Her Brooding Italian Surgeon. Fiona Lowe
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man anywhere. Not any more.
Leo tilted his head towards the door, code for, We need to talk, and then strode towards it. Abbie followed him out into the corridor.
Without preliminaries, he cut to the chase. ‘Can you anaesthetise?’
She nodded. ‘I can and Erin can assist but that’s all the staff I can spare because Justin and the nursing staff are needed down here.’
‘Abbie—’ Justin hurried towards them ‘—I’m evacuating the spinal injury to Melbourne by air ambulance.’
‘What about the elderly woman?’
‘She hasn’t arrived yet; they’re still trying to get her out but Paul’s worried about a crush injury and possible risk of amputation.’
Abbie groaned. ‘Man, I wish I could clone us. We’ve still got the fractured pelvis to assess. Get the paramedics to help you when they bring in the next two patients and—’
‘Abbie.’ Her name came out on a low growl as Leo slid his arm under her elbow in an attempt to propel her forward. ‘We need to get to Theatre now.’
His urgency roared through her, along with a tremor of something else she refused to name. ‘Justin if you—’
‘He’ll ring us in Theatre if he needs to consult. Come on.’ Leo marched her back into the resuss room. ‘Erin, cara, let’s move.’ He started to push the trolley through the door.
Then he swung back to Abbie, his well-shaped lips twitching with an unexpected smile tinged with cheeky humour as if he’d just realised something funny. ‘Er…Abbie, exactly where is the operating theatre?’
Her already adrenaline-induced limbs liquefied. She could resist his getting my own way smile, knowing it was manufactured, but this smile was vastly different—it was one hundred per cent genuine and completely devastating. Somehow she forced her boneless legs to start moving. ‘This way; follow me.’
‘It’s a mess in here.’ Dealing with the pulped spleen made Leo frown in concentration as he carefully separated it from its anchoring ligaments. Every part of him operated on highalert, not just because all emergency surgery meant the unknown but because added into this combination was working with today’s less experienced staff. Still, he couldn’t fault either of them. Abbie McFarlane had run the emergency as well as any of his veteran colleagues in Melbourne and right now she was coping with a tricky anaesthetic and acting as scout.
‘Suction please, Erin.’ The amount of blood in the field had him extremely worried. ‘Abbie, how’s her pressure?’
Remarkably calm green eyes peered from behind a surgical mask. ‘Holding, but only just. I’ll be happier when you’ve zapped the sucker.’
He grimaced behind his mask. ‘You and me both.’ He moved the probe into position and, using his foot, activated the diathermy. The zap sounded loud in the relatively quiet theatre, in stark contrast to Melbourne City where his favourite music was always piped in.
Erin’s hand hovered, holding the suction over the clean site, and he counted slowly. By the time he got to four, blood bubbled up again, filling the space. ‘Damn it.’ He packed in more gauze.
‘Pressure’s still dropping.’ A fray in Abbie’s calm unravelled in her voice. ‘She’s lost three litres of blood and this is our last packed cell until the helicopter arrives.’
‘It will be OK.’ He said it as much for himself as to reassure Abbie and Erin. Closing out the sound of the beeping machines, he carefully examined the entire operation site millimetre by millimetre, looking for the culprit.
‘O2 sats are dropping.’ Stark urgency rang in Abbie’s voice.
The gurgling sound of the suction roared around him as Jenny’s life-force squirted into the large bottle under the operating table almost as fast as Abbie could pump it in. A flash of memory suddenly exploded in his head. Him. Raised voices. Christina’s screams. Dom. Life ebbing away.
His heart raced and he dragged in a steadying breath. He hadn’t known how to save Dom and he’d failed Christina but he was saving this woman.
Look harder. He caught a glimpse of something and immediately fritzed it with the diathermy. Still the blood gurgled back at him. He held out his hand. ‘Four-zero.’
‘She’s about one minute away from arresting.’Abbie hung up the last unit of blood, her forehead creased in anxiety.
‘I’m on it.’ Sending all his concentration down his fingers, he carefully looped the silk around the bleeding vessel and made a tie. Then he counted.
This time the site stayed miraculously clear. His chest relaxed, releasing the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.
‘Pressure’s rising, O2 sats are rising.’ Relief poured through Abbie’s voice as she raised her no-nonsense gaze to his. ‘You had me worried.’
Despite her words, he caught a fleeting glimpse of approbation in the shimmering depths of green. ‘Hey, I’m Italian—we always go for the big dramatic finish.’
Abbie blinked, her long brown lashes touching the top of her mask, and then she laughed. A full-bodied, joyous laugh that rippled through her, lighting up her eyes, dancing across her forehead and jostling the stray curl that had sneaked out from under her unflattering theatre cap.
And you thought she was plain? He frowned at the unwelcome question as he started to close the muscle layers.
Abbie administered pethidine for pain relief through a pump. ‘Well, we Anglo-Saxons prefer the quiet life.’
‘Speak for yourself. I’m not averse to a bit of drama and flair. It makes life interesting.’ Erin fluttered her pretty lashes at him over her surgical mask, an open sign of if you’re interested, then I’m definitely in.
The day his divorce had been finalised fifteen years ago, he’d committed to dating beautiful women and dating often—a strategy that served him well. He loved women and enjoyed their company—he just didn’t want to commit to one woman. The emotional fallout of his marriage had put paid to that. Now he focused on work, saving lives and enjoying himself. It was a good plan because it left him very little time to think about anything else.
Usually when he was given such an open invitation as the attractive Erin had just bestowed, he smiled, called her cara mia, took her out to dinner and then spent a fun few weeks before the next pretty nurse caught his eye or he caught the glimpse of marriage and babies in her eyes.
But recently that game had got tired.
The theatre phone rang and Abbie took the call. ‘Leo, Justin wants an opinion on the crushed leg so a decision can be made to either evacuate or operate first.’
‘Tell him I’m five minutes away.’
When Abbie finished the call he continued. ‘Whether I should operate or not might be semantics. Evacuation might be the only option due to staffing issues.’
Her shoulders squared, pulling her baggy scrubs across her chest and she rose on her toes. ‘If the patient requires surgery before evacuation then Bandarra Base will make it possible. You worry about the surgery and let me worry about the staffing issue; that’s my job.’
Her professionalism eddied around him—her sound medical judgement, the composed and ordered way she’d run the entire emergency and the undeniable fact she’d stayed calm and focused even when she’d been pushed way out of her comfort zone by the emergency anaesthetic.
The fact she put her patient’s needs first and asked you for help, despite how you treated her.
A streak of shame assailed him. Abbie McFarlane was a damn good doctor. How the hell had he missed that last night?
Abbie’s legs ached with heaviness as she sank onto the saggy