Country Doctors

Book 7: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Medical Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

After the unnecessary death of her husband, Matt, Dr Ruth Francis had settled in as a GP, refusing to acknowledge any lack in her life. The arrival of trainee GP Micah North rapidly unsettled her! He was considerably older than most trainees, and the details of his past were slow to emerge. Ruth could see that he had the makings of an excellent doctor but, to her cautious soul, he seemed also to embody many of Matt?s reckless traits. That being so, how could she contemplate any personal relationship with Micah?

Release date: August 1, 2013

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 140

Sample

Chapter One

For the past hour the man had thought about nothing but his work. But now that he was saying goodbye to the woman framed in the train door, he realised just how striking she was.

She was tall, six feet, and her belted blue mac hinted at slender shoulders and firm breasts. Her raven-black hair was long, but now tied up in a neat chignon. The severity of high cheekbones contrasted with the warmth of a generous mouth – but he noticed that she seldom smiled. This woman had a presence that went beyond mere beauty.

He said to her; ‘And thanks again, Doctor. You know you saved his life.’

Ruth Francis gave one of her rare smiles. ‘I was just there. A lot of other people could have done the same.’

 ‘Possibly. But you were there and you did save his life. Have a pleasant journey.’

There was the shrilling of a whistle and the train eased slowly forward. The paramedic stepped away from the door and waved. Ruth waved back, then walked down to her seat. It was one of those occasions when it felt good to be a doctor.

Luckily the train was half-empty. The paramedic had already found her a window seat and slid her case onto the rack. Ruth dumped her heavy briefcase on the table. Then, tucking her coat over her ruined tights, she sat, with a sigh of relief. The last hour had been eventful. She needed a minute to rest.

A heavy rainstorm was making the northern town even greyer and she gazed unseeing at the industrial wasteland flicking past. It was probably rain that had caused her to be delayed in the first place. And it was so little time ago.

The taxi had dropped her off just outside the station and she had hurried through the sudden squall into the shelter of the booking office. Perhaps there’d be time for a coffee before her train. Then, through the rattle of rain on the glass canopy, she’d heard the agonised scream of brakes. The silence straight afterwards had been equally dismaying. Ruth had grimaced.

She’d known she’d have to check. Pushing the larger of her two cases against the wall, she had walked out into the rain.

On the other side of the road an old car leaned sideways, half on the high pavement. Nearby lay a mountain bike, one wheel dreadfully crushed, the other still slowly spinning. And in front of the car a knot of people had gathered, their bodies in that strange stance that showed part curiosity, part anxiety.

Ruth had looked both ways before crossing the road. The scene of an accident was no place for careless behaviour.

She’d glanced inside the car. The driver, a middle-aged man, had appeared shocked but in no immediate danger. She had walked to the small group of men and said decisively, ‘Please let me through; I’m a doctor.’ Reacting to the note of authority, the group had parted.

The casualty was a young man, lying on his back, with another young man kneeling by him. Before kneeling herself Ruth looked up and down the recumbent body. The left leg was twisted and the man’s trousers torn. There was some bleeding, but not enough to be immediately dangerous.

With a note of panic in his voice, the kneeling man said, ‘He’s not breathing! Shall I do CPR?’ He placed his hands on the victim’s chest.

Ruth hitched up her skirt and knelt by his side. Then she gently pushed his hands away. ‘Please make sure that someone’s sent for an ambulance. I’ll take over now.’ Obviously happy to be relieved, the man stood up.

All Ruth’s attention was now on her patient. There was blood pooling behind his head; scalp wounds always bled heavily; it might not be too serious. But more important was the colour of the man’s face. It was blue. Ruth leaned nearer; there was no sign of breathing.

There was no time for rubber gloves; carefully she opened the man’s mouth and reached for his tongue. As she thought, he’d swallowed it. She eased it forward, freeing the passage to the lungs, and there was a sudden shuddering intake of breath. She smiled. With one hand she clicked open her case. Like all her colleagues she always carried an emergency kit, including a plastic airway. Pulling off the protective cover, she eased it into the man’s mouth and throat.

He was breathing easily now, and already the blue colour was fading from his face. She took his pulse. It was fast, of course, but it seemed steady enough.

Ruth now felt cautiously at the back of the man’s head. There was a long gash and she reached for a pad to stop the bleeding. However, she felt it wasn’t too serious. There was no simple way of telling if the skull, neck or spine was injured.

His leg was broken but the little bleeding there came from superficial scratches. Ruth leaned back on her heels. She wasn’t about to indulge in complex diagnosis or treatment in the middle of a city street. The man would now live until he got to hospital.

Through her thoughts she heard the distant wailing of the ambulance siren. It seemed no time before two paramedics in green high-visibility jackets were kneeling beside her.

‘I’m a doctor,’ she said briefly. ‘I’ve put in an airway because he’d swallowed his tongue. There’s a broken leg and scalp lacerations, possible neck injuries. Now I’ll leave you to it.’

 The paramedic team comprised a man and a woman, but it was the man spoke. ‘Thank you, Doctor. You will stay to give us a hand?’

‘If you think you need me.’ Ruth knew that this pair would be well trained and at least as competent as she in dealing with the initial stages of an accident.

Stiffly, she climbed to her feet. ‘I’ll just check the car driver.’ She hadn’t noticed the blue and white cars draw up, but the police were now efficiently taking charge, one man talking to the car driver while the others moved the crowd and spoke to the paramedics.

‘I’m a doctor,’ Ruth said to the police officer, feeling that it was a sentence she was getting heartily sick of. ‘Is this gentleman injured at all?’

 ‘I’m fine,’ the driver snapped, ‘and I’d be a lot better if I knew there weren’t this many cyclists on the road. Don’t they know that’s its slippery when it gets wet? That idiot  …’

‘No bruises, cuts, or anything? You didn’t hit the windscreen?’ This was one of those times when she knew it would be more efficient to interrupt.

‘I was belted up, like a good driver. I  …’

‘How d’you feel in yourself? No sickness, faintness or anything?’

‘I feel angry; that’s what I feel.’

The police officer turned and said reassuringly, ‘I think we can look after him now, Doctor. If there’s any doubt we’ll take him to hospital.’ Ruth nodded briefly and returned to help the two paramedics gently lift their patient onto the stretcher. Quickly, it was slotted into the ambulance.

The woman went to drive and the man said to her, ‘We’d like you to ride with him to hospital. Just to be certain?’ Ruth knew that it wasn’t really necessary. But there was always one case in a thousand  …

She said, ‘I left my case in the front of the station.’ Even as she spoke the ambulance, its siren sounding, was curving round to stop in the forecourt. Seconds later they were moving through the busy streets, traffic miraculously parting in front of them.

The driver radioed ahead to A & E in the local hospital and there was a doctor waiting as the ambulance drew up. Briefly, Ruth told him what she had observed, what she had done, and what she suspected. ‘And now I’m going to catch my train,’ she finished.

He looked up, grinning. ‘The emergency’s over now,’ he said, ‘but he was lucky you were there. Too many people like you roaming the streets and I’ll be out of a job.’

‘That’ll be the day.’ She noticed that even though he’d said the emergency was over he was eager to move the patient into the hospital. ‘I’ll leave him in your good hands.’

‘We can run you back to the station,’ the paramedic said, and fortunately there was a train due when they arrived. Now she was on it, and as she thought back over the past hour she felt vaguely pleased with herself.

Yes, at times it felt good to be a doctor.

The ten-minute rest had refreshed her, and she remembered there was something she had to do. When kneeling on the wet road she had torn her tights; she’d better change them. She took a fresh pair from her bag and made her way to the little cloakroom. After changing she took the opportunity to comb her hair and check her minimal make-up. It wouldn’t do for the Bannick locals to see their Dr Francis anything but perfectly groomed. In the country doctors had to know how to dress.

There was a coffee-wagon passing as she took her seat again, so she bought herself a drink, then opened her briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. There was work to be done.

For the past fortnight she’d been attending a course on new techniques in neonatal care. Her little practice consisted of only three partners – old Dr Harry Crowder, his son, Martin, and herself. It was always hard for one of them to be absent; even though they all recognised that it was necessary to keep abreast of the latest developments. This time Harry had managed to get her free time, arranging for their new trainee to start a fortnight early. Vaguely she wondered what they’d be like.

She started to make notes. When there was time she’d run through the new ideas and techniques with her partners; it was important that they all profited by the course. And it had been a good course.

There’d been a lot to learn but also quite an exciting evening social life, based largely on the hospital club bar. She had met a few old friends, and also made one or two new ones. However, some of the GPs had obviously thought they could behave as if they were back in medical school again. Ruth frowned. It just wasn’t her scene any more. She’d had to refuse several quite pressing invitations. She might be a widow but she didn’t have to be merry. Ignoring the succession of bleak suburbs, she sipped her coffee and bent her head to her papers.

An hour and a half later she sighed and rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. She’d had several lately. When she’d mentioned them to Harry his advice had been simple: ‘You work too hard, you worry too much, and you don’t have enough interests outside the practice. Take things easier and relax a bit more.’

‘I’ll try, Harry,’ she’d said, but she’d not been successful. She lived solely for her work. That, and the countryside surrounding Bannick.

She shut her eyes tightly for a minute, then opened them and glanced out of the window. They had long since left the last signs of industry and were running through rough pasture and moorland. It was still raining but there was peace and comfort in the great grey hills that etched a line against the sky. She smiled. She was coming home.

As she swept papers into her briefcase there was a faint ‘ting’ as her fingers brushed the lock. She looked down. She still wore both the rings that Matt Francis had given her, wedding and engagement. The wedding ring was a simple gold band; the engagement ring was unusual, a jade heart surrounded by tiny emeralds. She smiled sadly. Jade was supposed to symbolise peace and serenity. She’d loved Matt. But he’d brought her precious little peace.

If she looked out of the window now she could just catch a glimpse of Ironstone Edge. A week after it had happened she’d deliberately made herself walk past the cliff and she’d returned to it several times in the past six years. It hadn’t been the cliff that had killed her husband. It had been Matt himself.

She shut her eyes, the wry smile still on her lips.

It had been a lightning courtship and then a sudden marriage; Quite unlike the behaviour of the normally staid Ruth Applegarth.

She’d first met him in her final year at medical school. For some reason her friends had persuaded her to watch an inter-college rugby match. She’d known nothing about the game but even she could tell what kind of player the curly-headed forward was. He was mad. He’d run and tackled with boundless enthusiasm and no sense of danger.

Perhaps the result had been inevitable. He hadn’t got up after one tackle and had to be helped off, with bleeding face and injured leg. As the trainer had helped him limp past, he’d suddenly said, ‘Doctor,’ and turned towards her. Thinking he might need help, she’d stepped forward to do what she could. Before she’d known what was happening, he’d grinned, leaned forward and kissed her, full on the lips. ‘I feel better already,’ he’d said.

She’d had to laugh at his impudence, at the merry glint in his eye. But when he’d gone, one of her friends had passed her a pocket mirror. There’d been mud and blood on her face where he’d kissed her. Only later had she thought it was symbolic.

As she’d studied that evening, there’d been a tap on her door. It had been Matt Francis, face bruised and plastered, but still with that infectious grin. ‘I’m sorry if I surprised you but not sorry I kissed you. May I buy you a drink to make up for it?’    

She’d only been able to stammer, ‘But  … I was going to work. It’s exams soon.’

‘Rubbish. Saturday nights are for pleasure and partying. ’All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’, eh?.’

‘Just enough work gets Ruth through her exams,’ she’d said, but she’d gone anyhow.

After that evening she’d been swept along by his impetuosity. For some reason she’d abandoned her normal caution and had gone along with his madcap ideas. He never thought twice. His patients had loved him, even though too often. . .