Leah Martyn - Wedding in Darling Downs

‘Declan…are you OK?’

Declan’s head came up, looking at her without seeing. ‘Sorry?’

‘We should get on,’ she cajoled gently.

‘Yes, we should.’ He turned abruptly, as if to shut out the scene he’d walked into so unguardedly. He felt weird, in no way prepared for the hollow feeling in his gut as he snapped off the light and closed the double doors on the annexe.

Emma’s gaze moved over him. ‘Sure you’re OK?’

He saw the compassion in her eyes, the softening, felt her empathy. But he wasn’t a kid who needed to cry on her shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, his tone gruff as if brushing her concern aside. ‘Fill me in about hospital staff.’

Emma gave a mental shrug. He hadn’t fooled her for a minute. Well, if that was how he wanted to handle it, that was his business, his life. ‘I’ve sent out an email to the nurses to advise them you were joining the practice.’ She didn’t add they’d probably done their own research on the Internet in the meantime. ‘Rachel is our nurse manager,’ she reiterated as they made their way along to the station. ‘We have three other permanent RNs who alternate shifts and Dot Chalmers is permanent nights. Ancillary staff are rostered as necessary.’

‘Leave and sick days?’ Declan fell into step beside her.

‘Covered by a small pool of nurses who mainly live in the district.’

‘That seems like a reasonable set-up,’ Declan said. ‘I imagine the staff value their jobs quite highly.’

‘And the folk hereabouts value them ,’ Emma said, leaving him in no doubt that any changes there would be unacceptable. Just in case he was thinking along those lines.

‘Hospital maintenance is covered by a local firm, as is security. And Betty Miller is our indispensable hospital cook.’

Declan nodded, taking everything on board. He began to quicken his pace.

‘Patients now?’

Emma rolled her eyes. He’d have to learn to slow down if he was going to relate to the locals. ‘Is there a fire somewhere?’ she enquired innocently.

‘Forgot.’ He sent her a twisted grin. ‘I’m keen to get cracking, that’s all.’

‘Hello, people.’ Rachel, tall and slender, came towards them, her nimbus of auburn hair stark against the white walls of the hospital corridor. ‘And you are Dr O’Malley, I presume?’ Beaming, the nurse manager stuck her hand out towards Declan.

‘I am.’ Declan shook her hand warmly. ‘And it’s Declan. I’ve just been getting the lay of the land from Emma. It looks like a great little hospital.’

‘We’re proud of it.’ Rachel spun her gaze between the two medical officers. ‘Um—I was just on my way for a cuppa.’

‘Don’t let us hold you up,’ Emma insisted. Despite it being a small hospital, she knew the nurses worked hard and deserved their breaks.

‘OK, then. I won’t be long.’ Rachel began to move away and then turned back. ‘I knew you’d be along so I’ve pulled the charts on our current patients.’

‘Take your time.’ Emma smiled. ‘And thanks, Rach. We’ll be fine.’

‘I guess you know this place like the back of your hand,’ Declan surmised as they made their way along to the nurses’ station.

Emma sent him a quick look. It still seemed surreal that this once highly ambitious, powerful man was now to all intents and purposes her practice partner. Her hand closed around the small medallion at her throat. No doubt, for the moment, the newness of what he’d taken on was enough to keep him motivated. But what would happen when the grind of family practice began to wear thin? Where would his motivation be then?

In a dry little twist of quirky humour, Emma transposed the scenario into equine terms. Surely what Declan was proposing was like expecting a thoroughbred racer to feel fulfilled pulling a plough…

‘Something amusing you, Emma?’ Declan lifted a dark brow.

‘Not really,’ she said, going behind the counter and collecting the charts Rachel had left out.

‘OK, who’s the first cab off the rank?’ Declan asked, settling on one of the high stools next to her.

‘Russell Kernow, age seventy-five, lives alone,’ Emma said. ‘I saw him at the surgery a week ago. He was presenting with an incessant cough, raised temperature. I prescribed roxithromycin. His condition didn’t improve and I admitted him two days ago. He was seriously dehydrated, complained his chest felt tight. I’ve placed him on an inhaler twice daily and the cough seems to have diminished slightly. I’ve sent bloods off as well.’

‘So, you’re testing for what—serology, pertussis, mycoplasma?’

‘Plus legionella,’ Emma said.

Declan raised a dark brow. ‘Is that a possibility?’

‘A remote one, but Russell’s house is fully air-conditioned. He spends much of his time indoors. And we’ve since found out the filters on his air-con unit haven’t been changed for two years.’

‘Still…legionella is drawing a fairly long bow,’ Declan considered.

Emma bristled. If he was going to start telling her her job, they were going to fall out before the ink was dry on their partnership papers.

Their eyes met. He could see the spark of hostility in her gaze. Hell, he didn’t want to blow things with her before they even got off the ground. ‘Just thinking aloud,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s your call. When do you expect the results?’

‘Soonish,’ Emma said, faintly mollified. ‘I’ve requested the path lab to fax them to us here.’ She turned, stroking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Next patient is Sylvia Gartrell, age sixty-five. Recently had surgery—hysterectomy and bladder repair. Post-op seven days. The air ambulance delivered her to us yesterday.’

Declan ran his index finger between his brows. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Her bladder function hasn’t yet returned to normal. She’s having to self-catheterise and she’s finding the procedure difficult to manage. Currently, the nurses are giving her some guidance. It seemed the safest option to have her here until she feels competent to go it alone. At the moment she’s convinced she’ll be stuck with this problem for ever so she needs emotional support as well.’

‘Why was she released from hospital in the first place?’

Emma sighed. ‘Same old story. They needed the bed.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud! We’ll need to keep a close eye on her, be mindful of the possibility of infection.’

‘We’re all aware of that, Declan.’

He sighed. ‘OK, then, who’s next on our patient list?’

‘Only one more. Ashleigh Maine, aged eleven. Poor little kid had a bad asthma attack yesterday. Scared the life out of her.’

‘So what’s her prognosis?’

‘She’s getting some relief from a nebuliser and of course she’s on a drip. Her home situation is not as good as it could be, though. Dad still smokes.’

Declan swore under his breath. ‘I realize tobacco is the drug some folk cling to when they’re under stress but surely, if his child is suffering, the man has to take stock of his actions?’

‘Normally, Ashleigh’s condition is fairly well managed but it only needs a change in routine and she’s struggling again.’

‘Are you aware of the study on asthmatics that’s been carried by the Jarvis Institute in Sydney?’ Declan asked pointedly.

Emma’s gaze was suddenly uncertain. ‘It’s a breathing technique, isn’t it? I think there’s a new physio in Toowoomba who’s a graduate from the Institute. We got some leaflets. I was going to investigate it further just before Dad…died. Do you want to take the child on to your list?’

‘Fine with me,’ he replied calmly. ‘I’ll chase up the physio and get the parents in for a round-table chat. I’ve a few ideas that might help as well.’

Emma defended her corner quietly. ‘I did try to put the parents in touch with the Asthma Foundation. They run camps and things that Ashleigh could attend with other youngsters with the same health problem. They declined.’

Declan’s response was swift. ‘Leave it with me, Emma. I’m new to the place. They’ll take notice, believe me.’

Emma opened her mouth and closed it. She hoped he wouldn’t jump all over the family. It wasn’t the way things worked in rural medicine. If the Maines took offence, that would be the end of the doctors getting access to Ashleigh. Oh, help. Which way should she jump? Forward, if she had any sense. ‘You will tread gently, won’t you, Declan?’

His jaw hardened. ‘I’ll do what I need to do, Emma.’

‘Not with my patients, you won’t,’ she flared. ‘Bendemere is a close-knit community. You can’t go around upsetting people.’

Hell, this was a minefield. She was guarding her territory, whereas he was used to giving orders and having them carried out immediately. OK, then. Back off, he told himself. ‘If we want this partnership to work, Emma, we have to trust each other’s medical skills. You haven’t had any complaints about my patient contact, have you?’

‘No…’ She lifted her hands in appeasement. ‘It’s just—we’re not used to working with each other yet.’

His mouth pulled tight. Was this what he was about to sign on for—bickering over someone who couldn’t grasp that his inability to quit smoking was stuffing up his child’s health? He lifted his gaze to glance meaningfully at her. ‘Just let’s try to keep it professional, then.’

Emma gritted her teeth. That was a low blow. She’d done everything she could under very difficult circumstances to keep their relationship professional. He’d been the one to overstep this morning when he’d touched her cheek! She tried to steady her thoughts. She’d have to swallow her angst with him if she didn’t want everything turned into ashes. New jobs had been promised and already there was an air of expectation about the town. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Rachel heading towards them, a tea tray in her hands. ‘I thought you might need this,’ she said. ‘And Betty’s made us some of her special ginger biscuits,’ she added brightly, sensing an air of tension between the two.

‘Lovely,’ Emma said faintly.

‘I’ll take a rain check, thanks, Rachel.’ Declan spun off his stool. ‘I’ll get on and make myself known to our patients.’

‘Then I’ll accompany you,’ Rachel said.

‘There’s no need.’ He gave an impatient twitch of his shoulder. ‘I’m sure I can manage.’

Rachel’s raised brows spoke volumes, before she swept up the patient charts. ‘My hospital, my call, Dr O’Malley. Besides, I need to strut my stuff occasionally,’ she said cheekily. ‘It’s ages since I walked the wards with a posh doc.’

Emma watched them walk away together, saw Declan turn his head, heard his rumble of laughter as he interacted with Rachel. She made a little sniff of disapproval. Shaking off a disquiet she didn’t understand, she took up one of Betty’s ginger biscuits and dunked it in her tea.

By Sunday afternoon Emma was going stir-crazy. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a million things she could be doing. She just couldn’t settle to anything. Declan had offered to be on call for the weekend so that had left her with more free time than she’d had in months. She’d done a tour of the garden and picked a bunch of winter roses to bring some warmth and friendliness to reception. At least Moira would appreciate her gesture. She doubted Declan would even notice.

She was back to him again. She still had the feeling of things being not quite right between them. He’d erupted into the practice and into her life and she’d hardly had time to take stock. He hadn’t exactly steamrollered over her but he hadn’t wasted any time in putting his plans into action. But then she’d given him tacit permission, hadn’t she? Because the alternative had been too bleak to contemplate.