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No doubt if he wanted to he could make a lot of money modeling, showcasing expensive sunglasses on that chiseled face, with the wind blowing through his toffee-colored hair. Or making women run out to buy cologne in the hopes of suddenly transforming their hubbies into a six-foot, two-inch wall of muscle, with linebacker shoulders and a bootie made for nipping.
One glance from his intent blue eyes, reminiscent of the most gorgeous of Florida skies, could make the coldest heart quicken—even hers. But, while Nychelle admired his looks, she viewed him with suspicion—as she now did most, if not all, men.
Pushing all those thoughts aside, she said to the young woman, “Hi, I’m Nychelle. Tell me what’s going on.”
She took the other woman’s wrist firmly between her fingers, finding a strong but rapid pulse, and noting the patient’s pallor and the perspiration dotting her hairline despite the clamminess of her skin.
“I... I’m pregnant. I just realized a day ago. I was going to see my doctor after I got home.”
A visitor to the area, then, with perfect but accented English. Wide brown eyes, gleaming with tears, looked beseechingly into Nychelle’s, as though hoping for an instant end to fear and pain. Then she doubled over with a little shriek, arms crossed protectively over her abdomen.
Hugging her, the man beside her interjected, “She did a home test, but we knew she was not far along. When my wife saw a little blood and was worried, my tio told us to come here—”
The young woman turned toward her husband and unleashed a spate of angry, rapid-fire words. Working in Florida, Nychelle had made sure to keep up with her Spanish, but now she caught only the occasional familiar-sounding word. Something about a boat trip, his uncle, and losing her baby, in what Nychelle assumed was Portuguese.
“No, no. Don’t worry about any of that now.” Sympathetic but firm, the doctor’s voice cut through the young woman’s tirade and drew the couple’s attention. “I’m Dr. Warmington. Come with me and let’s find out what’s happening, okay?”
Nychelle was watching the patient and saw the moment when, even through her pain, the woman registered how handsome the doctor was. The young woman’s eyes widened and her lips parted on a silent Oh.
Under different circumstances it would have made Nychelle want to giggle, but they were already moving, the patient supported by her husband on one side, the doctor on the other, through Reception toward the examination rooms.
Nychelle simultaneously held doors open and pulled up the young woman’s information on her tablet, in preparation for handing it to Dr. Warmington on arrival at their destination.
Not a miscarriage. Please, not a miscarriage.
The thought caught her by surprise, made her stomach clench and roll, and as she began helping Mrs. Cardozo undress, she realized her hands were shaky.
Steady. Steady.
She was projecting. She knew she was. Imagining herself in Mrs. Cardozo’s position, feeling the other woman’s emotions as if they were her own, instead of putting her mind where it needed to be—on the equipment Dr. Warmington would need, the tests he’d want her to run.
It was the first time in her career she’d ever felt this way while in the midst of an emergency. Usually if she fell apart it was afterward, when she was alone and could release her emotions in private.
Taking a deep breath, and then another, she forced back all the fears building in her mind, and by the time she’d helped Mrs. Cardozo onto the examination table she’d gotten herself together.
“We’re ready for you, Dr. Warmington.”
Habitual efficiency took over then, and the well-remembered routine of working with a doctor kicked in—although since qualifying as an Advanced Practice Registered Nurse she usually worked alone, or with her own nurse assistant.
Yet her emotions seemed perilously close to the surface, and it was only Dr. Warmington’s soothing presence that kept her on an even keel. On the few occasions she’d witnessed him with patients before she’d been impressed by his professional demeanor, but this was different. Even though his understanding and reassurance were aimed at the patient, Nychelle found herself reacting to it too, letting it wash over her in calming waves.
“I can confirm you’re pregnant.”
Nychelle noted that he spoke to Mrs. Cardozo, rather than to her husband the way some other male physicians would be inclined to—another point in the doctor’s favor.
“But,” he continued, “I can see no apparent reason for the symptoms you’re experiencing.”
He glanced at Mr. Cardozo for a moment, and Nychelle thought his gaze briefly dropped to where the young couple’s fingers were tightly intertwined.
“It could be something as simple as dehydration, or a complication that will only become apparent with further testing, so I recommend you go to Broward Medical and have an obstetrician take a look at you there. While we have our own specialists here, at the hospital they’d be able to deal with any eventuality.”
As he gave them the information for the hospital, Nychelle slipped into the adjoining office to call ahead and make arrangements. The entire situation had taken maybe thirty minutes, but she felt as though it had been an emotionally grueling marathon. She didn’t even realize her eyes were damp until she reached up to swipe at a tear.
Hanging up the phone, she stiffened her spine and turned to find Dr. Warmington watching her from the doorway. Perhaps it was the set of his lips, or the way he seemed to be watching her, with a hint of the gentleness he’d lavished on Mrs. Cardozo, but whatever it was made Nychelle’s heart rate escalate and warmth bloom in her chest.
Once more thankful for the cocoa-toned skin that made her blushes unnoticeable, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “You speak Portuguese?”
He laughed quietly as he stepped into his office and moved toward the desk. “I’m lucky to have an ear for languages. I speak a few and understand a few more.”
“Lucky indeed.”
She should go. Although another nurse practitioner would have seen the patient she’d left waiting in the reception area, the day’s schedule was full. No doubt there was another patient for her to see. And she had details to iron out regarding the free child wellness clinic she was helping coordinate, scheduled for the coming weekend. Yet she lingered, watching as Dr. Warmington sat down and pulled his chair up to the desk.
“I’m pretty good with Spanish,” she said, after a moment, “but never got past that. Out of curiosity, what was Mrs. Cardozo saying to her husband?”
When he looked up, Nychelle’s breath caught in her throat. For an infinitesimal moment she read excruciating hurt in his eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone.
“They’re here from Sao Paulo, visiting his uncle, and when she realized she was pregnant she didn’t want to go on the boat trip they’d planned. But her husband talked her into it. She was saying if she lost the baby she’d never forgive him.”
He was still looking at her, seemingly waiting for her to reply, and suddenly—desperately—she wanted to say the right thing; wished she knew what the right response was. Wished she could smile and soothe the hurt she was sure she’d seen in his eyes.
“Well,” she said slowly. “That was patently unfair, but pregnant women—especially those expecting their first child—aren’t always known for their rationality.”
She risked a little smile, and was relieved and unreasonably happy when those stern lips relaxed into an answering tilt: not quite a smile, but enough.
“Hormones running rampant, as you men are quick to point out.”
That brought a wider smile, and Nychelle laughed quietly, before turning away from the magnetic pull of his grin.
“I won’t tell anyone you said something so blatantly sexist, Nurse Cory. It’ll be our secret.”
The laughter in his voice lightened her mood more, even as the rich baritone trickled like liquid sin down her spine. Suddenly she was glad she didn’t have to work with him too often. Now she understood what the other nurses were talking about, why they gazed at him like lost puppies whenever he passed by.
“I appreciate your tact, Dr. Warmington.”
She said it briskly and, her face still warmer than she’d like, she beat a hasty retreat before her own hormones went from simply gadding happily about in her system to having an actual full-on dance party.
He was too sexy for his own good—and hers.
* * *
Still smiling, David swiped a hand through his hair as the door closed behind Nychelle Cory. If anyone had told him he would smile after attending to a patient who might be losing her first child to miscarriage—especially one who seemed determined to blame her husband if it happened—he’d have said they were demented. It cut too close to home, brought the pain and regret that still haunted him after all these years into sharp focus.
If he closed his eyes he knew he’d instantly be able to bring Kitty’s face to mind, see the anger and near hatred glittering in her eyes, hear the blame she’d spewed at him before walking out of their home and his life.
That wasn’t something he dwelled on often; he knew she’d been devastated by the loss of their child, had lashed out at him as the only available target. But to have a patient come in at this time of the year, when the memories were so close to the surface anyway... Usually he’d be hard-pressed not to be overwhelmed by them, but now, instead, he clung to Nychelle’s warmth and kept smiling.
Just seeing the nurse practitioner buzzing around the clinic, dispensing that wide, sunny grin like instant relief medication, always gave him pleasure. This was one of the few times they’d interacted directly, but that was his own fault. When they’d first met, looking into those dark, gleaming eyes, seeing her gorgeous smile, had sent a sensation like an electric shock through his body, and he’d known immediately she was a woman to stay away from.
Agonizing memories were overshadowed by more enjoyable ones, and he closed his eyes, pictured Nychelle as he’d first seen her. Her hair had been pulled back into a simple bun, which had only emphasized the beauty of her oval face, her wide-set eyes and sweet, full mouth. Her smooth dark skin had been set off to perfection by a silky sunshine-yellow top that had done nothing to camouflage the high, rounded breasts beneath it, and her smart linen pants had showcased the rest of her glorious curves.
As far as he’d come from his rural roots, and as many lovely women as he’d met, something about Nychelle Cory had regressed him to the stuttering idiot he’d been in junior high school. She was intelligent and beautiful: the kind of woman men fantasized about finding and cherishing forever.
Making a family with.
But going down that road again wasn’t an option he wanted even to contemplate. Having children was a dream that had died for him, and he didn’t dare reawaken it. So, even if he was feeling that instinctive pull toward her, the smartest thing to do was to stay far away.
Painful memories threatened once more, the agony almost as sharp as it had been all those years ago. With a curse, David pulled his thoughts back from that precipice and reached for the tablet on his desk. He had notes to finish and an appointment due to begin any moment.
Yet his eyes strayed one more time to the door, and he remembered seeing Nychelle wiping away a tear as he came into the office. Apparently he wasn’t the only one affected by their shared patient, and the knowledge of her tenderheartedness tugged at something deep in his chest.
Cursing again, he turned his attention to the digital device in his hand, determinedly putting all thoughts of the delectable nurse practitioner out of his head.
CHAPTER TWO (#u47f5c9c0-5d69-5c82-bdcc-48d1419d19b0)
“THIS COUNTRY HAS been so good to me, and it is my pleasure to be able to give back in some small way.”
Crowded around the raised stage at the front of the school auditorium, the assembled doctors, nurse practitioners, RNs, medical and nursing students listened respectfully to Dr. Hamatty’s pep talk.
It was a great turn-out, and Nychelle was cautiously confident that they were fully prepared for the influx of children who, brought by their parents, would soon be streaming in for the pediatric clinic. It had taken months of intense work by all the committee members to pull it together, but with Dr. Hamatty’s connections they had assembled all the equipment and personnel they needed.
She’d been on site the evening before, helping to supervise the setting up of field hospital cubicles and examination tables, and directing the placement of diagnostic machines and dispensary. The Lauderlakes free clinics were famous for their quality of care—a point of pride for Dr. Hamatty, his staff and associates. Even the older, more established doctors turned out to lend their talents when time permitted.
In the middle of the group, Nychelle split her attention between the familiar speech and the conversation scrolling across her phone.
How much longer before you know for sure?
Aliya had added an excited face emoji for emphasis, making Nychelle smile. Anyone meeting her cousin in her guise as a rising young oncology researcher would never guess the depth of Aliya’s silly side.
Already told you, another week and a half. Asking every day isn’t going to speed up the process!
Are you going to cheat?
Nychelle smiled, shaking her head at how well her cousin knew her. The thought of buying one of those early detection pregnancy tests and taking it a couple of days before her next appointment had crossed her mind.
No. It would be like tempting fate.
A quick check found that Dr. Hamatty was at the point where he spoke about coming to the States as a child. His family had been poor, unable to speak proper English, and suffering the effects of the war-torn situation they’d left behind. After telling the story of how he’d got to where he was, he’d wrap it up and they’d all take their places, ready for the deluge of patients. He’d be another five, maybe seven minutes, she estimated.
Just enough time to finish her conversation with Aliya.
Without more than a glance at her phone, she typed her message.
Have you told your mom you won’t be at the gala?
Yes. She’s not amused, but agreed work had to come first.
Pursing her lips, Nychelle replied.
Not surprising at all.
To Dr. Monique Girvan work always came first. There had been a time when Nychelle had resented her mother for rarely being around, for putting her career advancement before everything else, up to and including her children. Now, although it still rankled, she’d learned to accept her mother for who she was.
It didn’t mean her daughter had to walk in her footsteps, though. In fact, if anything, it made Nychelle determined not to. Her children wouldn’t want for love, affection, and understanding.
Dr. Hamatty was getting close to winding up his speech, so Nychelle typed, Okay, almost go time. TTYL, then stuffed her phone into the pocket of her lab coat.
The crowd shifted, and muffled apologies following their movement as people bumped into one another. The nurse standing just in front of Nychelle turned to frown at the source of the disturbance, but her disapproving expression immediately faded and she lifted a hand to smooth her hair.
Following the other woman’s gaze, Nychelle found herself face to face with David Warmington.
As usual his expression was serious, but there was a glint of a smile in his eyes and Nychelle was suddenly breathless, her heart stumbling as she drowned in the bright blue gaze.
He inched a little closer, surrounding her with the clean, fresh scent of utter maleness and, her legs suddenly wobbly, she turned back toward the stage, feigning the greatest of interest in the wrap-up of Dr. Hamatty’s speech.
Keeping her head steadfastly trained forward, she contemplated with some annoyance the fact that the darn man was suddenly everywhere she looked. Over the last week it had felt as though she couldn’t go two steps without seeing him. Worse, she’d found herself paying him far more attention than was warranted.
She had to admit, though, that what she’d seen was surprising, considering her previous assessment of his character. What she’d thought of as smooth charm seemed instead to be simply politeness. He never crossed the line into familiarity, and even seemed to display, on occasion, a touch of shyness.
He was unfailingly courteous, had a sly sense of humor, and he spoke to everyone from the janitorial staff to the senior partners in exactly the same way. Professionally, everyone agreed he was an excellent diagnostician and a thorough, diligent doctor.
Anyone hearing the nurses talk would believe him to be a paragon of every virtue, and Nychelle was beginning to understand why. He knew all their names, and she’d even overheard him asking one of the nurse aides about her son, who’d been ill the week before.
Once you got past his amazing looks, David Warmington seemed to be just a thoroughly nice person—but she knew better than to trust her own assessment of a man’s character. She’d thought the same of Nick, and had been horribly wrong. She just wished she could get her hormones to remember how painful disappointment was, especially when it left you feeling used, so that they’d stop reacting to the man standing at her side.
“And now it’s just about time to open the door and let our patients in.” Dr. Hamatty beamed as he rubbed his hands together in what looked like anticipation. “Have a great, productive day, and on behalf of everyone involved in planning this I once more thank you for giving up your Saturday to help those in need.”
There was a short round of applause as Dr. H. stepped away from the microphone and the clinic committee chairperson stepped forward.
“Any latecomers who haven’t received their instruction packages, please report to the intake table. Everyone else—please go to your assigned cubicle.” She glanced at her watch. “We have fifteen minutes, folks.”
Her smile was slightly strained, and Nychelle felt a pang of sympathy. It was no wonder almost every free clinic had a different coordinator. The stress of getting it all arranged was immense.
Clapping her hands together, like a schoolteacher trying to rally her students, and injecting a strident enthusiasm into her voice, the chairperson concluded, “Let’s do this!”
As the crowd dispersed, Nychelle hesitated. She should acknowledge Dr. Warmington in some way, but was reluctant. Ridiculous as it might be, just thinking of meeting his intent gaze made goose bumps fire down her spine and had her nipples tightening to tingling peaks.
“This is quite some set-up. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
His words were obviously directed at her, since she was the only one left standing in the immediate vicinity.
Silently admonishing herself to stay cool, Nychelle made the half turn necessary to face him. Thankfully he was taking in the room, his gaze on the dispensary across the gymnasium.
Before she could answer, he continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pharmacy at a free clinic.”
Okay, this was a safe topic to talk about, and since she wasn’t skewered by that intense gaze Nychelle relaxed.
“Dr. Hamatty had to work really hard to get a special license for it. Apparently he realized, after the first few clinics he arranged, that it didn’t help the patients if they were given prescriptions they couldn’t afford to fill. All the medications are donated and, with a few exceptions, they’re limited to mostly over-the-counter drugs, so eventually he was allowed to have it.”
