Robin Gianna - The Last Temptation of Dr. Dalton

“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

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?”