‘You?’

‘Me,’ he told her, his face still obscured. ‘That’s who you just ran over. Your boss. I’m Harry McKay, Birrini’s doctor. You’re here to replace me while I go on my honeymoon.’

Silence. She managed to finish checking the syringe but she was operating on automatic pilot. She couldn’t focus on what he was saying and what was needed at the same time.

Medicine. Concentrate on medicine or she’d do something really stupid.

Seven and a half milligrams of morphine, she decided. When in doubt, compromise.

She swabbed his arm while he lay absolutely still. That fracture must be causing agony, she thought. He’d turned his head slightly and she could see the set look on his jaw.

Forget compromise. Forget he was a doctor. He was very definitely a patient. Ten milligrams of morphine whether he liked it or not.

She gave the dose subcutaneously, then moved down so she could work on his leg. She’d prepare the splint while she waited for the morphine to take hold.

‘Five minutes tops before you get relief,’ she told him.

‘I know how long morphine takes to work.’

‘I guess you do.’ Her mind was racing. ‘So…you’re really the doctor I’m coming to replace?’

‘I am.’

‘You’re getting married?’

‘Yep.’

‘Right.’ She frowned. She shouldn’t be talking to him like this. She should still be assessing him for shock. But it seemed he wanted to talk. To lie in the mud and think about what damage had been done… He’d be scared, she knew, but there was little reassurance she could give him until she could move him.

‘There’s no pain when you breathe?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘So no broken ribs?’

‘Apparently not.’

She ran her hands down his spine again-lightly. She wanted as much information as she could before the morphine took hold. ‘You can feel that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No loss of sensation?’

‘No.’

‘No pain in your back at all?’