From Christmas To Forever?

She hadn’t wanted to be … let go.

‘Heart rate?’ Her voice wasn’t quite steady. She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘How is it?’

‘Holding.’ Hugo had his stethoscope out. ‘I think we might have made it.’ He glanced into the bag. ‘And we have adrenaline—and a defibrillator. How did you carry all this?’

‘I tied it under my seat.’

‘Where did you learn your knots?’

‘I was a star Girl Guide.’ She was, too, she thought, deciding maybe she needed to focus on anything but the way his hold had made her feel.

A star Girl Guide … She’d been a star at so many things—at anything, really, that would get her away from her parents’ overriding concern. Riding lessons, piano lessons, judo, elocution, Girl Guides, holiday camps … She’d been taken to each of them by a continuous stream of nannies. Nannies who were chosen because they spoke French, had famous relatives or in some other way could be boasted about by her parents …

‘The current girl’s a Churchill. She’s au-pairing for six months, and she knows all the right people …’

Yeah. Nannies, nannies and nannies. Knowing the right people or speaking five languages was never a sign of job permanence. Polly had mostly been glad to be delivered to piano or elocution or whatever. She’d done okay, too. She’d had to.

Her parents loved her, but oh, they loved to boast.

‘ER Physician, anaesthetist and Girl Guide to boot.’ Hugo sounded stunned. ‘I don’t suppose you brought a stretcher as well? Plus a qualification in mountain rescue.’

‘A full examination table, complete with lights, sinks, sterilisers? Plus rope ladders and mountain goats? Damn, I knew I’d forgotten something.’

He chuckled but she didn’t have time for further banter. She was swinging in a way that was making her a little dizzy. She had to catch the sapling.

Her feet were hitting the cliff. Ouch. Where was nice soft grass when you needed it?

Where was Hugo’s hold when she needed it?

He was busy. It made sense that he take over Horace’s care now, but …

She missed that hold.

‘It’s flowing well.’ There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Hugo’s voice and Polly, too, breathed again. If Horace’s heart hadn’t given way yet, there was every chance the fluids would make a difference.

In the truck, Hugo had the IV line set up and secure. He’d hung the saline bags from an umbrella he’d wedged behind the back seat. He’d injected morphine.

He’d like oxygen but Polly’s culling of his bag had excluded it. Fair enough, he thought. Oxygen or a defibrillator? With massive blood loss, the defibrillator was likely to be the most important, and the oxygen cylinder was dead weight.

Even so … How had she managed to get all this down here? What she’d achieved was amazing, and finding a vein in these circumstances was nothing short of miraculous.

She was his locum, temporary relief.

How would it be if there was a doctor like Polly working beside him in the Valley all year round?

Right. As if that was going to happen. His new locum was swinging on her seat, as if flying free, and he thought that was exactly what she was. Free.

Not trapped, like he was.

And suddenly he wasn’t thinking trapped in a truck down a cliff. He was thinking trapped in Wombat Valley, giving up his career, giving up … his life.

Once upon a time, if he’d met someone like Dr Polly Hargreaves he could have asked her out, had fun, tried friendship and maybe it could have led to …

No! It was no use even letting himself think down that road.

He was trapped in Wombat Valley. The skilful, intriguing Polly Hargreaves was rescuing him from one trap.

No one could rescue him from the bigger one.

Fifteen minutes later, help arrived. About time too, Polly thought. Mountains were for mountain goats. When the first yellow-jacketed figure appeared at the cliff top it was all she could do not to weep with relief.

She didn’t. She was a doctor and doctors didn’t weep.

Or not when yellow coats and big boots and serious equipment were on their way to save them.

‘We have company,’ she announced to Hugo, who couldn’t see the cliff top from where he was stuck.

‘More polka dots?’

She grinned and looked up at the man staring down at her. ‘Hi,’ she yelled. ‘Dr Denver wants to know what you’re wearing.’

The guy was on his stomach, looking down. ‘A business suit,’ he managed. ‘With matching tie. How’d you get down there?’

‘They fell,’ she said. ‘I came down all by myself. You wouldn’t, by any chance, have a cushion?’

He chuckled and then got serious. The situation was assessed with reassuring efficiency. There was more than one yellow jacket up there, it seemed, but only one was venturing near the edge.

‘We’ll get you up, miss,’ the guy called.

‘Stabilise the truck first.’

‘Will do.’

The Australian State Emergency Service was a truly awesome organisation, Polly decided. Manned mostly by volunteers, their skill set was amazing. The police sergeant had arrived, too, as well as two farmers with a tractor apiece. Someone had done some fast organising.

Two yellow-jacketed officers abseiled down, with much more efficiency and speed than Polly could have managed. They had the truck roped in minutes, anchoring it to the tractors above.

They disappeared again.

‘You think they’ve knocked off for a cuppa?’ Polly asked Hugo and he smiled, but absently. His smile was strained.

He had a kid, Polly thought. What was he about, putting himself in harm’s way?

Did his wife know where he was? If she did, she’d be having kittens.

Just lucky no one gave a toss about her.

Ooh, there was a bitter thought, and it wasn’t true. Her parents would be gutted. But then … If she died they could organise a truly grand funeral, she decided. If there was one thing her mother was good at, it was event management. There’d be a cathedral, massed choirs, requests to wear ‘Polly’s favourite colour’ which would be pink because her mother always told her pink was her favourite colour even though it wasn’t. And she’d arrange a release of white doves and pink and white balloons and the balloons would contain a packet of seeds—zinnias, she thought because ‘they’re Polly’s favourite flower’ and …

And there was the roar of tractors from above, the sound of sharp commands, and then a slow taking up of the slack of the attached ropes.

The truck moved, just a little—and settled again—and the man appeared over the edge and shouted, ‘You okay down there?’

‘Excellent,’ Hugo called, but Polly didn’t say anything at all.

‘Truck’s now secure,’ the guy called. ‘The paramedics want to know if Horace is okay to move. We can abseil down and bring Horace up on a cradle stretcher. How does that fit with you, Doc?’

‘Is it safe for you guys?’

‘Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs,’ the guy retorted. ‘But med report, Doc—the paramedics want to know.’

‘He’s safe to move as long as we can keep pressure off his chest,’ Hugo called. ‘I want a neck brace. There’s no sign of spinal injury but let’s not take any chances. Then Polly.’

‘Then you, Doc.’

‘Polly second,’ Hugo said in a voice that brooked no argument.

And, for once, Polly wasn’t arguing.

It must have been under the truck.

She’d been balancing in the harness, using her feet to stop herself from swinging.

The truck had done its jerk upward and she’d jerked backwards herself, maybe as an automatic reaction to tension. She’d pushed her feet hard against the cliff to steady herself.

The snake must have been caught under the truck in the initial fall. With the pressure off, it lurched forward to get away.

Polly’s foot landed right on its spine.

It landed one fierce bite to her ankle—and then slithered away down the cliff.

She didn’t move. She didn’t cry out.

Two guys in bright yellow overalls were abseiling down towards the driver’s side of the truck, holding an end of a cradle stretcher apiece. They looked competent, sure of themselves … fast?

Horace was still the priority. He was elderly, he’d suffered massive blood loss and he needed to be where he could be worked on if he went into cardiac arrest.

She was suffering a snake bite.

Tiger snake? She wasn’t sure. She’d only ever seen one in the zoo and she hadn’t looked all that closely then.

It had had stripes.

Tiger snakes were deadly.

But not immediately. Wombat Valley was a bush hospital and one thing bush hospitals were bound to have was antivenin, she told herself. She thought back to her training. No one ever died in screaming agony two minutes after they were bitten by a snake. They died hours later. If they didn’t get antivenin.

Therefore, she just needed to stay still and the nice guys in the yellow suits would come and get her and they’d all live happily ever after.

‘Polly?’ It was Hugo, his voice suddenly sharp.

‘I … what?’ She let go her toehold—she was only using one foot now—and her rope swung.

She felt … a bit sick.

That must be her imagination. She shouldn’t feel sick so fast.

‘Polly, what’s happening?’

The guys—no, on closer inspection, it was a guy and a woman—had reached Horace. Had Hugo fitted the neck brace to Horace, or had the abseilers? She hadn’t noticed. They were steadying the stretcher against the cliff, then sliding it into the cab of the truck, but leaving its weight to be taken by the anchor point on the road. In another world she’d be fascinated.

Things were a bit … fuzzy.

‘Polly?’

‘Mmm?’ She was having trouble getting her tongue to work. Her mouth felt thick and dry.

‘What the hell …? I can’t get out. Someone up there … priority’s changed. We need a harness on Dr Hargreaves—fast.’

Did he think she was going to faint? She thought about that and decided he might be right.

So do something.

She had a seat—sort of. She looped her arms around the side cords and linked her hands, then put her head down as far as she could.

She could use some glucose.

‘Get someone down here.’ It was a roar. ‘Fast. Move!’

‘I’m not going to faint,’ she managed but it sounded feeble, even to her.

‘Damn right, you’re not going to faint,’ Hugo snapped. ‘You faint and you’re out of my employ. Pull yourself together, Dr Hargreaves. Put that head further down, take deep breaths and count between breathing. You know what to do. Do it.’

‘I need … juice …’ she managed but her voice trailed off. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t …

She mustn’t.

Breathe, two, three. Out, two, three. Breathe …

‘Hold on, sweetheart—they’re coming.’

What had he called her? Sweetheart? No one called Polly Hargreaves sweetheart unless they wanted her to do something. Or not do something. Not to cut her hair. Not to do medicine. To play socialite daughter for their friends.

To come home for Christmas …

She wasn’t going home for Christmas. She was staying in Wombat Valley. The thought was enough to steady her.

If she fainted then she’d fall and they’d send her back to Sydney in a body bag and her mother would have her fabulous funeral …

Not. Not, not, not.

‘I’ve been bitten by a snake,’ she muttered, with as much strength and dignity as she could muster. Which wasn’t actually very much at all. She still had her head between her knees and she daren’t move. ‘It was brown with stripes and it bit my ankle. And I know it’s a hell of a time to tell you, but I need to say … I’m also a Type One diabetic. So I’m not sure whether this is a hypo or snake bite but, if I fall, don’t let my mother bury me in pink. Promise.’

‘I promise,’ Hugo said and then a yellow-suited figure was beside her, and her only objection was that he was blocking her view of Hugo.

It sort of seemed important that she see Hugo.

‘She has a snake bite on her ankle,’ Hugo was saying urgently. ‘And she needs glucose. Probable hypo. Get the cradle back down here as fast as you can, and bring glucagon. While we wait, I have a pressure bandage here in the cabin. If you can swing her closer we’ll get her leg immobilised.’

‘You’re supposed to be on holiday,’ Polly managed while Yellow Suit figured out how to manoeuvre her closer to Hugo.

‘Like that’s going to happen now,’ Hugo said grimly. ‘Let’s get the hired help safe and worry about holidays later.’

CHAPTER FOUR

FROM THERE THINGS moved fast. The team on the road was reassuringly professional. Polly was strapped into the cradle, her leg firmly wrapped, then she was lifted up the cliff with an abseiler at either end of the cradle.

She was hardly bumped, but she felt shaky and sick. If she was in an emergency situation she’d be no help at all.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed, for Hugo had climbed up after her and he was leaning over the stretcher, his lean, strong face creased in concern. ‘What a wuss. I didn’t mean …’

‘To be confronted by two guys about to fall down a cliff. To need to climb down and secure the truck and save them. To bring them lifesaving equipment and get bitten by a snake doing it. I don’t blame you for apologising, Dr Hargreaves. Wuss doesn’t begin to describe it.’

‘I should …’

‘Shut up,’ he said, quite kindly. ‘Polly, the snake … you said it had stripes.’

‘Brown with faint stripes.’

‘Great for noticing.’

‘It bit me,’ she said with dignity. ‘I always take notice of things that bite me.’

‘Excellent. Okay, sweetheart, we have a plan …’

‘I’m not your sweetheart!’ She said it with vehemence and she saw his brows rise in surprise—and also humour.

‘No. Inappropriate. Sexist. Apologies. Okay, Dr Hargreaves, we have a plan. We’re taking you to the Wombat Valley Hospital—it’s only a mile down the road. There we’ll fill you up with antivenin. The snake you describe is either a tiger or a brown …’

‘Tiger’s worse.’

‘We have antivenin for both. You’re reacting well with glucose. I think the faintness was a combination—the adrenaline went out of the situation just as the snake hit and the shock was enough to send you over the edge.’

‘I did not go over the edge!’

‘I do need to get my language right,’ he said and grinned. ‘No, Dr Hargreaves, you did not go over the edge, for which I’m profoundly grateful. And now we’ll get the antivenin in …’

‘Which one?’

‘I have a test kit at the hospital and I’ve already taken a swab.’

‘And if it’s a rare … I don’t know … zebra python with no known antivenin …?’

‘Then I’ll eat my hat.’ And then he took her hand and held, and he smiled down at her and his smile …

It sort of did funny things to her. She’d been feeling woozy before. Now she was feeling even woozier.

‘We need to move,’ he said, still holding her hand strongly. ‘We’ll take you to the hospital now, but once we have the antivenin on board we’ll transfer you to Sydney. We’ve already called in the medical transfer chopper. Horace has cracked ribs. Marg’s demanding specialists. I’m more than happy that he be transferred, and I’m imagining that you’ll be better in Sydney as well. You have cuts and bruises all over you, plus a load of snake venom. You can recover in Sydney and then spend Christmas with your family.’

Silence.

He was still holding her hand. She should let it go, she thought absently. She should push herself up to standing, put her hands on her hips and let him have it.

She was no more capable of doing such a thing than flying, but she gripped his hand so tightly her cuts screamed in protest. She’d bleed on him, she thought absently, but what was a little gore when what she had to say was so important?

‘I am not going back to Sydney,’ she hissed and she saw his brow snap down in surprise.

‘Polly …’

‘Don’t Polly me. If you think I’ve come all this way … if you think I’ve crawled down cliffs and ruined a perfectly good dress and scratched my hands and hurt my bum and then been bitten by a vicious, lethal snake you don’t even know the name of yet … if you think I’m going to go through all that and still get to spend Christmas in Sydney …’

‘You don’t want to?’ he asked cautiously and she stared at him as if he had a kangaroo loose in his top paddock.

‘In your dreams. I accepted a job in Wombat Valley and that’s where I’m staying. You do have antivenin?’

‘I … yes.’

‘And competent staff to watch my vital signs for the next twenty-four hours?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘But nothing,’ she snapped. ‘You employed me, Dr Denver, and now you’re stuck with me. Send Horace wherever you like, but I’m staying here.’

The transfer to the hospital was swift and efficient. Joe, his nurse administrator, was pre-warned and had the test kit and antivenin ready. Joe was more than capable of setting up an IV line. Wishing he was two doctors and not one, Hugo left Polly in Joe’s care while he organised an X-ray of Horace’s chest. He needed to make sure a rib wasn’t about to pierce a lung.

The X-ray showed three cracked ribs, one that looked unstable. It hadn’t punctured his lung, though, and Horace’s breathing seemed secure. If he was kept immobile, he could be taken to Sydney.

‘You’re not sending Dr Hargreaves with him?’ Mary, his second-in-command nurse, demanded as he left Horace with the paramedics and headed for Polly.

He’d been torn … Polly, Horace, Polly, Horace …

Joe would have called him if there was a change. Still, his strides were lengthening.

‘She won’t go,’ he told Mary. ‘She wants to stay.’

‘Oh, Hugo.’ Mary was in her sixties, a grandma, and a bit weepy at the best of times. Now her kindly eyes filled with tears. ‘You’ll be looking after her instead of going to the beach. Of all the unfair things …’

‘It’s not unfair. It’s just unfortunate. She can hardly take over my duties now. She’ll need to be watched for twenty-four hours for reaction to the bite as well as reaction to the antivenin. The last thing we need is anaphylactic shock and it’ll take days for the venom to clear her system completely. Meanwhile, have you seen her hands? Mary, she slid down a nylon cord to bring me equipment. She was scratched climbing to secure the truck. She was bitten because …’

‘Because she didn’t have sensible shoes on,’ Mary said with asperity. The nurse was struggling to keep up but speed wasn’t interfering with indignation. ‘Did you see her shoes? Sergeant Myer picked them up on the roadside and brought them in. A more ridiculous pair of shoes for a country doctor to be wearing …’

‘You think we should yell at her about her shoes?’

‘I’m just saying …’

‘She was driving here in her sports car. You don’t need sensible clothes while driving.’

‘Well, that’s another thing,’ Mary said darkly. ‘Of all the silly cars for a country GP …’

‘But she’s not a country GP.’ He turned and took a moment to focus on Mary’s distress. Mary was genuinely upset on his behalf—heck, the whole of Wombat Valley would be upset on his behalf—but Polly wasn’t to blame and suddenly it was important that the whole of Wombat Valley knew it.

He thought of Polly sitting on her makeshift swing, trying to steady herself with her bare feet. He thought of her polka dot dress, the flounces, the determined smile … She must have been hurting more than he could imagine—those cords had really cut—but she’d still managed to give him cheek.

He thought of her sorting the medical equipment in his bag, expertly discarding what wasn’t needed, determined to bring him what was. Courage didn’t begin to describe what she’d done, he thought, so no, he wasn’t about to lecture her for inappropriate footwear.

‘Polly saved us,’ he told Mary, gently but firmly. ‘What happened was an accident and she did more than anyone could expect. She put her life on the line to save us and she even managed her own medical drama with skill. I owe her everything.’

‘So you’ll miss your Christmas at the beach.’

‘There’s no choice. We need to move on.’

Mary sniffed, sounding unconvinced, but Hugo swung open the door of the treatment room and Joe was chuckling and Polly was smiling up and he thought …

Who could possibly judge this woman and find her wanting? Who could criticise her?

This woman was amazing—and it seemed that she, also, was moving on.

‘Doctor, we may have to rethink the hospital menu for Christmas if Dr Hargreaves is admitted,’ Joe told him as he entered. ‘She’s telling me turkey, three veggies, commercial Christmas pudding and canned custard won’t cut it. Not even if we add a bonbon on the side.’

He blinked.

Snake bite. Lacerations. Shock.

They were talking turkey?

Okay. He needed to focus on medical imperatives, even if his patient wasn’t. Even if Polly didn’t seem like his patient.

‘The swab?’ he asked and Joe nodded and held up the test kit.

‘The brown snake showed up in seconds. The tiger segment showed positive about two minutes later but the kit says that’s often the way—they’re similar. It seems the brown snake venom’s enough to eventually discolour the tiger snake pocket, so brown it is. And I reckon she’s got a fair dose on board. Polly has a headache and nausea already. I’m betting she’s been solidly bitten.’

Hugo checked the kit for himself and nodded. He’d seen the ankle—it’d be a miracle if the venom hadn’t gone in. ‘Brown’s good,’ he told Polly. ‘You’ll recover faster than from a tiger.’

‘I’m feeling better already,’ she told him and gave him another smile, albeit a wobbly one. ‘But not my dress. It’s ripped to pieces. That snake owes me …’

He had to smile. She even managed to sound indignant.

‘But you’re nauseous?’

‘Don’t you care about my dress?’

‘I care about you more. Nausea?’

‘A little. And,’ she went on, as if she was making an enormous concession, ‘I might be a little bit headachy.’

A little …

The venom would hardly be taking effect yet, he thought. She’d still be in the window period where victims ran for help, tried to pretend they hadn’t been bitten, tried to search and identify the snake that had bitten them—and in the process spread the venom through their system and courted death.

Polly had been sensible, though. She’d stayed still. She’d told him straight away. She’d allowed the paramedics to bring her up on the rigid stretcher.

Okay, clambering down cliffs in bare feet in the Australian summer was hardly sensible but he couldn’t argue with her reasons.

‘Then let’s keep it like that,’ he told her. ‘I want you to stay still while we get this antivenin on board.’

‘I’ve been practically rigid since I got bit,’ she said virtuously. ‘Textbook patient. By the way, it’s a textbook immobilisation bandage too. Excellent work, Dr Denver.’

He grinned at that, and she smiled back at him, and then he sort of paused.

That smile …

It was a magic smile. As sick and battered as she was, her smile twinkled. Her face was pallid and wan, but it was still alight with laughter.

This was a woman who would have played in the orchestra as the Titanic sank, he thought, and then he thought: Nope, she’d be too busy fashioning lifelines out of spare trombones.

But her smile was fading. Their gazes still held but all of a sudden she looked … doubtful?

Maybe unsure.

Maybe his smile was having the same effect on her as hers was on his?

That would be wishful thinking. Plus it would be unprofessional.

Move on.

Joe had already set up the drip. Hugo prepared the serum, double-checked everything with Joe, then carefully injected it. It’d start working almost immediately, he thought; hopefully, before Polly started feeling the full effects of the bite.