Her Brooding Italian Surgeon by Fiona Lowe Page B

There was a thought. He’d buy a bike and go riding. A long hard ride in the summer heat was just what he needed to keep the Bandarra demons at bay and to banish a pair of fine green eyes that saw too much.

CHAPTER SIX
    A BBIE checked the liquid display on the ear thermometer. ‘Mate, you’ve got a fever, that’s for sure.’ She gently palpated the boy’s glands. All up. ‘Have you vomited?’
    Alec sniffed and rubbed his watery eyes. ‘I chucked after breakfast and now my throat hurts a bit but I’ll be OK. Mum needs me to go to the shops. The baby’s making her tired.’
    Abbie bit her lip. Usually getting information out of an eleven-year-old was like pulling teeth and in most situations with children this age the mother of the child hovered, answering any questions before the child could open his or her mouth. She glanced over at Penny, Alec’s pregnant mum, who sat staring out of the window with blank eyes.
    When had Alec realised he was the carer in this relationship? She remembered at ten having to make toasted cheese sandwiches for dinner and trying to get her mother to eat. This sort of parent-child role reversal was all too common at the refuge and it ripped at her heart every single time.
    She’d called into the refuge just to confirm numbers for tonight’s canoeing but Rebecca, the case worker, was out. Another resident had called her aside, voicing her concern for Alec. Penny had silently agreed to the examination with barely a glance when Abbie had knocked on the door of their room.
    â€˜Sorry, Alec, but you’ve got a virus and you won’t be going to the shops today or for a few days.’ She poured a dose of cherry-flavoured paracetamol syrup. ‘You drink this and I’ll talk to your mum.’
    Alec frowned as if he wanted to object but Abbie put one hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave a firm nod. ‘You need to get better and then you can help your mum, OK?’
    The flushed and feverish child drank the antipyretic, relief burning on his face as hot as the fever. Then he curled up against the pillows and closed his eyes, his body needing the restorative balm of sleep.
    Abbie opened her prescription pad and scrawled down an order for an antiviral influenza drug. If Alec had been at home in a settled environment she would have gone the recommended route for a flu-like virus and advised fluids, bed rest and paracetamol. But Alec’s life was far from settled and living in a communal house changed all the rules. She walked over to Penny and gently touched her shoulder. Her palm met fiery-hot skin.
    Penny flinched at the touch.
    Abbie silently cursed at her uncharacteristic lapse. Too many women who came to the refuge associated touch with pain. ‘Penny, do you have a fever too?’
    Baby-blue eyes glazed with a pyretic stare turned towards her. Dusky black shadows marked her pale face and bright red fever spots burned on her cheeks. She coughed—a shuddering wet sound—and immediately brought her arm close to her ribs in a guarding action.
    Abbie’s diagnostic radar went on full alert. ‘How long have you had pain when you cough?’
    Penny shrugged. ‘I dunno. Since Adam hit me.’
    Abbie’s stomach clenched as memories threatened her. She gave herself a shake and refocused on the woman in front ofher. Alec had said they’d lived in Victoria until two days ago. ‘Did you see Justin and have an X-ray?’
    The mother shook her head as her hand caressed her belly. ‘X-rays aren’t good for the baby.’
    â€˜Neither are broken ribs good for you.’ But Abbie was equally worried about the cough and the fever. Put together they meant pneumonia. Pregnancy and pneumonia were a shocking combination, especially in someone so emotionally and physically drained as Penny. Not to mention that they were in the middle of an H1N1 virus pandemic.
    Abbie kicked herself. She’d