THE LAST TEMPTATION OF DR. DALTON (2 page)

“Alone? Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask.”

“Yeah, alone.” She probably wouldn’t believe it, but it was true. He hadn’t called anyone. He couldn’t conjure the interest, which was damned annoying. So he’d be spending three weeks in Italy all by his lonesome, with too much time to think about the fiery woman sitting next to him. The woman with the sweet, feminine name who preferred going by the name of a man.

Charlotte. Charlie. If only he could have three weeks of warms days and nights filled with her in Florence, Rome and the Italian Riviera—with her sharp mind, sense of humor and gorgeous, touchable body. Last night had been... He huffed out a breath and stared out of the window. Not a good idea to let his thoughts go any further about
that
right now.

At least there hadn’t been a big, dramatic goodbye. Seeing tears in those amazing green eyes of hers and a tremble on her kissable lips would have made him feel like crap. He had to make sure that during the next few days he kept his distance so there would be no chance of that happening. Which wouldn’t be easy, since he’d like nothing more than to get her into bed again.

He looked out over the landscape of lush green hills and trees that led to the hospital compound and realized he hadn’t got round to asking Charlotte how she’d ended up here. “You never did tell me how your family came to be missionaries in Liberia. To build all this.”

“My great-grandparents were from North Carolina. My great-grandfather came from a family of schoolteachers and missionaries, and I’m told that when he and his new wife were barely twenty they decided to head to Africa to open a school. They came to Liberia because English is the primary language. Three generations later, we’re still here.”

“They built the whole compound at once?” The hard work and commitment so many missionaries had put into their projects around the world amazed him.

“The hospital came about twenty years after they built the house and school in 1932. I’ve always loved the design of that house.” She gave him a smile. “Since Liberia was founded by freed slaves, my great-grandparents brought the Southern antebellum style with them. Did you know that antebellum isn’t really an architectural style, though? That in Latin it means ‘before war’? It refers to homes built before the U.S. Civil War. Sadly ironic, isn’t it? That the same could be said for here in Liberia too.” She was talking fast, then blushed cutely. “And you probably didn’t want or need a history lesson.”

“Ironic’s the word,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never worked here before. What the civil wars have done to this country is... Heck, you can’t begin to measure it.”

“I know. Unbelievable how many people died. What the rest have had to live with—the chaos and terror, the shambles left behind. The horrible, disfiguring injuries.” Her voice shook with anger, her lips pressed in a tight line. “Anyway, nothing can fix the past. All we can do is try to make a difference now.”

“So, your great-grandparents moved here?” he prompted.

A smile banished her obvious outrage. “Apparently my great-grandmother said she’d only move here if she could make it a little like home. They built the house, filled it with beautiful furniture and even got the piano that’s still in the parlor.”

“And Edwardses have been here since then? What about the wars?”

“The wars forced my parents to leave when I was little and go back to the U.S. Eventually we moved to Togo to start a new mission. The hospital and school here were badly damaged by gunfire and shrapnel, but the house was just in bad disrepair, stripped of things like the windows and sinks. John Adams and I have been fixing it up, but it’s third on the list of priorities.”

He couldn’t imagine how much work—and money—it was taking to make that happen. “So what made you want to resurrect all this? It’s not like you really remember living here.”

“Just because I haven’t lived here until now doesn’t mean my roots aren’t here, and John Adams’s roots. They are. They’re dug in deep through our ancestors, and I intend to keep them here. My plan is to grow them, expand them, no matter what it takes.”

“No matter what it takes? That’s a pretty strong statement.” He’d met plenty of people committed to making things better for the underprivileged, but her attitude was damned impressive.

“These people deserve whatever it takes to get them the help they need.” Her grim tone lightened as they pulled in front of the one-story, painted cement hospital. “Let’s get the boy fixed up. And, Trent...” Her green eyes turned all soft and sweet and he nearly reached for her. “Thanks for coming back. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

CHAPTER TWO

T
HOMAS
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.”