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  ‘Ah, but I’m paid to serve the people of Australia, of whom, I presume, you are one. In fact, we could take my Land Rover,’ he offered, waving a hand towards a bulky four-wheel-drive vehicle parked not far from her small blue car.

  He’d switched the conversation with the neatness of a master strategist, but she was tired of arguing. Tired, full stop. For a moment she considered his offer. If they took his vehicle he would drive. But in the end she shook her head regretfully.

  ‘No, it’s too high and it would be too awkward for Cathy to climb into the seat,’ she said, and led the way towards her car.

  ‘I’ll drive, you direct me,’ he suggested, his long strides taking him ahead of her so that he reached the car first and had the passenger door open before she could protest.

  She hesitated, instinctively reluctant, as if driving around Murrawarra with this man posed an unnamed threat.

  ‘Look,’ she said, tilting her head so she could see into the brown eyes, ‘isn’t the army here to help save what’s left of the town? Shouldn’t you be filling sandbags, or directing your troops, or yelling orders over there where things are happening? I’ve been ferrying people from the water’s edge to the hospital since this inundation began. I can manage one more run without your help.’

  ‘I need to assess the situation,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘You mean, check that Cathy’s pregnant? That I’m telling the truth? What’s it got to do with the army?’

  He sighed tiredly and for a moment she felt a spurt of sympathy for him. ‘It’s most irregular, having civilians in need of medical care in the front line,’ he muttered.

  Kirsten forgot her own tiredness and chuckled.

  ‘I know it’s rough out here, but it’s not exactly war,’ she told him. ‘And most of the civilians in these parts are very capable people. They’ve had to be, to survive the rigours of the bush.’

  The brown eyes met hers in a kind of challenge, but all he said was, ‘I understand toughness and the rigours of the bush, and if you don’t stop arguing you’ll be late collecting your patient.’

  Disturbed by what hadn’t been said, she climbed into the passenger seat and waited while he shut the door and walked around the car. It was a small courtesy, but one which pleased her. An officer and a gentleman? She stole another look at him as he opened the driver’s side door, and felt an unfamiliar, and totally unexpected, quiver of an elemental attraction deep inside her body.

  He eased himself in behind the wheel then adjusted the seat back as far as it would go.

  ‘Just put it back where it was when you get out,’ she grumbled at him, more because she was disconcerted by her reaction to his presence than with any real annoyance at him shifting it. ‘I’ll never reach the pedals with it right back there.’

  He shot a look at her as he started the car.

  ‘You won’t be needing to worry about where the car seat is for a while. You’ll be flying out of here later today. Just as soon as I can bring in some Blackhawks. The car will stay!’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she told him stubbornly. ‘Not while I’ve patients here who need me.’

  ‘Your patients will also be airlifted out as soon as I can get a chopper suitable for medical evacuations,’ he informed her, driving slowly past the tent city his troops were erecting.

  ‘Checking to see they’ve got the tent-pegs in line?’ Kirsten asked nastily, sniping at him because the other conversation was veering towards a childish ‘will not’, ‘will so’ argument.

  He ignored her, steering through the stone posts at the entrance to the convent grounds and turning the car towards the town.

  ‘You’re meeting your patient near the old meatworks?’

  ‘Yes, it’s—’ she began, but he’d already turned left and was heading towards the old ruined building. ‘How do you know where it is if you’ve just arrived in town?’

  ‘We do have maps,’ he said coolly. ‘Which happen to have all civilian structures marked on them, including abandoned buildings and unoccupied convents.’

  The penultimate word was stressed just enough to let her know that the issue of her presence in the convent hadn’t been laid to rest.

  Well, that was too bad. He might have maps that showed the structures in the town, but who could map the spirit of a place?

  She stared out the window at the now familiar sea of brown flood water. It was moving sluggishly today, swirling in eddies around abandoned homes and the trunks of the tall gums that had so far survived. Debris clinging to the walls of the buildings showed where the previous floods had peaked and Kirsten shuddered as she imagined the next wave of water, sweeping towards them from so far up north it had already devastated half a dozen towns.

  ‘Rob has a tinny. He’ll come from that direction.’

  She pointed, peering through the rain for a first glimpse of the little aluminium runabout the farmer used, in better times, for fishing,

  ‘He’ll have to travel slowly,’ her chauffeur said. ‘Watching out for submerged fences and floating debris.’

  The windows were fogging up and Kirsten pushed open the car door as they rolled to a halt by the water’s edge. The rain eased to a kind of damp mist and she heard the chug of an outboard motor above the gurgle of the moving water.

  She stepped out of the car and moved towards the shelving bank where Rob would bring the little boat in to rest.

  ‘How far have they come? Don’t you realise the dangers associated with travelling across the water? There are civilian and military helicopters available for evacuations—why didn’t you call in one of them?’

  ‘It wasn’t my choice,’ she reminded him. ‘Besides, most of the helicopters are working north of here, where the flood’s peaking right now. I thought their role was to rescue people in immediate danger.’

  ‘So you’ll admit your patient’s not in immediate danger?’

  Kirsten spun towards him.

  ‘What is this? Interrogation army-style? Where are the spikes for pushing under my fingernails? Do you pack electrodes when you head off on these civilian rescue missions?

  ‘And I told you to get out of those wet clothes,’ she added crossly, as the man sneezed again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HARRY stifled a second sneeze for fear the small termagant would turn on him again. He’d known the moment the name Murrawarra had been mentioned that this was going to be one of those jobs where nothing went right. What he should have done was ignore the inner voice whispering of cowardice and gone with his instincts to set up headquarters further back from the flood water. Or switched this section of the flood-stricken land to someone else.

  Too late now. He bent to grab the prow of the dinghy and drag it far enough up on the bank to stabilise it. The snippy doctor had waded into the water and was steadying the woman passenger.

  The man in the boat flipped his outboard up out of harm’s way, and leapt ashore, dragging the back of the boat out of the swirling water. Then, with infinite care, he bent over his wife and lifted her from the seat as if she had no more weight than a child.

  Harry saw the look that passed between the couple and felt a pang of envy. He wanted to help, to offer to carry the woman, but knew the man would never give up his precious burden.

  The doctor had hurried ahead to her car, where she opened the back door then turned to help the farmer settle his wife on the seat.

  ‘Take care of her, Kirstie,’ the man said, his voice harsh with either the weather or emotion.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rob, we will. And we’ll keep you posted. Is your phone still working or shall we call you on the CB?’

  Harry stared out across the seemingly limitless stretch of water and wondered if any phone could possibly be working.

  ‘The phone’s fine. Thank heaven for satellite technology.’

  The stranger bent into the car to give his wife a final kiss, then, without a backward glance, marched back to his boat, nodded once to Harry, who held it steady for him, then d
ropped the propeller back into the water and reversed away.

  ‘We don’t have time to hold streamers for departing voyagers,’ the irritating doctor called to him, and he turned back towards the car and found her crouched beside the woman in the back seat of the little sedan.

  ‘You mean she’s having the baby right now?’ he demanded, running through the very basic training on delivering an infant he’d once received as part of a first-aid course.

  ‘That’s why she’s here,’ the doctor reminded him, in a tone that oozed sarcasm.

  Harry wanted to argue, to remind the woman that here was where she shouldn’t be—any ‘she’, pregnant or not, doctor or not. They were all supposed to have been evacuated…

  A loud groan from the newcomer suggested that the argument could be shelved until later, and he climbed into the car and drove swiftly back to the convent.

  ‘Stop at the side entrance and sound the horn,’ the doctor ordered. ‘Then, as you’re here, you might as well be useful. When Ken brings out the gurney, you can help lift Cathy onto it. Try not to sneeze on her.’

  Harry stifled a retort, found the side entrance to the west wing, drew the car in as close as possible, then sounded the horn. He thought he’d heard a new tightness in the doctor’s voice and, as he climbed out of the little sedan and looked in at her, her pale face confirmed a nasty suspicion that all wasn’t well.

  The tall man Harry had seen earlier answered the summons with a wheeled stretcher.

  ‘Hey, Cathy!’ he said cheerfully, peering into the back seat of the car. ‘You going to cut costs and have Junior out here or do you want the full service, including a ride inside?’

  ‘We’re coming in,’ the doctor Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to call Kirsten, even in his mind, replied. ‘But before we move, I want you guys to work out the best way of lifting Cathy.’

  Dr McPherson—he’d call her that!

  She was still squatting on the floor of the car and must be aching with cramp, but she seemed so totally in control Harry wondered if he’d imagined the signs of stress earlier.

  ‘Cathy,’ she continued calmly, ‘I realise this position is uncomfortable for you but for some reason a small loop of the baby’s cord has slipped down in front of its head. I’m holding the pressure off it with my fingers and, if possible, I want to keep my hand where it is while you’re moved, and also keep you as flat as possible so gravity isn’t fighting against us. Think you can handle that?’

  Harry heard the quietly spoken words, but the lack of emotion didn’t stop his heart accelerating into panic. He might not be an obstetrician but he understood enough about the birth process to know the cord was the unborn infant’s lifeline.

  While the two women murmured reassurances to each other, he thrust away the fears and considered the logistics. He could handle logistics. He was good at logistics.

  ‘I’ll get in the other door and take Cathy’s head and shoulders,’ he suggested to Ken who was looking even more worried than Harry felt. ‘Then we’ll ease her out in this direction, with you taking her legs, the doctor backing out as best she can, while I wiggle across the seat and lift from behind.’

  ‘We can try it,’ Ken said dubiously. ‘Did you follow that, Cathy?’

  There was a muffled assent, but Harry guessed Cathy had got beyond agreeing or disagreeing with anything, wanting nothing more than to get the whole business over and done with.

  As he climbed into the car behind her and tried to slide his legs under her body so he could take her weight as they eased her out, he realised the logistics weren’t nearly as good as he’d imagined.

  It was a nightmare, in fact, but somehow they lifted, shoved and jostled the crying woman out of the cramped space and onto the gurney, the doctor holding her position so steadfastly Harry couldn’t help but be impressed.

  ‘Now I want you to turn on your side, Cathy. Ken, prop pillows under her hips. You…’ she turned to Harry ‘…run inside and get more pillows—second door on the left is a store cupboard.’

  The rain returned at that moment, and he was about to protest that they’d be better off getting their patient out of it when he saw the grim set of the doctor’s lips and obeyed instead.

  By the time he returned the gurney was under cover, and Ken now worked efficiently, raising the woman’s hips on the pillows, talking soothingly all the time.

  ‘OK, let’s get inside,’ the doctor said, stepping away from her patient and folding her arms across her chest so her hands were tucked under her armpits. But not before Harry saw the blue-white fingers and guessed she’d been battling a lack of circulation for some time. A tightness in her lips suggested the returning blood was hurting her but she said nothing of her own discomfort.

  Harry helped Ken wheel the patient in, steadying rather than guiding as he had no idea where they’d go next.

  ‘I made up a bed in the room next to Chipper, or the theatre’s ready if you want to use it as a labour room?’ Ken made the statement into a question, then turned apologetically to their patient. ‘Sorry we haven’t got a fancy delivery suite, Cathy,’ he said. ‘Like most everything else in the town, it got washed away.’

  The woman smiled at him.

  ‘As long as my baby’s a Murrawarra kid I don’t care if it arrives here in the corridor,’ she told him, then stopped abruptly as pain again gripped her body.

  ‘We’ll go into the theatre,’ the doctor decided. ‘It’s the mother superior’s old room so that’s highly appropriate. I’m sure Cathy’ll be a most superior mother.’

  Her tone was light but Harry could still see tension in her face and hear it beneath the words. He let Ken wheel the patient away and turned to the doctor.

  ‘You’re worried about that woman,’ he said. ‘Do you want her flown out?’

  She looked up at him and the brown curls, lying damply against her pale skin, seemed to make a frame for her face.

  ‘There’s no need for panic,’ she said tiredly. ‘The baby’s fine, the foetal heartbeat strong. I’d prefer Cathy deliver naturally but if I think for one moment the prolapsed cord is likely to compromise the baby’s health or well-being I’ll do a Caesarean.’

  She frowned at him, as if distracted by some secondary thought, then added, ‘This is normal hospital routine. A situation that can arise at any time. Statistically, one in four hundred births have some degree of prolapsed cord involvement. The fact that Murrawarra is all but surrounded by water is purely incidental.’

  ‘So why are you over-explaining?’ Harry demanded. ‘Explaining at all? Because you shouldn’t be here, that’s why. And a responsible doctor would have insisted that the woman was evacuated days, if not weeks, ago.’

  The doctor in question looked slightly shaken, or so he thought until he caught the flash of anger in the blue eyes.

  ‘Insisted?’ she snorted. ‘Ordered, I suppose you mean! Well, I don’t work that way. As far as I’m concerned, people are entitled to make their own choices and decisions. Rob and Cathy had livestock to consider—cattle and sheep Rob wouldn’t have been able to shift on his own in these circumstances. Do you think she stayed behind to make life difficult for me, or to aggravate the army when it finally came swanning into town?’

  She gave him a sardonic glare and continued, ‘Women out here in the west share the workload with their men. They share the bad times as well as the good times, though those have been few and far between lately. But…’ And now she jabbed him again with that pointy finger. ‘If this couple have managed to save some stock, and the flood waters eventually recede, then at least they’ll have something to build from, some animals to enjoy the good season that will follow the rains.’

  She spun away from him but not before he’d heard her mutter, ‘That’s if we don’t get a plague of locusts!’

  He stood in the corridor, sneezed a couple of times and thought about what she’d said.

  Was it really so tough, the life out here? So tough that a pregnant woman had put her health a
t risk to help her husband save stock?

  And beyond that thought was another he didn’t want to pursue because it was about his own choice of career—and toughness—and proving something!

  A loud cry of pain brought his mind back to the labouring woman, and he felt his heart jolt with concern as if, by meeting her in these bizarre circumstances, he’d somehow become emotionally linked to her and the child she was struggling to produce.

  According to the smart-mouthed doctor, Cathy wasn’t at risk. This hitch in the delivery could have happened anywhere, to anyone. So why was he standing in the corridor, worrying about the woman’s welfare, when he should be commanding his company?

  The doctor re-emerged and he grabbed her arm.

  ‘I can call in a helicopter,’ he said urgently, and the little snip of a thing had the hide to smile at his concern.

  ‘Women do cry out during labour,’ she reminded him. ‘If you can’t stand the noise, get out of earshot. Go and shout at your troops. Have a parade. Get into some dry clothes.’

  She whisked away and he was about to go after her, although he wasn’t sure why, when a loud eruption of a different noise made him glance towards the main entrance.

  As far as he could make out, there were a number of people thundering down the stairs.

  People?

  Very small people?

  A woman bustled past him, heading towards the furore, and he followed, reaching out to take her arm and ask, ‘Children?’

  ‘Little hellions more like!’ she snorted, reaching the big entry hall and yelling for quiet.

  The noise level dropped but when the three children lined up in front of the woman and began, all at once, to offer excuses, it rose again.

  ‘Silence!’ Harry snapped, and this time the command worked. A scuffling noise halfway up the stairs made him look up, to see a very embarrassed lieutenant cowering in the shadows.

  ‘Can you explain this, Ross?’ he demanded, stilling the smallest child, a grubby-looking boy, with a steely glare.