The Playboy Doctor's Proposal

With her arms full of the white silk train of Emily’s dress and the soft tulle of her veil, Hannah walked very slowly, her arm touching Ryan’s as he held the silk ribbons joining the wreaths on the heads of the bridal couple. They got a little tangled at the last corner, and there was a momentary pause.

And Ryan looked at her.

There was no mistaking the sensation of free fall. The feeling that all the cells in her body were charged with some kind of static electricity, desperately seeking a focus for their energy.

That focus was to be found in the depths of the dark eyes that were so close to her own. This was a connection that transcended anything remotely physical. The caress of that eye contact lasted only a heartbeat, but Hannah knew it would haunt her for life.

It was a moment of truth.

A truth she hadn’t expected.

One she most certainly did not want.

She was in love with Ryan Fisher.

Dear Reader,

How lucky am I?

To have colleagues who are also my friends, whose skills I have the utmost respect for, and who share a love of the genre and a dedication to making each story the best yet.

To work together and have the challenge of a scope broad enough to link several books, along with the sheer fun of intertwining the stories of each other’s characters, is an enriching experience.

So here we are, back in Crocodile Creek, and we’re throwing a cyclone at our own bit of northern Australia. Scary stuff!

I’m more likely to experience a bad earthquake or maybe a tsunami where I am in New Zealand, but it’s a good idea to be prepared for whatever dramatic turns nature can take, and we can get some bad storms at times.

Here’s what you can do if a strong wind warning is issued:

Bring your pets inside and move stock to shelter

Secure outdoor furniture

Tape across large windows to prevent shattering

Stay inside during storm

Partially open a window on the sheltered side of the house

Stay away from doors and windows

If you have to go outside, watch out for dangling and broken power lines

Is a cyclone enough of a link for our stories? We didn’t think so. There’s also a little boy called Felixx….

Happy reading!

Love,

Alison

The Playboy Doctor’s Proposal

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CROCODILE CREEK: 24-HOUR RESCUE

A cutting-edge medical center. Fully equipped for saving lives and loves!

Crocodile Creek’s state-of-the-art medical center and rescue response unit is home to a team of expertly trained medical professionals. These dedicated men and women face the challenges of life, love and medicine every day!

Look for three more stories revisiting Crocodile Creek in Harlequin® Medical Romance™.

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘SHH, now, Felixx!’

‘Hush, OK?’

‘Silence. We have to have silence for Alanya to get well.’

For days this was all he’d heard, it seemed to Felixx. He crept around on the edge of Alanya’s illness, too scared to ask how bad she was, shut away from seeing her except for one or two short visits to the wellness shelter each day, during which he knew he had to be silent or she wouldn’t get better fast enough.

Sometimes he asked people, ‘How’s Mummy?’ He liked to call her Mummy because that’s who she was. She always wanted him to call her Alanya, because that was her spirit name, but as she couldn’t hear him right now, he said ‘Mummy’ and it helped a little bit.

The silence helped, too. He had to stay as quiet as anything, or she might not get well. He knew that, but it was so hard. The fish on his sneaker helped. Mummy had drawn it with his felt pens. Mostly the bright orange one. She’d done it the day he’d showed her the hole.

‘We can’t afford a new shoe just yet,’ she’d said. ‘So let’s make it special. The hole can be his eye, see?’

He could poke his finger in the hole. In and out. It was tight at first but now it was easy. His finger went in and out.

In and out.

It helped him to stay quiet. To stop the questions he so badly wanted to ask, like, ‘Mummy…Alanya…are you feeling better? Do you need more medicine?’

She didn’t seem to be eating very much. They gave her carrot juice to drink, to drain the toxins from her system. How long did toxins take to drain?

Where did they come out?

He was too scared to ask any of these questions, but he listened more than the healing sisters thought. He heard words like ‘worried’ and ‘taking too long’ and after this he stayed even quieter, stopped even asking, ‘How’s Mummy?’ in case his talking, even outside the healing shelter, was the thing stopping her from getting well.

Late one night…he couldn’t remember, maybe the sixth or seventh night of her illness…he couldn’t sleep, and crept over to the healing shelter because there was light coming from its windows. It was cold and his feet were bare and he didn’t dare go inside, but he listened underneath the window and heard more words. ‘Getting worse’ and ‘I don’t know’ and ‘ambulance’.

After this, everything got so confusing, when he thought about it he couldn’t think the way it had gone. He fell asleep on the couch on the veranda of the healing shelter, and a big car came with red lights. He hid under the blanket in case he got in trouble for being there. He heard men’s voices. ‘Too late’ and ‘useless’ and ‘bloody quack treatments’. Someone found him—Raina, one of the healing sisters—and he pretended to be asleep and she carried him gently in her arms to his bed, and by the time he got there he must have really been asleep because he didn’t remember anything else until morning.

Then there were more words—’ very peaceful’ and ‘gone away on the most wonderful journey’—but he was so good, he didn’t say anything himself in case it made Mummy…better call her Alanya…in case it made her worse. A lot of boring time went by. He wasn’t allowed to see her at all. He had some meals, breakfast and lunch. Were they saying it was Alanya who had gone on the wonderful journey? When was she coming back? He didn’t want to ask because that would not have been hushing and staying silent.

Raina sat him down and hugged him and kissed his forehead and told him, ‘Your auntie Janey is going to come and get you, sweetheart.’

He didn’t know he had an auntie Janey. He wanted to ask who she was and when she was coming but he was so, so good, he stayed quiet and silent and hushed and didn’t say a word.

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’RE not!’

‘Yes, I am. What’s the big deal? It’s only a few days off work.’

‘You never take days off work. In all the time I’ve known you, Hannah, and that’s, what—three years? You’ve never missed a shift.’

Senior Nurse Jennifer Bradley collected the paper emerging from the twelve-lead ECG machine and Dr Hannah Jackson cast an experienced eye over the results.

‘Bit of right heart failure—there’s notching on the P waves but everything else looks pretty good for an eighty-six-year-old. No sign of infarct.’

The elderly patient, who had been sound asleep while the recording was being taken, suddenly opened her eyes.

‘Give it back,’ she said loudly. ‘You’re a naughty girl!’

The complaint was loud enough to attract the attention of several staff members near the central desk. Heads turned in astonishment and Hannah sighed inwardly. One of them would be her fellow senior registrar, Ryan Fisher, wouldn’t it? And, of course, he had a grin from ear to ear on overhearing the accusation.

Jennifer was stifling a smile with difficulty. ‘What’s the matter, Mrs Matheson?’

‘She’s stolen my handbag! I’ve got a lot of money in my purse and she’s taken it, the little blonde trollop!’

Hannah heard a snigger from the small audience by the central desk. It would have been a good idea to pull the curtain of this cubicle but in the early hours of a Monday morning, with the emergency department virtually empty, it hadn’t seemed a priority.

‘Your handbag’s quite safe, Mrs Matheson,’ she said soothingly. ‘It’s in the bag with your other belongings.’

‘Show me!’

Hannah fished in the large, brown paper bag printed with the label PATIENT PROPERTY and withdrew a cavernous black handbag that must have been purchased at least forty years ago.

‘Give it to me!’

Hands gnarled with arthritis fumbled with the clasp. The bag was tipped upside down and several items fell onto Doris Matheson’s lap. The contents of the opened packet of peppermints rolled off to bounce on the floor and a number of used, screwed-up handkerchiefs were thrown after them.

‘There, I told you! There was a thousand dollars in here and it’s gone!’ A shaky finger pointed at Hannah. ‘She’s taken it! Call the police!’

Ryan wasn’t content to observe now. He was standing at the end of the bed. Faded blue eyes peered suspiciously at the tall, broad masculine figure.

‘Are you the police?’

Ryan flashed the ghost of a wink at both Jennifer and Hannah. ‘I’ve had some experience with handcuffs, if that’s any help.’

Hannah shut her eyes briefly. How did Ryan get away with this sort of behaviour? Sometimes, if he was any more laid back, he’d be asleep. What a shame Doris hadn’t stayed asleep. She was sniffing imperiously now.

‘Arrest that woman,’ she commanded.

‘Dr Jackson?’ Ryan eyed Hannah with great interest. She couldn’t help the way the corners of her mouth twitched. This was pretty funny. It was just a shame it was going to give Ryan ammunition he wouldn’t hesitate to use.

‘She’s stolen my money.’

Ryan stepped closer. He leaned down and smiled at Doris. One of those killer smiles he usually reserved for the women he was flirting with. Which was just about every female member of staff.

Except Hannah.

His voice was a deep, sexy rumble. ‘Really?’

Doris Matheson stared back. Her mouth opened and then closed. Hannah could swear she fluttered her eyelashes and stifled another sigh at the typical feminine reaction to being the centre of this man’s attention. The coy smile Ryan received was only surprising because of the age of their patient.

‘What’s your name, young man?’

‘Ryan Fisher, ma’am.’

‘And you’re a policeman?’

‘Not really.’ Ryan’s tone was that of a conspirator revealing a secret. ‘I’m a doctor.’

The charm he was exuding was palpable. Totally fake but, for once, Hannah could appreciate the talent. It wasn’t being directed at her, was it? She didn’t need to arm herself with the memories of the misery men like Ryan could cause the women who trusted them. It was certainly defusing a potentially aggravating situation here.

‘Ooh,’ Doris said. ‘Are you going to look after me?’

‘You’re about to go to X-Ray, Mrs Matheson,’ Hannah said.

‘What for?’

‘We think you’ve broken your hip.’

‘How did I do that?’

‘You fell over.’

‘Did I?’ The question, like the others, was directed at Ryan despite it being Hannah who was supplying the answers.

‘Yes.’ Hannah looped her stethoscope back around her neck. ‘And we can’t find any medical reason why you might have fallen.’ The cause had been obvious as soon as Hannah had been within sniffing distance of her patient. She hadn’t needed the ambulance officer’s report of an astonishing number of empty whisky bottles lined up on window-sills.

Ryan was smiling again but with mock severity this time. ‘Have you had something to drink tonight, Mrs Matheson?’

She actually giggled. ‘Call me Doris, dear. And, yes, I do like a wee dram. Helps me sleep, you know.’

‘I’m sure it does, Doris.’ Ryan’s tone was understanding. He raised an eyebrow. ‘But it can make it difficult to remember some things, too, can’t it?’

‘Ooh, yes.’ Doris was looking coy again. ‘Do you know, I almost forgot where the bathroom was one night?’

‘Did you forget how much money you might have had in your purse, too?’

‘I never keep money in my purse, dear! It might get stolen.’

‘It might, indeed.’ Hannah got a ‘there you go, all sorted’ kind of glance from Ryan. She tried hard to look suitably grateful.

‘I keep it in the fridge,’ Doris continued happily. ‘In the margarine tub.’

‘Good thinking.’ Ryan stepped back as an orderly entered the cubicle. ‘Maybe I’ll see you when you get back from X-Ray, Doris.’

‘Oh, I hope so, dear.’

Hannah held up her hand as her patient’s bed was pushed away. ‘Don’t say it,’ she warned.

‘Say what?’ Ryan asked innocently.

‘Anything about naughty girls,’ Jennifer supplied helpfully. ‘Or arresting them. And especially nothing about handcuffs.’

‘Not even fluffy ones?’

Jennifer gave him a shove. ‘Go away. Try and find something useful to do.’

They were both laughing as Ryan walked away. Relaxed. Enjoying the diversion of an amusing incident. But Jennifer could afford to enjoy Ryan’s company, couldn’t she? Happily married with two adorable small children at home, she was in no danger of being led astray.

Neither was Hannah, of course. She knew too much about men like Ryan Fisher. Great-looking, fun men like the ones who’d made her mother’s life a misery after her dad died, not to mention the guy who’d broken her sister’s heart not so long ago.

Hannah only ever let herself get involved with nice, trustworthy, serious men like her father had been. She’d believed herself to be totally immune to men of Ryan’s ilk.

Until three months ago.

Until she’d met Ryan Fisher.

Jennifer was still smiling as she tidied the ECG leads away. ‘I still can’t believe you’re taking time off,’ she told Hannah. ‘I’ve never even known you to be sick. You’re the one who always fills in for other people like Ryan when they take days off work.’

Hannah glanced towards the central desk. Ryan—the king of holidays and all other good things life had to offer—was now leaning casually on the counter, talking to a tired-looking receptionist. Probably telling her one of his inexhaustible supply of dumb blonde jokes. Sure enough, a smile was starting to edge the lines of weariness from Maureen’s face.

‘I’m going to check the trauma room while it’s quiet,’ Hannah told Jennifer.

‘I’ll help you.’ Hannah’s news of taking time off had clearly intrigued her friend, who didn’t consider their conversation finished. ‘And there I was thinking that, if I didn’t drag you out occasionally, you’d spend all your time off studying or something.’

Hannah picked up the laryngoscope on top of the airway trolley and pulled the blade open to check that the battery for the light was still functional. ‘Are you saying I have no life?’

‘I’m saying your career takes the prize as your raison d’etre.’

‘I always wanted to be a doctor.’ Hannah snapped the blade back in line with its handle, switching off the light. ‘Now that I am one, I intend to be a very good one.’

‘You are a very good one. The best.’

‘We’ll see.’ The glance between the two women acknowledged the growing speculation within the department over who was going to win the new consultant position. She had been the only serious contender until Ryan had thrown his hat into the ring today. Was that why she was so aware of his presence in the department tonight? Why everything about him seemed to be rubbing her up the wrong way even more than usual?

‘Anyway…’ The wind had been taken out of Jenny’s sails, but not by much. She opened a box of syringes to restock the IV trolley. ‘You don’t need to prove how good you are by living and breathing emergency medicine.’

‘So you’re saying I’m an emergency department geek?’ Hannah tilted the ceiling-mounted, operating-theatre light so it was in a neutral position. It would be fair enough if she was. Hannah loved this space. Fabulous lighting, X-ray and ultrasound facilities, every piece of equipment they could possibly need to cover the basics of resuscitation and stabilisation of a critically ill patient. Airway, breathing, circulation. To be faced with a life-threatening emergency and succeed in saving that life was all the excitement Hannah needed in her life.

Jenny caught her expression and clicked her tongue with mock exasperation. ‘I’m just saying you could do with more in your life than work.’

‘And that’s precisely why I’m taking a few days off.’

‘Touché.’ Jenny grinned, magnanimous in defeat. ‘OK.’ She shoved the syringes into their allocated slot and then used her forefinger to stir the supply of luer plugs and IV connectors, pretending to count. ‘So where the hell is Crocodile Creek, anyway?’

‘Australia. Far north Queensland.’

‘Oh! Has this got something to do with your sister?’

‘Yes. I’ve been invited to a wedding.’

‘Susie’s getting married?’

‘No, though I’m sure she’d be over the moon if it was her wedding. She’s being a bridesmaid to her best friend, Emily.’

‘Do you know Emily?’

‘No.’

‘So why have you been invited to her wedding?’

‘Well…’ Hannah leaned against the bed for a moment. It wasn’t often they got a quiet spell, even at 2 a.m. on a Monday morning and the break hadn’t gone on long enough to get boring yet. ‘Susie didn’t have a partner to invite and we haven’t seen each other since she jumped the ditch and came to New Zealand for Christmas. I’m starting to feel guilty about how long it’s been.’

‘It’s only March and it’s a hell of a long way to go to ease a guilty conscience. Auckland to Cairns is about a six-hour flight, isn’t it?’

‘It sure is.’ Hannah groaned. ‘And then there’s the little plane from Cairns to Crocodile Creek, which will take another couple of hours, I guess.’

‘It must be a long way north.’

‘About as far as you can get. The hospital there is the rescue base for the whole of far north Queensland. That’s why I need the Friday on top of the weekend. I have to get right into the heartland of sugar and cane toads.’

‘Eew!’

‘Actually, it’s right on the coast. It sounds gorgeous.’

‘You’ve never been there before?’

‘No, and Susie’s been living there for as long as I’ve been working here. It’s high time I checked out what my little sister is up to.’

‘I thought you were twins.’

By tacit consent, the doctor and nurse were leaving the trauma room, satisfied it was ready for a new emergency. Hopefully, they’d be back in there soon with some real work to do.

‘She’s four minutes younger than me.’

‘And she’s a physiotherapist, right?’

‘Yeah. She started medical school with me but she hated it. Too much pressure.’

‘You must be quite different.’

‘Personality-wise, definitely. To look at, no. We’re identical.’

‘Wow! Do you have, like, that twin thing?’

‘Which “twin thing” is that?’ They were near the central desk now. Ryan had disappeared, presumably into the only cubicle with a drawn curtain. The nurse on triage duty, Wayne, was sitting, drumming his fingers on the counter.

‘You know, when one twin sprains her ankle, say, here in Auckland and the other twin falls over in a supermarket in central London.’

Hannah laughed, dismissing the suggestion with a shake of her sleek head. But was it so ridiculous? Was it just that she was missing a sister who had always also been her best friend or did those niggling doubts about how happy Susie was have a basis in some form of telepathic communication? Was the urge to travel thousands of miles at a very inconvenient time to attend the wedding of two people she only knew through Susie’s emails just an excuse?

‘Apparently this wedding is going to be great fun.’ Hannah tried to find a more rational explanation for the urge she hadn’t been able to resist. ‘The groom, Mike, is Greek and his parents own a boutique hotel right in the cove. Susie reckons it’ll be the biggest party the Creek has ever seen.’

Jennifer’s peal of laughter made several heads turn.

‘What’s so funny?’ Hannah’s eye was caught by the light on the radio receiver that linked the department with the ambulance service. It was blinking.

Jennifer could hardly get the words out clearly. ‘You’re going to My Big Fat Creek Wedding!’

Grinning, Hannah still managed to beat Wayne to the microphone. ‘Emergency Department.’

‘Auckland four eight here. How do you receive?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Hannah responded, her grin fading rapidly. ‘Go ahead.’

‘We’re coming to you from the scene of a high-speed multiple MVA. The chopper’s just landing to collect a second seriously injured patient who’s currently trapped, but we’re coming to you with a status-one seven-year-old boy.’

The grin had long gone. Status one was as serious as it could get. Under CPR, not breathing or uncontrollable haemorrhage were all possibilities for the priority designation. This ambulance would be coming towards the hospital under lights and sirens.

‘Injuries?’

‘Head and facial trauma. Partially unrestrained front-seat passenger—the safety belt wasn’t latched securely.’

This wasn’t the time to feel angry at someone failing to strap a child into a car seat properly. Or to wonder why they were travelling at 2 a.m. in the first place.

‘Vital signs?’

‘GCS of 3.’

The child was profoundly unconscious. Quite possibly due to bleeding around his brain.

‘Airway?’

‘Unsecured.’ The paramedic raised his voice as the siren came on in the background. The vehicle must be in heavier traffic now. At night, just having the beacons flashing could be enough warning of the urgency of their mission. ‘There’s severe facial trauma and swelling. We’ve got an OP airway in but that’s all.’

The boy needed intubation. Securing an airway and optimising oxygen levels were a priority in a head injury. Especially in a child because they had a greater chance of neurological recovery than an adult after a head injury and therefore warranted aggressive treatment in the early stages. If the paramedics had been unable to intubate due to the level of trauma, it could mean that this was going to be a challenging case.

Hannah could feel her adrenaline levels rising and the tension was spreading. Nearby staff were all listening avidly and the curtain on cubicle 4 flicked back to reveal that Ryan was also aware of what was happening. Hannah’s heightened awareness registered the interest and at some subconscious level something like satisfaction was added to the emotional mix. She was taking this call.

This would be her case, not Ryan’s. Just the kind of case she needed to showcase the skills that would be a major consideration in choosing the new consultant for the department.

‘What’s the oxygen saturation level?’ she queried briskly.

‘Ninety-four percent.’

Too low. ‘Blood pressure?’

‘One-thirty over sixty-five. Up from one-twenty five minutes ago.’

Too high for a seven-year-old. And rising. It could well be a sign of increasing intracranial pressure.

‘Heart rate?’

‘One hundred. Down from about one-thirty.’