Buch lesen: «Emergency: Wife Needed»
Max settled Phoebe between his knees, her back tucked against his front.
The cellar wasn’t huge, but Max didn’t expect to be there for long as the fire was moving so fast. The only question was, would they still be here after it had roared through?
The lack of space meant they couldn’t sit face to face, and for that Max was grateful as he knew he’d find his growing awareness of one very womanly woman too distracting. Phoebe was strong and brave and warm and vulnerable, all at once. And he’d never met anyone like her.
The wind increased in intensity as they waited. The roof timbers creaked and groaned under the roar of the fire. The flames would be leaping from treetop to treetop, threatening to devour the house. And them along with it. If the fire took hold they didn’t stand a chance.
Phoebe half turned towards Max and buried her face in his shoulder. Involuntarily he wrapped her in his arms, silently offering comfort. She felt good nestled against him, head tucked to one side. She was a perfect fit.
Suddenly the house gave an almighty shudder, and then lay silent. Had the impossible happened? Had they escaped?
Emily Forbes is the pseudonym of two sisters who share both a passion for writing and a life-long love of reading. Beyond books and their families, their interests include cooking (food is a recurring theme in their books!), learning languages, playing the piano and netball, as well as an addiction to travel—armchair is fine, but anything involving a plane ticket is better. Home for both is South Australia, where they live three minutes apart with their husbands and four young children. With backgrounds in business administration, law, arts, clinical psychology and physiotherapy, they have worked in many areas. This past professional experience adds to their writing in many ways: legal dilemmas, psychological ordeals and business scandals are all intermeshed with the medical settings of their stories. And, since nothing could ever be as delicious as spending their days telling the stories of gorgeous heroes and spirited heroines, they are eternally grateful their mutual dream of writing for a living came true. They would love you to visit and keep up to date with current news and future releases at the Medical™ Romance authors’ website: http://www.medicalromance.com.
Recent titles by the same author:
WEDDING AT PELICAN BEACH
THE SURGEON’S LONGED-FOR BRIDE
A MOTHER IN THE MAKING
EMERGENCY AT PELICAN BEACH
Dear Reader
Every woman loves a Mills & Boon® romance—and who could resist a firefighter as a hero? We certainly couldn’t. So when gorgeous firefighter Max Williams strolled onto the page, we didn’t even try to resist giving him his own story.
More importantly, our paramedic heroine Phoebe didn’t stand a chance against Max’s charms when he sauntered into her life, arriving to run the local country fire station in the middle of a burning hot Australian summer.
Max and Phoebe’s story is set in South Australia, in the Adelaide Hills: hills that are covered in dense bush, with quaint little towns nestled into the valleys. Summers there are extremely hot; the bush turns tinderbox brown, water is scarce, and bushfires pose an ever-present danger, pitting people against the elements. This battle happens all over our vast continent—not surprising since in places it’s no less wild or dangerous than when European settlers first arrived 230 years ago. What is amazing is that Mills & Boon has existed for 100 of those 230 years. It’s an incredible achievement, and we are thrilled to be part of the Mills and Boon success story—a success that has made it possible for us to reach readers around the world.
EMERGENCY: WIFE NEEDED is the first book in a two-book series. We had so much fun with Max and Phoebe, we couldn’t say goodbye. Luckily, Ned Kellaway, Max’s firefighter buddy, proved irresistible, and his story will be on sale early next year.
Our editor fell in love with Max, and we hope you do, too. So here’s to Max, and to all our readers, and here’s to Mills & Boon Medical™ Romances sweeping women everywhere off their feet for the next hundred years and beyond.
Love
Emily Forbes
EMERGENCY: WIFE NEEDED
BY
EMILY FORBES
MILLS & BOON
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This book would not have been possible without Glen, AKA Cookie, our real-life firefighter, whose fabulous inside information was only surpassed by his ability to slide down that pole with such panache.
Thanks also to Tim, the dashing lead singer from the Dirty Strangers, for providing the inspiration for our rock god hero, and to James, for playing the role of our personal publicity guru with natural flair.
This one’s for the boys!
CHAPTER ONE
PHOEBE WILSON parked the ambulance at the intersection of the Hahndorf and Woodside roads, overlooking an almost dry riverbed, as her partner sent a message back to the station, advising they were in position.
The wind howled around the ambulance, carrying with it the sound of sirens as other units were dispatched from the stations throughout the Hills area. A red glow lit the horizon to the north where the fire service crews were trying to subdue the raging beast that was the bushfire. The fires, already burning for almost twenty-four hours, were steadily consuming the land lying between them and Hahndorf. The forecast maximum temperature for today was a blistering forty degrees and the angry north wind, combined with tinderbox conditions following one of the driest winters on record, made perfect conditions for fuelling bushfires.
The knowledge made calm acceptance of their instructions to sit and wait difficult. Yet here they were. Sitting. Waiting. Both of which were a stock-standard part of the job, although not so easy today.
They were on one periphery of the bushfire, the first in line to treat any casualties the fire crews might bring out to them. In theory, Phoebe and her partner were on their days off but all emergency personnel had been called in. The bushfires were threatening homes and lives and it was all hands on deck. Or at least all hands ready and waiting to be on deck. Phoebe searched for her Discman as her partner, Steve, organised his newspapers. As usual he’d brought the form guide for the horse races and The Trading Post along to help kill time.
‘What are you looking for this week?’ Phoebe asked, nodding at The Trading Post.
‘Old clocks for Dutchy to restore while he’s out of action.’
‘How’s he doing?’ she asked, enquiring after a collegue. ‘Have you spoken to him lately?’
‘He’s OK. His ankle’s feeling good, the pins seem to be holding it all together. He’s still peeved about the accident happening in the first place, especially as he’s the health and safety rep for the fire crews.’
‘But it’s not like he was the one who slid down the pole wet.’ Phoebe suppressed a laugh. The accident hadn’t been funny but the mental image she got whenever she thought about it was. A firefighter shooting down a wet pole at high speed was like a slapstick cartoon. ‘He didn’t know Tiny had been stupid enough to slide down when he was wet.’
‘No, but it was an accident that could have been avoided.’
‘Most of them are.’
‘Yeah, I guess. Have you seen the new signs at the top of the pole now?’
Phoebe nodded. The new signs instructed the emergency personnel to use the stairs, not the pole, if they were wet.
‘I still can’t believe the loss of traction created enough force in a one-storey slide to fracture his ankle.’
‘Unless you can slow yourself down using one foot as a brake, you slide down pretty fast. Dutchy’s got a fair bit of weight behind him—it’s like trying to stop a freight train. He probably hit the floor at an awkward angle and his ankle couldn’t take the pressure.’
‘His replacement should be here tomorrow. Max Williams?’
‘That’s what I’ve heard.’
‘Let’s hope he fits in all right. It’ll make it tough otherwise—we’re such a tightly knit unit.’
She glanced out of the window as Steve buried his nose in his papers. The strong north wind was carrying fingernail-sized particles of ash to them and she watched as they drifted around the ambulance. Despite the mask, which covered the lower half of her face, the smell of the burning bush filled her nose. She didn’t know what made her more nervous, sitting in a stationary ambulance on the edge of a bushfire, shrouded in thick brown smoke, or having a French test looming tomorrow.
She was less prepared for the second event, woefully prepared. Pulling a face, she plugged the headphones into her Discman and slipped them into her ears. It looked like any last-minute swotting would have to be done now.
‘What’s with the long face?’ Steve laughed as he looked up from the paper. ‘Aren’t your endless courses meant to be your downtime? Your fun?’
Stretching her legs as much as the cramped confines of the front of the ambulance would allow, she simultaneously poked him in the ribs. ‘I’ve got a test tomorrow and this time I want to blitz it.’
‘After you bombed out in the last one, Little Miss Competitive?’
Turning up her nose, Phoebe ignored him and waved a hand at the smoke billowing across the bush in front of them. ‘I’m not sure if my lecturer will accept a bushfire for an excuse. He’s already decided I’m a lousy student.’
‘Are you?’
‘Afraid so, so bug off and let me cram.’ She hit the play button and tried to tune out Steve’s attempts to distract her by counting to ten in French. Again and again. At least she’d remember her numbers tomorrow. Maybe.
She parroted back the phrases which she’d hoped by now would be familiar but which for some reason had decided to jumble in her brain, and while she recited she watched, almost mesmerised, as the dark smoke danced and swirled, the wind tugging the air and giving it a life of its own. Even within the close confines of the ambulance she could taste the smoke. It coated her tongue and any time she drank from her water bottle to wet her throat, the taste was tainted by the odour of the smoke. The sun was a hazy orange ball hanging in the sky, obscured by the smoke. It was almost midday yet the light suggested it was much later in the afternoon.
Phoebe tried to concentrate on her French. The man on the disc was conjugating verbs and she realised she was supposed to be repeating the words in the pauses. She could listen to a French accent for ever without tiring of it. Today it had the added bonus of blocking out the noise of the fire, but if she didn’t concentrate she’d never pass tomorrow night’s test. Since joining the ambulance service a little over a year ago she’d become skilled at making the most of her idle time, something she hadn’t had much experience with in her past life. Then every minute had been accounted for and she’d been permanently stretched to her limits. She increased the volume and began repeating the words.
She glanced out her window again as she muttered to herself. A few feet to her left a second ambulance was parked. She could see Bluey lying back, eyes closed, as he catnapped while Ken read. Everyone had their own way of killing time. Looking back towards the river, she thought the smoke was getting thicker. It was almost a solid wall and the lights of the emergency vehicles bounced off it, reflecting red and orange, mimicking the flames. Her heart rate increased as she imagined the fire heading in her direction. This wasn’t the first bushfire she’d attended but it was, by far, the most formidable and she closed her eyes as she tried to get her imagination under control.
Steve nudged her in the side, attracting her attention. His hand was on the volume control for the two-way radio and she removed her headphones to listen to him.
‘Pete Brady’s been injured. The firies are bringing him out to us.’
The Onkaparinga River in front of her formed the south boundary of the Bradys’ farm. Their house and most of the sheds were less than five kilometres from where the ambulances were parked and she wondered again just how close the fire was. Apparently the firefighters had burnt a fire break on the other side of the river but the smoke was now so dense she couldn’t see that far. All she could hope was that the break was large enough to stop the fire, but she doubted it. She couldn’t imagine that a fire that burned with such fierce intensity would hesitate at this pitiful excuse of a river and give up the fight.
A red Metropolitan Fire Service car emerged from the smoke, its headlights and rooftop emergency lights piercing the gloom as it drew up alongside the ambulances. Phoebe and Steve took a quick gulp of water before repositioning their face masks and scrambling from their vehicle, ready to assist.
The fireman had his door open and was already helping Pete from the car. Pete leant heavily on the other man and hobbled the few steps across to Phoebe. She quickly moved to Pete’s right side, taking some of his weight. The firefighter nodded at her in acknowledgment and she felt a flicker of recognition as she met his gaze.
She turned away, concentrating on getting Pete safely to the ambulance, focussing on her job. It was unlike her to be easily distracted yet she couldn’t help risking another glance.
He wasn’t familiar, she was sure she’d never met him before, so why did she feel like she had?
He was tall, at least six feet two inches. She was nearly five feet ten herself and he was definitely several inches taller. His thick, dark brown hair curled slightly over his ears and at his neck and was currently covered with a layer of soot. Goggles were hanging around his neck, drawing her eyes to his well-defined jaw, but it was his eyes, so dark they were almost black, that had sent the shiver of familiarity through her.
Pete stumbled, catching his foot on a small rock, and Phoebe and the fireman both tightened their hold on him. The fireman flashed a smile at Phoebe, his teeth startlingly white and perfect, and she caught her breath and almost stumbled herself.
What was it about this man that affected her like this?
She let out the breath she’d been holding and tore her gaze away as Steve asked a question.
‘What happened?’
‘We found Pete just outside one of his sheds. He’d fallen into a rabbit hole and twisted his knee. He’d dragged himself to the shed. He’s suffering from smoke inhalation as well.’ His voice was deep and he spoke with a South Australian accent, his vowels more rounded and English-sounding in comparison to her own east coast Aussie twang.
‘Thanks. We’ve got it from here.’ Bluey took over and got Pete settled on a stretcher before pushing it into the ambulance.
‘What’s it like out there?’ Steve asked.
Out of the corner of her eye Phoebe could see Bluey hooking Pete up to the oxygen and a saline drip but her attention had again drifted to the firefighter and she couldn’t seem to tear herself away.
‘Not good. The fire’s several kilometres wide and this wind’s not helping. We haven’t got it under control but it hasn’t broken the containment lines.’
From his erect posture to the carriage of his head through to his strong voice, he exuded confidence. In fact, since he’d arrived on the scene she hadn’t worried about the fire. Everything seemed more controlled now.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ He nodded at them both before turning back to the MFS car. As he walked away Phoebe realised she didn’t know his name and then wondered why that mattered. She had other things to worry about. She hopped into the ambulance and began to examine Pete’s knee.
‘Anyone know if Kerry and the girls got out OK?’ Pete was asking after his family.
‘We haven’t heard of any problems but I’ll check on that for you,’ Steve replied. ‘Would they have reported in at the police station?’
‘They should have—that’s always the plan.’
‘No worries, then. I’ll find out.’
Phoebe ran her hands over Pete’s knee. It was quite swollen and tender on palpation over the medial aspect and seemed quite unstable when she tested the cruciate ligament, but he didn’t complain of pain with that test.
‘Looks like you’ve done some ligament damage, probably involving your cartilage, too, and I suspect your anterior cruciate ligament is ruptured.’
‘That went a long time ago,’ Pete said. ‘An old football injury. But the pain on this side is new.’
‘I reckon you’ll live but you won’t be fighting any more fires today.’
‘What about the house?’
‘The MFS and the CFS are there, you’ll just have to trust them to do their jobs. We need to get you back to town,’ Phoebe said as she wrapped an icepack around his knee before checking his oxygen sats.
‘Kerry and the girls are fine.’ Steve reported. ‘Kerry’ll meet you at the hospital. Ken and Bluey will take you in—they’re due for a break.’
The two-way radio crackled into life as Phoebe tightened the straps to secure Pete to the stretcher. Steve took the call, interrupting Phoebe. ‘We gotta go. Bill Chappell’s had a suspected heart attack.’ She raced back to the other ambulance, jumping into the passenger seat as Steve turned around, heading up the hill, heading into the smoke and towards the fire.
‘Where is he?’
‘Still at home. We can get through past Pete’s place.’ The reduced visibility hindered their speed and Steve turned the siren on to alert any other vehicles to their presence.
Once again, Phoebe was aware of her heart rate increasing with every metre they advanced towards the fire. She knew from the emergency services controllers that they weren’t in any immediate danger yet the conditions were making her nervous. She took a deep breath but that only made matters worse as she got a lungful of smoke-tainted air. She took another long drink of water and tried mentally reciting her French verbs. As a distraction technique it was quite successful and she was just beginning her second run-through when Steve turned into Bill’s driveway.
Maureen Chappell met them at the front door and gave them a quick summary of Bill’s medical history as they made their way to the lounge room where their patient was slumped in a chair. His breathing was shallow, his complexion grey and his skin was coated with a sheen of perspiration—in short, he didn’t look the picture of health.
Maureen had told them Bill was complaining of left chest pain, extending down his left arm. Phoebe administered a quick dose of GTN spray under Bill’s tongue while Steve recorded his obs.
Phoebe unbuttoned Bill’s shirt and applied the sticky electrodes for the portable ECG machine as Steve ran an oxygen line to the mask he placed over Bill’s mouth and nose. Together they set up a saline drip and while Steve waited to see if Bill’s condition stabilized, Phoebe returned to the ambulance to fetch the stretcher. Bill had suffered episodes of angina in the past and the safest place for him at the moment was in hospital.
The return trip to Hahndorf, with Phoebe driving, took less than twenty minutes but in that time several fire engines passed them on the road as they headed out to the fires. Each time one passed by Phoebe found herself looking into the trucks, looking for a glimpse of the unknown fireman.
After delivering Bill into the care of the nurses at the hospital, Phoebe and Steve returned to the station for their scheduled break. The combined fire and ambulance station was one block from the hospital on the edge of town, but even as they travelled that short distance Phoebe continued to search the streets for the tall, dark fireman. She knew she was being ridiculous. He wouldn’t be wandering the streets, he’d be out there, risking his life to save others, but the idea she might never see him again filled her with unexpected despondency.
Steve parked the ambulance and Phoebe stretched as she climbed from her seat. She was filthy, tired and hungry but she knew a shower was pointless as she’d be back out in the heat and smoke soon enough. Dumping her language discs and textbooks on a table, she headed straight for the change rooms. Ripping open the Velcro closures on her fireproof jumpsuit and stripping down to her singlet top, she decided she’d have to be content with a quick wash. Feeling slightly refreshed, she left the top of her suit dangling from her waist as she walked along the passage back to the kitchen to grab a sandwich. Her stomach rumbled at the thought and she was so focussed on her mission she didn’t look where she was going and collided with someone in the passage.
Hands reached out to steady her and she started to apologise, but when she saw who it was the words caught in her throat. Tall, dark and way too attractive.
He was back.
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