Flirting with the Socialite Doc. Melanie Milburne

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      ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘You did really well. I’m going to put a splint on your arm so we can get you to hospital. You’re going to need an orthopaedic surgeon to have a look at that fracture.’

      Damien muttered a swear word under his breath. ‘My dad is going to kill me.’

      ‘I’ve just called him,’ Zach said. ‘He’s on his way. The ambos are five minutes away,’ he said to Izzy.

      ‘Good,’ Izzy said, as she unpacked the inflatable splint. The boy was shivering with shock by now so she gave him an injection of morphine. She was about to ask Zach to pass her the blanket out of the kit when he handed it to her. She gave him a smile. ‘Mind-reader.’

      He gave a shrug. ‘Been at a lot of accidents.’

      Izzy hated to think of how terrible some of them might have been. Cops and ambulance personnel were always at the centre of drama and tragedy. The toll it took on them was well documented. But out in the bush, where the officers often personally knew the victims, it was particularly harrowing.

      The volunteer ambulance officers were two of the people Izzy had met the other night at the pub, Ken Gordon and Roger Parker. After briefing them on the boy’s condition, she supervised them as they loaded Damien onto a stretcher, supporting his arm. And then, once he was loaded, she put in an IV and set some fluids running. The Royal Flying Doctor Service would take over once the ambulance had delivered the boy to the meeting point about eighty kilometres away.

      Not long after the ambulance had left, a four-wheel-drive farm vehicle pulled up. A middle-aged man got out from behind the wheel and came over to where Zach was sorting out the towing of the damaged vehicle with the local farmer who had called in the accident.

      ‘Is it a write-off?’ Charles Redbank asked.

      Izzy paused in the process of stripping off her sterile gloves. Although Zach had called Charles and told him Damien was OK, she still found it strange that he would want to check on the car before he saw his son. What sort of father was he? Was a car really more important to him than his own flesh and blood?

      Zach put his pen back in his top pocket as he faced Charles. His mouth looked particularly grim. ‘No.’

      ‘Bloody fool,’ Charles muttered. ‘Was he drinking?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘He’s not seriously hurt.’ Izzy stepped forward. ‘He has a broken arm that will need to be seen by an orthopaedic surgeon. I’ve arranged for him to be flown to Bourke. If you hurry you can catch up with the ambulance. It’s only just left. You probably passed it on the road.’

      ‘I came in on the side road from Turner’s Creek,’ Charles said. ‘And you can think again if you think I’m going to chase after him just because he’s got a broken arm. He can deal with it. He’s an adult, or he’s supposed to be.’