The Playboy Doctor's Proposal

‘What’s your name, young man?’

‘Ryan Fisher, ma’am.’

‘And you’re a policeman?’

‘Not really.’ Ryan’s tone was that of a conspirator revealing a secret. ‘I’m a doctor.’

The charm he was exuding was palpable. Totally fake but, for once, Hannah could appreciate the talent. It wasn’t being directed at her, was it? She didn’t need to arm herself with the memories of the misery men like Ryan could cause the women who trusted them. It was certainly defusing a potentially aggravating situation here.

‘Ooh,’ Doris said. ‘Are you going to look after me?’

‘You’re about to go to X-Ray, Mrs Matheson,’ Hannah said.

‘What for?’

‘We think you’ve broken your hip.’

‘How did I do that?’

‘You fell over.’

‘Did I?’ The question, like the others, was directed at Ryan despite it being Hannah who was supplying the answers.

‘Yes.’ Hannah looped her stethoscope back around her neck. ‘And we can’t find any medical reason why you might have fallen.’ The cause had been obvious as soon as Hannah had been within sniffing distance of her patient. She hadn’t needed the ambulance officer’s report of an astonishing number of empty whisky bottles lined up on window-sills.

Ryan was smiling again but with mock severity this time. ‘Have you had something to drink tonight, Mrs Matheson?’

She actually giggled. ‘Call me Doris, dear. And, yes, I do like a wee dram. Helps me sleep, you know.’

‘I’m sure it does, Doris.’ Ryan’s tone was understanding. He raised an eyebrow. ‘But it can make it difficult to remember some things, too, can’t it?’

‘Ooh, yes.’ Doris was looking coy again. ‘Do you know, I almost forgot where the bathroom was one night?’

‘Did you forget how much money you might have had in your purse, too?’

‘I never keep money in my purse, dear! It might get stolen.’

‘It might, indeed.’ Hannah got a ‘there you go, all sorted’ kind of glance from Ryan. She tried hard to look suitably grateful.

‘I keep it in the fridge,’ Doris continued happily. ‘In the margarine tub.’

‘Good thinking.’ Ryan stepped back as an orderly entered the cubicle. ‘Maybe I’ll see you when you get back from X-Ray, Doris.’

‘Oh, I hope so, dear.’

Hannah held up her hand as her patient’s bed was pushed away. ‘Don’t say it,’ she warned.

‘Say what?’ Ryan asked innocently.

‘Anything about naughty girls,’ Jennifer supplied helpfully. ‘Or arresting them. And especially nothing about handcuffs.’

‘Not even fluffy ones?’

Jennifer gave him a shove. ‘Go away. Try and find something useful to do.’

They were both laughing as Ryan walked away. Relaxed. Enjoying the diversion of an amusing incident. But Jennifer could afford to enjoy Ryan’s company, couldn’t she? Happily married with two adorable small children at home, she was in no danger of being led astray.

Neither was Hannah, of course. She knew too much about men like Ryan Fisher. Great-looking, fun men like the ones who’d made her mother’s life a misery after her dad died, not to mention the guy who’d broken her sister’s heart not so long ago.

Hannah only ever let herself get involved with nice, trustworthy, serious men like her father had been. She’d believed herself to be totally immune to men of Ryan’s ilk.

Until three months ago.

Until she’d met Ryan Fisher.

Jennifer was still smiling as she tidied the ECG leads away. ‘I still can’t believe you’re taking time off,’ she told Hannah. ‘I’ve never even known you to be sick. You’re the one who always fills in for other people like Ryan when they take days off work.’

Hannah glanced towards the central desk. Ryan—the king of holidays and all other good things life had to offer—was now leaning casually on the counter, talking to a tired-looking receptionist. Probably telling her one of his inexhaustible supply of dumb blonde jokes. Sure enough, a smile was starting to edge the lines of weariness from Maureen’s face.

‘I’m going to check the trauma room while it’s quiet,’ Hannah told Jennifer.

‘I’ll help you.’ Hannah’s news of taking time off had clearly intrigued her friend, who didn’t consider their conversation finished. ‘And there I was thinking that, if I didn’t drag you out occasionally, you’d spend all your time off studying or something.’

Hannah picked up the laryngoscope on top of the airway trolley and pulled the blade open to check that the battery for the light was still functional. ‘Are you saying I have no life?’

‘I’m saying your career takes the prize as your raison d’etre.’

‘I always wanted to be a doctor.’ Hannah snapped the blade back in line with its handle, switching off the light. ‘Now that I am one, I intend to be a very good one.’

‘You are a very good one. The best.’

‘We’ll see.’ The glance between the two women acknowledged the growing speculation within the department over who was going to win the new consultant position. She had been the only serious contender until Ryan had thrown his hat into the ring today. Was that why she was so aware of his presence in the department tonight? Why everything about him seemed to be rubbing her up the wrong way even more than usual?

‘Anyway…’ The wind had been taken out of Jenny’s sails, but not by much. She opened a box of syringes to restock the IV trolley. ‘You don’t need to prove how good you are by living and breathing emergency medicine.’

‘So you’re saying I’m an emergency department geek?’ Hannah tilted the ceiling-mounted, operating-theatre light so it was in a neutral position. It would be fair enough if she was. Hannah loved this space. Fabulous lighting, X-ray and ultrasound facilities, every piece of equipment they could possibly need to cover the basics of resuscitation and stabilisation of a critically ill patient. Airway, breathing, circulation. To be faced with a life-threatening emergency and succeed in saving that life was all the excitement Hannah needed in her life.

Jenny caught her expression and clicked her tongue with mock exasperation. ‘I’m just saying you could do with more in your life than work.’

‘And that’s precisely why I’m taking a few days off.’

‘Touché.’ Jenny grinned, magnanimous in defeat. ‘OK.’ She shoved the syringes into their allocated slot and then used her forefinger to stir the supply of luer plugs and IV connectors, pretending to count. ‘So where the hell is Crocodile Creek, anyway?’

‘Australia. Far north Queensland.’

‘Oh! Has this got something to do with your sister?’

‘Yes. I’ve been invited to a wedding.’