Page 3 of Where the Wattles Bloom

It wasn’t right for someone to die flat on their back in the dirt with only a stranger for company.

‘Don’t you dare die on me.’

Her best hope was that someone would happen along before the ambulance. Two sets of hands were better than one.

She switched to the mask and gave two more breaths before working his chest again, pushing back against the hovering edge of panic, reaching for the eye of calm. It’d taken her several months and many thousands of dollars with her therapist to find it—it had better not desert her now.

‘Come to the country, they said,’ Rowena muttered out loud between compressions. ‘It’ll be quiet, they said.’ She grunted at the exertion of each downward movement. ‘It’s just flu jabs and earaches, they said.’

Rowena thanked god for her meds as she puffed in a couple more breaths. If she’d come across this three months ago she might have gone into cardiac arrest herself. Or ended up rocking in a corner for days after.

Two minutes later, with the emergency call taker trying his best to keep her company despite the appalling reception, Rowena heard a car in the distance.

‘Someone’s coming!’

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.