Free His Emergency Fiancée by Kate Hardy Page A

‘Give the girl a kiss!’
    Ben retrieved Kirsty’s glass. She could see mischief lurking in his eyes and she didn’t trust that mild expression an inch.
    He bent his head to her ear. ‘If they want a show, let’s give them one!’
    And, before she could protest, he took her in his arms, arched her backwards as if they were doing the tango and kissed her. Very thoroughly.
    By the time he lifted his head again, Kirsty was extremely flushed and feeling light-headed. And as she hadn’t actually sipped her champagne yet, she couldn’t blame it on that.
    ‘This is meant to be a family occasion, not X-rated,’ Sandy teased.
    ‘You told me to do it properly,’ Ben retorted, handing Kirsty her glass and draining his own. ‘Kirst, my ain sweet one.’ He was really hamming up his accent, she thought, too amused by it to be cross with him about that kiss. ‘Will ye no’ finish that so we can get back to the dance?’
    She raised her glass in salute, drained the contents and set it back on the bar. ‘Happy now, bonnie sir?’
    ‘Bonnie’s for girls,’ he said in a stage whisper.
    ‘What about Bonnie Prince Charlie?’ she countered.
    ‘Hmm. I’ll concede that. But it’s still mostly used to describe Scotland and pretty little girls with rosy cheeks, my bonnie wee Kirst.’
    Kirsty glowered at him. She wasn’t that little—and everyone knew she wasn’t pretty. So why was he making such a big thing of it?
    He merely smiled at her and steered her back to the main hall for more dancing.
    The music and the atmosphere had got to her and she was really beginning to enjoy herself. If any of her brothers could see her now, she thought, they’d never believe their eyes!
    She should have known that it was too perfect. In the middle of an energetic Strip the Willow there was a sudden crash. One of the dancers had tripped, she thought. And then the music stopped and it was clear that it was more than just a fall.
    Ben and Kirsty went straight over to the fallen man. ‘Marty McAllister,’ Ben said as they drew near enough to recognise him. ‘He’s the local driving instructor. He got me through my test.’
    ‘D’you need anything, Ben?’ a woman asked as he knelt down beside Marty.
    ‘Call an ambulance and get me some towels or something to put under his head,’ Ben said, loosening Marty’s collar. He had a nasty feeling he knew what it would be. Marty was in his fifties, smoked, was Jim Ramsay’s best customer, was a good fifteen kilos overweight and had a job that pushed his blood pressure up—in short, he was a perfect high-risk candidate for a myocardial infarction, a heart attack.
    ‘Marty,’ he said gently, ‘are you in any pain?’
    ‘Just a bit of indigestion,’ Marty said, wheezing slightly. ‘Had it before but it’s worse tonight.’
    ‘Is it just in the middle of your chest?’ Ben asked.
    Marty shook his head. ‘It’s my left arm, too. Can’t move it properly.’
    Ben and Kirsty glanced at each other. Marty’s face was still red and shiny from his exertions in the dance. Sweaty—healthy hot or worryingly cool? Kirsty put her hand on his forehead—it felt cold and clammy.
    ‘Do you feel—?’ Ben began, and his question was answered as Marty turned his head to one side and promptly vomited.
    ‘Definitely an MI,’ Ben said softly.
    ‘How long will the ambulance take?’ Kirsty asked in an undertone.
    ‘Twenty minutes, at least,’ Ben said.
    Not soon enough.
    ‘Your bag’s at Morag’s, isn’t it?’ she asked.
    He nodded. ‘I’ll get it.’
    ‘You stay here—he knows you. Get someone else to call the local GP for thrombolytic drugs a.s.a.p. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ Kirsty went straight over to Morag and explained the situation. Morag gave her the house keys and Kirsty pulled off the soft-soled shoes and replaced them with her flat outdoor shoes before setting off at a run.
    She’d seen this so many times before in patients where she’d done a bypass—fatty