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Nychelle couldn’t help chuckling softly, before continuing, “Dr. H. has a lot of clout in the medical community, and beyond. It was inconceivable they’d be able to hold out against him forever.”
As though drawn by the sound of her laughter, David looked at her, and immediately she was snared. Really, was it fair for a man to have eyes like that? So gorgeous they made a girl’s heart stop for a second and then had it galloping like an out-of-control horse?
No, Nychelle decided. No, it wasn’t in the slightest bit fair.
David’s lips quirked at the corners and amusement lit his eyes again. “Somehow I’m not surprised. Dr. H. is a powerhouse. I doubt anyone says no to him. Not more than once anyway.” He waved his hand in an abbreviated arc, gesturing to the room at large. “The number of us here is testimony to that.”
Had he wanted to say no? Wasn’t being charitable a part of his nature?
Unaccountably disappointed at the thought, she asked, “You weren’t at the last one? I would have thought you’d be roped in from the start.”
David briefly lifted one shoulder in what she’d come to realize was a characteristic shrug. “I had already committed to going to Los Angeles to finish a course on genetic counseling for oncology patients. Dr. H. knew about it when he hired me, so knew I wouldn’t be at the free clinic. I assured him I’d happily participate going forward.”
He looked down at the information package in his hand. “I should try to find my spot.” Glancing up at the alphabetically arranged banners hanging from the ceiling, he continued, “I’m in D section, cubicle five.”
“I’m just two cubicles down from you, so I can show you where it is.”
“Oh, good.”
He gave her a full, beaming smile, and the breath seized in her throat.
“So I can run to you if I have any questions?”
“Um...” Nychelle swallowed to make sure her voice wasn’t breathy and ridiculous before she attempted to answer. “Somehow I doubt you’ll need my help. I, on the other hand, am glad to know I’m in close proximity to the polyglot doctor.”
Wanting to lighten her emotional response to his smile, she narrowed her eyes, giving him a mock glare.
“You do speak several languages, right? You weren’t just pulling my leg?”
With a touch on her arm, which even through her lab coat caused a burst of heat over her skin, David guided her around to face their section and began to walk. Nychelle fell in beside him, keeping her attention on where she was going rather than looking up at the stunning profile of the man beside her.
“Spanish and Portuguese, French, Italian and some German—enough to get by anyway. A little Arabic and a smattering of Hindi. I can understand a bit of Mandarin, but just the basics. I’ve been told my Cantonese is a disgrace, but once the person I’m talking to stops laughing I can carry on a conversation...”
That last bit was said in such a disgruntled tone Nychelle couldn’t help giggling. “Okay, okay—I believe you.”
“Oh.” David paused abruptly, just before they got to their assigned areas. “I actually sought you out to let you know that Mrs. Cardozo and her baby are in no danger, and she’s been cleared by Dr. Tza to fly back home next week.”
Nychelle was about to ask for more details when the coordinator’s voice boomed through the auditorium. “Ten minutes, people. Ten minutes.”
“Oops, better get going.” Nychelle smiled up at David, was rewarded by an answering grin. Then she asked, “Did Dr. Tza’s office call with the update?”
“No, I called to follow up. See you.”
He strode toward his assigned examination area and warmth flooded Nychelle’s chest. Checking on a patient he’d only seen once and likely wouldn’t see again was beyond his purview, but knowing he’d done so made her unreasonably happy.
Get a grip on yourself. You’re getting as bad as the other nurses!
But the admonishment couldn’t wipe away the smile on her lips.
* * *
“I’m going to suggest going back to your old detergent. The location of the rash seems to indicate contact dermatitis, and the recent change to a different brand of laundry soap seems the obvious culprit.”
As the elderly man and preteen boy David was escorting out paused at the entrance to the examination area David continued. “The hydrocortisone cream will help with the itching, but if you go back to the old detergent and the rash doesn’t clear up in about a month, you’ll need to have him examined again.”
The old man nodded, then held out a gnarled and wrinkled hand to shake.
“Thanks, Doctor.” He shook his head and grumbled, “Darn kids. That new brand is cheaper than the old one. Wouldn’t you know one of them would be allergic?”
But, despite his grousing, he slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they walked away, and the youngster looped his own arm around the waist of the man he’d called “Grandpa.” Clearly there was genuine affection between the pair.
It was funny, David mused, how freely people talked about their lives in the short period of time they had with him in this clinic setting. Already today he’d heard myriad stories about difficult circumstances—like Mr. Jones and Tyrell, the pair now making their way to the dispensary. Mr. Jones wasn’t even the boy’s blood relative, but was married to Tyrell’s great-aunt, who’d taken Tyrell and his two sisters in after their mother went to jail. A sad story in a way, and yet a testament to people’s innate goodness.
David could relate to many of the stories of poverty. After all, he’d lived it, and it really wasn’t that long since he’d broken away from the grinding cycle of just trying to survive.
Sometimes it felt as if it were yesterday he’d been patching his shoes with newspaper and wearing clothes donated to the family by charitable organizations. Often he caught himself reverting to type—hesitating to buy something he could definitely afford because the price was still shocking to him on an almost visceral level, or rinsing a jar to save instead of putting it into the recycling. Some habits were definitely harder to break than others when they’d been acquired at a really young age.
About to call for the next patient in line, he glanced toward where Nychelle was working, just in time to see her trying to get his attention. He stayed where he was for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the sight of her hurrying toward him. Even in a pair of pink scrubs printed with pictures of bunnies and teddy bears under a generic white lab coat, her face bare of makeup except for a slick of lip gloss, Nychelle was beautiful.
The only thing missing was her habitual smile. Instead her mouth was set in a firm line, and noticing that had him moving to meet her in front of the examination area that separated their assigned areas.
“Dr. Warmington, if you’re free I’d appreciate your assistance.”
Her voice was level, without inflection, but David searched her eyes, saw the hint of deep emotion she was trying hard to subdue.
“Of course. What’s the problem?”
“I have a toddler—male, three years old, underweight—with jaundice and an elevated temperature, and a Haitian mother who doesn’t speak much English, so I can’t get an accurate history.”
She turned to lead the way to her area.
“What are you thinking?”
Nychelle sent him a worried glance over her shoulder. “I don’t know how long they’ve been in the country, so until I do I can’t rule out malaria or Hep A—although it would be unusual for a toddler to show symptoms of hepatitis.”
Children that young, he knew, were usually asymptomatic when they contracted Hep A, and quickly recovered without treatment. The real danger would be the chance of the child passing Hepatitis A on to others around him, especially if they were living in less than hygienic conditions.
“Without a history I can’t rule out sickle cell anemia or Gilbert’s syndrome either.”
She paused outside the curtain surrounding her examination area, and David could hear the little boy fussing and the sounds of his mother hushing him without success.
Nychelle shook her head, her frustration patently clear for an instant. “I’m pretty much dead in the water without knowing more.” Then she squeezed his wrist—just a quick, strong clasp of her long fingers—and said, “I’m so glad I have you to call on.”
Then she slipped between the curtains, leaving him there trying to catch his breath and get a grip on his suddenly wayward libido.
Who knew that one little touch could be as effective as a striptease?
Cursing himself, he ruthlessly pushed away all imaginings of what it would be like to have Nychelle Cory’s fingers on other parts of his body, and then followed her through the curtain.
The mother looked harried, and instinctively David held out his arms to the little boy. Big brown eyes widening, the toddler stopped crying and gave David a considering look. Then, after a hiccup, he smiled and tipped forward right into David’s grasp.
As he caught the little boy, and then settled the slight weight against his chest, David took a quick inventory. The little fellow was definitely warm, and the sclera of both eyes had a distinctive yellow tint. Time to figure out what was going on.
So, putting on his most calming smile, he turned to the little boy’s mother. “Bonjour, madame. Puis-je vous poser quelques questions?”
CHAPTER THREE (#u47f5c9c0-5d69-5c82-bdcc-48d1419d19b0)
NYCHELLE SIGHED AS she stepped into the kitchen of her South Fort Lauderdale bungalow and pulled the door closed. Putting down her tote bag, she toed off her shoes, appreciating the cool air indoors, so different from the heat of her garage. Twisting her head first one way and then the other, she tried to work out the tension tightening her neck muscles.
Although each of the medical personnel were only asked to work a three-hour shift at the free clinic, she knew extra hands were always needed at the patient intake booth, or as troubleshooters for the other medical practitioners, and she’d offered her services.
The afternoon had flown by, and before she’d even realized it the clinic had been winding down, so she’d stayed until it ended at five. She was tired—maybe even more so than she’d usually be—but as she yawned widely a feeling of accomplishment made the weariness bearable.
Barefoot, she wandered into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from her fridge, grabbing a handful of grapes at the same time.
The day had been a resounding success, as usual, yet a nagging sense of discontent dogged her every move, and she wasn’t able to put her finger on the source. Stifling another yawn behind the water bottle in her hand, she considered having a nice soak and an evening of watching some of the myriad TV shows she’d recorded.
Usually there would be some wine thrown into the mix for good measure but, of course, that wasn’t in the cards right now. Hopefully wouldn’t be for another thirty-nine weeks.
There was no stopping the grin stretching her lips to the maximum, nor the little thrill trickling down her spine. No matter what else was bothering her, the prospect of a baby—her baby—made it all okay.
She was still smiling as she put the grapes in a bowl and then headed across the living room toward her bedroom to prepare her bath.
When her cell phone rang, the distinctive sound of Beethoven’s Fifth made her good humor all but evaporate. A little groan escaped before she could stop it, and the immediate wave of guilt that brought had her shaking her head.
Reversing course, she strode back toward the kitchen, hurrying so as not to miss the call. Dumping the water bottle and bowl on the console table, she launched a frantic rummage in her bag to find her phone. Locating it under her wadded-up lab coat, she swiped the screen and brought it up to her ear.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Nychelle. How did the clinic go?”
Not How are you? or What are you up to? Nope—straight to work. Sometimes Nychelle wondered if that was all herself and her mother had in common. The thought irritated her more than usual tonight, and she had to temper her annoyance so it wouldn’t show in her voice.
“It went very well. We had approximately two thousand patients come through.”
“When will you be taking on the chairperson position? Haven’t you been asked?”
Nychelle took a deep breath, willing herself not to react to the obvious implication of her mother’s last question.
“I was asked, but I didn’t accept.”
Before her mother could launch into another lecture about ambition and the necessity of taking on hard tasks so as to be able to advance in the workplace, Nychelle continued.
“I was in the middle of those skill improvement courses Dr. Hamatty requested we all take. To be honest, I wanted to make sure I didn’t just complete them, but aced them.”
“Hmph.”
Nychelle knew her mother still wanted to take her to task for not accepting the position anyway, but really couldn’t, since her reason for not doing so was also work-related.
“Well, I suggest taking it on if it’s offered to you again. But don’t be surprised if it isn’t. Many of the best opportunities come along only once. Rarely are there second chances in life.”
Nychelle bit her lip, holding back a snort of laughter. Her mother would have a fit if she knew Nychelle had already gotten another chance to chair the committee and had once again asked to defer to one of the other committee members.
“Also, I want you to make sure you’re on time for the pre-gala reception next Saturday.”
Having said her piece on one subject, her mother had swiftly moved on to the next. She probably had a list of points to touch on written out in front of her.
“I know it’s embarrassing to come to these functions by yourself, but please endeavor to arrive early. If you lived closer to Martin, he and Jennifer could pick you up, but your house is too out of the way to be convenient.”
Another one of her mother’s thinly veiled criticisms. While her parents and her cousin Martin all lived in the northern end of the city, in far more expensive neighborhoods, Nychelle had chosen to live in the trendier and more affordable South Fort Lauderdale. It was a nice area, but the way her parents talked about it anyone would be forgiven for thinking it a slum.
“No problem, Mom. The hotel isn’t that far from here, so it wouldn’t make sense to have someone pick me up anyway. And, yes, I’ll be there early enough for the reception.”
“Do you have something appropriate to wear?”
Nychelle allowed the chuckle she’d been holding in to escape.
“Not yet, Mom.” Her mother didn’t wear the same formal dress twice, and expected the same from her daughters. “I plan to go and buy something this week.”
She actually didn’t plan to buy a new dress. For her, the outfit she’d worn to a friend’s wedding would be suitable—but she wouldn’t be telling her mother that. No. She’d avoid the lecture until later, then just say she’d been too busy with work to get something.
“Leaving it a little late, aren’t you?”
Shaking her head, Nychelle picked up the water bottle from where she’d put it on the console table and, juggling it, her phone and the bowl of grapes, started back across the living room.
Suddenly exhausted, all she wanted was that longed-for bath and a chance to relax: impossible to do with her mother on the other end of the phone.
“I haven’t had a chance before. You know how it is. Work must come first.”
Unfair, perhaps, to quote her mother’s words back at her, but it should be an effective topic-closer.
Yet it wasn’t.
“The annual Medical Association charity gala is where you’ll find all the movers and shakers of the Florida medical community assembled in one place. You need to make a good impression.”
“Yes, Mom. I know.” If there was one thing her parents had drummed into their daughters, it was that connections were important when it came to building a career. “One day I might be applying to one of them for a job.”
If she’d had more energy she’d have pointed out that Dr. Hamatty, arguably one of the most influential doctors in the city, had hired her without knowing anything about her other than her credentials. Tonight she just felt as if she’d be battering her head against a wall.
“Exactly. Well, I’ll let you go. See you next Saturday.”
And just like that, without waiting for Nychelle to reply, her mother hung up.
“Wow, Mom. Bye to you too,” she said to the dial tone, before throwing her phone onto the bed.
While she undressed, she carried on the imaginary conversation. “And how’s Dad? Oh, I’m glad to hear his shoulder is better. How was the surgical conference? Will his latest paper be published?”
Still grumbling to herself, she filled the bathtub and added a sprinkle of bath salts, hoping to soak out the aches of the long, busy day. Sinking into the warm water, she released a long sigh and willed herself to relax.
