'This is Carrie,' Charlie said calmly.

'Who is just leaving,' Carrie said, her legs shaking as she made a quick escape.

At Friday lunchtime Carrie was sitting at the table, trying to concentrate on a bunch of exceedingly boring, exceedingly depressing figures. d.a.m.n it. The hospital board was going to have a field day. The centre wasn't viable. The previous year's figures were a mess. She knew she would have to make a recommendation to the board that would destroy Charlie and his beloved centre.

And their so-called friendship. And most definitely their snogging. After she delivered her verdict she was pretty sure he'd never want to see her again-never mind kiss her.

It was developing into a true conflict of interest for her. She was torn. Torn between what the figures told her, the black and white, and what she knew about Charlie and his goals and aims for the centre-the grey.

A few weeks ago she'd been nothing but a bottom-line girl. A black and white girl. But the longer she spent at the centre and witnessed the difference Charlie and the centre made, she knew she couldn't be objective. She had gone to the grey side.

She threw down her pen and glared at the stack of paperwork in front of her. The jukebox thumped away in the background and somewhere outside a car backfired. How the h.e.l.l was she going to tell him?

Maybe this was an easy out for her? This crazy pa.s.sion-fuelled supposed friendship they had now couldn't go on. Their issues hadn't changed. Her time there was almost up. If she left, putting the final nail in the centre's coffin, it would achieve what they'd so far not managed to achieve. The end of their impossible, never-going-to-happen relationship.

Carrie was still musing over the problem a couple of minutes later when Angela burst through the door.

'I need you. Now. I have a GSW outside.'

Carrie startled at the receptionist's abrupt entry and rapid-fire demand. A gunshot wound? Oh, no! She stood on shaky legs. 'Get Charlie.'

Angela glared at her impatiently. 'Do you think I'd be here, asking you, if Charlie was around?'

Good point. She watched Angela's brisk retreat.

'Stat,' Angela bellowed from down the hallway.

Carrie jumped, her heart leaping in her chest. Her legs responded to the brisk command, her thoughts jumbled as she felt the familiar edge of panic.

She entered the treatment room, nausea slamming into her gut at the bloodied victim.

'Shotgun blast to the abdomen,' Angela said, thrusting a pair of gloves at her. 'That car backfiring earlier was not a car backfiring. The ambulance is eight minutes out.'

The patient looked like a teenager. He had an oxygen mask on and was writhing around the examination bed, holding his abdomen. Blood was oozing out all over his hands, and its metallic aroma wafted towards her, fuelling even more nausea. It was all over his clothes and the clean white sheets. Oh, G.o.d, why wasn't Charlie here? Where the h.e.l.l was he?

Another teenager was pacing in the corner. He had blood all over his clothes, too. 'Help him. Don't just stand there. Help him,' he yelled at Carrie, running his bloodied hands through his hair.

Angela looked at her sternly. They were it. She was it. She was what stood between this boy and death. Did she want another boy to bleed and die before her eyes?

Her thoughts crystallised. Her thinking became ordered. D.R.A.B.C.H.

The first four letters checked out already. There was no danger, the boy was obviously responsive and, at a quick glance, his airway and breathing weren't compromised. She noticed a blood-pressure cuff wrapped around his arm and a pulse oximeter attached to his finger.

She strode closer. 'What's his pressure?'

'Eighty systolic,' Angela returned quickly. 'Heart rate one-twenty. Sats ninety-eight per cent.'

Carrie nodded. 'I'll get some lines in. Have we got a plasma expander?'

Angela nodded as she pushed the IV trolley towards her. 'I'll set up two Haemaccel lines.'

Carrie snapped on a tourniquet. Her hand trembled as she attempted and gained access to a vein in the crook of the teenager's elbow. In trauma situations these veins were the most commonly used. They were big, allowing a decent-sized cannulae to be placed for rapid infusion of large amounts of fluid, and were generally easy to find.

Angela taped it in place while Carrie moved around to the other side and placed one in the opposite arm. In a few minutes they had two litres of fluid running into the patient. 'Pressure?'

'Ninety systolic.'

Improving, but there was no way of telling just how much blood their patient had lost or was continuing to lose. Carrie turned her attention to the wound. There was a large hole in the abdominal wall, with loops of bowel protruding. Blood oozed out continuously. Where exactly it was coming from was anyone's guess. In all probability there could be multiple sites. Bowel, kidney, liver, stomach. And that wasn't even counting the threat to major blood vessels.

'He needs a laparotomy,' Carrie said. There could also be spinal complications although, given the boy's powerful thrashing, everything appeared intact.

Angela nodded. 'In the meantime, let's put some moist packs in the hole to protect the exposed bowel. The ambulance should be here in a couple of minutes.'

Angela opened a pre-packaged trauma pack and poured sterile saline onto the large white hanky-sized sponges. Carrie snapped on the sterile gloves Angela opened and placed two of them over the hole, gently tucking them inside.

'Pressure?' Carrie asked as she watched the packs turn red instantly.

'Holding at ninety,' Angela confirmed. 'Here, put this sterile towel over the wound.' Angela pa.s.sed her a sterile green towel. Carrie draped the hole and Angela taped the towel to the skin.

'Pity we don't carry any S8s. He could do with some pain relief,' Angela commented over the loud moans of the patient's distress.

Carrie nodded. That was one of the many proposals in Charlie's expansion plans for the centre. The ones she was going to dash. 'His blood pressure's probably a little dicey anyway.'

The wailing of a siren grew louder and Carrie realised she'd been so focused on stabilising the teenager that she'd tuned everything else out. She'd been like a machine. Like she'd been doing this all her life. Like she'd never stopped.

'I'll direct them in,' Angela said, removing her gloves.

Charlie was a hundred metres away when the ambulance whizzed pa.s.sed him, its siren blaring, and braked outside the drop-in centre. He threw his sandwich in a nearby bin and ran. What the h.e.l.l had happened?

He skidded to a halt as Angela emerged from the centre. 'What happened?' he demanded.

'Gunshot wound to the abdomen,' Angela told him calmly.

'Carrie?'

Angela nodded. 'Handled it like a pro.' She turned to brief the paramedics walking with them inside as she spoke.

He burst into the treatment room. Carrie had her back to the door and a stethoscope in her ears and didn't hear him enter.

Charlie touched her shoulder. 'Carrie?'

She turned. 'Oh...hi. Blood pressure's up to one hundred,' she said, diverting her gaze from Charlie's worried face to the paramedics striding through the door.

Charlie stood back and watched in awe as Carrie gave a concise handover. 'I think he's just a scoop and go, guys. He's going to need Theatre, stat. He's actively bleeding in there somewhere.'

Five minutes later they had the patient loaded and were departing. Angela, Charlie and Carrie watched it disappear from view.

'Good job, Dr Douglas,' Angela said as she turned and headed back into the clinic.

Carrie stared after her, open-mouthed. Dr Douglas?

Charlie whistled. 'High praise, indeed, Dr Douglas.'

Carrie shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight as she looked up into his face. It seemed she had come full circle in Angela's eyes. In Charlie's eyes. She had earned her stripes. Earned herself the right to the t.i.tle Doctor. She had saved the teenager's life.

'Are you OK?' he asked.

Carrie thought about it for a moment. Remarkably, she was. In fact, the thrill of having taken control and saved her patient's life was elating. Pushing papers around a desk never gave her this kind of buzz. She nodded. 'Yes, I am, actually. I haven't felt this OK for a long time.'

Charlie smiled. He lifted his hand and stroked his knuckles down her cheek. He pulled her into his shoulder for a lingering hug. 'Come on,' he said, his arm around her as he moved inside. 'You'd better go and change your shirt.'

Carrie looked down and noticed a blood stain the size of a grapefruit on her silky purple blouse. She should have worn an ap.r.o.n.

'I can help you with that if you like,' he murmured.

Carrie smiled and then stopped, her euphoria fading as she remembered that she was about to put Charlie out of business. 'Thanks. I can manage.'

Carrie opened the staffroom door and wandered over to the table. Her laptop hummed quietly, a stack of papers waiting for her attention next to it. She picked the top sheet up and looked at it. A bank reconciliation.

'Here you go,' Charlie said from halfway down the hallway. 'It's not silk and it'll be miles too big, but it'll do.'

Carrie accepted the shirt without even glancing at it. She sat down at the table.

'Are you OK?' he asked. She was quiet suddenly and seemed pensive. Was it a delayed reaction? Was she about to hyperventilate?

'I don't want to do this any more.' Carrie picked up another sheet of paper and tossed it in the air. She wished she hadn't taken this job. But, then, she never would have met Charlie. Never would have had her eyes open to the fact that she was doctor. Not a manager.

Charlie's eyes followed the lazy fall of the paper. What did she mean? 'Careful. I know the lady that owns them and they're probably in order.'

Carrie smiled. 'It felt amazing just now. I mean, I was terrified to start with, I was frantic to have you by my side, but...we were it. Me and Angela. And I couldn't let another boy die. And it all came back to me.'

'It wasn't your fault, Carrie. The other boy. He was taken away from the hospital before you had a chance to examine him properly.'

She nodded. 'I know that...I do, really, but...I've had that image of him in my head for so long now. The white sheets...the red blood...his dead-looking eyes. But today's changed everything. I have a new image. Of me. As a doctor. I know I certainly can't go back to this.' Carrie placed her hand on the paperwork.

Charlie felt a surge of relief wash over him. He'd always known there was a doctor inside her, fighting to get out. 'Bravo.' He smiled. 'I know a certain drop-in centre that desperately needs a female doctor. Especially one who's good with figures.'

Carrie felt her heart slam against her ribs. Her fingers felt dead and heavy suddenly against the pile of paper. He had offered her something she'd wanted since childhood and had convinced herself it hadn't mattered that she hadn't had it-a gig in community medicine.

Tell him. She should tell him. He'd given her the perfect opportunity. But she couldn't. Not today. She'd just saved a life and she didn't want to besmirch it with bottom-line stuff.

'I may just take you up on that.'

CHAPTER NINE.

CARRIE drove to the clinic on Monday morning knowing that today was the day. It wasn't fair to put it off any longer. She'd been over and over the figures all weekend and no matter how much she tried to present them in a good light, the truth was inescapable. The Valley Drop-In Centre was not financially viable.

It gave her a chill, just thinking about it. Charlie would be devastated. The centre was everything to him. She was so not looking forward to the conversation she needed to have with him first thing this morning.

Part of her wanted to chicken out. Leave the dirty work up to the board. Have the news arrive in one of those awful official yellow envelopes. But she knew she owed him more than that.

She couldn't believe how much could change in a few short weeks. How much this a.s.signment had affected her entire life. Before coming to the centre, she wouldn't have thought twice about getting rid of something that wasn't performing. It was, after all, taxpayers' money they were playing with, entrusted with-serious stuff. And it wasn't their place to waste it w.i.l.l.y-nilly.

But trying to justify a venture like this on paper just didn't take into account the human aspect. What the centre meant to the community it supported and what it would mean if it wasn't around any longer. Whatever happened, she was going to make sure she stressed that in her final report.

But the real reason it was ripping her heart out was much more depressing. She had fallen in love with Charlie. The revelation had come last night as she'd been putting Dana to bed. Her daughter had hugged her and whispered, 'I wish Charlie could be my daddy.'

And it had hit her. She wished he could be, too. Wished it had been Charlie and not Rupert who had fathered Dana. The truth had only depressed her further. She loved him. She wanted him by her side. Always. In her bed. In her life. In her heart.

She shook herself as she stopped at a red light. Why? Why had she risked her heart on someone else who was reluctant to be a father to Dana? She'd never asked to feel like this. Never expected to feel like this. Didn't want to feel like this.

Since everything had fallen apart five years ago she hadn't even entertained such fanciful expectations. She'd had Dana, who gave her indescribable joy, and her career. Work, Dana, work, Dana. It may have been soulless but she'd been...content.

Maybe she'd just settled as a way to punish herself for Harry's death or for her navety over Rupert. Maybe it had been a way of protecting herself from further emotional trauma. Whatever it was, Charlie had turned it all upside down. He'd given her back her soul.

But more than that, he had given medicine back to her. The excitement she'd once felt at the prospect of helping sick people get better, of improving their quality of life or helping them to a dignified death. The thrill that came with the power to heal. The joy of knowing she was making a difference. No matter what happened after this morning, she was trading in her pinstripes for a white coat.

She parked her car as a swirl of emotions whirled in her head. A part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind and rush in head first. But the lessons of Rupert weren't easily forgotten and she knew she had to be more responsible this time. It wasn't just her future, her fate she had to decide on. There was an innocent four-year-old also involved.

Of course, after today it was probably all going to be moot anyway. Things seemed fairly insurmountable at the moment. Even if they did somehow manage to get past her part in the centre's closure, there was the issue of Dana.

She couldn't force Charlie to be a father to her daughter and he seemed to have it in his head that he wasn't up to the job. Parental influences could be powerful and far-reaching-half the centre's runaways were a perfect example of how not to parent. But it was obvious to anyone with the slightest vision that he was a natural with kids.

So how could she convince him he wasn't like his father? And how, after her bombsh.e.l.l today, could she convince him to even listen?

Carrie heard voices from Charlie's office as she swung by and she felt tension twist her stomach into another knot. She wanted to be anywhere but here today, doing this. She stood in front of his door, took a deep breath and poised her hand to knock.

'Charles, you're not seriously involved with that Carrie girl, are you?'

Carrie stopped before her knuckles. .h.i.t the wood. His door wasn't completely pulled to and she could hear the conversation easily. Was Charlie's father with him?

'What makes you think that?' Charlie bounced a rubber ball against the wall as he lounged back in his chair. It hit the floor, hit the wall and returned to him in a perfect arc.

He'd learnt a long time ago to tune out during one of his father's phone calls. Don't react, don't supply him with any ammunition-just say yes and no and give noncommittal grunts in the right places and get the h.e.l.l off the line as fast as possible.

'You missed Sunday lunch. Your mother was most upset.'

Charlie smiled. Playing hookey was the only thing that had improved his mood over the weekend. It had given him a brief respite from thoughts of Carrie. 'Sorry.'

Carrie dropped her hand and leaned closer. No, she thought, there was too much of an echo. Charlie must have him on speakerphone.