The Consultant's Adopted Son. Jennifer Taylor
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as she made her way to the treatment area. The charge nurse was on the telephone and she held up her hand when Rose approached her. It was another couple of seconds before she hung up, and Rose could tell immediately that something major was about to happen.
‘RTA on its way,’ the charge nurse explained, bustling past her. ‘Multiple casualties, with an ETA of four minutes, so we need to get everything set up. You’ve worked in Resus before, I hope?’
‘Many times,’ Rose replied, following the other woman across the foyer. It was just gone seven a.m. and already the waiting room was filling up. Swingeing cuts to health-care budgets had resulted in many of the smaller emergency departments closing their doors. Casualties were brought to central points and St Anne’s was one of the biggest in this part of London. That it was reputed to be one of the best was the reason why she had been so keen to work there.
‘I’ve worked in just about every A and E in central London. I’ve also done the extra training required for trauma care,’ she explained as the charge nurse led the way into the resuscitation room, which was where the most critically injured patients were treated.
‘Really?’ The other woman looked relieved. ‘Looks like we’ve struck gold for once. I can’t count the number of times we’ve ended up with agency staff who don’t know the first thing about A and E work. At least we’ll be spared our revered boss having an apoplectic fit today…’
She broke off when a nurse popped her head round the door to warn them the first ambulance had arrived. Turning back to Rose, she said hurriedly, ‘Find out where everything is, can you? Once the patients start arriving, there won’t be time to direct you.’
Rose took a deep breath as the other nurse hurried away. It wasn’t the first time she’d been dropped in at the deep end, neither would it be the last. Every time she worked at a new hospital she had to acquaint herself with the layout of the department. Just for a second she thought wistfully how wonderful it would be if she had a permanent post to go to each day, before she dismissed the idea. Agency work paid double the salary she could earn in a permanent job, and that had to be the major consideration at the moment.
She did a quick tour of the room, taking note of where all the supplies were kept. It was obviously a new facility because the equipment was the most modern she’d seen. She cast an admiring glance at the state-of-the-art radiography equipment, which was linked to a sophisticated computer system—there’d be no waiting around for X-ray films to be developed here!
‘Male, aged seventeen, with extensive leg injuries.’
The doors crashed open as the paramedics wheeled in the first patient and Rose ran to help. She listened attentively as they rattled out details about the young man’s BP and oxygen saturation levels, the amount of saline fluid he’d received as well as the drugs that had been administered. Even the smallest detail could turn out to be important, so she made sure that she didn’t miss anything as she positioned herself at the top right corner of the specially adapted trauma bed.
‘On my count…one, two…!’
Rose grabbed a corner of the spinal board when one of the crew started to count and helped to lift the young man off the trolley. The charge nurse was standing at the foot of the bed and she glanced at her.
‘Get rid of his clothes, will you? The consultant’s on his way…Ah, speak of the devil. Here he is.’
Rose looked round as the doors burst open again. She heard the other nurse say something to her but the words seemed to be coming from a distance. All she could see was the man striding towards her: tall and dark, with the kind of cleanly hewn good looks which would appeal to any woman…
Blood rushed to her head and she swayed. What was Owen Gallagher doing here?
OWEN had never fully appreciated before what the saying about being pole-axed had meant, but he understood it now. It felt as though he’d been riveted to the spot as he stared at Rose Tremayne. What was she doing here? he wondered dazedly. However, before he could attempt to work out the answer, the doors crashed open as the next patient was rushed in.
‘Bed two. Suzanne, you take charge. I’ll be with you once I’ve checked this one out.’ Owen snapped back into action, feeling his heart thundering as he strode over to the bed. He didn’t look at Rose as he bent over the young man because he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. ‘What do we know so far?’
‘Motorcyclist with severe injuries to both legs. GCS of ten on admission.’
It was Rose who answered, and he felt his skin prickle with awareness when he recognised the sweetly husky tones. His mouth thinned as she continued updating him on the patient’s status. There was no way on earth that he was prepared to think of her as an attractive woman. She was a threat to his son and that was all there was to it.
‘He needs intubating and I want another line put in, stat! And can someone get rid of those clothes? How the hell can I examine him properly when he’s trussed up in those?’
He quickly set about intubating the patient, ignoring the fact that everyone had fallen silent. So maybe it wasn’t usual for him to order people around like that, but this wasn’t a usual day, was it? Having Rose Tremayne turn up in his department was something he had never allowed for. He wasn’t sure what she’d hoped to achieve by it, but there was no way he was letting her get anywhere near Daniel if that was what she’d been planning.
The thought of her duplicity was very hard to swallow and he swore under his breath as he eased the endoctracheal tube down the young man’s throat. Rob Lomax, one of the two registrars who were on duty that day, looked at him in surprise.
‘Are you OK, Owen?’
‘Fine. I suggest you concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing instead of worrying about me.’
Owen ignored the looks the team exchanged at yet another example of his strange mood that day. He would make his peace with them later, after he’d calmed down—if he calmed down, he amended as Rose Tremayne moved around the bed and into his line of sight. What the hell was she doing here?
The only person who could answer that question was Rose herself, and there was no way he could ask her it at the present moment. He finished intubating while she cut away the young man’s leather jacket and then carried on with his examination, logging up a couple of broken ribs as well as a dislocated shoulder.
‘X-rays,’ he rapped out, moving to the bottom of the bed so he could examine the man’s legs, which were a mess. The right tibia was sticking through the flesh and the left foot was twisted at such an odd angle that the ligaments had to be ruptured. It was going to take the orthopaedic team several hours to put this jigsaw back together, he thought grimly as he turned to Beth Humphreys, the senior radiologist.
‘Both legs need doing as well as the usual—lateral cervical spine and anteroposterior views of the chest and pelvis. And can you send a copy through to the orthopaedic department so they know what they’ll be dealing with?’
He moved away after Beth had assured him that she would get straight onto it and went to see how Suzanne was faring. Although the registrar was extremely capable, she tended to doubt her own ability and needed a bit of gentle encouragement at times.
‘So what have we got here?’ he asked, standing beside Suzanne because it meant that he had his back to Rose Tremayne. The less he saw of her the better, he thought darkly, then deliberately erased the thought from his mind. If she’d hoped to upset him by turning up here then she was going to be disappointed.
‘Jane Robinson, aged fifty-five, presented with severe chest pain. She was a rear-seat passenger in the second vehicle that crashed.’ Suzanne frowned as she looped her stethoscope around her neck. ‘GCS fifteen on admission. Blood gases normal for both oxygenation and acid-base status, and both lungs are clear. There’s no history of cardiac