The Australian's Desire: Their Lost-and-Found Family / Long-Lost Son: Brand-New Family / A Proposal Worth Waiting For

CHAPTER TWO

SHE nearly missed him. She drove slowly back toward the airport, starting to feel really guilty. It was unseasonably hot even for here, she thought. The wind was starting to feel like they were in for a major storm, even though the sky was clear.

There was a cyclone out to sea—Cyclone Willie—but it was so far out it should never come near them. The weather guys on the radio were saying the winds they were feeling now were from the edge of the cyclone.

Just don’t rain for Mike and Em’s wedding tomorrow, she told the weather gods. Or for Gina’s the Saturday after.

Right. Back to worrying about Alistair. She’d gone two miles now and was starting to be concerned. Surely he should have walked further than this. But it was so hot. She should never have let her temper hold sway. He wouldn’t have realised how hot it was.

Maybe he’d left the road to find some shade. She slowed down and started studying the verges. Here was the bridge …

She nearly didn’t see them. A path ran by the river, meandering down to a shanty town further on. Here were huts built by itinerant fishermen, or squatters who spent a few months camping here and then moved on. Periodically the council cleared them but they came back again and again.

There was a man in the distance, just as the track disappeared into trees. Holding a child’s hand.

Even from this distance she could pick the neat business suit and jacket slung over his shoulder. Not Crocodile Creek wear. Alistair.

What the hell was he doing? She pulled onto the verge and hit the horn. Loudly. Then she climbed out and waved.

In the distance Alistair paused and turned. And waved back.

Who was he with?

She stood and waited. He’d have talked one of the local kids into taking him to shelter, she thought, expecting him to leave the child and come back to the road. He didn’t. He simply stood there, holding the child’s hand, as if he expected her to come to him.

Really! It was hot. She was wearing leather pants. OK, maybe they weren’t the most practical gear in this heat. She’d put them on to make a statement.

She’d also put her stilettos back on before bringing the car out. Her nice sensible trainers were back at the hospital.

He expected her to walk?

He wasn’t moving. He simply stood by the riverbank and waited.

Didn’t he know you didn’t stand near the river? Not for long. There were crocs in this river. It was safe enough to walk on the bank as long as you walked briskly, but to stand in the one spot for a while was asking for trouble.

OK. She gave a mental snort and stalked down the path toward them. Dratted stilettos …

Davy Price.

She recognised the child before she’d reached the riverbank. Immediately her personal discomfort was forgotten. What the hell was Alistair doing, holding Davy’s hand? Davy was six years old. He was the eldest of four children, the last of whom she’d delivered four days earlier. They lived in the worst of this motley collection of shacks.

While Lizzie, Davy’s mum, had been in hospital, she’d tried to persuade her to move to council housing. But …

‘My old man wants to live by the river. He won’t move.’

Georgie fretted about the family. Lizzie’s ‘old man’ was Smiley, an indolent layabout, drunk more often than not. Lizzie tried desperately to keep the kids healthy but she was almost beaten. To let her go home to this mosquito-ridden slum had gone against every piece of logic Georgie possessed. But you can’t make people do what they don’t want—who knew that better than Georgie?

But now … She slipped on her way down the grassy verge and she kicked her stilettos off. By the time she reached them she was almost running.

‘What’s wrong, Davy?’ she asked as she reached them. She ignored Alistair for the moment. It’d take something really dire to prise this shy six-year-old from his mum. There had to be something badly amiss. How had Alistair become involved? She had him twigged as the sort of guy who didn’t get involved.

He was still holding Davy’s hand. He was obviously very involved.

‘Mum said to go and get Dad,’ Davy whispered. ‘But Dad’s gone fishing.’

‘He went out this morning?’

‘He was going to win some prize,’ Davy said, and swiped a grimy fist over an even more grimy face. ‘But Mum can’t get out of bed and the baby keeps crying and crying and there’s nothing for Dottie and Megan to eat. I don’t know what to do.’

‘So Alistair’s taking you home,’ she said, casting Alistair an almost approving glance before stooping and tugging the little boy close.

‘He said he was your friend,’ Davy whispered.

‘Of course he’s my friend.’ She hugged the little boy hard and then put him away from her, holding him at arm’s length. She glanced up at Alistair and surprised a look of concern on his face. Well, well. The guy had a human side.

‘OK, let’s go find your mum and see if we can help until your dad comes back,’ she said.

‘That’s just what we were doing,’ Alistair said. ‘But you’re very welcome to join us.’

The hut was one of the most poverty-stricken dwellings Alistair had ever seen. The smell hit him first—an almost unbelievable stench. Then they rounded a stand of palms and reached the hut itself. Consisting of sheets of rusty corrugated iron propped up by stakes with a roof of the same iron weighted down by rocks, it looked more a kid’s cubby hut than a real house.

‘My God,’ he whispered, and Georgie cast him a warning look.

‘Most of these houses are better,’ she said. ‘But they’re mostly used by itinerant fishermen, not by full-time residents. Even so … This hut is a long way from any other for a reason. Davy’s dad is … not very friendly.’

He was starting to get a clear idea of Davy’s dad and it wasn’t a flattering picture. What sort of man left a wife who’d just given birth while he joined a fishing competition?

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Georgie said grimly, watching his face and guessing his thoughts. ‘Stay out here for a moment and I’ll see what’s happening.’

She ducked inside the lean-to shed, leaving him outside, trying to ignore the smell.

Her inspection lasted only seconds. ‘Come in,’ she called, and something in her voice prepared him for what was inside.

The hut consisted of a rough chimney at one end with a dead fire at the base, a table and an assortment of camping chairs in various stages of disrepair. There were two double-bed mattresses on the floor and that was the extent of the furnishings. There was a baby lying in the middle of one mattress, wrapped neatly enough in a faded blue blanket. On the other bed were two little girls, four and two maybe. They were huddled as closely as they could get to a woman lying in the middle of the bed. The woman looked like she was sleeping. But …

‘She’s almost unconscious,’ Georgie said, stopping his deepest dread before it took hold. ‘The pulse is really thready and she’s hot as hell. Damn. I need an ambulance. There’s no cellphone reception down here but I’m driving the hospital car. It’s parked up on the bridge and there’s a radio in that. Right. The mum’s Lizzie. The little girls are Dottie and Megan—Megan’s the littlest—and this is baby Thomas. Take care of them. I’m fetching help.’

She left before he could answer.

Help.

This wasn’t exactly familiar territory. He was a neurosurgeon. He was accustomed to a hospital with every facility he could possibly want. He’d reached the stage in his career where he was starting to train younger doctors. He’d almost forgotten this sort of hands-on medicine.

‘Is she dead?’ Davy whispered, appalled.

‘No.’ He hauled himself together. He was the doctor in charge.

‘She’s not.’

Move. Back to basics. Triage. He did a fast check on the baby—asleep but seemingly OK. He loosened the blanket and left him sleeping. Then he crossed to the mattress, stooped and felt the woman’s pulse. It was faint and thready. The two little girls were huddled hard against her, big-eyed with terror.

‘Davy, I need you to take your sisters onto the other bed while I look after your mother,’ he told the little boy. He made to lift the first girl but she sobbed and pulled away from him.

‘He’s going to make our mum better,’ Davy said fiercely. He grabbed her and pulled. ‘Dottie, get off. Now.’

‘I promise I’m here to help,’ Alistair told them, and smiled. One of the little girls—the littlest—had an ugly bruise on her arm. And a burn on her knuckles. He winced. He remembered this pattern of burn mark from his training. Once seen, never forgotten.

‘I’m here to help you,’ he said softly. ‘I promise. Dottie, Megan, will you let me see what’s wrong with your mum?’

‘He’s Georgie’s friend,’ Davy said stoutly, and it was like he’d given a password. They shifted immediately so he could work. But they watched his every move.

Alistair smiled at them, then turned his attention to their mother. He didn’t know how long it would be before help came. With a pulse like this …

The woman’s eyelids flickered, just a little.

‘Lizzie,’ he said softly, and then more urgently, ‘Lizzie.’

Her lids lifted, just a fraction.

On a makeshift bench there was a jug of water, none too clean, but he wasn’t bothering about hygiene now. The woman had puckered skin, and she was dry and hot to the touch. A severe infection, he thought. The bedclothes around her were clammy, as if she’d been sweating for days.

He poured water into a dirty cup—there were no clean ones—swished it and tossed it out, then refilled the cup. In seconds he was lifting her a little so he was supporting her shoulders and holding the mug to her lips.

She shook her head, so fractionally he might have imagined it.

‘Yes,’ he said fiercely. ‘Lizzie, I’m Dr Georgie’s friend. Georgie’s gone for help but I’m a doctor, too. You’re dangerously dehydrated. You have to drink.’

Nothing.

‘Lizzie, drink.’

‘Drink, Mum,’ Davy said, and Alistair could have blessed him. The woman’s eyes moved past him and found her son.

‘You have to do what the doctor says,’ Davy quavered. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend. Drink.’

She closed her eyes. He held her mug hard against her lips and tilted.

She took a sip.

‘More,’ he said, and she took another.

‘Great, you’re doing great. Come on, Lizzie, this is for Davy.’

He pushed her to drink the whole mug. Sip by tiny sip. She was so close to unconsciousness that it seemed to be taking her an almost superhuman effort.

These children were solely dependent on her, Alistair thought grimly. And she was so young. Mid-twenties? Maybe even less. She looked like a kid, a kid who was fighting for her life.

He could help. He poured more water into a bowl, stripped back her bedding and started sponging her. ‘Can you help?’ he asked Davy. ‘We need to get her cool.’ As Davy hesitated, Alistair lifted Lizzie’s top sheet and ripped. OK, this family looked as if they could ill afford new sheets, but he’d buy them himself if he had to. He handed a handful of linen to each of the children.

‘We need to keep your mum wet,’ he said. ‘We have to cool her down.’ He left the woman’s flimsy nightgown on and simply sponged through the fabric.

It was the right thing to do, on all sorts of fronts. It helped Lizzie, but it also gave the children direction. Megan seemed a bit dazed—lethargic? Maybe she was dehydrated as well. But Dottie and Davy started working, wetting their makeshift washcloths, wiping their mum’s face, arms, legs, and then starting again. It kept the terror from their faces and he could see by the slight relaxing of the tension on Lizzie’s face that it was doing her good. Cooling or not, the fact that there was another adult taking charge must be immeasurably reassuring.

He poured another drink for the little girl—Megan—and tried to persuade her to drink. She drank a little, gave a shy smile and started sponging as well.

Brave kid.

Then, faster than he’d thought possible, Georgie was back. She’d run in her bare feet, and she’d hauled an oversized bag back with her.

‘This stuff is always in the hospital car,’ she said briefly as his eyes widened. ‘Emergency essentials.’ When she saw what he’d been doing, she stopped short. ‘Fever?’

‘I’m guessing way above normal. But she’s drunk a whole mug of water.’

‘Oh, Lizzie, that’s great.’

But Lizzie was no longer with them. She’d slipped back into a sleep that seemed to border on unconsciousness.

No matter. Her pulse was already steadying.

‘Great work, kids,’ Georgie said, setting her bag down on the floor and hauling it open. ‘With workers like you guys, you hardly need me, but now I’ve brought my bag … let’s see if what I have here might help her get better faster.’

They worked as a team. The bag was magnificently equipped. Within minutes they had a drip set up and intravenous antibiotics and rehydration were started. Georgie had lugged an oxygen cylinder with her and they started that as well. Covering all bases.

‘Oh, God, if we hadn’t come …’ Georgie whispered.

It didn’t bear thinking about. They both knew just how close to disaster the woman had been.

‘Check the baby,’ he said. He hadn’t had time to give the children more than a cursory check, but while they were setting up the drip Davy had lifted the baby onto his knees and was cuddling his little brother. Davy—all of six years old with the responsibility of this entire family on his shoulders.

‘Will you let me see him?’ Georgie said softly to Davy, and Davy glanced up at her as if he was still uncertain who to trust. She smiled down at him—a tender smile that Alistair hadn’t seen before. Another side of Georgie?

Davy relinquished his bundle and Alistair thought, Yeah, I would too if she smiled at me like that.

Crazy thought. Concentrate on work.

Georgie lifted the bundle into her arms, wrinkling her nose at the stench. She laid the baby on the end of Lizzie’s bed, removed his nappy and started cleaning.

Was this the sort of thing doctors did here? Alistair wondered. Medicine at its most basic.

‘Has Thomas been drinking?’ she was asking Davy.

‘I dripped water into his mouth when he cried.’

‘Good boy,’ Georgie said in a voice that was suddenly unsteady. ‘You’ve done magnificently, Davy.’ She glanced across at Alistair. ‘I’ll leave the nappy off. He’s hot as well, and probably dehydrated, like his mum. We need a drip here, too, I reckon.’

Alistair checked the bag, and found what he needed. He swabbed the tiny arm, preparing to insert a drip.

‘You can do this on newborns?’ Georgie queried. Veins in neonates were notoriously difficult to find.

‘I’m a neurosurgeon,’ he told her. ‘Paediatrics is my specialty.’

‘We don’t want brain surgery here,’ she whispered. ‘We just need the ability to find a vein.’

Which he did. The syringe slid home with ease and he sensed rather than saw the tension leave Georgie.

She cared about these people, he thought with something akin to shock. He wouldn’t have thought it of her. But, then, she was an obstetrician. She just hadn’t acted like one the first time he’d met her.

There was the sound of a siren, from far away but moving closer.

‘Davy, can you go up to the road and show them where to come?’ Georgie asked, but as Davy rose Alistair gripped his hand and held it.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘Dr Georgie has done everything we need to do here. Davy, your mum’s going to be OK, and so is the baby. You found help. You’ve done everything right.’

The little boy’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Go and get the ambulance officers with Dr Alistair,’ Georgie said to him. ‘And that’s the last thing we’ll to ask you to do. We’re taking you all to hospital where we can give you all a great big meal, pop you all into a lovely comfy bed near your mum and let you all have a long sleep until your mum is better.’

There was one last complication. They wouldn’t all fit into the ambulance.

Megan was definitely dehydrated. Thomas hadn’t been fed properly, maybe for twenty-four hours. He needed a humidicrib and intensive care. And Lizzie was waking a little more now, emerging from her semi-conscious state but moving to uncomprehending panic.

She was gripping Georgie’s hand as if it was her lifeline. Every time she opened her eyes she searched in panic for Georgie. So Georgie had to go with her. Which made four in the ambulance. Lizzie, Megan, Thomas and Georgie.

‘I can’t go to hospital,’ Lizzie murmured as the ambulance officers shifted her to a stretcher. ‘Smiley’ll kill me.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I’ll kill him first,’ Georgie said fiercely. ‘So it should be quite a battle. Lizzie, you’re moving out of here. I told you last time and now I’m insisting. And you needn’t be afraid of Smiley. If you agree, I’ll swing it so he never comes near you again. We’ll organise you safe housing. I swear I’ll fix it.’

Alistair blinked. These weren’t calming, reassuring words to a desperately ill woman. But it seemed to work. Lizzie slumped back onto the stretcher and the tension seeped out of her.