Tempted By Her Single Dad Boss. Annie O'Neil
She never liked to make her condition “a thing” until it became...a thing.
“Oh, for the love of—!”
With the bash of a wave came an abrupt swing and shift of the boat against the dock. Salty tried, unsuccessfully to find purchase on the dockside but couldn’t. His “boat” leg slipped between the vessel and the dock and the rest of his body flew forward so rapidly his hands were unable to brace him for the fall. Adrenaline took over as she leapt to Salty’s aid.
Gritting her teeth against her own pain, Maggie managed to climb out of the boat and pull his leg up and onto the dock. She told herself to call for help, but wasn’t entirely sure if she had the breath in her lungs to shout.
“Salty? Salty.” She knelt next to him and pressed her fingers to the pulse point on his throat. Thready. But still there. “Come on, you old seadog. You aren’t going to let a little old storm get the better of you, are you? Certainly not on New Year’s Day, all right?”
Her eyes flicked to his torn yellow coveralls that were now exposing a navy pants leg. She couldn’t see any blood coming through, but the fabric was both dark and wet, so not the easiest way to see it. If he’d suffered a compound fracture the wound would need to be cleaned as soon as possible. Infection was an open wound’s biggest enemy.
Other people appeared then began calling out for more help, a stretcher, blankets, a doctor. Salty kept blinking his blue eyes as though they were trying to bring her into focus. From the look of the bump on his head he could’ve easily suffered a concussion too.
She pulled off her jacket, took off her fleece and curled it round his head like a cushion. “Salty? Can you follow my finger?” She clocked his eye movement as they followed her index finger. It wasn’t brilliant but it wasn’t bad. To distract him from what must be an excruciating level of pain, she kept up her usual bright chatter and carried on performing the handful of neurological exams easily performed on a recumbent patient.
When the clamor of voices fell silent she knew whose body was attached to the solid all-weather boots that appeared in her sightline.
Alex Kirkland.
Much to Maggie’s surprise, Salty tried to push himself up to a sitting position. “Just let me get up, would you? Give me a chance to have a quick run down the dock on it. A couple of laps and it’ll be fine.”
Maggie pushed him back down. “Let’s just hang onto that enthusiasm for a minute, Salty.”
Calmly, steadily, Alex swiftly examined Salty’s leg.
Maggie knew she was holding her breath, but she also knew how bad the injury could be. Soft tissue damage alone could lead to amputation. It had been difficult to tell just how violent a blow Salty’s leg had received, but popliteal artery injury was something to consider. Compartment syndrome. Or infections. Please don’t let him get an infection. There was gangrene to consider, osteomyelitis—
Alex shot her a curious sidelong look. She hoped he wasn’t reading her mind.
“I’m guessing we’re looking at a double oblique fracture,” he said. “Most likely tib and fib, but I don’t want to destabilize it more than it already might be.”
She exhaled. Okay. Better than completely crushed to smithereens.
“I’d rather leave any guesses on the ankle to the radiography team.” The crowd around them collectively gasped as Alex’s comments made the rounds. It sounded bad. It was bad. Alex maintained solid eye contact with Salty. “The good news is nothing’s broken through, but you do present with one gross deformity.”
Despite years of hearing the medical term, Maggie winced. She hated that term, “gross deformities.” Whenever she was with patients she always made a joke of it and called them “beautiful variations.” Being injured or in pain was bad enough. No need to add insult to an actual injury.
Alex shook his head as once again Salty tried to lift himself up. The old man gave a grunt of irritation and lay back down on the dock, his eyes closed tight as Alex continued, “We’re most likely going to have to set the bones, Salty. A pretty good reason not to keep trying to get up and test it out.” Maggie pressed her fingers to Salty’s carotid artery. Irritation had ratcheted up his heart rate. Better than thready, but skyrocketing in the other direction wasn’t great either.
Patiently, and presumably as a time-filler until more help could arrive, Alex continued, “Pending a follow through on any soft-tissue damage and splinting you, with any luck, and some proper physio from Maggie here, we’ll have you up and running in a couple of months.”
“Months?” Salty roared, eliciting a few shrieks from the onlookers who’d thought his closed eyes had meant he had passed out.
Maggie could barely hear her own voice trying to tell him an oblique fracture was a good thing such was the roar of blood careering round her own brain.
Broken was so much better than what she’d imagined.
“Chin up, Salty. You’ll be back in action in no time,” she told the old man.
Alex threw her A Look. “If by ‘no time’ you mean possibly having to go through surgery and attend months of rehab after the fractures have healed, I suppose you’re right.”
Alex’s tone made his stance crystal clear. He didn’t “do” optimism. He did facts.
Maggie’s blood shot from ice cold straight up to boiling point. The facts weren’t all in yet and optimism had helped her over more than a few hurdles in her life.
“Your bedside manner stinks,” she ground out through gritted teeth.
“Both of yers does.” Salty tried to push himself up once more, only to have Alex and Maggie press him back down onto the thick wooden dock planks. “Listen up, the pair of you,” Salty persisted. “All I need is a good hot cup of coffee. One of Fiona’s’ll do. I don’t want any cardamom or turmeric or any sort of nut milk anywhere near my cup of Joe. And I’m hungry so I’d a like a cruller to go with it. While I have that you can tape up my leg, then the both of you can get on over to the clinic so I can shut down the Fish Tank for the night.”
“Erm... Salty?” Maggie shot a look at Alex, who was still very busy glaring at her. “I think the Fish Tank needs to be shut down for a bit longer than that. And perhaps by someone who isn’t you. Do you have any family who can help?”
Salty’s already murderous expression turned even darker. “Nope.”
He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the steel-gray sky that was turning suspiciously darker by the minute.
Someone pushed through the crowd. “Utter rot and nonsense, Salty. You’ve got us, whether you’re happy with it or not.”
Salty shifted his eyes to stare at the new arrival. A man with a bright orange crew cut who could’ve doubled as a leprechaun. Brave, too, as he was wagging his finger at Salty as if he’d been a naughty toddler.
“Tom Brady, I hope you’ve got a cruller in one of those pockets of yours, otherwise I’m not remotely interested in what you’re about to say.”
“You know there are crullers on tap for you every day of the week at the bakery, Salty, but perhaps the doc here might like you to wait a couple of minutes. Now, I’ll get Jim down here and he and I’ll see to the Fish Tank.” He nodded to Alex. “Dr. Kirkland. Good to see you, despite the circumstances. You and your son see in the New Year on your own?”
Alex nodded and gave the man’s shoulder a quick affirmative clap. “I imagine the Brady family saw it in with their usual verve.”
“I’ll have a headache for days,” Tom confirmed with a smile.
Alex laughed and shook his head.
Okay. So he wasn’t Captain von Grumpy to everyone. Just her. If there was any sort of record being taken, she