The Doctor Claims His Bride by Fiona Lowe

smile carved through the worry that lined his face, travelling along his cheeks, unusually free of stubble.
    She soaked up his smile, letting it trail through her, lighting her up from the inside and warming her in a way she’d never known before.
    It’s just a smile of thanks. It’s not specifically for you . But she ignored the voice and held onto the feeling.
    Clamping the IV tubing with her hand, she let the Hartmann’s solution fill the chamber before letting go and releasing the liquid in one quick gush to avoid air bubbles.
    She hung the litre bag of fluid onto the pole.
    ‘I’m in.’ Flynn withdrew the trocar and connected the drip. ‘You insert one into his left arm and I’ll check his breathing.’
    Mia wrapped the blood-pressure cuff around Jai’s arm and pumped it up. ‘BP one hundred on sixty.’ She re-pumped the cuff, using the band of pressure to make the young man’s veins rise. ‘Jai, just one more needle and then we’ll give you something for the pain.’
    Jai’s only response was a moan through lips swollen to three times their normal size.
    Mia’s heart tore. He must be in agony. Her fingers palpated the largest vein and she slid the needle in quickly, surprised Jai wasn’t more peripherally shut down. Grabbing an ampoule, she snapped it open and with a skill honed over many years she drew up the clear liquid into the syringe. ‘Check ten milligrams of morphine.’
    Flynn read the ampoule. ‘Check. When you’re ready, please set up for a tracheostomy.’
    She plunged the morphine into the rubber bung of the IV. ‘Do you think he has oesophageal and laryngeal burns?’
    His black brows drew together. ‘With all this swelling I can’t imagine I’d be able to visualise the vocal cords, let alone pass an endotracheal tube.’ He walked to the sink and washed his hands.
    Mia quickly assembled what they needed—a scalpel, Betadine, tracheostomy tube, suture thread, saline and a syringe to fill the balloon of the tube. Opening a sterile cloth, she draped it over a trolley and then added two pairs of gloves, along with the other items.
    ‘Jai, I have to tilt your head back.’ With both hands gloved, she carefully placed them against his ears and hyper-extended their patient’s neck. Then she picked up his hand. ‘You’ll feel the sting of the local anaesthetic and after that just some pushing and pulling.’
    Jai murmured something incomprehensible and she hoped the morphine had sedated him.
    Flynn snapped on his gloves and infiltrated the area with local anaesthetic before swabbing it. ‘Just in case you ever have to do this, the trachea is generally two finger-breadths above the sternal notch.’ He demonstrated how to measure.
    She concentrated on his every word and action. He always did this—he turned every situation into a teaching one and generously passed on his knowledge. The more time she spent with him, the more she realised what a special man he truly was. Did Brooke have any idea what she’d given up?
    A bubble of anger burst inside her at the pain that woman had caused him, was still causing him, and she found herself vigorously snapping the scalpel onto the blade handle and slapping it into his palm. ‘So it’s a horizontal cut.’
    ‘Yes, it is. Right through the skin and muscle, and down to the third or fourth ring of cartilage.’ He dextrously cut and enlarged, ready for the tube. ‘Pass the tube.’
    With one hand she swabbed the blood that oozed from the cut and with the other she picked up the tube. ‘How much pressure do you need to apply to insert the tube?’
    He frowned as he tried to insert the plastic tube. ‘More than you think you need.’
    She gave him a dry smile. ‘That’s about as precise as my grandmother saying, “Add a glug of soda water” to a recipe.’
    The deep grooves that bracketed his mouth twitched. ‘Medicine isn’t always precise but the moment you feel the resistance disappear you know that the tube is in the trachea.’