cover her body from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She had discarded her shoes and was walking gingerly on blistered feet. She felt her spirits lift for a moment as she saw the matchbox sized shapes of houses in the distance. Perhaps it was the village where the hospital was based? If not, at least there would be people whom she could ask for help.

Kirsty sat down on a rock and rubbed her feet. She would rest for a few moments, not much longer than five minutes, and then carry on. The chance of her reaching help before darkness fell was small but she also knew that once darkness came, her journey would be much more hazardous. Without streetlights, there would be nothing to guide her steps. An eerie cry in the distance brought her to her feet. Were there wild animals out here? Maybe she should have stayed with the car. Instead, she now risked getting mauled by a lion or some other wild animal.

After a short rest, Kirsty forced herself on. Despite walking for another age, the matchbox houses stayed matchbox size. Just when she thought she could walk no further, she saw the flash of sunlight on an approaching car in the distance. Please, let them stop, she prayed. At least if they wouldn’t give her a lift they might have a phone she could use.

She almost cried with relief when the car slowed down before making a U-turn and coming to a stop beside her. The driver wound down the window and Kirsty found herself looking into a pair of glittering blue eyes.

‘Dr Kirsty Boucher?’ a deep voice said incredulously, adding before she could reply, ‘Good grief, woman, what on earth are you up to?’

Relief that the occupant was someone who knew who she was gave way to annoyance. Did he, whoever he was, think she enjoyed walking in her bare feet in temperatures that surely must be close to 100 degrees? Did he think she was the archetypal mad Englishwoman? She opened her mouth to tell him as much when he turned his face and she noticed the scars that ran from his right ear to his jawbone. Years of medical training meant that she was able to disguise her shock, but perhaps not as well as she thought. Or maybe it was an instinctive response, but the man passed his hand over the scar before leaping out of the car and coming around to stand in front of her.

Kirsty felt dwarfed by his massive frame, despite being over five feet eight in her bare feet. She took an involuntary step backwards.

‘I’m Greg. Greg du Toit,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘We expected you hours ago. What happened?’

Kirsty’s heart sank. This wasn’t how she had imagined her first meeting with Dr du Toit, her new boss and the physician superintendent of the hospital. Somehow she had assumed he’d be much older. The man in front of her looked to be no more than thirty.

‘Puncture, back a few miles,’ was all Kirsty could manage through her dry mouth.

‘And there wasn’t a spare in the boot? Someone’s head is going to roll. I tell them never to allow the cars to go out without checking. But come on, let’s get you out of the heat.’ For a moment he peered into Kirsty’s face. ‘And get you a drink of water. For God’s sake, don’t you know the first rule of Africa? Always carry plenty of water.’

Once again, Kirsty felt herself prickle with annoyance. He had no right to speak to her like she was some schoolgirl. OK, so she should have been able to change a tyre, but he should have ensured that the car she had been left was in better condition. Maybe for the time being she should let him believe that there hadn’t been a spare tyre? No, she couldn’t do that. If he found out, she would look an even greater idiot than she did already.

She sank gratefully into the cool seat of the four-by-four and she felt his eyes on her as she gulped greedily at the bottle of water he held out to her. When she had finally slaked her thirst she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

‘There was a spare wheel. I, er…I couldn’t remove the bolts,’ she lied. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. They were probably so rusted that she wouldn’t have managed anyway. She glanced down at her perfectly manicured hands, which bore no evidence of having been anywhere near a toolbox, and quickly hid them under her thighs. It was only a white lie, she told herself. She just couldn’t cope with this man’s disdain. Not now. Not today. Her should-have-been wedding day. Swallowing hard, she pushed the thought away. She had promised herself she wouldn’t think about it.

Greg glanced at his watch. ‘How far back is the car? Are you up to going back for it? I don’t want to leave it too long or we might find it stolen or dismantled by the time we get around to recovering it. We’re pretty short of cars at the complex.’ He smiled and all of a sudden the grim lines of his face relaxed. For the first time Kirsty looked at him properly. He really was quite attractive, if in a rugged sort of way, she admitted to herself. Not even the scar detracted from his looks. In an odd way, it even made him seem more vital somehow. Kirsty was already getting the distinct impression that this was a man who was used to people following his orders. Not that she would ever find another man attractive again—not after Robbie. Men were a thing of the past as far as she was concerned. She closed her eyes against the memories. She must stop thinking of the past and concentrate on the present. What was he suggesting? She stifled the protest that came to her lips. Go back? All she wanted was something to eat, a shower and a bed—and not necessarily in that order.

Still, Kirsty was painfully aware that the impression she had created so far was a million miles away from the one she had meant to make. Instead of the immaculately turned-out, efficient, career doctor she had hoped to present, here she was, bedraggled, dirt smeared and seemingly woefully unable to look after herself. Having to be rescued by her new boss had never been part of the plan.

‘Of course we should go back. It shouldn’t take long.’ She straightened in her seat. ‘I suppose they’ll keep me some dinner?’ She couldn’t quite erase the plaintive note from her voice.

Once again she felt his appraisal. This time she was conscious of his gaze taking in her dishevelled appearance and her scratched and bleeding feet. He frowned as he started the car.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, steering the car back onto the road in the direction from which he’d come. ‘You must be exhausted, as well as starving.’ Again that brilliant flash of teeth. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital and come back with one of the others. We usually eat around seven. If we hurry, you’ll just have enough time to freshen up before dinner. It’ll mean waiting for your luggage, I’m afraid, but I’ll bring it over as soon as I can.’

‘There’s no luggage,’ Kirsty told him. ‘It’s been delayed. Lost somewhere between here and Timbuktu, I imagine. I’ll have to find a way of collecting it from the airport tomorrow. Supposing they manage to find it.’ She couldn’t help sighing at the thought of a repeat journey the next day. But at least she’d have slept by then.

Greg muttered something under his breath that Kirsty suspected she wasn’t supposed to hear. ‘Bloody airlines. Still, it can’t be helped. The driver who was supposed to pick you up, but decided not to come at the last minute, can collect it on his way tomorrow. I did try to contact you to tell you to find yourself a hotel for the night, but I couldn’t get through on your mobile. I phoned the airport and they told me you had collected the car and were on your way. These roads aren’t safe for a single woman, especially at night. When you didn’t arrive by the time we expected you, I thought I’d better come looking. Just as well I did. You don’t look as if you were in any shape to finish the journey on foot.’

Once again Kirsty felt chastised, although it was hardly her fault. Instead of apologising—after all, the car was the hospital’s responsibility—the man was making it clear she was causing a lot of extra work.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘I really didn’t plan to cause all this bother.’

‘No problem,’ he said brusquely, but somehow Kirsty didn’t believe him. She was beginning to think she had made a dreadful mistake in coming here. She wondered bleakly if she would be able to work with this man. He was far too autocratic for her liking and already seemed to have taken against her. But there was nothing she could do about it right now. She was far too tired to think logically so she closed her eyes and within minutes was fast asleep.

She was jolted from her dreams by the sound of an explosion. She opened her eyes to see a minibus swerve erratically across the road in front of them, bits of rubber flying from a rear tyre. Disorientated, Kirsty sat bolt upright in her seat and, as Greg veered to avoid the out-of-control vehicle in front of them, she spread her hands to brace herself for impact. For several breath-taking moments the minibus continued to career from one side of the road to the other, churning up clouds of dust in its wake before finally spinning off the road. Its front wheels hit a shallow ditch and Kirsty held her breath as, with the sound of crunching metal, the vehicle slowly tipped over on its side.

As Greg carefully brought his vehicle to a halt at the side of the road, Kirsty was immobilised with horror. She was barely conscious of him leaning across her to open the cubbyhole and scrabble for something inside, except, incongruously, the clean lemony smell of his skin.

‘Double-glove before you do anything,’ he said tossing an unopened pack of latex gloves onto her lap before reaching into the back for his medical bag. ‘Let’s go,’ he ordered, and, without waiting for a response, was out of the car. Hastily, Kirsty pulled on the gloves and followed.

It all felt surreal to her. The music emanating from the vehicle’s unbroken stereo system was a blast of happy sounds, a sharp, eerie contrast to the moaning and crying voices and the still-spinning wheels of the tilted minibus. Bodies spilled out and lay around, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles. Still others were slowly extracting themselves from their seats and stumbling, zombie-like, away from the disaster.

Despite the warmth of the African sun on her bare arms, she shivered. For God’s sake, she thought, I’ve been in the country less than four hours and a doctor for not much longer. This can’t possibly be happening.

‘Dr Boucher—Kirsty.’ She became aware of a hand on her arm and looked up into calm blue eyes. ‘I have to phone for help. In the meantime you have to start triaging the casualties.’ He turned from her and opened the boot of his car. He shoved a pile of lines and bags into her unwilling arms. ‘Take this. Once you’ve finished triaging, put in lines where you need to.’ She looked at him, still in shock. He shook her arm impatiently. ‘Look, you can do this. I need you to help me.’ He held her eyes for a few moments, and then with a final shake of her arm he was gone.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kirsty became aware of a small figure stumbling away from the wreck. A child, no older than two, toddled purposefully up the side of the ditch towards the road. It was the impetus she needed to shake her loose from the paralysis that had gripped her in the first dreadful minutes since the crash. ‘Stop! Come back!’ she called out. Tossing the equipment Greg had given her onto the passenger seat, she lunged for the child, grabbing the small bundle seconds before he reached the road. The frightened and bewildered child squirmed in her arms. She looked around at the passengers and, finding a woman who seemed uninjured, thrust her small charge into the woman’s arms.

‘Hold onto him. Don’t let him go. Not even for a second.’ She wasn’t sure if the woman understood her words, but she must have understood her meaning as she engulfed the child in her embrace.

‘Move away from the bus,’ Kirsty instructed her. Still unclear whether the woman understood, she indicated a stretch of ground away from the bus and the road. ‘Bus could explode,’ she added miming an explosion with her arms. Thankfully the woman seemed to grasp enough of the exchange and moved away with her charge.

Kirsty retrieved the equipment Greg had given her and scrambled down the slope to the bus, oblivious to the small stones that scraped her bare legs and feet. The vehicle had come to rest at the bottom of the ditch, its front badly crumpled. The wheels on the driver’s side had mounted a small hillock and the bus tilted precariously over to the left. The driver had been thrown through the windscreen and hung there like a casually tossed rag doll. Kirsty reached up and felt for a carotid pulse. As she suspected, the driver was dead.

Moving around the front of the bus, she attempted to open the passenger door. Unfortunately the angle of the bus prevented her from opening it more than a few inches. Through the narrow gap, she could see that there were two more people in the front seat—an elderly man, who was conscious and moaning with pain, and a young woman, who was crying but seemed uninjured. She recalled her training. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about. With these words ringing in her head, she decided that both casualties could wait until she had assessed the rest. ‘You are going to be fine,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, try not to move.’ With a final reassuring smile she left them and went to check up on the remainder of the passengers. Despite her initial impression, most of them seemed relatively unhurt, apart from possible fractures, lacerations and shock. They too could wait. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she promised the frightened and shocked figures. ‘Those that can, move away from the bus. The rest of you, keep as still as you can.’

Leaving them she found Greg bent over a young man in his early twenties, doing chest compressions. He had been joined by a middle-aged woman who, apart from a few cuts and bruises, seemed to have escaped from the minibus unscathed.

‘This is Sister Matabele,’ Dr du Toit said tersely, barely glancing at Kirsty ‘She was on her way to work in a taxi when the accident happened. She’ll help me here. You carry on treating the rest of the casualties. The paramedics should be here shortly.’

Before Kirsty had a chance to move, a voice called urgently. ‘Help! Over here!’

She hurried over to where a man was cradling a woman on the ground a short distance from the wreckage. She bent over the woman who was lying pale and unconscious. ‘My wife—she needs help. She was awake until just now. Now she is asleep. She is bleeding very badly from her leg, I think.’

Kirsty checked that the woman’s breathing was unrestricted before examining her. Her pulse was rapid and weak. The heart was still beating, but only just. Swallowing her fear, she removed the T-shirt the woman’s husband had laid over the wound. Gently lifting the fabric, she revealed a hole the side of a child’s fist at the top of her leg. Bright red femoral blood pulsed onto the ground.

Once again Kirsty felt the rising paralysis of her fear. Keep calm, she told herself. You’ve dealt with worse than this before. But that had been in the controlled environment of a large inner-city A and E department with the latest equipment and a team of experienced doctors and nurses. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She looked over for Dr du Toit, but he was still bent over his patient. For the time being she was on her own. These two people were depending on her. She needed to stop the bleeding, and soon. She placed her hand over the wound and pressed down hard. Her hand wasn’t enough to stem the gushing flow of blood. She needed something bigger. A quick glance around told her there was only one option. Taking a deep breath to calm her shaking hands and to steady her voice, she slipped off her linen blouse, placing it onto the hole in the woman’s leg. ‘Hold this. Press down hard,’ she instructed the frightened man, taking his hand in hers to demonstrate exactly what she wanted him to do. Kirsty knew if the woman were to stand a chance, she would have to replace the blood she had lost with fluid as quickly as possible. Kirsty used one of the lines she had been given and, ripping off the protective cover from the needle with her teeth, slipped the needle into a vein in the arm. Bingo! she thought with some satisfaction as she hit the vein first time. ‘What’s your wife’s name?’ she asked the distraught man.

‘Maria. Is she going to be all right?’ Kirsty heard the fear in his voice. She smiled and kept her voice low and calm. ‘I’m sure she will be,’ she said, although she wasn’t sure at all. ‘Talk to her. Let you know that you’re here. Reassure her.’

As she worked on her patient, she felt a shadow fall on her shoulders. She glanced up to find Greg looking down at her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked from what seemed to be a great distance. ‘Do you need any help? My patient is breathing by himself now. Thank God Sister Matabele was here to help. She’ll stay with him until the ambulances arrive.’

‘This is Maria. She has a ruptured femoral artery. I’ve applied pressure and got a drip going. Her pulse and blood pressure are up, but we need to get her to hospital stat.’