Taking A Chance On The Single Dad. Sue MacKay

vehicle apart so you can retrieve the lads.’

      ‘Messy,’ Hunter commented, sitting a little straighter, immediately focused on what lay ahead. ‘There’ll likely be blunt force trauma injuries for the two in the front seats. Are we the only air base responders?’

      Andy answered, ‘The second crew’s warming up. They won’t be far behind us.’

      ‘You’d better be landing on the road,’ Brenna muttered. ‘There might be more bulls wandering around in the field.’ She wasn’t a big fan of cattle, or any livestock. A city girl through and through, she preferred sheep on a plate as chops, and her beef definitely as steak, medium rare.

      ‘I’ll see what I can find.’ Andy laughed.

      Looking at Hunter, she grimaced. ‘You’ll be in your element.’ Having grown up in the country, he’d have no fear of animals with hard heads.

      ‘I learned to be cautious around cattle after my quad-bike accident.’

      ‘Here we go,’ Andy told them. ‘Looks like the beast’s been put out of its misery.’

      Glancing down, Brenna noted the large animal on its side at the edge of the road, none of the emergency personnel taking any notice of it. Relief sneaked under her skin. Total focus was what mattered, and not on a bull. Nor on the temporary paramedic.

      At the car wreck Brenna appraised the situation and listened to the ambulance officer’s observations. The teens looked too young to be driving but according to a fireman two of the boys were seventeen.

      ‘We’ll see to the front passenger,’ Brenna told Hunter. He’d taken the brunt of the impact. ‘Carl and Nick will see to the driver when they arrive. The ambulance crew will continue with him until they get here, then take care of the boy in the back. His injuries aren’t so serious and a road transfer’s possible.’

      Hunter squatted down beside the lad she’d indicated as their patient. ‘Hello, there. I’m Hunter and this is Brenna.’ Hunter’s and her names in one sentence. She shivered. ‘We’re here to look after you. What’s your name?’

      ‘Johnny.’

      ‘How old are you, Johnny?’ Brenna asked. How alert was the lad?

      ‘Um, fourteen? Seventeen. Yes, seventeen.’ His mind was wandering, a sure sign of a possible neurological injury.

      ‘You were going to the skating rink?’ Hunter was digging into his pack for a neck brace.

      Brenna began assessing Johnny’s injuries. This was like old times: different setting, same questions and empathy for their patient. Different feelings for her medical partner. Kneeling opposite Hunter, memories flooded in of them working together. It was a struggle to ignore the flare of awareness that came with those.

      Patient first, Brenna. Patient second, and last.

      They needed to put that neck brace on Johnny in case of vertebrae injuries before anything else. Together they got it on, then she put her finger on the boy’s pulse: rapid and erratic. Was he bleeding somewhere? With her other hand she felt under the boy’s body, touched a sticky spot.

      Johnny cried out.

      ‘Easy. We’ll give you something for the pain shortly.’ In an aside she told Hunter, ‘Torn tissue on the left side of his thigh.’

      He nodded.

      ‘H-how are my mates?’ His breathing was rapid and shallow.

      Without checking, Hunter told him, ‘They’re doing okay.’

      Good move. Johnny didn’t need anything else to worry about. ‘Breathe long and slow, try not to panic. We’re here to look after you.’

      Hunter repeated a question to the teen, ‘Where were you guys going so early in the morning?’ By doing that, they’d know if he began losing awareness and if the neurological dysfunction had worsened.

      ‘Soccer. No, hockey practice,’ Johnny cried. ‘This isn’t fair. I’ll miss the championships and I’ve worked so hard for them all winter.’ He struggled to push up on his elbows and screamed as pain twisted his face.

      Brenna gently pressed him back against the car seat, her fingers then doing a quick, light assessment of his left arm. ‘Don’t move, Johnny. I’ll get you something for that pain.’ They needed to administer morphine before he was lifted out of the wreck. In a quiet aside to Hunter she added, ‘Fractured left humerus.’ Glancing lower, she inhaled deeply. ‘Also the tib and fib on the same side.’

      ‘Add in some ribs where the airbag slammed him, I think.’ Hunter nodded grimly, then added in a quiet aside to her, ‘He’s got a tough road ahead before he’s back on the ice.’

      ‘Of all the bad luck.’ After Hunter checked the vial with her, Brenna began drawing up morphine. ‘Right.’ She leaned close to their patient. ‘Johnny, I’m giving you something to stop the pain. Just a little prick in your upper arm, okay?’

      Johnny didn’t even murmur as the needle slid under his skin.

      ‘Ready to lift him out when you are.’ A fireman leaned down.

      ‘We need splints on the left leg and arm, then we’ll be good to go.’ Hunter took a cardboard splint someone handed him and nodded to Brenna.

      Working in sync, the splints were quickly in place and Johnny was being lifted from what remained of his seat and laid on a stretcher, leaving behind a pool of congealing blood where he’d sat.

      Hunter immediately hunkered down to begin taking more obs, asking the lad questions to keep him focused.

      Impressed, yet not surprised, with his total concentration on the job, Brenna cut away Johnny’s track pants to ascertain the injuries to his thigh and buttock. Her fingers found the source of the haemorrhage, and instantly Hunter passed across thick cotton pads to apply pressure before taping them in place. It was like they were meant to be together. Each knowing what the other needed. Hell, they’d been like that in bed too. In most aspects of their lives. Except when he’d left her. Another shiver down her spine jerked her back to Johnny. She was the one who needed to concentrate.

      ‘How’s your lad?’ Brenna asked Carl over her shoulder.

      ‘Breathing difficulties, a piercing from the windscreen wiper in his chest.’ Then Carl added, ‘Air’s building up in his lungs. We need him on the way ASAP, before his lungs can’t take in any more oxygen.’

      If the boy’s breathing had been compromised, then the lungs would eventually malfunction. She made an abrupt decision. ‘We’ll send him first. Just say when you need to lift him out of there.’

      ‘Now.’ Within minutes the second teen was out of the wreck and lying on a stretcher, being carried to a chopper.

      ‘What about the third boy?’ Brenna asked.

      The fireman answered. ‘Loaded in the ambulance and about to go. He suffered whiplash and a bang to the head that might’ve caused concussion. He’s the luckiest of them.’

      ‘Johnny, open your eyes,’ Hunter said. ‘Johnny.’

      Reaching for Johnny’s wrist, Brenna felt for his pulse. ‘Slow. Erratic. How’s that bleeding?’

      ‘I’m applying another pressure bandage over the top.’

      ‘We’ll load him as soon as you’ve done that.’ Listening to Johnny’s chest through her stethoscope, Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I don’t think there’s any damage to the lungs, but I still want him on the way ASAP.’

      Firemen lifted the stretcher on board their aircraft. All the time Johnny was groaning as tears flowed down his cheeks. ‘I want to skate. Put my boots on.’

      It wasn’t happening any time soon, but no one was about to tell him. It would be bad enough when the traffic cops talked to him later about his