by Robin Gianna
“Good.” John Adams spoke from behind him. “Thanks, Trent. I appreciate it. I’m going back to the school now. See you both later.”
He straightened. “I’ve got patients to see in the clinic then I’ll get my things. See you back here at six.”
“Seriously, Trent—”
“Six.”
As he headed to the clinic, he was aware of a ridiculous spring in his step, while at the same time his chest felt a little tight. Obviously, his attraction to Charlotte was keeping the smarter side of his brain from remembering why he needed to keep his distance. And how the hell he was going to keep that firmly in mind while sharing her roof was a question to which he had to find an answer.
* * *
“So, Colleen, I’m all set!” Charlie forced a cheerful and upbeat tone to her voice. “Trent has agreed to stay on until the Gilchrist rep does his evaluation. So you can wait to schedule Perry Cantwell until then.”
“That’s great news for you, Charlie! So all your worries were for nothing.”
The warmth in her friend’s voice twisted her stomach into a knot. Lying to her felt every bit as bad as lying to Trent, but what choice did she have? “Yes, no worries.” Oh, if only that were true.
“I’ll let Perry know so he can plan his schedule. After the Gilchrist rep comes, give me a call to tell me how it goes.”
“Will do. Thanks, Colleen.” Charlie hung up and dropped her head into her hands.
How had her life become a disaster?
As if it wasn’t enough to have the bank breathing down her neck, the plastic surgeon indefinitely delayed, Gilchrist insisting on the original stipulations of their agreement and having to skulk around lying to Trent and Colleen, she had a burglar who might come back and a gorgeous man she couldn’t stop thinking about spending the night in her bed.
No. Not in her bed. In her spare bedroom. But that was almost as bad. Knowing his long, lean, sexy body was just a few walls away would be tempting, to say the least. But now there was an even better reason to steer clear of getting it on with him again for the days he was here.
She was pretty sure that if he knew she was delaying Perry Cantwell’s arrival and had shoved his release papers beneath a pile on her desk he wouldn’t take it lightly. In fact, she was more than sure that his easygoing smile would disappear and a side she hadn’t seen yet would emerge—a very angry side— and she wouldn’t even be able to blame him for it.
Her throat tight, Charlie took inventory of the new supply delivery, trying not to look at the big invoice that came with it. This whole deception thing felt awful, even more than she’d expected. But she just couldn’t see another solution. Thank heavens the Gilchrist Foundation had said their representative should be here within the week. After they gave their approval and she got the check, Trent could be on his way. No harm, no foul, right?
The end justifies the means, she reminded herself again.
With a box of syringes in her arms, she stepped on a stool, struggling to shove the box onto a supply shelf, when a tall body appeared next to her. Long-fingered hands took the box and tucked it in front of another.
“Why don’t you just ask for help from someone who’s not as vertically challenged as you are?” Trent asked, his eyes amused, grasping her hand as she stepped off the stool.
Looking at his handsome, smiling face so close to hers, a nasty squeeze of guilt made it a little hard to breathe. She didn’t even want to think about how that affable expression would change if he knew about her machinations.
“Just because I’m not tall doesn’t mean I’m handicapped. And I’m perfectly capable of getting off a stool by myself.”
“I know. I only helped you to see those green eyes of yours flash in annoyance. Amuses me, for some reason.”
“Everything amuses you.” Except, probably, liars.
“Not true. Burglars don’t amuse me. So are we eating here, or at your house to crack heads if anybody shows up?”
His low voice made her stomach feel squishy, even though he was talking about cracking heads. “Nobody’s going to show up. And I still don’t think you need to come. I have a gun, and I doubt you’re very good at cracking heads anyway.”
“Don’t count on that.” The curve of his lips flattened and his eyes looked a little hard. “Anybody tries breaking into your house, you’ll find out exactly how good I am.”
The thought of exactly how good she knew he was at a number of things left her a little breathless. “I just want to be clear about the ground rules—”
“Dr. Trent.” Thomas appeared in the doorway and Charlie put a little distance between her and Trent, not wanting to give the gossip machine any more ammo than they might already have. “There’s a boy in the clinic whose mother brought him in because he’s not eating. I did a routine exam, but I don’t see anything other than a slightly elevated temperature. He is acting a little odd, though, and his mother’s sure something’s wrong, so I thought you should come take a look.”
“Not eating?” Trent’s brows lowered. “That’s not a very significant complaint. Did you look to see if he has strep or maybe tonsillitis?”
“His throat looks normal to me.”
“Hmm. All right.” He turned his baby blues to Charlie. “Don’t be going home until I come back. I mean it.”
“How about if I come along? I haven’t had time to visit the clinic for a while.” She might not be in medicine, but the way doctors and nurses figured out a diagnosis always fascinated her. And she had to admit she couldn’t resist the chance to watch Trent in action again.
“Of course, Ma,” Thomas said, turning to lead the way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE BOY, WHO looked to be about ten years old, was sitting on the exam table with a peculiar expression on his face, as though he was in pain. “Hey, buddy,” Trent said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Your mommy tells us you’re having trouble eating. Does your stomach hurt?”
The child shook his head without speaking. Checking his pulse, Trent noted that he was sweaty, then got a tiny whiff of an unpleasant odor. It could be just that the child smelled bad, or it could be a symptom of some infection.
“Let’s take a look in your throat.” Using a tongue depressor, he studied the boy’s mouth, but didn’t see any sign of an abscess or a bad tooth. No tonsil problem or strep. Once Trent was satisfied that none of those were the problem, the boy suddenly bit down on the stick and kept it clamped between his teeth. “Okay, I’m done looking in your mouth. Let go of the stick, please.”
The boy didn’t budge, then started to cry without opening his mouth. Trent gently pressed his thumb and fingers to the boy’s jaw to encourage him to relax and unclamp his jaw. “Let me take the stick out now and we’ll check some other things.” The boy kept crying and it was all Trent could do to get him to open his mouth barely wide enough to remove the stick.
Damn. Trent thought of one of his professors long ago talking about giving the spatula test, and that sure seemed to be what had just happened with the stick. “Did you hurt yourself any time the past week or two? Did something poke into your skin?”
“I’nt know.” The words were a mumble, the boy barely moving his lips, and Trent was now pretty sure he knew what was wrong.
“Thomas, can you get me a cup of water?”
“Yes, doctor.”
When he returned with the cup, Trent held it to the boy’s lips. “Take a sip of this for me, will you?” As he expected, the poor kid gagged on the water, unable to swallow.
“All right. I want you to lie down so I can check a few things.” Trent tried to help him lie on the exam table, but it was difficult with the child’s body so rigid. The simple movement sent the boy into severe muscle spasms. When the spasms eventually faded and Trent finally was able to get him prone, the child’s arms flun
g up to hug his chest tightly while his legs stayed stiff and straight. He began crying again, his expression formed into a grimace.
Trent was aware of both Thomas and Charlotte standing by the table, staring with surprise and concern. He grasped the boy’s wrist and tried to move his elbow. The arm resisted, pushing against his hand.
“What do you think is wrong, Trent?” Charlotte said, obviously alarmed.
He couldn’t blame her for being unnerved, since this wasn’t something you saw every day. It was damned disturbing how a patient was affected by this condition.
“Tetanus. I’m willing to bet he’s had a puncture wound, probably in the foot, that maybe he didn’t even notice happened. The infection, wherever it is, is causing his jaw to lock, as well as all the other symptoms we’re seeing.”
He released the child’s arm and lifted his foot, noting it was slightly swollen. Bingo! There it was: a tiny wound oozing a small amount of smelly pus.
The poor kid was still crying, the sound pretty horrible through his clenched teeth. He placed the boy’s foot back down and refocused his attention on calming him down. “You’re going to be all right, I promise. I know this is scary and you feel very uncomfortable and strange. But I’m going to get rid of the infection in your foot and give you medicine to make you feel better. Okay?”
The brown eyes that stared back at him were terrified, and who could blame the poor little guy? With tetanus, painful spasms could be so severe they actually pulled ligaments apart or broke bones.
“What do you do for tetanus?” Charlotte asked. “Is it...?” She didn’t finish the sentence, but he knew what she was asking.
“He’ll recover fine, now that we’ve got him here. Thomas, can you get what we need for an IV drip of penicillin? And some valium, please.”
“Penicillin?” Charlotte frowned and leaned up to speak softly in his ear. “Since he’s so sick, shouldn’t you give him something—I don’t know—stronger?”
“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re not a doctor after all.” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “In the U.S., they’d probably use an antibiotic that costs four hundred dollars a day and kills practically every bacteria in your body instead of just the one causing the disease—kind of like killing an ant with a sledgehammer. But, believe me, penicillin is perfect for this. You can’t kill bacteria deader than dead.”
Her pretty lips and eyes smiled at him. “Okay. I believe you. So that’s it? Penicillin? Do you need a test to confirm that’s what it is?”
“No, his symptoms are clear. That’s what it is.” He found himself feeling pleased that she trusted him to make the right decision. Since when had he ever needed other people to appreciate what he did and what he’d learned over the years?
He reached to pat the child’s stiffly folded arms. “Hang in there. I’ll be right back.” Grasping Charlotte’s elbow, he walked far enough away that the boy couldn’t hear them.
“Penicillin is just part of the treatment. We’ll need to do complete support care. I have to get rid of the clostridium tetani, which is the bacteria in his foot that’s giving off the toxin to the rest of his body. It’s one of the most lethal toxins on earth, which is why it’s a damned good thing his mother brought him in. He wouldn’t have made it if it was left untreated.”
She shuddered. “How do you get rid of the...whatever it was called...tetani toxin?”
“I’ll have to open his foot to remove it and clean out the dead and devitalized tissue so it can heal. It’ll give the penicillin a chance to work. I’ll give him fluids and valium to keep him comfortable so he can rest. He’ll have to stay here several days, kept very quiet, to give his body time to process the toxin.”
She nodded and her eyes smiled at him again, her soft hand wrapping around his forearm. “Thank you again for coming back, Trent. I bet our lying Dr. Smith would never have been able to figure out what was wrong with this boy. You’re...amazing.”
He didn’t know about all that. What he did know was that she was amazing. In here, looking at this boy, concerned and worried but not at all freaked out by the bizarre presentation of tetanus, despite not being in medicine herself. He’d bet a whole lot of his fortune that the women he’d dated back in the days of his old, privileged life in the States would have run hysterically from the room. Or, even more likely, would never been in there to begin with.
“I have to take care of his foot right now, which is going to take a little time. Promise you’ll stay here in the hospital until I’m done?” He found himself reaching to touch her face, to stroke his knuckles against her cheek. “I know you think you’re all tough and can handle any big, bad burglar that might be ransacking your house as you walk in the door. But, for my peace of mind, will you please wait for me?”
“I’ll wait for you.” The beautiful green of her eyes, her small smile, her words, all seemed to settle inside his chest and expand it. “Since it’ll be past time for dinner to be served here, I’ll fix something for us when we get there.”
“Sounds great.” He wanted to lean down and kiss her, the way he had in the rain the other day. And the reasons for not doing that began to seem less and less important. Charlotte definitely didn’t act like she’d be doing much pining after he was gone.
That was good news he hoped was really true, and the smart part of him knew it was best to keep it that way, to keep their relationship “strictly professional,” and never mind that he’d be spending the night back in her house. The house in which, when the two of them weren’t just colleagues, they hadn’t gotten much sleep at all.
* * *
Despite the comfort of the double bed, with its wrought-iron headboard and soft, handmade quilt, Trent turned restlessly, finally flopping onto his back with his hands behind his head. The room was girly, with lace curtains, a pastel hooked rug and an odd mix of furniture. The femininity of it made him even more acutely aware that Charlotte was sleeping very close by.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face: the woman who had fascinated him from the first second he’d walked into her office. That long, silky brown hair cascading down her back, her body with curves in all the right places on her petite frame and her full lips begging to be kissed were as ultra-feminine as the bedroom.
But her willful, no-nonsense personality proved that a woman who oozed sexiness and femininity sure didn’t have to be quiet and docile.
He’d guessed being here would be a challenge. How the hell was he going to get through the night keeping his word that their relationship would stay strictly professional? Get through the next few days?
Focusing on work seemed like a good plan. He’d tell her he wanted to head into the field to do immunizations, or whatever else patients might need, keeping close proximity to Charlotte at a minimum. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and so far it seemed their brief time together hadn’t negatively affected her at all. No point in risking it—not to mention that he didn’t want to stir up that strange discomfort he’d felt at the airport when he’d tried to get out of there the first time.
A loud creak sent Trent sitting upright in bed, on high alert. Had someone broken in? Surely, lying there wide awake, he would have heard other sounds if that was the case?
Probably Charlotte wasn’t sleeping well, either. He stared at the bedroom door, his pulse kicking up a notch at another creak that sounded like it was coming from the hall. Could she possibly be planning to come into his room?
He swung his legs to the floor and sat there for a few minutes, his ears straining to hear if it was her, or if he should get up to see if what he’d heard was an intruder. While it seemed unlikely someone could break in without making a lot of noise, he threw on his khaki shorts and decided he had to check the place out just to be sure.
He opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible and crept out in his bare feet, staring thr
ough the darkness of the hallway, looking for any movement. The scent of coffee touched his nose and he relaxed, since he was pretty sure no intruder would be taking a coffee break.
Charlotte was up; he should just go back to bed. But, before he knew what he was doing, he found himself padding down the narrow staircase to the kitchen.
“Did you have to make so much racket in here? I was sound asleep,” he lied as he stepped into the cozy room. Seeing Charlotte standing at the counter in a thin, pink robe, her hair messy, her lips parted in surprise, almost obliterated his resolve to keep his distance. Nearly had him striding across the room to pull her into his arms, and to hell with all his resolutions to the contrary. But he forced himself to lean against the doorjamb and shove his hands in his pockets.
“I was quiet as a mouse. Your guilty conscience must be keeping you awake.”
“Except for that ‘murdering my old girlfriend’ thing, my conscience is clean. I abandoned my vacation plans, didn’t I? Came back here to work for you?”
She nodded and the way her gaze hovered on his bare chest for a moment reminded him why he hadn’t been able to sleep, damn it.
“You did,” she said, turning back to the percolator. “I’m grateful, and I know Lionel’s family is grateful too. And the other patients you’ve taken care of since then.” She reached into the cupboard to grab mugs. “Coffee?”
He should go back upstairs. Try to sleep. “Sure.”
He settled into a chair at the table and she joined him, sliding his cup across the worn wood. His gaze slipped to the open vee of her robe. He looked at her smooth skin and hint of the lush breasts he knew were hidden there, pictured what kind of silky nightgown she might be wearing and quickly grabbed up his cup to take a swig, the burn of it on his tongue a welcome distraction.
Time for mundane conversation. “So, tell me about what you studied in school. Didn’t you say you got an MBA?”