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and my left toes,’ he told her. ‘I’m not game to try my right toes.’

      ‘I don’t blame you. You’ve got a horrible break. I just had to straighten it to get circulation back.’

      ‘Circulation…’ He stirred and she placed a warning hand on his shoulder. ‘Who the hell are you?’

      ‘Lizzie Darling.’ Her hands kept moving. One good thing about the scanty clothes he was wearing, her examination wasn’t impeded. She put her hands under him and felt his ribs. His chest was broad and muscled and the ribs didn’t seem damaged at all.

      ‘Lizzie Darling.’ He sounded bemused. ‘Darling. As in not Lizzie Sweetheart but Lizzie Darling, daughter of Mr and Mrs Darling? Or wife of Mr Darling?’

      She could afford to be magnanimous about her stupid name. Almost. If she hadn’t been so fond of her mum and dad and her grandma she would have changed it years ago. But by deed poll. Not by marriage. ‘Daughter will do,’ she told him. ‘That’s the one.’

      ‘You’re the new locum, then?’ he demanded, his voice incredulous, and she sat back and surveyed him some more. And worried some more. She had more to concentrate on now than her entirely inappropriate name.

      ‘I’ll find something to splint that leg and then we’ll try and roll you over.’

      ‘But you are the doctor we’re expecting?’

      ‘I am.’ She was searching the roadside. A branch had fallen from the cliff-top and it had crashed down, splintering into what she needed—a mass of wood of various lengths and thickness. Something here would do. She needed to roll him to check for further injuries but she wanted that leg immobile first.

      At least the man was sensible. His voice was strong enough. With no blood, ease of breathing and fully conscious…she hadn’t killed him and it didn’t look like she was going to.

      Locum. He’d said locum. He’d recognised her name?

      ‘You knew I was coming?’ She left him for a moment to think about it while she fetched her doctor’s bag from the back of the car. Returning to kneel beside him, she located a syringe from the bag and fitted it with a morphine vial. By the time she had the needle ready, he had his answer ready. He might be conscious but he was still dazed.

      ‘Yeah, I knew you were coming. Of course I did.’

      ‘I’m just giving you something for the pain.’

      ‘Morphine?’

      ‘Mmm.’

      ‘Five milligrams.’

      ‘I thought ten,’ she told him. ‘I need to move you and it’s going to hurt.’

      ‘Five.’

      ‘Hey, who’s the doctor here?’

      ‘I am,’ he told her, and she paused, her syringe held to the light, and stared at the head in the mud.

      ‘You?’

      ‘Me,’ he told her, his face still obscured. ‘That’s who you just ran over. Your boss. I’m Harry McKay, Birrini’s doctor. You’re here to replace me while I go on my honeymoon.’

      Silence. She managed to finish checking the syringe but she was operating on automatic pilot. She couldn’t focus on what he was saying and what was needed at the same time.

      Medicine. Concentrate on medicine or she’d do something really stupid.

      Seven and a half milligrams of morphine, she decided. When in doubt, compromise.

      She swabbed his arm while he lay absolutely still. That fracture must be causing agony, she thought. He’d turned his head slightly and she could see the set look on his jaw.

      Forget compromise. Forget he was a doctor. He was very definitely a patient. Ten milligrams of morphine whether he liked it or not.

      She gave the dose subcutaneously, then moved down so she could work on his leg. She’d prepare the splint while she waited for the morphine to take hold.

      ‘Five minutes tops before you get relief,’ she told him.

      ‘I know how long morphine takes to work.’

      ‘I guess you do.’ Her mind was racing. ‘So…you’re really the doctor I’m coming to replace?’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘You’re getting married?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘Right.’ She frowned. She shouldn’t be talking to him like this. She should still be assessing him for shock. But it seemed he wanted to talk. To lie in the mud and think about what damage had been done… He’d be scared, she knew, but there was little reassurance she could give him until she could move him.

      ‘There’s no pain when you breathe?’ she asked.

      ‘No.’

      ‘So no broken ribs?’

      ‘Apparently not.’

      She ran her hands down his spine again—lightly. She wanted as much information as she could before the morphine took hold. ‘You can feel that?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘No loss of sensation?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘No pain in your back at all?’

      ‘No. Only in my leg. And my head.’

      ‘That’s good.’

      ‘Yeah. Fantastic.’

      ‘Sorry.’ She managed a smile. She moved up and placed her hand over his, feeding him warmth she thought he’d be desperate for. She was wearing a light jacket but it was already soaked and it held no warmth at all. She needed a blanket. She always carried a blanket in her own car, but this was a hire car. She was lucky she had a medical bag. The bag had been provided by the locum service when she’d agreed to take on this job, but there was no blanket and he must be freezing.

      ‘I’m as strong as a horse. I’ll live,’ he said curtly, and she blinked.

      ‘That’s my job,’ she said mildly. ‘To decide that.’ But she smiled again and the tension eased off a bit. Despite his attempt at humour, he was gripping her hand as if he needed it.

      ‘This is stupid. My face is in the mud. I’m going to try and sit up.’

      ‘If you try and move before I splint your leg, your brain will be in orbit,’ she told him. She relented a little. ‘It mightn’t be that bad, but your circulation was cut off. I don’t want to risk the bones moving again.’

      ‘Compound fracture?’

      ‘Comminuted. The bones are right out of alignment but they haven’t broken the skin.’

      ‘That’s lucky.’ He tried to smile.

      ‘Yeah.’ He had courage. She’d have rolled herself off the edge of the cliff by now, she decided. The pain level in that leg would be dreadful.

      And all she could do for the moment was wait. She sat on the road, holding his hand, forcing herself to stay still. To stay calm. The morphine would kick in soon and then she could work, but it wouldn’t hurt to wait.

      Phoebe was in the passenger seat of her car, staring out with the desperation of a basset who’d been abandoned by the world. Too bad. Phoebe had caused this mess. It wouldn’t hurt her to wait either.

      Her car was parked in the middle of the road, though. Maybe that was a problem.

      ‘No one’s likely to come.’ Harry was obviously thinking as she was thinking. ‘Not this way. Council’s doing road work and the road’s blocked at either end. That’s why I’m running here. I knew the road would be deserted.’ He thought about it a bit more

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