Robin Gianna – The Spanish Duke's Holiday Proposal (страница 3)

“There’s nothing stupid about helping injured people. Where...?” Her flashlight finally landed on two men. One was on the ground, bleeding from his forehead and lying awkwardly on one arm. Even with the lack of light, his pallor told her he was going into shock. The other man was crouched over him, his fingers on the man’s neck, apparently trying to get his pulse rate.

“I’m not going to say it again—you need to leave! For all I know, this could be the work of terrorists, with a chemical attack to follow. I’ve got this guy, and responders will be here any minute.”

The thought of a chemical attack sent a shiver down Miranda’s back, for both herself and anyone else nearby, but she wasn’t going to leave until she knew survivors were taken care of. “Have you seen anyone besides this victim?”

He yanked off his coat, completely ignoring her question. His tone changed so completely when he spoke to the man, its gentle quietness surprised her. “I’m going to move you so I can look at your arm. Try to relax, and don’t help, okay?” He slowly rolled the victim to his back with extreme care, wadding his coat up under the man’s feet to elevate them, obviously knowing how to treat someone going into shock. Then in one fluid movement he pulled his shirt over his head before ripping it into pieces, pressing one section against the man’s forehead. “You hold this against your head wound while I look at your arm.”

“My dog,” the man said on a moan. “Do you see my dog?”

“Remember? I said I’ll look for him after I check you out. And I will, but it’s not going to do your dog any favors to have you go into shock, is it?”

The patient nodded in response. Miranda finally reached them and crouched down. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

The bossy man paused to look up at her, his eyes meeting hers in an intense stare before he gave her a quick nod. “All right. Hold his arm steady as I get this off.” He pulled a knife from his coat pocket, flipped open the blade, then began quickly and efficiently cutting away the victim’s coat sleeve.

“Got it.” She briefly flashed her light over the victim’s arm, noting the navy-blue sleeve was dark with what was probably blood. She put her flashlight down on the rubble, trying to direct the light toward the man’s arm, before she reached to gently but firmly hold it in place as the rest of the sleeve was cut away.

He paused in his cutting to clamp his flashlight between his teeth so he could use both hands and see at the same time he worked, which made Miranda look more carefully at his shadowed and dirty face. His ridiculously handsome face, which she now realized with a start she’d seen before, and that always made her take an involuntary second and third look. A face that belonged to an EMT she’d often seen in the hospital, bringing in patients.

Trying to remember his name, she was filled with a short rush of relief that she wasn’t alone in this place, trying to deal with this serious injury before figuring out how to get him to the hospital. That the man working on the patient knew what he was doing, and that they could work together as a team.

The way he was leaning over the patient made it hard to see the man, so she stared at the medic’s head instead, tipped downward as he cut away the cloth. She knew his short hair was normally black, but right now gray powder covered both it and his dark brows. More of the silt filtered down onto all three of them, and she swallowed hard, shoving down the fear that skittered down her back again at the thought of being buried alive.

The last of the coat and clothing was cut off, and they were both finally able to see the jaggedly ripped and bleeding flesh of the victim’s forearm. While she couldn’t see the bone beneath it, there was no doubt this was a compound fracture. Which meant the bleeding had to be stopped and the arm stabilized while trying not to jar the broken pieces in the process.

The medic’s eyes met hers, and what she saw there telegraphed loud and clear that he knew as well as she did that if the bones got moved the wrong way, they risked an artery being torn, which would turn a bad situation worse.

He took the flashlight from his teeth and tucked it under his chin. “You still got his arm steady? I’m going to wrap it.”

“Yes. You can let go. I have a book in my purse. We can use it as a splint.”

He glanced up, his intense eyes meeting hers again. “I have a magazine folded in my coat pocket. I’ll use both to stabilize the arm after I get the bleeding stopped, so leave the book, then go.”

Ignoring his comment the way he’d ignored hers earlier, she watched him carefully lay a piece of his shirt on top of the bleeding wound, then lift his hand, apparently planning to press down on it.

“Don’t do that, you’ll dislodge the bones!” she said. “We need to be as careful as possible not to cause further damage. Putting pressure on it isn’t a good idea. A tourniquet is a better option to try first.”

“I realize that a lowly EMT knows little compared to you, Dr. Davenport,” he drawled, emphasizing the word doctor as he continued to work quickly, wrapping a strip of torn shirt around either end of the cloth bandage. “But I know a lot more about field medicine than you do and I have the technique down pat.”

Surprise that he knew her name was quickly replaced by serious annoyance as his nearly amused tone started to really tick her off. She opened her mouth to retort that an ER doctor was fully trained in all kinds of emergencies. Until that emotion and her words dried up fast as she watched the remarkable efficiency and competency he showed as he tied off a makeshift tourniquet, then held the victim’s legs up with one arm as he grabbed his now filthy coat from the ground to pull out a magazine.

All right, she had to admit it, but not to this autocratic male. While she worked hard to be the best doctor she could be, this guy had her beat when it came to this kind of emergency, working without all kinds of medical supplies and the equipment she always had available at her fingertips.

“This is probably going to hurt, so hang on,” he said to the patient. “You doing okay?”

“O-Okay,” the man said on a gasp that turned into a groan as the medic slowly and carefully straightened his arm. He then curved the magazine beneath the man’s elbow.

“Can you—?”

“Yes.” She reached to cup her hands underneath to hold it in place as he worked to secure it with strips of his shirt. The patient moaned, and Miranda leaned closer. “I’m sorry, sir. I know it hurts, but the hospital’s close by. As soon as we get the wound secured, we’ll get you out of here. You’re going to be fine, and getting meds to help with the pain really soon.”

“Where’s that book?” the medic asked, never pausing as he knotted the strips and reached for another.

“Here.” With one hand, she slid her bag from her shoulder and reached in to fish out the book. “I’ll place it under his wrist when you’re done.”

A quick nod as he finished up with the magazine, then suddenly lifted his eyes to hers. The quick grin he sent, along with a smile in that brown gaze, took her totally by surprise, and for some ridiculous reason made her heart beat little harder. Apparently helping him had taken her off his list of highly irritating things. For the moment, at least.

“I’m sorry, I should know, but what’s your name?” she heard herself ask, suddenly needing to know.

“Mateo Alves. This is John, and his dog, Benny, ran in here after the collapse, which is why John came down here in the first place. He’s a fast one for a shorty dog, but I’ll find him. And I already know you’re Miranda Davenport. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, except you shouldn’t have come in here to begin with.”

“Too bad. There’s nothing falling now, so we’re probably safe.” She knew she sounded a little breathless, which was probably due to the silt in the air and not at all to the fact that she’d fantasized about the über-handsome EMT more than once in the ER. During those times, they’d all been busy treating patients, so there hadn’t been time to spend more than a brief moment staring at him, and now wasn’t a good time either. Except she found that, for what felt like a long moment of connection between them, she was staring at him anyway.

“Yeah, well, that could change in one second.”

She glanced up, gulping at that reality. To cover her worries, she threw out a tart response. “Aren’t you going to admit that both of us working on John’s arm has been faster than you doing it alone, and better for him?”

“Maybe.” Another quick flash of teeth.

“I’m going to put the book under his forearm now.”

“Wait. I want to cover the wound better first.”

Her rapt attention on his handsome features was interrupted when he frowned and paused in his work on the wrist splint. She looked down and saw that he’d used every scrap of fabric from his torn shirt.

“Give me your scarf.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea,” she said, wishing she’d thought of it. She slipped it from her neck and handed it to him. “And I can cut the bottoms off my pants, too, if we need them.”

That flash of grin. “What do you think, John? How often do you have a woman offering to rip her clothes off for you?”