Page 9 of Stranded with the Surgeon

‘Talk English,’ Digger growled.

‘You’ve got a sore gut,’ Guy told him.

‘Could have… told you that, son… What’s… broken then?’

‘You might have dented your spleen. Possibly a bit of your liver. They could be cut and bleeding a bit.’

Jennifer eyed the bag of IV fluid. One litre was almost gone and they only had two more. If Digger did have an abdominal bleed from a laceration to either his spleen or liver, they would be in trouble before very long. She pulled the remnants of Digger’s woollen shirt back to cover him before tucking the leather jacket in place.

‘Thanks… Jenna.’

Jennifer’s gaze lifted sharply. ‘Why did you call me that?’

‘Don’t like… Jennifer. Too posh.’

The approving smirk on Guy’s face was hardly subtle. Jennifer just stared as he leaned towards the older man.

‘How’s your pain now, Digger?’

‘Bit better.’

‘On a scale of one to ten?’

‘Twelve.’

‘What was it before that dose of jungle juice?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Right.’ Guy shook his head. ‘Never one to conform, are you?’

‘Nope.’

‘And maybe Jennifer likes her posh name.’

She wasn’t going to stay silent while they reinforced their branding of her as some sort of outsider.

‘It’s not posh,’ she informed them loftily. ‘Neither am I.’

Guy’s snort of amusement was outrageous.

‘What,’ Jennifer demanded, ‘isthatsupposed to mean?’

‘Oh, come on! You’re the epitome of “posh”,’ Guy shot back. ‘Nice hair, nice clothes, great education. Top job in one of the country’s leading hospitals. Good grief, you even chose to wear high heels and a suit to go out sightseeing.’

‘This isn’t a suit! Just a skirt and top… and jacket.’

‘Looks like a matching set to me. They’d be getting the lace doilies out in the Glenfalloch pub if you showed up looking like that.’

‘I have no intention of setting foot in the Glenfalloch pub – wherever that may be.’

‘It’s my local,’ Guy said casually. ‘The best pub in Central and about the only building of any note between where I live and Wanaka.’

‘It’s my local… too.’ Digger sounded drowsy. ‘I’d give my left arm for a… pint or two… right now.’ He opened his eyes enough to give Jennifer an appraising glance. ‘You’re right, though, son… She’s a looker… Reminds me… of Diana.’

‘I was referring to the image of a city slicker,’ Guy said. ‘Not dishing out compliments.’

‘Cheers,’ Jennifer murmured.

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