The Last Temptation Of Dr. Dalton

CHAPTER TWO

THOMAS HOVERED IN the clinic outside the door to the OR, looking anxious. “Where is the patient?” Trent asked. “Is he prepped and ready, or do you want me to examine him first?”

“I thought he should be examined again, to confirm my diagnosis. But he’s in the OR. With Dr. Smith.”

“Dr. Smith?” Charlie asked. What the heck was he doing in there? Hadn’t she asked him to stay out of the hospital and away from patients? “Why? Did you tell him Dr. Dalton was coming back?”

“Said since he was here and the boy needs surgery fast he’d take care of it.”

Anger welled up in Charlie’s chest at the same time she fought it down. She supposed she should give Smith kudos for stepping up despite the circumstances, instead of being mad at her refusal to let him work there. “Well, that’s...nice of him, but I’ll tell him our other surgeon is here now.”

“Give me a minute to scrub,” Trent said as he grabbed a gown and mask and headed to the sink.

Charlie hurried into the OR to find Don Smith standing over the patient who was being attended to by the nurse anesthetist but not yet asleep. She stopped short and stared at the anxious-looking little boy. Could there be some confusion, and this wasn’t the child with the hot appendix? His eyelid and eyebrow had a red, disfiguring, golf ball-sized lump that nearly concealed his eye completely. How in the world could he even see?

Her chest tightened and her stomach balled in a familiar pain that nearly made her sick. The poor child looked freakish and she knew all too well how horribly he must be teased about it. How terrible that must make him feel.

She lifted a hand to her ear, now nearly normal-looking after so many years of disfigurement. Her hand dropped to her side, balled into a fist. How wrong that he’d lived with this, when a kid in the States never would have. More proof that the project so dear to her heart was desperately needed here.

“Is this the child with appendicitis?” At Dr. Smith’s nodded response, she continued. “I appreciate you being willing to take care of this emergency, but my other surgeon is here now. Help yourself to breakfast in the kitchen, if you haven’t already.”

“I’m here. Might as well let me operate. You’ll see that I’m a capable and trustworthy surgeon. I want you to change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind. Losing your license and falsifying your credentials is a serious matter, which frankly shows me you’re not trustworthy.”

“Damn it, I need this job.” Smith turned to her, his face reddening with anger. “I told everyone I’d left to do humanitarian work. If I don’t stay here, they’ll know.”

“So the only reason you want to work here is to save your reputation?” Charlie stared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but your drug addiction and loss of license is already public record in the States.”

“For those who’ve looked. A lot of people I know haven’t.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Smith, but you’ll have to leave. Now.”

“I’m doing this surgery and that’s all there is to it. Nurse, get the anesthesia going.” He turned to the patient and, without another word, began to swab the site while the child stared at him, his lip trembling.

Anger surged through her veins. Who did this guy think he was? The jerk wouldn’t have spoken to her like this if she’d been a man. “Janice, don’t listen to him. Stop this instant, Dr. Smith. I insist—”

Trent stepped between Charlie and Smith, grasping the man’s wrist and yanking the cotton from his hand. “Maybe you didn’t hear the director of this hospital. You’re not doing surgery here.”

“Who the hell are you?” Smith yanked his arm from Trent’s grasp. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“No, but she can. And I work for her.” Trent had a good three inches on the man, and his posture was aggressive, his usually warm and laughing eyes a cold, steely blue. “I know your instincts as a doctor want what’s best for this boy, which is immediate attention to his problem. Your being in here impedes that. So leave.”

Smith began to sputter until his gaze met Trent’s. He stepped back and looked away, ripping off his gown and mask and throwing them to the floor. “I can’t believe a crappy little hospital in the middle of nowhere is too stupid to know how good I am. Your loss.”

He stalked out and Charlie drew in a deep, slightly shaky breath of relief. She’d thought for a minute that Trent would have to physically take the guy out, and realized she’d completely trusted him to do exactly that. Then she pulled up short at the thought. She was in charge of this place and she couldn’t rely on anyone else to deal with tough situations.

“Thanks, but you didn’t need to do that. I had it handled.”

Trent looked down at her with raised brows. “Did you, boss lady?”

“Yeah, I did.”

He reached out, his long-fingered hand swiping across her shoulder, and she jerked, quickly looking down. “What, is there a bug on me?”

“No—a real big chip. I was wondering what put it there.” His lips tipped up as his eyes met hers.

What? Ridiculous. “I don’t have a chip on my shoulder. I’m just doing my job.”

“Accepting help is part of being head honcho, you know.” Those infuriatingly amused eyes lingered on her before he turned to the nurse. “Have you administered any anesthesia yet?”

“No, doctor.”

“Good.” He rolled a stool to the gurney and sat, that full smile now charmingly back on his face as he drew the sheet further down the child’s hips. “So, buddy, where’s it hurt?”

He pointed, and Trent gently pressed the top of the boy’s stomach, slowly moving his hand downward to the right lower quadrant.

“Ow.” The boy grimaced and Trent quit pressing his flesh to give the child’s skinny chest a gentle pat.

“Okay. We’re going to fix you up so it doesn’t hurt any more. What’s your name?”

“Lionel.” The child, looking more relaxed than when Charlie had first come into the room, studied Trent. With his small index finger, Lionel pushed his bulging, droopy eyelid upward so he could see. “My belly will be all better? For true?”

“For true.” Trent’s smile deepened, his eyes crinkled at the corners as his gaze touched Charlie’s for a moment before turning back to the child. “Inside your body, your appendix is about the size of your pinky finger. It’s got a little sick and swollen, and that’s what’s making your belly hurt. I’m going to fix it all up while you sleep, and when you wake up it won’t hurt any more. Okay?”

“Okay.” Lionel nodded and smiled, showing a missing front tooth.

“But, before we take care of your sore belly, I want to talk about your eye.” Trent gently moved the boy’s hand before his own fingers carefully touched all around the protrusion on and above the eyelid. “Can you tell me how long it’s been like this?”

Lionel shrugged. “I’nt know.”

“I bet it’s hard to see, huh?”

“Uh-huh. I can’t see the football very well when we’re kicking around. Sometimes Mommy has tape, though, and when she sticks it on there to hold it up that helps some.”

“I’m sure you look tough that way. Scare your opponents.” Trent grinned, and Lionel grinned back. “But I bet you could show how tough a player you are even more if you could see better.”

Charlie marveled at the trusting expression on the child’s face, how unquestioning he seemed as he nodded and smiled. She shifted her attention to Trent and saw that his demeanor wasn’t just good bedside manner. The man truly liked kids, and that realization ratcheted the man’s appeal even higher. And Lord knew he didn’t need that appeal ratcheted up even a millimeter.

“Is your mother around? Or someone I can talk to about fixing it at the same time we fix your belly?”

“My mommy brought me. But I don’t know where she is right now.”

As his expression began to get anxious again, Trent leaned in close with a smile that would have reassured even the most nervous child. “Hey, we’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

He stood and took a few steps away with a nod to Charlie. When they were out of hearing distance, he spoke in an undertone. “I want to take care of his hemangioma and we might as well do it while he’s under for the appendix. There’ll be a lot of bleeding to control, and I’ll get him started on antibiotics first. After I remove the tumor, I’ll decide if it’s necessary to graft skin from his thigh to make it look good. In the States, you wouldn’t do a clean surgery and an appendix at the same time, but I can do it with no problems.”

“If it wouldn’t be done in the States, we’re not doing it here.” Didn’t he get that this was why she’d thrown Smith out?

“If you think mission doctors don’t do things we wouldn’t do in the U.S., you have a lot to learn.” No longer amused, a hint of steel lurked within the blue of his eyes. “Here, I can follow my gut and do what’s best for the patient, and only what’s best for the patient. I don’t have to worry about what an insurance company wants, or cover my ass with stupid protocol. You can either trust me to know I’m doing what’s best for Lionel, or not. Your call.”

Charlie glanced at the boy and knew better than anyone that they were talking about a tremendously skilled procedure, one that would require the kind of detailed work and suturing a general surgeon wouldn’t be capable of. “I’m in the process of getting a plastic surgery center together. That’s what the new wing of the hospital is for. How about we suggest to his mommy that she bring him back when it’s operational?”

He shook his head. “First, there’s a good chance they live far away and it won’t be easy to get back here. Second, he’s probably had this a long time. The longer we wait, the more likely the possibility of permanent blindness. Even if it is fixed later, if his brain gets used to not receiving signals from the eye that part of his brain will die, and that’ll be it for his vision. Not to mention that in West Africa a person is more susceptible to getting river blindness or some other parasitic infection in the eye. What if that happened and he ended up blind in both eyes? Not worth the risk.”

“But can you do it? Without him still looking...bad? The plastic surgery center will be open soon. And a plastic surgeon would know how to do stuff like this better than you would.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with here.” His eyes held a mocking laugh. “He’ll look great, I promise.”

She stared at him, at his ultra-confident expression, the lazy smile. Would she be making a mistake to let him fix the hemangioma when in just a few weeks she was supposed to have a plastics specialist on board?

She looked back at Lionel, his finger still poked into the disfiguring vascular tumor so he could see out of that eye as he watched them talk. She looked at the trusting and hopeful expression on his small face. A face marred by a horrible problem Trent promised he could fix.

“Okay. You’ve convinced me. Do it.”

CHAPTER THREE

HOURS PASSED WHILE Trent worked on Lionel. Worry over whether or not she’d made the right decision made it difficult for Charlie to sit in her office and do paperwork, but she had to try. With creditors demanding a big payment in three weeks, getting that funding check in her pocket for the new wing from the Gilchrist Foundation was critical.

She made herself shuffle through everything one more time. It seemed the only things that had to happen to get the money were a final inspection from a Gilchrist Foundation representative and proof she had a plastic surgeon on board. Both of which would happen any day now, thank heavens.

So how, in the midst of this important stuff, could she let her attention wander? She was thinking instead about the moment five days ago when Trent had strolled into this office. Thinking about how she’d stared, open-mouthed, like a schoolgirl.

Tall and lean, with slightly long, nearly black hair starkly contrasting with the color of his eyes, he was the kind of man who made a woman stop and take a second look. And a third. Normally, eyes like his would be called ice-blue, but they’d been anything but cold; warm and intelligent, they’d glinted with a constant touch of amusement. A charming, lopsided smile had hovered on his lips.

When she’d shaken his hand, he’d surprised her by tugging her against him in a warm embrace. Disarmed, she’d found herself wanting to stay there longer than the brief moment he’d held her close. She’d found her brain short-circuiting at the feel of his big hands pressed to her back; his lean, muscled body against hers; his distinctive masculine scent.

That same friendly embrace had been freely given to every woman working in the hospital, young and old, which had left all of them grinning, blushing and nearly swooning.

No doubt, the man was dynamite in human form, ready to blast any woman’s heart to smithereens.

But not Charlie’s. She’d known the second he’d greeted her with that genial hug that she would have to throw armor over that central organ. She’d cordially invited him to join her and John Adams for dinners, enjoying his intelligence, his amusing stories and, yes, his good looks and sophistication. She’d been sure she had everything under control.

But the night before he was to leave, when that embrace had grown longer and more intimate, when he’d finally touched his lips to hers, she hadn’t resisted the desire to be with him, to enjoy a light and fun evening. An oh-so-brief diversion amidst the work that was her life. And, now that circumstances required they be in close contact for a little longer, there was no way she’d let him know that simply looking at him made her fantasize about just one more night. That was not going to happen—period.

Yes, their moment together was so last week. She smirked at the thought, even though a ridiculous part of her felt slightly ego-crushed that he, too, wanted to steer clear of any possible entanglement.

But that was a good thing. The man clearly loved women, all women. She’d known she was just one more notch in his travel bag, and he’d been just another notch in the fabric of her life too. Except that there hadn’t been too many opportunities for “notching” since she’d finished grad school and come back to Africa.

She had to grin as she grabbed the info she wanted to share with the teachers at the school. Notching: now there was a funny euphemism for great sex if ever there was one.

She was so deep in thought about the great sex she’d enjoyed last night that she stepped into the hall without looking and nearly plowed her head into Trent’s strong biceps.

“Whoa.” His hands grasped her shoulders as she stumbled. “You late for lunch or something?”

Her heart sped up annoyingly as he held her just inches from his chest. “Is that a crack about how much I like to eat?”

“Not a crack. I’ve just observed that when you’re hungry you don’t let anything get between you and that plate.”

She looked up into his twinkling blue eyes. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that women don’t like people implying they’re gluttons?”

“No negative implications from me. I like a woman who eats.” His voice dropped lower. “I like the perfect and beautiful curves on your perfect and beautiful body.”

As she stared up at him, the light in his eyes changed, amusement fading into something darker, more dangerous.

Desire. It hung between them, electric and heavy in the air, and Trent slowly tipped his head towards hers.

He was going to kiss her. The realization sent her heart into an accelerated tempo. A hot tingle slipped across her skin as his warm breath touched her mouth, and she lifted her hands to his chest, knowing she should push him away, but instead keeping her palms pressed to his hard pecs.

She couldn’t let it happen, only to say goodbye again in a few more days. He’d made it clear he felt the same way. But, as she was thinking all that, she licked her lips in silent invitation.

His hands tightened on her arms as though he couldn’t decide whether to pull her close or push her away, then he released her. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I forgot we’re just casual acquaintances now.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression now impassive, all business. “I wanted to let you know it went well with Lionel.”

She sucked in a breath, trying to be equally businesslike, unaffected by his potent nearness and the need to feel his lips on hers one more time. “He’s okay? You fixed the hemangioma? And he looks good?”

“You probably wouldn’t think he looks good.”

Her stomach dropped. “Why...? What, is it messed up?”

He laughed. “No. But right now it’s sutured and swollen and would only look good to a zombie. Or a surgeon who knows what he’s doing. We’ll take the bandage off in a few days.”

“Okay. Great.” She pressed her hand to her chest, hoping to goodness it really had turned out all right. Hoping the hard beat of her heart was just from the scare, and not a lingering effect of the almost-kiss of a moment ago.

“Can you unlock your car for me? I need to get my stuff out and take it to my room.”

“Of course. But I didn’t tell you—even though I’m not happy with our Dr. Smith, I couldn’t exactly throw him out on the streets until his flight leaves tomorrow. So he’s going to be staying in the room you were in for just tonight.”

“What? I’m not staying at your house again.”

It was hard not to be insulted at the horror on his face. ‘Goodbye, Charlie’ took on a whole new meaning with Trent. “Sorry, but you’re sleeping on a rollaway here in my office. I don’t want you staying in my house, either.”

“You do too.” His lips quirked, obliterating his frown.

“Uh, no, I don’t. Like I said before, you’re an egomaniac. Somebody needs to bring you down a peg or two, and I guess it’s going to be me.”

“Thanks for your help. I appreciate it more than you know.” That irritating little smile gave way to seriousness. “And it’s good we’re on the same page. Second goodbyes can get...sticky.”

“Agreed. And you’re welcome. I’ll get my keys now before I head to the school.” She turned, so glad she hadn’t fallen into an embrace with the conceited guy. His long fingers grasped her elbow and the resulting tingle that sped up her arm had her jerking it away.

“Wait a second. You’re going up to the school?”

“Yes. I have some things I want to go over with the teachers. I’m having lunch with them and the kids.”

He was silent, just looking at her with a slight frown over those blue eyes, as though he couldn’t decide something. He finally spoke. “Mind if I come along? I’d like to see it, and I’m not needed in the clinic right now.”

“Sure. If you want.” She shrugged casually. Did the man have to ponder whether seeing the school was worth being with her for a few hours? Or was she being hypersensitive?

She led the way down the short hall into the soupy, humid air, making sure to stand on Trent’s left so her good ear would be closest to him. “The kids love visitors. But we’ll be walking, so don’t be surprised if you get a little muddy.”

“Glad I’m not wearing my designer shoes today. Then again, I could’ve taken them off. Nothing like a little mud between the toes.”

The thought of cool, squishy mud on bare feet, then playing a little footsie together, sounded strangely appealing, and she rolled her eyes at herself as they trudged up the road to the schoolhouse. Maybe she needed to try and find a local boyfriend to take off this edge she kept feeling around Trent. He reached for the binder of papers she was carrying and tucked it under his arm.

“So you were the boy who earned points by carrying a girl’s books to school? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Hey, I looked for any way to earn points. Carrying books was just one of them.”

“I can just imagine. So what other ways did you earn points?” And why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut? “You know, never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”

“You already know some of them.” He leaned closer as they walked, the scent of him teasing her nose. “But a few things got me more points than others. For example, my famous shoulder-rubs always scored big.”

The memory of that shoulder rub came in a rush of clarity—them naked in her bed, sated and relaxed, the ceiling fan sending cool whispers of air across their skin. Her breathing got a little shallow and she walked faster.

“One of the ground rules is to stop with the references to last night. Got it?”

“I wasn’t referring to anything but the shoulder rub I gave you at your office desk. Can I help it if your mind wants to go other places?”

She scowled at the bland innocence on his face. The man was about as far from innocent as he could be. “Mmm-hmm. So, when you mention back rubs, you don’t picture me naked?”

His slow smile, his blue eyes dancing as he leaned closer, made her feel a little weak at the knees. “Charlotte, you can bet I frequently picture you naked.” His gaze held hers, then slid away to the road. “Again, I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. Let’s talk about the school. Did you open it at the same time as the hospital?”

Phew; she had to stop just blurting out what she was thinking, though he seemed to have the same problem. Good thing he changed the subject, or she just might have melted down into the mud.

“John Adams concentrated on getting the school open while I focused on the hospital. His daughter, Patience—I think you met her?—will be going to school next year, so he’s been pretty excited about the project. They live in a small apartment attached to the school, so she’ll probably be there today. She loves to hang out in the classrooms and pretend she can read and write.”

“Patience is a cutie. She and I bonded over ice-cream.” His eyes always turned such a warm blue when he talked about children; it filled her chest with some kind of feeling she didn’t want to analyze. “So, is John from here?”

“Just so you know, he’s always gone by both his first and last name. I’m not sure why.” She smiled. “John Adams’s parents both worked with my parents here. They left too when the war broke out. Their family and mine met up again in Togo and, since he’s just a few years older than I am, he’s kind of like a brother. And I love Patience like I would a niece.”

“Where’s her mother?”

“She died suddenly of meningitis. It was a terrible shock.” She sighed. “Moving here with me to open this place has been a fresh start for John Adams and Patience, and hugely helpful to me. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“I’ve been wondering where your funding is coming from. The GPC’s been cutting back, so I know they can’t be floating cash for the whole hospital.”

“We’ve shaken down every possible donor, believe me. The school was as big a shambles as the hospital, and usually donor groups focus on one or the other. But we managed to get the building reasonably repaired and the basics in—desks and supplies and stuff. We opened with thirty primary-school-aged kids enrolled and have almost a hundred now.” She shook her head. “It’s not nearly enough, though, with half a million Liberian kids not attending school at all. And sixty percent of girls and women over fifteen can’t read or write.”