The Playboy Doctor's Marriage Proposal. Fiona Lowe

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СКАЧАТЬ for a drink.

       Not a good idea, Emily.

      But common sense had no chance against the endorphin rush. All thoughts of staying detached and professional got swept away by the sheer joy that exploded inside her. Her feet wanted to happy dance and her hands wanted to high-five.

      Stay cool and calm. ‘That would—’

      ‘Emily, Linton, you’re needed,’ Sally, the desk clerk, called them to Reception.

      Jodie dashed past, holding two kidney dishes. ‘Gastro in cubicles one, two, three and four.’

      Emily picked up the histories and noted the patients all had the same surname. ‘Looks like it’s one family.’ She handed out the histories. ‘Jason, you and Patti share Mr Peterson and Jodie’s in with Mrs Peterson. Get base-line obs and assess for dehydration.’

      Linton took the remaining histories. ‘You examine the teenager and then join me with the eight-year-old.’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Your hair colour will convince him you’re a clown and he’ll relax while I’m inserting an IV.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Ha, ha, very funny. I think I just have my first example for my Master’s of interpersonal relationships with staff and harassment.’ She jokingly tapped his chest with her forefinger. ‘Be nice or I might not help.’

      She turned away and pushed open the curtain to see a fourteen-year-old boy heaving into a bowl, his ashen face beaded with sweat. ‘David, I’m Emily.’

      He fell back against the pillow, exhausted. ‘I feel terrible.’

      ‘You don’t look too flash.’ She picked up his wrist and her fingers quickly located his pulse, which beat thinly and rapidly under her fingertips. She pushed an observation chart under the metal clip of the folder and recorded his pulse, respirations, blood pressure and temperature. ‘When did the vomiting start?’

      ‘After lunch.’ He flinched and gripped his stomach, pulling his legs up. ‘Arrgh, it really hurts.’ His quavering voice stripped away the usual teenage façade of bravado.

      She hated seeing people in distress. ‘I can give you something to help with the spasms but first I have to insert a drip, which means a needle in your arm.’

      ‘Oh, man.’

      She stroked his arm. ‘It won’t hurt as much as the cramps. Tell me, what did you eat for lunch?’

      ‘Sausages and chops.’ He grabbed the bowl again, gagging.

      ‘Take long, slow deep breaths, it really helps.’ Emily quickly primed the IV. ‘When was the meat cooked?’

      ‘Dad and I barbequed it and then we ate it straight away.’

      She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think I can smell the smoke from the fire on your clothes.’

      ‘Yeah, it was an awesome bonfire. I’d been collecting the wood for a week.’

      What was it about men, testosterone and fire? Her brothers loved nothing better than a midwinter bonfire. ‘Was it a special occasion?’

      He nodded weakly. ‘Dad’s birthday. Mum even bought coleslaw and potato salad.’

      Wrapping the tourniquet around his arm, she kept mental notes of the food. ‘Did you have cake?’

      ‘Yeah, one of those mud cakes from the supermarket.’

      Swabbing the inner aspect of his left arm she kept talking. ‘Sounds like a lovely party.’

      ‘It was, until we all started vomiting.’ His arm stiffened as the needle slid into his vein.

      ‘Sorry.’ She whipped the trocar out of the cannula and attached the Hartmann’s solution. ‘Now I can get you something to lessen the nausea.’

      David stiffened on the trolley, his eyes suddenly wide and large.

      ‘What’s wrong?’

      He flushed bright pink. ‘I need to go…now.’

      ‘Right.’ She grabbed a bedpan from under the trolley and helped him into position. ‘Here’s the bell, ring when you’re done.’ She backed out of the cubicle, feeling sorry for the boy who had left his dignity at the door.

      ‘Emily, how’s your patient?’ Linton stood at the desk, writing up a drug chart.

      ‘I’ve inserted a Hartmann’s drip. Can I have a Maxalon order, please?’ She slid her chart next to his.

      ‘No problem.’ His lean fingers gripped his silver pen as his almost illegible scrawl raced across the paper. ‘So does he have diarrhoea, vomiting and stomach cramps?’

      ‘Yes, all three, poor guy. He’s pretty miserable. It sounds like a birthday party gone wrong.’ She opened a syringe and assembled it, attaching it to the needle. ‘David said his mum bought coleslaw and potato salad. Mayonnaise can harbour E. coli so I’m wondering if we should ring the health inspector to check out the deli.’ She snapped open the ampoule of Maxalon.

      ‘Good idea, and worth a phone call.’ Linton rubbed his creased forehead. ‘But if it was the deli we should have other people in with the same symptoms.’

      ‘Unless the Petersons left their food out of the fridge and in the sun.’ She confirmed the dose of the injection with Linton.

      ‘It could be the meat.’ He walked with her back toward the cubicle, his hands deep in his pockets.

      ‘True, except that a dad and his son were barbequing.’

      He arched a brow and stared down at her. ‘Meaning?’

      She ignored his supercilious look. ‘Meaning most of the blokes I know tend to char the meat rather than undercooking it.’

      ‘Now, there’s a sexist statement for you. I’m sure you have to be on the lookout for those in your assignment of interpersonal relationships in the clinical environment.’ He flashed her a challenging grin. ‘I can shoot your gross generalisation down in flames. I happen to be a brilliant barbeque cook and one day I will prove it.’

      The dizzy dancing that had been spinning inside her since his invitation to drinks expanded. She couldn’t be imagining this. No, the signals were definitely there. He’d asked about her Master’s, he’d mentioned drinks, and now a barbeque. There was no doubt about it, he wanted to spend some time with her.

      She ducked around the corner and helped her patient off the bedpan before inviting Linton in with the injection. ‘David, this is Dr Gergory.’

      ‘Hey, David.’ Linton extended his hand, treating the teenager like a young adult.

      The patient put his hand out to grasp Linton’s and suddenly stopped. He flicked his wrist, shaking his fingers.

      ‘Is there a problem with your hand?’ Linton turned David’s palm over.

      ‘My fingers feel СКАЧАТЬ