The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) Read online

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘But it seems logical!’

  He left them sitting on sofa, both sucking on lemonade-flavoured ice-lollies—and, yes, Hamish admitted, maybe it did make sense. Only there was nothing logical about his thoughts as he drove to the hospital!

  He was thirty-five years old, for goodness’ sake! With a child and a mortgage and an endlessly demanding job—bogged down with responsibility and exhaustion—an impetuous thing like Charlotte wouldn’t even entertain…He stopped his thought pattern right there before it went any further. In a desperate attempt to distract himself, Hamish rang through to the hospital and chatted with the resident about the problem patient.

  A thirty-year-old male who the resident was pretty sure was putting on an impressive act in an attempt to get some drugs.

  ‘I think I know him,’ Hamish said. ‘I’ve come across him before—just tell him you need a second opinion before you can give him any pain medication. I’ll be there in five.’

  One look at Hamish’s rather familiar and less than impressed face and the patient knew he’d been rumbled, quickly jumping off the gurney and getting dressed at full speed then adding a few expletives for good measure as he raced out of the department as Hamish watched without uttering a single word.

  ‘Sorry to drag you in,’ Cameron addressed his boss. ‘He came in under a false name, so I didn’t know that you’d already seen him.’

  ‘Several times.’ Hamish nodded. ‘And don’t be sorry for calling me in—you did well to pick up that he was lying. He had me fooled once.’

  ‘Really?’ Cameron said doubtfully. Hamish Adams rarely got things wrong.

  ‘Well, nearly. Is there anything else you need me for before I head home?’

  ‘Nope, we’re pretty quiet. Hopefully I won’t have to wake you again.’

  ‘With the way Bailey’s behaving at the moment, I somehow don’t think it’ll be you waking me.’

  Only this time he was wrong…

  Letting himself into the house, expecting chaos, or at least a bordering-on hysterical Bailey, he frowned at the darkness, flicking on the kitchen light, and it was as if the fairies had whizzed in in the short time he had been away as he stared at the relatively tidy family room. Bailey’s bag had been repacked and stood ready to go in the morning, cups and bottles washed and draining, and most surprisingly of all the delightful sound of silence.

  DELEGATE!!!!!!!!!!!

  He saw the bold word written on Bailey’s chalk board and smiled as he picked up a piece of chalk, thinking of her scribbling it before she’d gone to bed—the chalk board Charlotte’s newest tool in communication as she endlessly came up with suggestions to help his work situation. She’d run the gamut—had even had him considering ascending, or metaphorically descending, the miserable stairs to a senior advisory role in hospital admin.

  She was right—he should delegate more. There were three consultants in the place so why did everyone, when it was urgent (and given the nature of his job it usually was!) always end up calling him?

  Hamish knew the answer. Picking up the chalk, he revealed it to Charlotte.

  ‘Already tried that—only no one does it as good as me!’ he wrote, then changed his mind, deciding that his words might possibly be misconstrued as a bit, well, suggestive! Carefully he rubbed out ‘it’ and changed it to ‘my job’, then headed upstairs, passing first Charlotte’s bedroom, the door slightly ajar, and, after pausing for just a fraction, heading to Bailey’s.

  Staring down at his son, seeing the flushed, tear-streaked face he had said goodbye to pale and peaceful, his sore mouth now relaxed in sleep, Hamish knew, with the relief only a frazzled parent could know, that he was out for the count, that a couple of hours of serious sleep were possibly about to ensue…and he wasn’t thinking about Bailey!

  Heading to bed, still dressed in his theatre gear just in case he was called back in, Hamish actually got under the covers instead of crashing on top and then was afforded the rare luxury of sleeping through the precious remains of the night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘HOW long till he gets here?’

  Slightly breathless from running from day care and ten minutes before his day officially started, Hamish slammed into the resuscitation room with his pager still shrilling urgently to alert him to the incoming emergency and started pulling the necessary equipment off the wall in preparation for the patient.

  ‘Two minutes!’ Charlotte answered without looking up, too busy pulling up drugs for the imminent arrival of the patient.

  A man had been electrocuted at work and was on his way into the department, and everyone present, from porter to consultant, was racing to do their bit to ensure that this unlucky young man was afforded every possible chance when he presented in the department.

  ‘What do we know?’

  ‘Twenty-eight-year-old male in full cardiac arrest. Electrocution. CPR was commenced by his father—he was intubated at the scene by the paramedics.’

  ‘How long has he been down?’

  ‘Forty minutes from when we got there!’ the paramedic answered, bagging the patient with one hand, his face red with exertion as he and his partner sped the ambulance stretcher into Resus, cardiac massage being delivered now by Cameron, the resident. ‘Vince, his dad, was on the scene, but we could barely get a word out of him. No response to drugs or defibrillation—he’s in fine VF.’

  ‘Do we have a name for the patient?’

  ‘Ronan. Ronan King.’

  ‘Right, let’s get him over,’ Hamish said, giving the count. ‘Cameron, keep up the CPR till we get him onto our monitors…’ Connecting the ambu-bag to the wall source of oxygen, Hamish bagged Ronan himself as he listened for air entry with his stethoscope, checking that the tube was correctly positioned. Nodding, he handed over the important job to Charlotte’s fellow emergency nurse, Amy. Charlotte connected the unlucky man to the hospital’s monitors and other staff ripped through Roman’s heavy clothing with scissors, tossing the shredded garments into bags, pulling off his gumboots and alerting Hamish to two nasty burns on Ronan’s feet.

  ‘Sats ninety-four percent!’ Charlotte called out, relaying every bit of information as it flicked on the screen, while still pulling up drugs into a kidney dish, leaving the ends of the needles in the ampoules to ensure the contents of each vial but allowing for rapid delivery when the doctor requested them.

  ‘Good job, guys,’ Hamish acknowledged. That the patient’s oxygenation at this dire stage was so good showed the effectiveness of the resuscitation he had been given by the paramedics—but it was what had happened prior to their arrival that was vital, that might well determine the eventual outcome for this young man. And everyone present knew it, but the paramedics didn’t even have time to accept his praise, their radios already crackling into life and demanding they move onto their next patient. ‘Pupils are fixed and dilated,’ Hamish said, shining a light into his patient’s eyes but nodding as the paramedic hastily reeled off the drugs that had so far been administered while he collected the equipment as his partner raced out to prepare the ambulance for their next call. Fixed and dilated pupils were an ominous sign of brain injury but atropine had been amongst the medications that had been given—a strong cardiac drug, it also had the effect of fixed and dilated pupils and allowed for the fateful sign to be temporarily ignored.

  ‘Hold the massage and let’s see what we’ve got.’ Hamish stared over at the monitor, his hand on the patient’s neck, straining to feel a carotid pulse as the monitor faded into fine VF. While the massage was being delivered strong green blips had formed on the screen, a femoral pulse felt, as a strong output was achieved, but as soon as it was halted, as soon as the heart was left to its own devices, just a fine irregular line was all to show for the heart flickering erratically inside.

  Yet as dire as it was, there was still hope.

  The fact that the heart was still, after all this time, offering some activity, as opposed to the dreaded flat
line of aystlole, meant that this resuscitation attempt wasn’t anywhere near over. Cardiac massage was vigorously recommenced as Hamish called for and was delivered strong drugs that would hopefully have the desired effect on the failing heart.

  ‘Right, let’s give them a minute to get in system—charge at 360.’

  The defibrillator whirred into action as Cameron massaged the heart, giving the drugs a few vital seconds to hopefully reach their target before Hamish ordered everyone back and a shock was delivered.

  The first of many.

  On and on they worked, the smell of burning flesh filling the room as shock after shock was delivered—his tender age and the ongoing VF giving this patient the endless benefit of the doubt. But as time ticked on, the strain was telling on everyone. Hamish, was supremely controlled but grim with tension and everyone in the room wondered just how much longer they should continue.

  ‘What did his father say exactly?’ Hamish snapped the words at Cameron. ‘I don’t want to hear what you think he meant. How long was it before he got to him?’ Endless stories had been delivered—the paramedics had been told by the father that they’d just finished milking when the accident had occurred and that the power had been turned off at source, and this had been confirmed when they’d arrived and they’d ensured the safety of the area before entering. But how long had it taken Vince to turn off the power and reach his son? Any further questioning of the paramedics was impossible as they had already been called away. When Amy had been sent in to find out she had been told that a safety switch had been tripped by his tearful father and now Cameron had come back with an equally conflicting story just to add to the confusion. ‘No ones going to thank us if we get this guy back and he ends up spending the rest of his life in a nursing home! Now, I need to know,’ Hamish snarled in exasperation. ‘Where’s Helen?’

  ‘In an admin meeting,’ Amy answered, chewing on her bottom lip as Hamish’s eyes quickly scanned the room—no doubt wondering who to send next, two vertical lines appearing as he realised that the newest member of the team was probably the most appropriate…Apart from himself, Charlotte and the unfortunately absent Helen, it was a fairly junior team working this morning and the tension was mounting with each and every shock the defibrillator delivered. It was the dizziest, the most carefree amongst them who appeared the least affected—her hands utterly steady as she handed over drugs and kept an accurate log, each piece of information he demanded called back in a clear, unwavering voice. ‘Charlotte, can you please go in there and get a decent history—preferably half an hour ago?’

  Racing along the corridor to the interview room, Charlotte knocked and entered. As expected, Ronan’s father was beside himself with anxiety, his rough, weather-beaten face wet with tears, his breathing coming so hard and fast he was on the verge of hyper-ventilating.

  ‘I’m Charlotte, Charlotte Porter—I’m one of the nurses in with your son.’

  ‘How is he?’ Vince started, but Charlotte was already answering

  ‘He’s still very sick. We’re still working very hard to get his heart started again. I need some more information from you.’

  ‘I’ve already told everything I know. Why the hell are you all still asking me questions instead of dealing with my son?’ Fear presented as anger but Charlotte ignored it, concentrating instead on staying on track. ‘There are just a few things we need to clarify so we can do our best for Ronan. First, can you tell me your name?’

  ‘Vince!’ Exasperated as to what possible bearing it could have, he raised his palms to the air as he answered.

  ‘Okay, Vince, I’m Charlotte.’ Repeating her name, she gestured to the chair. ‘Let’s sit down while I ask you some questions. I know this is hard, but every detail is vital.’ She watched as he clammed his jaws together, bit back a thousand questions and trusted that for now this stranger knew best. ‘You’d just finished milking the cows—is that right?’

  ‘I was loading the milk into the dairy truck. Ronan was fixing up a bit of equipment back in the milking shed…’ She tried to picture it—her grandparents had had a dairy farm and it helped Charlotte envisage what he was saying as she prompted Vince to tell his tale.

  ‘So how far from the shed were you?’

  ‘A couple of hundred metres—if that,’ Vince answered.

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘I heard a bang. I was up the ladder on the side of the truck, and as I turned around the milking shed went dark—I knew what had happened.’

  ‘So then what did you do?’ Charlotte pushed.

  ‘I just ran over. I know I should have turned off the power—I just didn’t stop, though—I knew the safety switch would have been tripped. Figured I had my gumboots on…’ It had been a gamble, they both knew that, but panic, instinct to help his son had clearly taken over, regardless of the consequences to himself. ‘I started CPR straight away. I’ve told the doctor this and that nurse. I did an instructor’s course for first aid last year…’

  ‘Who turned the power off?’ Charlotte asked. ‘It was off when the paramedics arrived.’

  ‘The truck driver—he was running behind to help and I knew I’d already taken a risk—I didn’t want him doing it. I told him to go…’

  She’d got the history they so badly needed and Charlotte didn’t wait for the rest, just headed for the door with one final question.

  ‘How long from the ladder to Ronan?’

  ‘A minute, if that.’ Vince sobbed. ‘Charlotte, you have to help him—please, tell the doctors that they mustn’t give up!’

  She paused for just a fraction of a second to give him one promise. ‘Vince, no one will stop in there without talking to you first.’

  ‘A minute!’ Running into Resus Charlotte delivered the vital information and Hamish gave a grateful nod. ‘He was down for no more than a minute—and the dad’s recently done a first-aid course.’

  As Hamish called for yet more drugs, as the defibrillator was recharged and the vigorous resuscitation continued, Charlotte elaborated on what Vince had told her but Hamish was barely listening, satisfied now it was more than appropriate to continue.

  ‘If we have to stop, I’ve told the father someone will go in and talk to him first,’ Charlotte told Hamish, watching him for a reaction. As painful as it was for relatives to see their loved ones being worked on, sometimes it was appropriate to offer, for people to see and understand that despite the best of efforts there was nothing that could be done, and she was sure that Vince would want to be the one to make the call.

  ‘Sure.’ Hamish gave a brief nod. ‘Everyone back!’

  Cameron was just about to resume compressions again when Hamish halted him. A flicker of a heartbeat had appeared on the screen, only instead of elation there was still a sense of trepidation as Hamish felt first the patient’s carotid artery and then moved his hand to his wrist. ‘We’ve got a radial pulse—have we got a blood pressure?’

  ‘Sixty,’ Charlotte called, holding her breath as the monitor showed that the weak, thready pulse that had first flickered had been replaced now by strong regular bleeps, helped along by the drugs Hamish was delivering into his vein.

  ‘We’ve got him,’ Hamish said, staring at his team with a quiet nod of appreciation for their efforts. ‘At least for the moment. Does anyone know if ICU has a bed?’

  ‘It’s full,’ the anaesthetist answered, then glanced down at his trilling pager and used irony to soften the fact that someone had just lost their fight for life on ICU. ‘Scrap what I said. It would seem that a bed just came up—it must be this guy’s lucky day!’

  Heading to the interview room with Hamish to inform Vince about what was happening, even if Ronan’s prognosis was extremely guarded it was still way better than had been hoped for.

  ‘I’m going to paint it pretty black for him.’ Hamish caught her arm just before they reached the door. ‘If it sounds as if I’m being harsh, then that’s how I intend it be.’

  ‘Sure!’ Charlotte replied
easily.

  ‘Sure?’ He frowned down at her glib response, surprised at how unperturbed she appeared at the prospect of speaking to Vince. Yes, she was experienced, but so was he, and even after all this time, breaking bad news was never pleasant. But Charlotte didn’t notice his frown, wasn’t even looking back at him. Instead, she stared at her arm, stared at each freckle and hair, stared at the pale flesh that should surely show the burn his fingers had made—not that he had grabbed her, his fingers had barely made contact…

  But it had been their first touch.

  They’d lived together for four days, had shared meals, conversations and passed Bailey between them and yet, Charlotte realised, it was the first time they’d actually touched.

  ‘This could be really difficult,’ Hamish elaborated. ‘I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.’

  ‘In all probability his son’s going to die…’ Tearing her eyes from her arm, Charlotte met his stare as she responded. ‘Or worse, he’s going to be brain damaged—so, no, don’t fret. I’m not going to go in there waving streamers and telling him it’s time to crack open the champagne.’

  ‘Good.’ Hamish nodded and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Pacing the tiny interview room like a caged animal, Vince stopped and hurled the question the second they entered. ‘Charlotte—what’s happening?’

  ‘Sit down, Vince.’ Her voice was incredibly firm, directing this huge, agitated man to a chair, and Hamish noted that with just three little words she had paved the difficult way for him. By not jumping in, by not hurriedly telling him that they’d managed to get Ronan’s heart beating again, Vince was actually expecting to hear that his son had or—because of Charlotte’s promise—was about to die. His ruddy face rested in his rough hands as he braced himself for the words no parent ever wanted to hear.

  ‘Ronan is very ill.’ Sitting in the chair opposite him, Hamish watched as his words sank in, as the wail of grief that had surely been building was stifled. ‘It took a very long time to get his heart beating on its own again.’