by Clare Revell
He swore as the pain in his hand increased. “Blimey, woman! How tight do you need to pull them?”
“Almost done.”
He glared at the top of her head. The sooner he was out of here, the better. The world would be a far better place if it weren’t full of do-gooders. He’d had enough of those when he was a kid.
“All done.” Lucy looked up at him. “With one exception. When was your last tetanus shot?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Then you need one.”
“Oh, no.” He pushed up. “I need to—”
“—have this shot,” she continued. “We can either do it here or in the surgery. Unless you don’t like needles, either.”
The kids laughed again. Were they laughing at him or his reaction to her?
“You just stitched me up with a blasted needle, woman,” he muttered. He pushed his sleeve further up his arm, exposing the edge of one of his many tattoos. “I’m not afraid.”
“Good. So, unless you want me to do it out here, I suggest we go inside.”
Jed’s face burned and he had a sudden pain in the pit of his stomach. “Strewth. You have got to be kidding me, lady. There is absolutely no way I am gonna drop my pants for anyone.”
The doctor didn’t even have the decency to meet his gaze as she closed her bag. “Your choice. But lockjaw isn’t a pretty death. It starts with muscle spasms in your jaw which spread throughout your body and sometimes prevents breathing. In some cases, they do a tracheotomy or hook you up to a ventilator to keep you alive. It also causes heart failure, pneumonia, bone fractures…”
He held up a hand. “All right, all right. After you.” He followed her inside the hot, airless hut, muttering under his breath and using every cuss word he could think of and then some.
She moved over to the side, and pulled a vial from the fridge.
Still cursing, Jed undid his belt and zip.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Just the shirt. It goes in your shoulder.”
Jed scowled, his face burning. He swore loudly, not caring if he upset her delicate nature. The uptight woman stood there with a smirk on her face. Did she get a kick out of humiliating him? Well, two could play at that game. And this was one game he was exceedingly good at. He did up his zip and ran his tongue over his lips as suggestively as he could. He undid his shirt, one button at a time, taking his time over it, keeping his gaze firmly on her ample figure.
Lucy raised an eyebrow, faint color touching her high cheek bones. “You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before. Turn around.”
Jed turned his back on her as he slid out of the shirt, exposing his tattooed skin. Would she comment on the markings? Ask about them? No doubt, she wouldn’t approve, but he really didn’t care. Each one was done for a reason. And she thought he was scared of needles. Her cold hands touched him briefly, before she gave him the shot. He hissed and swore. “That hurt.”
“Yeah, it does, but it hurts a whole lot less than dying would.”
“Wanna bet?” He pulled away from her, sliding his arm back into his shirt. The movement made him swear again—not even the tattoo on his ankle had hurt that much. This time his well-chosen expletives made her blush properly.
Good.
Tim came back in. “I’ve organized you a room, Jed.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to stay.
“You’re welcome. Lunch is about now. Dinner is at seven.”
“I need to radio the base, let them know.” He did his shirt up, ignoring the pain. He’d had worse, done worse, and he wouldn’t let this get to him.
“Sure, I’ll show you where to go.”
“Cheers, mate.” Jed stomped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Perhaps he could avoid the sheila until morning. Or until the next time he had to come and deliver her supplies. He shoved his injured hand into his pocket and glanced at the Ute. It was still propped up on the jack.
“I’ll get the boys to replace the wheel for you,” Tim said.
“Cheers.” Jed nodded to him.
The bloke never had a hair out of place and his shirts always looked immaculate. He could have stepped right out of a clothing magazine rather than a hut in the middle of a jungle.
Jed jerked his head at the clinic. “That sheila has a sick sense of humor. Does she get a kick out of humiliating people?”
The older man studied him, making Jed feel uncomfortable. “Actually, Lucy rarely jokes at all. And never says anything she doesn’t mean. Once you get to know her, she’s fine.”
Jed humphed. He had no intentions of getting to know the woman. Now or ever.
2
Lucy stood in the doorway watching Jed’s retreating figure. For someone so lithe, he trod heavily. His rudeness astounded her. Not even a thank you. And she hadn’t seen that many tattoos on bare skin for many years. No doubt, each one had a story attached. The knife and boomerang was obviously a military unit, the words strike first being the unit motto. She made a mental note to check online later. Ironic, one would have thought a soldier would tread lighter. Shoving her hands through her hair in a feeble effort to get Jed out of her mind, she went back inside to finish clearing up.
Kinta was already there. “I do that. You go eat.”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m not hungry, now. You go.”
Left to her own devices, she put away the supplies. Vaccines and other meds went in the fridge. Hopefully the generator wouldn’t go out. She didn’t want to lose the whole lot again. Bandages, lint, cotton wool, and antiseptic went in the cupboard. The other bottles went on the shelf. She stood there a while, ensuring the bottles were straight, with every single label aligned and facing outwards. Just as she finished, the first patients arrived.
Mid-afternoon she eased her hands against her aching back. Maybe she should have eaten, but there was nothing she could do about that now. A brief lull in the clinic wasn’t enough time. In fact, she could guarantee if she did run across to the dining hut and beg a slice of bread, there would be a five-mile queue when she returned.
Laughing and shouting came in through the open window. She crossed to the door and looked out over the compound.
Jed Gorman and several members of staff were playing English football with the kids. It looked like boys against girls.
She leaned against the doorframe and watched. Jed was good, maybe he played a lot. She allowed herself a small smile as she observed him.
He made sure all the kids got to join in, sometimes deliberately passing the ball to the other team if one person seemed to be missing out.
“Av a go yer mug,” he encouraged, which she assumed was some Aussie football chant; and tossed a child into the air when they scored a goal, shouting, “You beaut.”
So different from the rude, arrogant man he usually was.
His injured hand didn’t seem to be bothering him at all. Or if it was, he made a concerted effort to conceal it.
Tim wiped the sweat from his brow and waved at her. “Come on, Luce. The girls’ team needs help.”
Lucy shook her head. “They’re doing fine. Seem to be winning,” she added as the girls scored again.
Jed glanced at her. “Don’t be a wowser, Dr. Boyd. Come and play. Or don’t you know how to play soccer?”
“Some of us have work to do, Mr. Gorman.”
He scowled. “I’m no bludger. Besides, if some of us hadn’t been told they weren’t allowed to drive, they would be working.”
She returned the scowl. Why did he have to take every single thing she said and throw it back in her face?
Tim glanced at her. “Luce, can you get the half-time drinks? Or do you still have a string of patients to see?”
Kinta came out to join the game. “There is no one waiting.”
Lucy sighed and turned. “I’m a doctor not a tea lady.” She caught herself. “But I will do it joyfully. Reluctantly, maybe, but I will do it, nonetheless.” She made two pit
chers of juice and put them on a tray with several cups.
The kids pounced almost as soon as she headed outside, draining the cups and wanting refills. She served them and then the adults. Glancing up, she held a cup out to Jed.
“Did you poison it?” he asked.
She stuck her free hand on her hip and shot him the most indignant glare she could muster. “And why would I want to do a stupid thing like that?” she demanded. “You’d only be here longer if I did.”
He took the cup and sniffed it. “Or dead.”
Lucy bit her tongue. “If I wanted you dead, Mr. Gorman, there are far better ways of doing it than taking out my colleagues and a load of innocent kids at the same time. Drink it or don’t. I’m not fussed either way.” She put the jug down and headed back inside.
His mocking whistle followed her. “Strewth, who rattled her cage?”
She slammed the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. “Oh, God, give me patience,” she prayed. “But hurry. I don’t often ask things like this, but please—” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ll just keep busy, keep out of his way until he leaves, and things will be fine.”
She tugged the card out of her pocket and ran her fingers over the picture of the violets on the front. At least her mother had remembered her birthday. No one else had. Not that she had many friends, but she’d half expected her church contact to have sent something. But nothing else had come.
Aside from her mother, the only thing from England she missed was violets.
Dried ones just weren’t the same. They didn’t have the scent she loved so much and the vibrant color that gave the flowers their name was faded.
Footsteps echoed on the verandah, and she shoved the card back in her pocket. She didn’t want anyone seeing it.
The door opened and a man stood there, a child in his arms. A trail of blood led behind him and across the sand. His shirt was stained with blood, and Lucy couldn’t tell if it was his or the child’s or both. “Please…” he managed in Swahili. “Help her.”
Snapping right back into work mode, Lucy glanced over at the game and yelled in English towards them. “Tim, Vic, Mani, I need you.” She glanced back at the man and switched back into Swahili. “Bring her this way. What happened to her?”
“Men,” he whispered, walking with her. “In the jungle. They attacked us.”
Lucy frowned. “How many men?”
“Too many. Uniforms…I could not protect her.”
She touched his arm reassuringly as three men ran into the room behind them. “Go with Tim, give him the details. Mani, you and Vic scrub up and prepare the equipment.”
“I can’t leave her,” the man protested. “They killed my wife and my son. They killed all the others, burned the village. She is all I have left.”
“Let me take care of her now. You tell Tim all you know and we might be able to catch these men.”
The man laid his daughter on the exam table. As he did, he gasped, his hand going to his side, and his eyes rolling up into his head.
Lucy caught him as he fell. “I got you.”
~*~
Jed picked up his dinner and headed towards the door. He intended to eat alone in his room. Being around Christians all the time like this made his skin crawl.
Soccer was different; everyone was on an equal playing field, literally, with no pun intended. Background, faith—and he used the term lightly—didn’t matter.
But this? This was more than he could stomach.
Tim waved at him from where he sat at a table with three other missionaries and Dr. Boyd.
He half-heartedly waved back. What was the sheila doing here? Why wasn’t she attending to her oh-so-important patients? Unless she did give herself a break sometimes.
“Jed, come and join us.”
He sighed, plastered a fixed smile on his face, and changed direction. The woman’s face fell as he drew closer. She obviously didn’t like him any more than he liked her. He didn’t need a degree in rocket science to work that one out.
Well, he wasn’t gonna sit where he wasn’t wanted. “Nah, I’ll just take the tucker to my room.”
“Don’t be silly,” Tim insisted, in that really annoying, over-friendly way he had. “There’s plenty of space here. And we’d like you to join us.”
“OK.” He slowly closed the gap between him and the table. He put his plate down and swung his leg over the back of the chair before sitting. “So, what do you blokes do for entertainment in the evenings here?”
“Tonight is prayer and Bible study,” Tim said. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Jed picked up his fork. “Not my bowl of rice, but thanks anyway.” He started eating.
“Aren’t you going to say grace?” The disapproval was evident in the female voice.
“Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub,” he said, looking at her. He shoved another fork of food into his mouth.
Lucy rolled her eyes and picked up her glass of water.
He raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Dr. Boyd?” he asked, chewing slowly
“No, Mr. Gorman, nothing’s wrong. Everything is hunky dory just the way it should be. How’s your hand?”
“Sore, but fine.”
“Good.” She put her glass down. “The stiches can come out in a couple of days. I suggest you try to keep the wound as dry as possible until then.”
Jed looked at his bandaged hand. “And just how do you propose I do that? Not wash for two days?” he asked, lacing his words with more colorful expletives.
“Not swearing would be a start,” she muttered. “As would covering it with a plastic bag in the shower.”
He dropped his fork to the table with a clunk. Speaking around the food in his mouth, he held her gaze. He’d use the line that always shocked his succession of foster mothers into silence. “Bloody’s in the Bible…”
Her eyes narrowed, becoming tiny black spots. He could almost see her hackles rise. The woman did have emotions after all. She sat up straight. “You mean like Psalm fifty-nine verse two, deliver me from the workers of iniquity and save me from bloody men. Or Psalm twenty-six verse nine, gather not my soul with sinners, nor my life with bloody men. Or how about Psalm one hundred and thirty-six verse nineteen, depart from me therefore, ye bloody men.”
Pushing to her feet, she snatched her plate from the table. “I know the Bible far better than you do, Mr. Gorman, so don’t play hard and fast with me.”
Jed’s jaw dropped. The uptight woman actually got one over on him. But boy, she could give as good as she got.
Tim caught her arm. “Lucy?”
“Look it up, Tim. Every reference to bloody in the King James Version is followed by the word men or husband. It’s also translated as bloodthirsty. Now, if you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’m going to call it a night. I’ve had a rotten day, and have a pile of paperwork and police reports to fill out tonight. Not to mention a sick patient to watch.”
Jed kept his gaze on her as she stormed across the dining room and outside. She was pretty when she was angry, he’d grant her that much. And she had spirit. But she was wasted in a whoop whoop place like this. He turned back to the others. “She had a rotten day?”
Tim nodded. “Remember that kid that was brought in while we were playing football? She and her family fell foul of the guerrillas in the jungle. The rest of the family was slaughtered. The dad didn’t make it and its touch and go with the little girl. They cut her up pretty badly.” He faltered. “I’m not going to say what else they did to her.”
Jed groaned. That explained the woman’s reaction and all the quotes about bloody men. “Strewth. No, you don’t need to. I know the way they work. The jungle is no place for a woman. She shouldn’t be alone out there.”
“We have guards posted on the gates after dark.”
“That won’t stop them. How can you believe in a God that lets little girls be assaulted, families slaughtered and so on?”
“God doesn’t let it happen. It happens beca
use we have free will to act how we want,” Tim told him. “What God does is oversee everything to make sure things work ultimately for good.”
Jed closed his eyes, fighting the desire to punch the guy. “See, this is precisely why I don’t have time for your God.” He put his fork down having completely lost his appetite. “Do you have a computer here, and the Internet? I promised a friend I’d check in tonight and he’ll only worry if I don’t contact him.”
“Sure. The Net is pretty basic, depending on the signal, but it does for email. It’s in the main office. You know where that is?”
Jed nodded, scraping his chair back and standing. “Sure, cheers. G’night.” He made a hasty exit, hoping the office would be empty. The last thing he wanted was for someone to see him struggle with the computer.
~*~
Lucy sat in the office, finishing the paperwork. After the day she’d had she wanted to talk to a colleague in the city, but the radio wasn’t working. Or, rather, the connection wasn’t happening. Her eyes burned with tears she wouldn’t allow to fall.
She didn’t have time for emotion. Emotion was for weak people, and she was far from that. The only emotion that filled her was rage, and she was trying to conquer that.
The door opened behind her and she put the radio down. The footsteps were heavy and she recognized the heady mix of scents from the clinic earlier. Jed Gorman. Was he following her?
“Can I help you?” Even to her, her voice sounded gruff and unwelcoming.
“Tim said I could use the Internet.”
“Over there. You’ll need to log on to the system. The password is John three sixteen, mostly all lowercase. Three is a number. J and I are uppercase.”
The chair behind her creaked as he sat down. “Come again?”
She kept her back to him. “Capital J-o-h-n, numeral three, s, capital I, x-t-e-e-n.”
“Umm…I don’t…”
“Here.” She leaned over and typed rapidly. “Easy when you know how.”
“Thanks. I didn’t thank you for fixing my hand earlier.”