The Playboy Doctor's Proposal. Alison Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.’

      Too slow for Hannah’s peace of mind. And dropping. It could also be a worrying sign. ‘What’s your ETA?’

      ‘Approximately five minutes.’

      ‘We’ll be ready for you.’ Casting a glance over her shoulder, Hannah could see Ryan moving towards the resuscitation area she and Jennifer had just checked. Not that she was about to decline any assistance for dealing with the incoming case but she didn’t want Ryan taking over. It wasn’t as though there was only one victim arriving, was it? She pushed the button on the microphone again.

      ‘Do you know the ETA for the chopper?’

      ‘Negative. Fire service is on scene, though.’

      It shouldn’t take them long to cut the second victim clear of the wreckage, then. ‘And that’s also a status-one patient?’

      ‘Affirmative. Chest trauma. It’s the mother of our patient.’

      Ryan would be able to lead the team on that case. In resus 2. Or they could share the main trauma room if necessary. Hannah’s plan of action was forming rapidly as she replaced the microphone.

      ‘Put out a call for an anaesthetist, please, Wayne,’ she directed. ‘And let’s get a neurosurgical consult down here. Sounds like we might need someone from Plastics, too. Jenny, you’re on the trauma team tonight, aren’t you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you, Wayne?’

      ‘Yes. Resus 1?’

      Hannah nodded, already moving towards the area. She pulled one of the protective plastic aprons from the large box on the wall. Ryan was already tying his behind his back.

      ‘Could be a tricky airway management,’ he said.

      ‘Mmm. I’ve called for some anaesthetic back-up but I’ll see how I go.’ The direct look Hannah gave Ryan could leave him in no doubt that she intended to lead this resuscitation effort. The subtle twitch of an eyebrow let her know the message had been received and understood. It also hinted at amusement rather than intimidation.

      ‘I’ll stay until the mother gets here,’ he said calmly. ‘In case you need a hand.’

      ‘Thanks.’ The acknowledgement was perfectly sincere. There was a child’s life at stake here and Hannah would never let any personal considerations affect her performance. She would stand back in a flash if she thought Ryan’s skills would improve the management. Never mind that he would get the credit for managing a difficult case.

      It was just annoying that people that mattered were keeping a count of those credits at present. And disappointing that a competitive edge of any kind had crept into Hannah’s working environment when one of the things she loved best about her work was the way a team of people could work together and the only kudos that really mattered was a successful outcome to that work.

      The decision on the consultant’s position was only a week or two away. A position that represented everything Hannah was striving towards in a career she was passionate about. Why had Ryan decided to compete at the last minute like this? It wasn’t as if he really needed the position. He didn’t have a massive student loan, the repayments of which would benefit enormously from an increase in salary. He didn’t need to prove himself in a field that was still dominated by males in senior positions. He was an Australian. Auckland wasn’t even his home town.

      She couldn’t help flicking a glance towards the tall man who had now donned protective eyewear and a pair of gloves and was lounging at the head end of the bed. Why hadn’t Ryan Fisher just stayed on his side of the ditch? In that Sydney emergency department where he’d honed his not inconsiderable skills? Life would be so much easier if he had. And it wasn’t just due to that professional competition.

      Jenny pushed the IV trolley into an easily accessible position and then stood on tiptoe to check that the tubes attached to the overhead suction and oxygen supplies were firmly in place. It was still a stretch for her short stature and Ryan was quick to step forward.

      Without a word, he saved Jenny the awkward task and then gave her one of those killer smiles in response to her thanks. The senior nurse turned back to the IV trolley but Hannah noticed the extra glance that went in Ryan’s direction.

      Not that he had noticed. The registrar was lounging again, his keen glance taking in the mill of the gathering trauma team and registering the growing tension.

      The few minutes before the arrival of a serious case was a strange time. A calm before a storm of unknown proportions. Equipment was primed and ready. Staff were wearing protective gear and waiting. Wayne stood behind a kind of lectern that had the paperwork necessary to document every moment of the resuscitation effort and he was fiddling with a pen.

      Hannah had pulled on gloves and was unrolling the airway pack on the top of a stainless-steel trolley. Others were simply standing. Waiting. There was nothing to do until their patient came rolling through those double doors. Nobody liked to speculate in too much detail on what was about to arrive because that could give them tunnel vision. A conversation that required distraction of mental focus was just as unwanted. What usually happened was a bit of gossip or a joke. Light-hearted banter that could relieve tension before it achieved destructive proportions. Something that could be abandoned as easily as begun.

      And Ryan could always be counted on to provide a joke that would make everybody laugh.

      Everybody except Hannah. She made a point of never laughing at Ryan’s jokes because the vast majority of them were at the expense of women with blonde hair. Like hers.

      Sure enough, he was telling one now.

      ‘So this blonde—Cindy—is in desperate financial straights and she prays for help. “Please, God, let me win the lottery or I’ll have to sell my car.” But she doesn’t win so she prays again, “Please, God, let me win the lottery. I’m going to have to sell my car and my house.”’

      Everybody was listening. Or half listening. Waiting for the distant wail of the siren that would advertise that the calm was over. Hannah kept her gaze on the trolley, checking that there was a range of paediatric-sized tubes and that the laryngoscope was still working.

      She didn’t have to look at Ryan to know exactly what the image would be. He would be standing completely at ease with just a hint of a smile and a twinkle in those dark eyes that advertised an upcoming punchline. It might be a terrible joke but everybody would be listening and would be prepared to laugh because Ryan commanded that sort of attention. And popularity. Without even trying.

      Hannah СКАЧАТЬ