Unlocking Her Surgeon's Heart. Fiona Lowe

afternoon clinic.

      Her phone beeped as it always did when she drove back into town after being in a mobile phone reception dead zone. This time, instead of one or two messages, it vibrated wildly as six messages came in one after another. She immediately pulled over.

      11:00 Unknown patient in labour. Go to hospital.

      Karen.

      11:15 Visitor to town in established labour in Emergency. Your assistance appreciated.

      N. Jackson.

      ‘What have you done with the Noah Jackson I know and despair of?’ she said out loud. The formal style of Noah’s text was unexpected and it made Karen’s seem almost brusque in comparison. The juxtaposition made her smile.

      11:50 Contractions now two minutes apart. Last baby I delivered was six years ago. Request immediate assistance.

      NJ.

      12:10 Where the bloody hell are you?!

      N.

      ‘And he’s back.’ Although, to give Noah his due, she’d be totally stressed out if she was being asked to do something she hadn’t done in a very long time. She threw the car into gear, checked over her shoulder and pulled off the gravel. Three minutes later she was running into Emergency to the familiar groans of a woman in transition.