Page 39 of From Bachelor to Daddy

‘Fighting in the school grounds—which is banned,’ the man continued, ‘and over which football team is the best, of all things. What does that say about sport?’

Helen was there, leading one of the combatants towards a cubicle, while Joss appeared to take the other one.

‘I think it’s only minor damage—a lot of blood from head wounds, but we need to get them checked out,’ the man said, then, as if remembering his manners, he held out his hand.

‘I’m Andy Richards, assistant sports master at the high school. You’re new here, aren’t you?’

Emma took his hand—a nice firm hand.

‘I’m Emma Crawford, and, yes, I’m new in town.’

He studied her for a minute.

‘You’re not by any chance Ned Crawford’s daughter?’

Emma nodded.

‘Do you know my father?’

Andy grinned at her.

‘No, not had the pleasure, but if I’ve heard one story about what Ned and my father got up to in the “old days”—’ he gave the words inverted commas with his fingers ‘—I’ve heard a dozen. Dad hasn’t been well lately, which might explain why he hasn’t realised Ned’s daughter is in town. I know he’d love to meet you.’

‘Then maybe he’d also like to see my father,’ Emma suggested. ‘He’s back in town with me. I’m a single mum so he looks after my boys when I’m at work, and generally takes care of things. But I know he wants to catch up with old friends. I’d better see to your two lads now, but if you give me your father’s number, Dad can give him a call.’

Andy produced a pen and a rather grubby piece of paper from his pocket and jotted down a number.

‘I live there too—with Dad,’ he said, and she had a feeling he was telling that bit to her, not as a message to her father.

She put the note in her pocket and hurried to the first cubicle, where Angie had cleaned up a forehead wound and was busy putting plastic strips across it.

‘I don’t think it needs stitching,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

Emma agreed with her and left her to finish the dressing. But the second combatant had come off the worse for wear, a cut close to his eye definitely needing stitching, and he had enough bruising on his face, especially near the temple, for Emma to decide a CAT scan was necessary.

‘It’s purely precautionary,’ she told their patient. ‘I’ll put a temporary dressing on that cut until after I’ve seen the scan.’

Not that the scan would make any difference to her treatment of the wound, but she felt it was more urgent than a few stitches.

She left Joss with him to arrange the scan, then crossed the room to explain to Andy what they were doing.

‘It won’t take long, but if you need to get back, we could phone when he’s ready to leave.’

Andy shook his head.

‘I’ll stay—duty of care and all that.’

She smiled at him.

‘Something we’re all only too aware of these days,’ she agreed.

It was close to an hour before she’d finally stitched the cut, and between patients had stopped a few times to speak to Andy. He seemed a really nice guy, and if he lived with his father, maybe he was single—

What on earth was she thinking?

Was she really stalking the single men of Braxton?

Hadn’t she decided she could kick a football with the best of men?

And that she’d get a housekeeper to free up her father? After all, she could afford one…

Or was she using the ‘single men’ idea in her head to stop her thinking of Marty?

Some questions had no answers.

* * *

The days flowed smoothly after that, and Emma realised she was getting into the routine of the hospital, fitting in as she learnt the ways that things were done, and feeling comfortable at work. She’d found she liked being part of a smaller hospital where the different departments all mixed far more than they did in city hospitals.

And it was easier to follow the progress of a patient she’d admitted than it had been in the labyrinth of wards where she’d worked before.

Yes, all in all, it was great.

Until late on Friday afternoon, when one of the coastguard officers called the emergency line.

‘We’ve got a seaman badly injured on a large container ship east of Wetherby. I’ve alerted helicopter rescue but we’ll need to drop a doctor on board to check him out before he can be moved.’

Emma sighed.

If there was one thing she hated more than winch practice it was being winched onto the deck of a moving ship. Not that she’d done it for real, but the practice sessions on Sydney Harbour had been terrifying.

But it was her call. The doctor who’d come in on the swing shift was too old for helicopter work but would cover her in A and E.

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