One #2
She leapt up and, completely unmindful of her general bloodiness and undressed state, ran to the edge of the road and waved like crazy. The ute flashed its lights as it obviously decelerated, and the sharp burn of anxiety in Rowena’s stomach was replaced with a faint glow of hope.
Another person would make all the difference.
Rowena went back to the man and picked up where she left off, putting her knees at his head this time and getting a really good grip on mask and jaw before puffing in a breath.
The newcomer could do the compressions—not because her arms were already aching but because the most experienced person always managed the airway.
Her ears tuned into the slamming of a car door and the heavy fall of hurried feet. A pair of battered boots and blue denim entered her vision as she puffed in a second breath.
‘What happened?’ a deep voice demanded.
She sat back on her haunches, about to ask him if he knew CPR, but he interrupted her before she got a word out. ‘Jesus Christ.’ He threw himself down, his knees hitting the dirt beside hers, an Akubra pulled low on his forehead. ‘It’s Silvano Morelli.’
Rowena’s heart went out to the guy. Seeing someone in cardiac arrest was brutal at the best of times—seeing someone you knew would be especially hard. But there wasn’t really any time for that right now. ‘Do you know chest compressions?’
He nodded, his eyes glued to the man in the dirt. ‘I’ve done the course a few times.’
Due to her position and the angle of his hat, Rowena couldn’t really see his face, but his confidence was just the boost she needed. ‘Good. I’m going to give one breath and then you’re going to push five times, fast and deep, okay?’
‘You have some medical training?’ he asked, apparently unfazed as he centred his callused hands.
‘Nurse,’ Rowena said then breathed into the mouthpiece.
The newcomer performed five textbook compressions. ‘You’ve called an ambulance?’
She breathed again, keeping low over her patient, watching the colour of his lips through the plastic of the mask. ‘Yes.’ She cocked her head at her mobile phone. ‘Reception is crappy but it’s on its way. I’m not sure how long.’
He performed the next set of compressions with one hand as effortlessly as he’d done them with two. Absolutely no grunting.
Rowena’s heart rate settled—they had this.
Pulling a phone from his pocket, he punched in some numbers. It looked clunky compared to her sleek smart phone.
‘Reception’s terrible,’ she repeated.
‘Satellite phone.’ He hunched his shoulder, squashing the phone to his ear, and resumed two-handed compressions. ‘Verna? It’s Lachlan McCabe. Who are the ambos on today?’
Rowena wasn’t privy to Verna’s answer but he—Lachlan—said thanks then hung up, switching to one handed as he dialled another number and shoved the phone back in place between shoulder and ear.
‘Davo,’ he said after a few seconds, pounding away two handed again. ‘I’m out at the car accident you’re coming to. It’s Silvano Morelli. What’s your ETA?’ He nodded and glanced at Rowena. ‘About fifteen minutes.’
Christ. There was still no pulse and by the time the ambulance got on scene he’d have probably been down for half an hour. Yes, she’d started CPR quickly, but …
‘What happened?’ he asked again, beetling his eyebrows in Rowena’s direction.
From this vantage point she could see under the broad brim of his Akubra. His eyes were as blue as a long summer’s day, and there was a jaw so square he could give a cartoon superhero a run for his money. Not even the heavy three-day growth of golden-blond scruff could disguise its angles.
‘I was behind him. He swerved a few times then veered off the road and hit the tree. I think he might have had a heart attack at the wheel.’
‘Suspected heart attack,’ Lachlan conveyed to Davo, who Rowena assumed was a paramedic. He listened for a bit more before saying, ‘Yep, sure thing. See you soon.’
He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket, returning to two-handed compressions. Rowena straightened and arched her back to ease a cramp in her lumbar region, noticing for the first time he was wearing a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows.
‘Are you hurt?’
She frowned at him and he tipped his chin at the blood smearing her stomach. For the first time she registered her state of undress and absently thought maybe she should be embarrassed. After all, most guys had to wait until the third or fourth date before they got a peek at her bra.
But her lack of shirt was hardly important right now.
‘I nicked my arm when I broke the window,’ she said dismissively, bending over to deliver a breath. ‘It’s fine.’
His arms moved up and down in her peripheral vision. ‘You broke the window?’
She focused on the pale lips through the plastic of the mask. ‘The doors were locked.’
He delivered five compressions. ‘How’d you manage that?’
‘I have a thingy that does it in my first aid box.’
He glanced at the open case stuffed with supplies. ‘That’s an impressive kit.’
‘I like to be prepared.’
‘Evidently.’
He sounded impressed and, weirdly, Rowena felt like she’d passed some kind of outback preparedness test. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’ she asked.
She didn’t know why—it wasn’t as though the situation required small talk.
‘A man who bakes the best pastries in the district is everyone’s friend. So, no pressure, but we’ve got to pull him through this or we’ll never be able to show our faces around Acacia Junction again.’
Her roadside helper was obviously trying to lighten the situation, and a part of Rowena appreciated it. But the other part—the one that had not long ago suffered a rather spectacular public breakdown and a stint in the mental health care system—could probably do without the pressure.
The ambulance couldn’t get here fast enough.