Louisa felt her mouth dry and her heart thud against her chest. He wasn’t her type, she reminded herself weakly, and she’d never been one just to go for looks.
She looked away quickly and tried to concentrate on work. Her eyes scanned the drugs, anticipating what they’d need. Aware that Mac was still watching her, she worked swiftly, laying out various pieces of equipment in logical order. Then the doors flew open again and the paramedics hurried in with the little girl.
Louisa braced herself.
‘This is Martha, aged six.’ The paramedic handed over quickly, explaining what had happened and what drugs had been given. ‘She was at the pantomime with her grandma.’
Mac stepped forward. ‘And where’s Grandma now?’
‘At Reception, giving details.’
Louisa took one look at the child and felt her heart twist. The little girl looked exhausted, her skin pale and her eyes hollowed from the effort of breathing. ‘Her respirations are 52,’ she said crisply, reaching for the nebuliser, ‘and her pulse is 150. Martha, sweetheart.’ Her voice softened as she stroked the child’s head gently. ‘You’re in hospital now and we’re going to help you breathe. You’re going to be fine.’
Please, let her be fine.
‘Let’s give her high-flow oxygen,’ Mac instructed, his dark head bent as he examined the little girl, ‘salbutamol via the nebuliser and some prednisolone. Is she taking theophyllines?’
The paramedic nodded and Mac glanced at Josh who had just walked into the room. ‘She’s very cyanosed, she’s exhausted and her peak flow is less than a third of what it should be. Can you get me a paediatrician and an anaesthetist?’
At that moment Martha clutched at his sleeve, panic in her eyes as she struggled to breathe.
Mac gave her his full attention, his eyes locked on hers as he adjusted the mask. ‘I want you to stay calm, angel,’ he said quietly, ‘and trust me. We’re going to help you breathe, I promise. You’re in hospital and you’re safe. How was that pantomime? Was it good? Did you see the ugly sisters?’
Louisa felt herself begin to relax. There wasn’t a hint of panic or urgency about him. Instead, he was calm and totally in control of the situation, his movements smooth and apparently unhurried as he worked. Even though she knew the child was dangerously ill, she felt a rush of confidence. If anyone could help the little girl, Mac could.
He continued to talk to the little girl, explaining what he was doing. Louisa handed him an IV tray and watched while he examined the little girl’s arm for a vein.
‘Paeds and anaesthetist on their way,’ Josh said as he walked back into the room just as Mac slid the cannula into a vein.
‘I need her weight—I want to give her a maintenance dose of aminophylline. Will you do the calculation? Grandma is outside somewhere—let’s get her in here.’
Josh disappeared again and reappeared almost instantly with a piece of paper in his hand. ‘Grandma’s on her way. I’ve got the weight—have you got a vein?’
‘Of course.’ Mac secured the cannula and glanced at Louisa. ‘OK, let’s give her 100 milligrams hydrocortisone and add some ipratropium to the nebuliser. How are her sats?’
Louisa checked the reading. ‘Coming up. Ninety-four per cent.’ She handed him the various syringes with the ampoules to check.
‘All right, folks, we need to maintain her sats above 92 per cent and we need to repeat her peak flow.’
Hannah came into the room accompanied by an elderly lady in a thick coat, clutching a handbag. She stared at the little girl anxiously. ‘Martha?’
The little girl wriggled on the trolley and Mac put out a hand to soothe her. ‘You’re all right, sweetheart,’ he said gruffly, ‘Grandma’s here now and she’s going to give you a cuddle in just a minute. You’re a brave girl. Is it easier to breathe now?’
Martha nodded and he gave her a smile that made Louisa catch her breath.
How could she ever have thought he wouldn’t make a good father?
Something warm slithered through her veins as she watched him with the child. He was so strong. Dependable. And he’d be the perfect father.
Coping with that sudden revelation, she met his questioning gaze and felt herself colour.
Oh, help.
She’d told him he wasn’t her type.
What would he say if she confessed that she’d discovered that he was exactly her type?
The anaesthetist and the paediatrician arrived together and there was another flurry of activity.