One Night in Emergency. Carol Marinelli

Byrne is busy with a sick patient in Resus,’ Eleanor answered crisply, ‘so you’ll have to make do with me.’

      ‘That’s fine,’ he responded easily. ‘And you are?’

      ‘Sister Lewis.’

      He was squinting at the name badge hanging around her neck, or at least Eleanor hoped that was what he was attempting to focus on.

      ‘Do you have a first name?’

      ‘Sister Lewis will do just fine,’ Eleanor replied firmly. ‘Now, you’ve already been stitched up.’ Peering at the notes, she put them down before turning to her patient. ‘It’s the left thigh, isn’t it?’

      ‘I hope so, given that’s the one they stitched.’ Lifting his gown, he pulled back the dressing before, annoyingly—extremely annoyingly, in fact—reaching over to the silver trolley beside the gurney and helping himself to a wad of gauze.

      ‘Please, don’t.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘The trolleys are sterile.’

      ‘Really?’ He gave her a slightly nonplussed look and Eleanor was forced to relent somewhat. ‘Well, they’re clean and I’m supposed to restock them soon. It doesn’t make things easy when the patients help themselves.’

      ‘Sorry.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’ It didn’t, but it was far easier to be bossy, far easier to be slightly cross, than focus on his thighs—very nice thighs, too, Eleanor thought reluctantly, extremely muscular, blond-haired thighs that needed to be strapped.

      ‘I’ll need to shave you.’

      ‘Sorry?’ There was no question that he was apologising this time and, clearing her suddenly dry throat, Eleanor forced a brisk smile.

      ‘The doctor wants your thigh strapped,’ Eleanor explained patiently. ‘Because you’re so, er, muscular he wants the sutures to have some support for a couple of days. That’s why he wants you to have crutches as well…’

      ‘But why do you want to shave me?’

      ‘I don’t want to,’ Eleanor corrected. ‘I have to. Believe me…’ Echoing Mary’s words, she flashed an efficient smile and said, ‘You’ll thank me for my foresight once the strapping comes off.’

      ‘I’ll look like a zebra,’ Rory moaned. ‘I read that hair grows back thicker and darker once you shave it.’

      The grumbling smile he flashed at her wasn’t making this any easier.

      ‘Utter rubbish,’ Eleanor scoffed, while feeling horribly guilty.

      ‘It’s true. I read it in a magazine—a women’s magazine,’ he added, as if it might make a scrap of difference.

      ‘Well, if you’d read on, the magazine would undoubtedly have told you that the down side to waxing is sheer agony, which is what you’ll get when the sticky plaster comes off if I don’t shave you first. Wait there,’ Eleanor added, fleeing for the safety of the stock cupboard and trying to even out her breathing as she located fresh heads for the clippers.

      She could do this, Eleanor told herself firmly. Gorgeous men with massive hairy thighs were part and parcel of Emergency, so she’d better just buckle down and get used to coping with it.

      ‘Right!’ Pulling the curtain back, she marched in with the clippers.

      ‘Right,’ Rory responded glumly, as Eleanor swallowed hard and turned on the clippers, hoping his inebriated state would mean that he wouldn’t notice her shaking hands.

      ‘How much are you taking off?’ Rory asked with a slight note of panic.

      ‘Well, you need your thigh strapped,’ Eleanor pointed out, ‘not a small sticky plaster.’ But despite her best efforts, the bossy nurse routine was getting harder and harder to keep. Despite his friends, Rory Hunter had been the perfect patient and Eleanor relented with an apologetic shrug. ‘I’m really sorry about all this,’ she mumbled. ‘It really will grow back quickly.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘And itch like hell, too, no doubt.’

      ‘Then I’m glad I’m not a woman.’ Rory grinned. ‘Must be hell, doing this every week.’

      Eleanor laughed, really laughed. ‘Well, generally we’re not quite so hairy…’ Her voice trailed off as his navy eyes attempted to meet hers, the room impossibly hot all of a sudden as the conversation tiptoed into dangerous territory.

      ‘Roll over and I’ll do the back,’ Eleanor responded quickly.

      He did as he was told. In fact, he was the model patient, lying quietly as Eleanor dressed the large cut and then strapped his thigh securely. ‘Not too tight?’ she checked, and he shook his head. He even lifted the sleeve of his gown without asking as she approached with his tetanus shot.

      ‘Your arm might be a bit sore for a couple of days.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Right.’ Happy with her work, Eleanor measured him for his crutches. ‘Do you need a hand to get dressed?’ she offered, praying he’d say no.

      ‘I’ll be fine.’

      ‘And I’ll need a deposit for the crutches,’ Eleanor added, smiling up from the notes she was writing. ‘Ten dollars.’

      ‘I haven’t got my wallet with me.’ Rory patted his pockets. ‘Maybe it fell out on the minibus.’

      ‘Well, we need a deposit,’ Eleanor said firmly, determined to retain a professional upper hand. ‘It’s a safety guard to ensure that people bring the equipment back that we loan. Perhaps one of your friends might be able to lend it to you.’

      ‘It’s OK, I’ve found it.’ Balancing on one foot, he tried to pull his wallet out of his jeans and Eleanor made a mental note that next time she asked a disabled patient for the deposit it might be better to do it when they were lying down for, as it turned out, balancing on crutches and trying to locate his wallet in the back of his jeans wasn’t the easiest feat. Eleanor knew if she didn’t intervene he’d be back in Theatre, having his scalp stitched.

      ‘Let me help you.’

      ‘I’ll manage.’

      ‘No, really.’ Ducking behind him, she gave an almost imperceptible cough as she dipped her hand into his pocket and pulled out the offending article, handing it to him and feeling awful as he flipped it open, a single ten-dollar note the only cash he had on him.

      ‘How much is in there?’ Rory asked, squinting down.

      ‘Ten dollars,’ Eleanor gulped.

      ‘Then take it.’

      ‘How will you get home?’

      ‘One of my friends will have some cash.’ If she’d looked up she’d have seen a twitch of a smile on his lips. ‘If not, I only live a couple of kilometres away. I’m sure I’ll soon get used to the crutches.’

      ‘Maybe you should just keep the money,’ Eleanor offered. ‘You can bring it in tomorrow or something.’

      ‘Won’t you get into trouble?’

      ‘Probably,’ Eleanor admitted, ‘but I can’t just let you hobble out of here with no means of getting home.’

      ‘Taxis take credit cards now, Sister Lewis.’ His face broke into a grin and Eleanor knew then he’d been teasing her. ‘I’m sure I’ll make it home in one piece.’

      ‘Very funny,’ Eleanor retorted. Gorgeous he might be, but Rory Hunter had just used up his last strike on Eleanor’s sympathy card. ‘Now, if you go out to Reception they’ll happily call you and your friends a taxi.’

      ‘I was actually hoping to catch up with—’

      ‘Out that way,’ Eleanor broke