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“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.”
He frowned. “Is it as hard to raise cash for a school as it is for a hospital?”
“It’s all hard. But I’m working on getting a donation from a church group in the States that’ll help us hire a new teacher and have enough food for the kids’ lunches. I’m excited. It looks like it’s going to come through.” Charlie smiled at Trent, but his expression stayed uncharacteristically serious. “We hate turning families away, but can’t just endlessly accept kids into the program, you know? It’s not fair to the teachers or the students to have classrooms so big nobody gets the attention they need. So I’m sure hoping it works out.”
“How soon will you know?”
“In the next day or two, I think.”
His expression was oddly inscrutable. “Be sure to tell me if the donation comes through or not, okay?”
“Okay.” She had to wonder why he wanted to know, but appreciated his interest. “As for the hospital, I’m supposed to get a giant check from the Gilchrist Foundation as soon as the new wing is ready to go, thank heavens.”
He stopped dead and stared at her. “The Gilchrist Foundation?”
“Yes. You’ve heard of them?”
“Yeah. You could say that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“HAS THE GILCHRIST Foundation donated to hospitals you’ve worked at before?” Charlotte asked. “Did they come through with their support? I’m a little worried, because we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel just to get the wing finished.”
Trent looked into her sweet, earnest face before turning his attention to the verdant landscape—not nearly as vivid and riveting as the color of her eyes. “They’re a reputable organization.”
“That’s good to hear.” She sounded slightly breathless, her footsteps squishing quickly in the mud, and he slowed his stride. He resisted the urge to grasp her arm to make sure she didn’t slip and fall. “I heard they were, but they’re making us jump through some hoops to get it.”
He almost asked what hoops?, but decided to keep out of it. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with anything to do with the Gilchrist Foundation. Or for Charlotte to find out his connection to it. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure. So, this is it.” He looked up at the one-storey cement building painted a golden yellow, the windows and door trimmed in a brick color. “Looks like you’ve done a nice job restoring it.”
“It took a lot of money and manpower. It was basically a shell, with nothing left inside. The windows were gone and there were bullet holes everywhere. John Adams and I are pretty proud of how it turned out.”
As they reached the wooden door of the school he saw Charlotte glance up at the sky, now filling with dark-gray clouds. “Looks like rain’s coming, and I wasn’t smart enough to bring an umbrella. Sorry. We won’t stay too long.”
“I’m not made of sugar, you know. I won’t melt,” he teased. Then the thought of sugar made him think of her sweet lips and the taste of her skin. It took a serious effort to turn away, not to pull her close to take a taste.
They left their muddy shoes outside before she led the way in. Children dressed in white shirts with navy-blue pants or skirts streamed from classrooms, laughing and chattering.
“Mr. Trent!” Cute little Patience ran across the room, the only one in a sleeveless dress instead of a uniform. “Mr. Trent, you bring me candy?”
“Sorry, Miss Impatience, I don’t have any left.” She wrapped her arms around his leg and the crestfallen expression on her face made him wish he’d brought a whole lot more. Too bad he hadn’t known he’d be here longer than a few days.
“How about gum?”
He laughed and swung her up into his arms. “Don’t have any of that left either.” He lowered his voice. “But, next time you’re at the hospital, I’ll sneak some pudding out of the pantry for you, okay?”
“I heard that.” Charlotte’s brows lifted. “Since when are you two best friends? Dr Trent just got here a few days ago.”
“Mr. Trent and me are good friends, yes.” The girl’s arms tightened around his neck, which felt nice. Kids didn’t want or expect anything from you but love. And maybe candy too, he thought with a smile. There weren’t too many adults he could say that about.
“Patience and I share a fondness for that chocolate pudding.”
“Hmm.” A mock frown creased Charlotte’s face as she leaned close to them. “I didn’t know you were stealing supplies, Dr Dalton. I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”
“What’s the punishment for stealing?” His gaze dropped from her amused eyes to her pink lips. Maybe if he stole a kiss he’d find out.
“I don’t think you want to know.” Her eyes were still smiling and he found himself riveted by the glow of gold and brown flecks deep within that beautiful green.
“Miss Edwards!” Several kids ran their way. “You coming to see our play this Wednesday? Please come, Miss Edwards!”
Charlotte wrapped her arms around their shoulders in hugs, one after another, talking and smiling, making it obvious she wasn’t a distant director around here; that she put in a lot of face time, truly cared about these kids. That impressed the hell out of him. He’d seen a lot of hospital directors in his day, even some in mission hospitals, who were more focused on the bottom line and making donors happy than they were about helping the patients they existed for.
Trent set Patience back on her feet. “Have you been doing any more drawing? You know I like to see your art.” Nodding enthusiastically, her short legs took off running back down a hall.
