Her Four-Year Baby Secret Read online

  Nick was staring at her

  The dim light should have made it less personal to hold eye contact. Maybe it went on a fraction too long, or maybe it was the way the corners of Nick’s mouth lifted into what seemed like a very appreciative smile.

  Whatever. It did something funny to Fiona’s insides, and she found herself blushing again. Hurriedly, she stooped and kissed the slumbering Sam.

  “Sound asleep,” she pronounced. “No story needed, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

  With another soft touch to her son’s head, Fiona led the way from her room with more than a little relief. No doubt Nick was feeling the same way.

  Or maybe not.

  “I wouldn’t have minded reading to him,” Nick said when they were in the hallway again.

  “Are you sure?” Fiona caught his gaze deliberately. Searching his face, she said, “This can’t be that easy for you, Nick.”

  “It’s worth it,” Nick said softly. “I feel like I’ve found something I thought I’d lost forever. Maybe even something I never really had. A…a family.”

  Dear Reader,

  I’m lucky enough to live in one of the most beautiful countries in the world.

  It’s always a treat to set a story in one of my favorite parts of New Zealand, and Central Otago is very near the top of the list.

  There are fabulous mountains, gorgeous lakes and—for me—an undercurrent of excitement that stems from it being where I spent my childhood summer holidays, rather than its worldwide reputation as one of the best adventure-sports playgrounds.

  I got to throw in some other favorite stuff, too. A hero I would be unable to resist falling in love with (of course!), a heroine who’s everything I would like to be, a cute kid and a family setting of warmth and comfort. The icing on the cake was the bonus of my favorite medical scenarios—challenging, frontline paramedic incidents.

  So…I spoiled myself, but we all need an occasional treat—including you!

  Enjoy!

  With love,

  Alison

  HER FOUR-YEAR BABY SECRET

  Alison Roberts

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ANOTHER ghost, that’s all it was.

  Paramedic Fiona Murchison jerked the ambulance into a lower gear and the heavy vehicle skidded a little on the steep gravel surface of the mountain road.

  ‘Whoa!’ Her partner, Shane, grinned. ‘Thought we were covering this rally, not competing in it!’

  Fiona chuckled. ‘Just you wait. I might try a Scandinavian flick on the next corner.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s a turning technique. You steer a bit into the opposite direction of the turn and put your foot on the accelerator and brake at the same time. That makes you slide away from the turn and then you change the steering, release the brake and keep your foot on the accelerator, and you sort of slingshot your way around the corner in the direction you want to go.’

  Shane eyed the steep drop on his side of the road nervously. ‘A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, Fi.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re not going much further. Just up to the spectator area for all those people who’ve been keen enough to hike up the track.’

  ‘There’s a lot of them.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Fiona turned her head briefly, surprised by the steady queue of climbers. ‘And there must be a couple of thousand at the bottom. It’s a popular event.’

  So many people. It was no wonder her ghost had made an appearance. Given the sheer numbers and the fact that males were more drawn to watching motor sports, there would have to be hundreds enough above average height to stand out in the crowd. Dark, floppy hair wasn’t that uncommon either and more than a few men had that arrogant way of walking—as though the world was their personal playground.

  ‘I guess your Sam is here somewhere?’

  ‘Of course. With my mum. He wanted to stay near the flags.’

  ‘I’ll bet he’s excited.’

  ‘Over the moon.’

  Shane chuckled. ‘Like every four-year-old boy here, I expect, getting up close and personal to this kind of action.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Fiona eased the ambulance towards the official tents marking the relatively level area that gave a vantage point to see the road as it continued to snake up the mountainside towards a ski-field that wouldn’t have snow for some weeks yet. ‘I reckon it’s more than that with Sam, though. It’s definitely in the blood.’

  ‘Did he see his dad race, then, when he was a baby?’

  ‘No.’ Fiona switched off the engine and unclipped her safety belt. ‘I didn’t even know I was pregnant at Al’s funeral. I had so much going on with Dad having another stroke and deciding to come home to New Zealand that I was four months down the track before I put two and two together.’

  ‘You OK?’ Shane might be a junior ambulance officer but he wasn’t short on compassion. ‘This can’t be easy for you.’

  ‘It’s five years since Al was killed and the accident was at a rally in Switzerland, not Queenstown.’

  ‘Still…’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘I can deal with it.’

  It was easier up the hillside a bit. Away from the buzz of the flagged area where the bright cars and the stars of the sport were surrounded by their support teams and fans. Funny how it had been the sight of a random spectator in the crowd, rather than one of the superstars, that had conjured up the ghost. The intensity of that nasty lurch was fading now. Fiona could look down at the colourful scene below and feel nothing more than a kind of nostalgia.

  No. Relief, actually, that she was no longer a part of that world. She hoped the passion for this kind of drama wasn’t really running through the blood of her son. The kind of life it could produce wasn’t what she’d wish for Sam. It might be dramatic and exciting and potentially rewarding but it wasn’t…real.

  This was real. The stark beauty of the rugged mountain peaks of the Remarkables making a forbidding silhouette against a sky as blue as only Central Otago could boast. The surprising warmth of the autumn sunshine. And, best of all, the knowledge that a small, dark-haired boy was not too far away, probably clutching more than one of his precious collection of rally car models. His eyes would be shining and anyone lucky enough to be close would find their world a little brighter by seeing his grin. A happy, safe little boy who was protected by two women who loved him to bits.

  Fiona knew her mother would have taken her warning on board to keep a low profile. She didn’t want the media discovering that Alistair Stewart’s son was here. Didn’t want the perfect life she had spent years building for them disrupted by the havoc she knew the media could create.

  The reasonably level area the ambulance was in—a good kilometre uphill from the start flags—was awash with caravans and tents, spectators and officials. A helicopter hovered overhead, ready to film the event, but the sound of engines revving and people shouting still drifted up from below.

  The qualifying heats had finished and the main event was due to begin where one car at a time would tackle the steep grades and nearly a hundred turns on the twelve-kilometre track, many of them impossible-looking hairpin corners with only a low metal barricade on the drop side. The team with the shortest time would win and the buzz of expectation was steadily rising.

  Even Fiona was catching it. Like a sensory ghost, it was creeping in on her. The sound
s of the engines and the excited shouting and laughter. The gasps of admiration or horror as vehicles were tested to their limits. The smell of petrol and the dust the cars raised as they hurtled past. The bright colours of the cars with their sponsors’ logos, often with matching helmets and suits for the drivers. Any one of those figures in the distance could have been Al and a close-up, albeit brief, flash of a face grim with concentration going past the ambulance position and into a tight turn gave Fi just as much of a lurch as that figure in the crowd had done.

  Thankfully, her senses became almost immune after the first hour or so and Fiona was able to relax a little. Enjoy it, even.

  ‘That’s called “yumping”,’ she told Shane, pointing up the hill to where a car had become airborne after a sharp dip and then rise in the road. ‘They flick the steering a tad in mid-air to try and land one wheel at a time and spread the load of the impact.’

  ‘Ever tried it yourself?’

  ‘Only once and that was enough. Al’s parents had this huge country property in England and there was a practice course out the back.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘His dad was a Warbirds fanatic. He had a collection of World War Two planes and even had his own airfield there as well.’

  ‘Adventurous family.’

  ‘Too adventurous. His parents were killed in a plane crash a year before Al had his accident. A new Spitfire or something he’d added to his collection that had some massive engine failure on its first trial run.’

  ‘Good grief! So the whole family wiped themselves out with adventure sports?’

  ‘Almost. Al had a brother who was about ten years younger than him and was the black sheep of the family, I guess. He went to med school. Mind you, I suppose he had a few of the genes because he went off to join Médecins sans Frontières not long after his parents’ funeral and I haven’t seen or heard from him since, and that’s sad because Sam would so love to have a real uncle.’

  Any wistful note in Fiona’s voice was lost on Shane, who didn’t seem to be listening any more. He had sucked in his breath at the new cloud of dust obscuring the car still hurtling downhill. ‘This guy is moving!’

  ‘Must be one of the last competitors. He knows what kind of time he has to beat.’

  Shane shook his head. ‘Don’t fancy his chances if he misses a turn.’

  ‘Could be quite a scramble for us, that’s for sure.’ Fiona grinned. ‘If we have to go mountain climbing, you get to carry the gear, mate.’

  The car roared closer. Into the tight turn nearest their parking area. Another glimpse of two grim faces. Another cloud of dust and then…

  Then that kind of frozen moment in time that sheer horror could produce as the car failed to correct its turn, continuing to skid at high speed through the barrier, which failed to slow the huge missile in any way. Straight towards the crowd of spectators.

  The driver must have tried desperately to avert disaster. Maybe he wrenched the steering-wheel hard enough to cause the flip and roll of the vehicle. People were screaming. Trying to hurl themselves out of its path. But some were clearly failing, being clipped by the car and thrown for some distance before hitting the ground.

  The finale came only seconds after the drama had begun, with the car slamming into the back of a caravan selling hot dogs and ice cream. A cloud of black smoke billowed and then the ominous lick of flames appeared.

  Fiona shook the numbing horror from her brain. She was the senior medical officer on scene and she had to act on the training she had received in dealing with a multi-casualty incident. She grabbed the portable radio hanging behind the driver’s seat and a fluorescent vest from a hook beside it. Then she headed for the stunned-looking group of race officials in that split second after the car had finally stopped its journey of destruction.

  Two more officials appeared from a tent, carrying fire extinguishers, and ran towards the car. Many of the crowd were still running for safety, some carrying children, but others were turning back in response to cries from the injured, milling helplessly and beginning to obscure Fiona’s view of the scene as she tried to assess the kind of numbers they were dealing with.

  She had her finger on the ‘Push To Talk’ button of the radio.

  ‘We have a code five hundred,’ she informed the central communications centre. ‘Multi-casualty. Possibly twenty victims. Status still unknown.’

  The two ambulances from the main area at the start and finish flags were already on the move, starting the slow climb up the gravel road. A Red Cross Jeep was ahead of them, dust billowing from beneath its wheels.

  ‘Rescue helicopter back-up needed,’ Fiona told Control. ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve triaged.’

  She turned to the people around her. ‘Shane, grab my kit and some triage labels.’

  Fiona pointed to an official holding a megaphone. ‘Direct any uninjured people to clear the scene. Any injured people capable of walking are to go to the administration tent. I’m going to assess what we have left.’

  ‘What about the guys in the car?’

  Fiona took a quick glance over her shoulder as Shane came running back. ‘Make sure the fire is out and then see if they’re trapped. We may need the fire service up here as well.’

  Shrugging on the jerkin that designated her as scene commander, Fiona moved to triage the victims into a priority treatment queue but she couldn’t lose sight of the incident as a whole.

  ‘Send any new ambulance crews to report to me as they arrive,’ she told another official. ‘And put out a call over the main PA system for anyone with medical training that can assist.’

  It was too easy for medics to go towards the first injured person they could see and then get caught up with the assessment and treatment while someone with more life-threatening injuries lay unattended nearby. Fiona’s task right now was to look at everybody and grade the severity of their conditions. Basic treatment, like opening an airway or controlling a severe haemorrhage, could be done but no more until everybody had been seen.

  Just repositioning an unconscious person so that their airway was no longer occluded could save a life—but not unless it happened within a short space of time and, given the number of bodies still lying on the ground as the mobile people responded to the official’s orders to move towards the tent and clear the scene, she was going to have to move fast.

  It was hard, ignoring the cries of pain or screams for help.

  ‘My leg! I can’t move!’

  ‘It hurts…’

  ‘Help! Please, help!’

  The people calling were conscious. Their airways and breathing were clear enough for speech so they weren’t going to be the first priority.

  Except for the one Fiona and Shane came to first.

  ‘Please, help,’ the man said again, ‘It’s my wife. I…’ His voice choked. ‘I couldn’t get to her to pull her away…And the car…’

  ‘Okay.’ Fiona crouched beside the motionless figure of the woman. A trickle of blood could be seen from her nose. There was a smear of blood on one ear but Fiona couldn’t take the time to check whether it was external or, more ominously, the result of an internal head injury. The woman was breathing and the only blood loss obvious was a wound on the back of her head. Fiona ripped open a dressing and covered the wound.

  ‘Stay here with her,’ she directed the husband. ‘Talk to her. Hold her head—like this…’ She positioned his hands. ‘Keep her as still as you can if she starts to wake up. Someone will be here very soon to put a collar on and assess her properly.’ Fiona turned to Shane. ‘Pink label,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that for?’ the husband asked anxiously as Shane slipped the rubber band of the label around the woman’s wrist.

  ‘It tells the treatment crews who needs attention first,’ Fiona explained as they moved towards the next victim only thirty seconds after stopping. ‘Pink is top of the list.’

  The next person, only a few metres away, had torn clothing and flesh on his left side tha
t looked more like a glancing blow from the runaway vehicle than impact with the ground. The man was conscious and breathing but his speech was incoherent between groans of agony.

  ‘Unstable pelvis,’ Fiona said grimly, seconds later. ‘Pink label.’ He could have other serious internal injuries but a fractured pelvis alone could be enough to cause catastrophic blood loss.

  A child was screaming, both arms held in the air with the hands drooping at odd angles.

  ‘Help him,’ his mother demanded, catching Fiona’s arm as she walked rapidly in their direction.

  ‘He’ll be seen very soon,’ Fiona assured her. ‘Take him to the tent.’

  ‘No! Wait!’

  But Fiona and Shane kept moving. Anyone that could stand up and scream as loudly as that boy had an excellent airway and level of consciousness. Not that Fiona didn’t have every sympathy for the mother. Running at a level just below her need to handle this situation to the best of her professional ability was a very real horror that her son could be involved.

  What if they hadn’t stayed near the finish flags?

  Fiona couldn’t afford to distracted by what was probably an imaginary fear—there were no other children to be seen among the injured after all—but as soon as she had even a second to spare, she would be calling her mother for reassurance.

  A second ambulance crew intercepted their path.

  ‘Take the woman over there,’ Fiona directed. ‘Unconscious. Pink label. Head injury. Put a collar on and start oxygen. OP airway if her GCS is still less than ten. Do a secondary survey. Someone will be there to establish IV access as soon as possible.’

  She was already crouching in front of a dazed-looking man who was sitting, staring at his hands.

  ‘Oh, my God…’ he kept saying between frantic gulps of air.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Fiona told him. ‘Try and slow your breathing down. Are you asthmatic?’

  He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Oh, my God,’ he said again. ‘I was holding my camera…It got caught on the car…’

  A strap had probably been caught around his fingers. The index finger was obviously dislocated and probably broken. The middle finger had been ripped cleanly off the hand. Typically, the traumatic amputation had caused blood vessels to close off completely and the wound was barely bleeding.