‘Get me a sharp knife fast,’ he called over his shoulder. It was an old model and wouldn’t self-deflate.
Abbie was gone, not wasting time talking, her baby bouncing in her arms. She was not going to be able to help them much unless she could put Grace down.
‘What’s your name?’ Emma was asking the child. ‘Mine’s Emma. You can call me Em, if that’s easier.’
‘Mummy, I want my mummy.’
‘Need a knife here too,’ Emma told him. ‘This car seat’s twisted and the buckle’s not releasing.’
Nixon felt for a pulse at the exposed side of the woman’s neck. ‘The child got any obvious injuries?’
‘Not that I can see. But he’ll have been thrown hard against the belts. When the shock quietens he’ll notice some pain. How’s the driver?’
‘Can’t find a pulse. Yes, I can. Weak and irregular.’ An event causing the accident? Or as a result of impact?
‘I brought two knives.’ Abbie was back already. ‘Not sure which is best.’
Nixon took the pointiest and stabbed repeatedly at the airbag. Whoosh. Yes, good result. He held the woman’s head so she didn’t drop forward too hard. ‘Emma, going to need you here.’
She was sawing at the seat belt. ‘Two ticks. Need someone to try to calm our little man.’
Abbie stepped closer, her arms full of baby Grace. ‘I’ll talk to him while you help Nixon.’
‘Can I do something to help?’ a man asked.
Nixon glanced around, saw a gathering crowd and then the young guy standing near Abbie. ‘Can you try to get that belt undone or cut apart?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, turning immediately back to the woman. ‘Em, I don’t want to move her until the ambulance is here and we can get a neck brace on but I need to see what the damage is.’
‘I’ll get in from the other side.’ She was gone, and almost immediately inside the car, wincing as she hurried.
‘Hold her head still for me.’ Nixon tore open the woman’s blouse and cursed silently. Left side of ribcage stoved in. Probable punctured lung.
‘You need to check her pulse again,’ Emma said. ‘Her resp rate is non-existent.’
He placed two fingers on her carotid again. ‘You’re right. Got to get her out of here.’
‘Mummy, I want you.’
Nixon flipped his head around, stared into the anguished eyes of the child—a boy if his fire-engine shirt was an indicator—saw the terror, and shock. Felt the fear. Knew those crippling emotions as if they’d happened to him yesterday. And the kid didn’t understand he might be losing his mother. Didn’t have a clue in Hades what that meant. How his life could be tossed up and down, round and round, with no chance of ever righting itself.
Not on my watch.
He knew the cruel blows coming to the boy if he didn’t save this woman. Knew how love could switch to fear that swamped all emotion. ‘Do what you can to hold her head steady and I’ll get others to help lift her out.’
Sirens filled the air, the fire truck suddenly beside them and men swamping the area. Would’ve preferred the ambulance, but he wasn’t going to be picky. ‘Hey, guys, here, now.’
‘They’ll have a neck brace,’ Emma informed him.
She wasn’t forgetting the important stuff. Not like him. Of course fire crews carried basic emergency equipment for patients.
Within moments their patient was out of the car and lying on the ground, and Nixon was doing compressions. One, two, three, four. Come on, lady. Don’t you dare not come back for your son. Ten, eleven, twelve. Do you even have a clue what it’s like to grow up without your mother there for you? Thirty.
Nixon lifted his hands, nodded to the fireman ready to squeeze air into the woman’s lungs with a ventilation bag.
Faster, man.
Of course the guy was doing his job correctly; it only felt as if it were taking for ever.
One, two, three. More sirens. Six, seven, eight. Lady, you’d better start breathing or I’m going to get angry. Your son is crying for you now. Think how he’ll feel if someone has to tell him you’re not coming home. Ever. Twenty-one, twenty-two.
‘She stopped breathing shortly after we arrived.’ Emma was talking to paramedics as she stepped away to allow them access. ‘There’s a little boy too. He’s just been freed.’ She reached out for the child being held by the man who’d helped cut him out of his seat. ‘Hey, sweetheart, let me carry you away from the naughty car.’
At least Emma was thinking straight. The boy did not need to see his mother in this state. Thirty. Nixon stopped compressions for two puffs of oxygen to be given.
‘We have a pulse,’ the fireman at the woman’s head said.
Relief snapped through the air. Nixon glanced along the path to where Emma stood holding the child, talking quietly, trying to soothe him.
We did it, buddy. Your mum’s alive.
Though still in big trouble. Now to get on with saving her from those injuries. Hopefully not a flail chest. The compressions wouldn’t have helped there but he’d had no choice.
As Nixon checked her ribcage he began to think luck was on this mother’s side. And her son’s. ‘Let’s get her loaded and down to the hospital. I don’t think those ribs are as bad as first expected but I don’t want any delay.’
‘We’ve got her,’ one of the paramedics commented as he attached leads to the defib, reminding Nixon that out here he took second place. These guys knew what they were doing.
‘I’ll see you in ED, Jeff. There’s also a young boy who needs transporting to hospital.’
‘A second ambulance is nearly here,’ the paramedic informed him.
‘You okay?’ Emma was at his side.
‘Sure.’ Now that the situation was under control the adrenalin rush was quietening down.
Emma shrugged as if she didn’t believe him. ‘Guess this takes care of your appointment with the CEO.’
‘Definitely. I’d better get cracking. Talk later.’ Nixon shoved his hand in his pocket for his keys. ‘You were great with that child.’
‘Poor kid. I couldn’t find any serious wounds, only two abrasions, but the head stuff—that’s going to be hard to fix in a hurry.’
Oh, yeah. And if the worst happened then there would be no fixing him. He would carry today in his head and heart for the rest of his life. It would form the basis of everything he did from now on. ‘Do you know if anyone’s contacted his father? Or relatives?’
‘The police are onto it.’
Being focused on saving the mother, he hadn’t noticed their arrival. ‘Good.’ As long as there was a father to step up for his son, and the woman wasn’t in Emma’s position.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ Emma asked, her gaze fixed on him, studying him intently.
Had she noticed his anguish? The urgency driving him to resuscitate the mother? Had Emma seen his fear? His need to save a boy from the pain and bewilderment he’d suffered? Please no. He didn’t need other people to know how he still hurt, how he was still afraid he’d lose someone else he loved. He did not want Emma’s sympathy. That would squash any sense of awe he might feel with her. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘I don’t know. You looked desperate while doing compressions.’ Yep, she’d seen through his façade to the screw-up inside.
Where did that leave him? More screwed up, or letting go some of the fierce grip he kept on his emotions? In an effort to curb her interest in his background, he forced all emotion out of his voice as he told her, ‘Of course I was. That woman’s life was in the balance, and I had to save her.’
‘Of course you did.’ Disappointment tainted with hurt glar
ed out of those soft green eyes. ‘Thought there was something more going on, that’s all.’
Once Emma knew his history she’d be in, under his skin, behind the barriers he held in place with sheer determination and not much else. When that happened, he’d be lost. For ever. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
Emma’s gaze locked on him. ‘Not for me. You’re hiding something.’ Her eyes widened. ‘From me or from yourself.’
Nixon strode towards his vehicle, hoping she wouldn’t follow. He’d love nothing more than to wind his arms around her, let her warmth push out the chill that had gripped him when the boy had screamed for his mummy. But he couldn’t take the risk. What if he found himself wanting more and more from her? It would be like falling into something deep and dangerous from which there’d be no turning back; a place where he’d open up and expose his needs and fears and take everything she had to offer, and he wouldn’t know how to give back half as much. He would always hold a part of him back in case he lost her.
So, Emma Hayes, I am not going to be any more than a friend, a close one maybe, but not a lover or more. You deserve so much better.
*
Emma watched Nixon charge down the footpath to his fancy four-wheel drive with its bike stand on the back. Those long, toned legs ate up the distance. He’d say he had to get back to the hospital in a hurry for that woman, and, while there was truth in that, there were other medics on duty. His unreasonable hurry was most likely to get away from her questions. She’d pushed him when he didn’t want to talk. Something had been going on inside that clever head. Something deep and painful. Which was why she shouldn’t be surprised he hadn’t answered her query. Did he not understand how much she cared? How much she wanted to help him, as he had her? That was what friends were all about.
Wary, remember? Non-involved, remember?
He had no qualms when it came to asking about her past, her family, Rosie’s father. None at all. Sure, he sheathed the questions in concern for her, but he still damned well put them out there. Almost as if he wanted to get closer but was afraid of where that might take him. He needn’t have worried. She might be noticing him as a man, a sexy, desirable hunk even, but she wasn’t going anywhere with this.