The Flyer Read Online Free

an old wood-stove, and a heavy wooden table. She opened the icebox, thoughtfully stocked by her benefactor just this morning, and retrieved a bottle of milk.
    A crash sounded from beneath her. It took her a moment to realize it was someone banging on the largely glass front door of Dr. Mallory’s clinic, directly beneath her feet.
    Almost dropping the bottle of milk, she slammed it on the naked kitchen table and raced out of her apartment. A second later, she reached the door and pulled it open.
    “Where’s Doc?” a burly man shouted. Practically shoving her aside, he half-dragged, half-carried another man, almost as large as himself, through the door.
    “He’s not here. He’s moved in with his sister.”
    “We’ll have to fetch him. We have a slight emergency, haven’t we?”
    The injured man seemed barely conscious. His head, covered with a damp hat turned up on one side, bobbed left then right, and his feet scraped against the hardwood floor. His trousers were drenched, torn, and clung to his muscled legs. Dark blood soaked a shirt that hung, unbuttoned, from wide, solid shoulders.
    “What kind of emergency?” Considering both men smelled like breweries, she had a vague idea. Following them into the examination room, she noted the uninjured man’s weaving steps. If it weren’t for the blood, she might have been inclined to think they were both simply inebriated. Nothing a good dose of castor oil wouldn’t cure by morning.
    “Croc bite.”
    Croc bite? As in crocodile? This was a first. “Put him on the table, if you can. I’m a doctor.”
    “You?” Bushy eyebrows that matched his red hair raised a notch. “No offense meant, sweetheart, but I think we’ll be needing Doc for this one.”
    “No offense taken,” she replied, forcing a smile. “But you’ll have to settle for me, I’m afraid. Dr. Mallory isn’t here, and I am.”
    She’d faced enough battles in her quest to become a doctor to know how to stand her ground. But her heart still hurt from the slights she’d received back in the States, and the fact that her gender had closed so many doors. Not as many as she’d closed on her own, of course, but still…
    Her first Australian patient stirred when his cohort settled him on the table. His voice was weak, but held a note of argument. “Bloody hell, Tim. I’m bleeding to death, aren’t I? If the sheila wants to play nurse, let her, for Christ’s sake.” Dazed blue eyes turned in her direction. From loss of blood or too much hooch, she couldn’t tell immediately. Most likely, the bleary-eyed gaze was a combined result of the two. A grin formed on his mostly clean-shaven face. “Aye,” he whispered. “She can play nurse all she likes, indeed.”
    Helen quickly turned away. The man didn’t know what he was saying, obviously. It was to be expected between the blood loss and the booze. She had learned months ago that men seldom said what they meant. Especially men who looked at women the way he looked at her. As though he could see through her chemise.
    Suddenly she remembered her state of near undress. A quick glance down confirmed that her dressing gown covered her well enough, but she still felt too close to naked for comfort. Beneath the gown and robe, both made from pure silk, her too-large breasts swayed, then tightened beneath his perusal. She might as well have
been
naked. She pulled a white jacket from a hook on the back of the door, threw it on as casually as she could, and hooked the two buttons closest to her unbound breasts.
    She washed her hands in a small sink in the corner. “Take off his shirt,” she ordered in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact tone, not tainted with the sudden flurry of excitement roiling in her gut, despite the lessons she’d learned.
    The man called Tim complied, immediately stripping his friend to the waist amid groans of protest.
    When Helen turned to face her patient, she hid a gasp. She was a doctor. Fully trained. Fully capable. She’d