by Ann Mcintosh
“Lucky indeed.”
She should go. Although another nurse practitioner would have seen the patient she’d left waiting in the reception area, the day’s schedule was full. No doubt there was another patient for her to see. And she had details to iron out regarding the free child wellness clinic she was helping coordinate, scheduled for the coming weekend. Yet she lingered, watching as Dr. Warmington sat down and pulled his chair up to the desk.
“I’m pretty good with Spanish,” she said, after a moment, “but never got past that. Out of curiosity, what was Mrs. Cardozo saying to her husband?”
When he looked up, Nychelle’s breath caught in her throat. For an infinitesimal moment she read excruciating hurt in his eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone.
“They’re here from Sao Paulo, visiting his uncle, and when she realized she was pregnant she didn’t want to go on the boat trip they’d planned. But her husband talked her into it. She was saying if she lost the baby she’d never forgive him.”
He was still looking at her, seemingly waiting for her to reply, and suddenly—desperately—she wanted to say the right thing; wished she knew what the right response was. Wished she could smile and soothe the hurt she was sure she’d seen in his eyes.
“Well,” she said slowly. “That was patently unfair, but pregnant women—especially those expecting their first child—aren’t always known for their rationality.”
She risked a little smile, and was relieved and unreasonably happy when those stern lips relaxed into an answering tilt: not quite a smile, but enough.
“Hormones running rampant, as you men are quick to point out.”
That brought a wider smile, and Nychelle laughed quietly, before turning away from the magnetic pull of his grin.
“I won’t tell anyone you said something so blatantly sexist, Nurse Cory. It’ll be our secret.”
The laughter in his voice lightened her mood more, even as the rich baritone trickled like liquid sin down her spine. Suddenly she was glad she didn’t have to work with him too often. Now she understood what the other nurses were talking about, why they gazed at him like lost puppies whenever he passed by.
“I appreciate your tact, Dr. Warmington.”
She said it briskly and, her face still warmer than she’d like, she beat a hasty retreat before her own hormones went from simply gadding happily about in her system to having an actual full-on dance party.
He was too sexy for his own good—and hers.
* * *
Still smiling, David swiped a hand through his hair as the door closed behind Nychelle Cory. If anyone had told him he would smile after attending to a patient who might be losing her first child to miscarriage—especially one who seemed determined to blame her husband if it happened—he’d have said they were demented. It cut too close to home, brought the pain and regret that still haunted him after all these years into sharp focus.
If he closed his eyes he knew he’d instantly be able to bring Kitty’s face to mind, see the anger and near hatred glittering in her eyes, hear the blame she’d spewed at him before walking out of their home and his life.
That wasn’t something he dwelled on often; he knew she’d been devastated by the loss of their child, had lashed out at him as the only available target. But to have a patient come in at this time of the year, when the memories were so close to the surface anyway... Usually he’d be hard-pressed not to be overwhelmed by them, but now, instead, he clung to Nychelle’s warmth and kept smiling.
Just seeing the nurse practitioner buzzing around the clinic, dispensing that wide, sunny grin like instant relief medication, always gave him pleasure. This was one of the few times they’d interacted directly, but that was his own fault. When they’d first met, looking into those dark, gleaming eyes, seeing her gorgeous smile, had sent a sensation like an electric shock through his body, and he’d known immediately she was a woman to stay away from.
Agonizing memories were overshadowed by more enjoyable ones, and he closed his eyes, pictured Nychelle as he’d first seen her. Her hair had been pulled back into a simple bun, which had only emphasized the beauty of her oval face, her wide-set eyes and sweet, full mouth. Her smooth dark skin had been set off to perfection by a silky sunshine-yellow top that had done nothing to camouflage the high, rounded breasts beneath it, and her smart linen pants had showcased the rest of her glorious curves.
As far as he’d come from his rural roots, and as many lovely women as he’d met, something about Nychelle Cory had regressed him to the stuttering idiot he’d been in junior high school. She was intelligent and beautiful: the kind of woman men fantasized about finding and cherishing forever.
Making a family with.
But going down that road again wasn’t an option he wanted even to contemplate. Having children was a dream that had died for him, and he didn’t dare reawaken it. So, even if he was feeling that instinctive pull toward her, the smartest thing to do was to stay far away.
Painful memories threatened once more, the agony almost as sharp as it had been all those years ago. With a curse, David pulled his thoughts back from that precipice and reached for the tablet on his desk. He had notes to finish and an appointment due to begin any moment.
Yet his eyes strayed one more time to the door, and he remembered seeing Nychelle wiping away a tear as he came into the office. Apparently he wasn’t the only one affected by their shared patient, and the knowledge of her tenderheartedness tugged at something deep in his chest.
Cursing again, he turned his attention to the digital device in his hand, determinedly putting all thoughts of the delectable nurse practitioner out of his head.
CHAPTER TWO
“THIS COUNTRY HAS been so good to me, and it is my pleasure to be able to give back in some small way.”
Crowded around the raised stage at the front of the school auditorium, the assembled doctors, nurse practitioners, RNs, medical and nursing students listened respectfully to Dr. Hamatty’s pep talk.
It was a great turn-out, and Nychelle was cautiously confident that they were fully prepared for the influx of children who, brought by their parents, would soon be streaming in for the pediatric clinic. It had taken months of intense work by all the committee members to pull it together, but with Dr. Hamatty’s connections they had assembled all the equipment and personnel they needed.
She’d been on site the evening before, helping to supervise the setting up of field hospital cubicles and examination tables, and directing the placement of diagnostic machines and dispensary. The Lauderlakes free clinics were famous for their quality of care—a point of pride for Dr. Hamatty, his staff and associates. Even the older, more established doctors turned out to lend their talents when time permitted.
In the middle of the group, Nychelle split her attention between the familiar speech and the conversation scrolling across her phone.
How much longer before you know for sure?
Aliya had added an excited face emoji for emphasis, making Nychelle smile. Anyone meeting her cousin in her guise as a rising young oncology researcher would never guess the depth of Aliya’s silly side.
Already told you, another week and a half. Asking every day isn’t going to speed up the process!
Are you going to cheat?
Nychelle smiled, shaking her head at how well her cousin knew her. The thought of buying one of those early detection pregnancy tests and taking it a couple of days before her next appointment had crossed her mind.
No. It would be like tempting fate.
A quick check found that Dr. Hamatty was at the point where he spoke about coming to the States as a child. His family had been poor, unable to speak proper English, and suffering the effects of the war-torn situation they’d left behind. After telling the story of how he’d got to where he was, he’d wrap it up and they’d all take their places, ready for the deluge of pat
ients. He’d be another five, maybe seven minutes, she estimated.
Just enough time to finish her conversation with Aliya.
Without more than a glance at her phone, she typed her message.
Have you told your mom you won’t be at the gala?
Yes. She’s not amused, but agreed work had to come first.
Pursing her lips, Nychelle replied.
Not surprising at all.
To Dr. Monique Girvan work always came first. There had been a time when Nychelle had resented her mother for rarely being around, for putting her career advancement before everything else, up to and including her children. Now, although it still rankled, she’d learned to accept her mother for who she was.
It didn’t mean her daughter had to walk in her footsteps, though. In fact, if anything, it made Nychelle determined not to. Her children wouldn’t want for love, affection, and understanding.
Dr. Hamatty was getting close to winding up his speech, so Nychelle typed, Okay, almost go time. TTYL, then stuffed her phone into the pocket of her lab coat.
The crowd shifted, and muffled apologies following their movement as people bumped into one another. The nurse standing just in front of Nychelle turned to frown at the source of the disturbance, but her disapproving expression immediately faded and she lifted a hand to smooth her hair.
Following the other woman’s gaze, Nychelle found herself face to face with David Warmington.
As usual his expression was serious, but there was a glint of a smile in his eyes and Nychelle was suddenly breathless, her heart stumbling as she drowned in the bright blue gaze.
He inched a little closer, surrounding her with the clean, fresh scent of utter maleness and, her legs suddenly wobbly, she turned back toward the stage, feigning the greatest of interest in the wrap-up of Dr. Hamatty’s speech.
Keeping her head steadfastly trained forward, she contemplated with some annoyance the fact that the darn man was suddenly everywhere she looked. Over the last week it had felt as though she couldn’t go two steps without seeing him. Worse, she’d found herself paying him far more attention than was warranted.
She had to admit, though, that what she’d seen was surprising, considering her previous assessment of his character. What she’d thought of as smooth charm seemed instead to be simply politeness. He never crossed the line into familiarity, and even seemed to display, on occasion, a touch of shyness.
He was unfailingly courteous, had a sly sense of humor, and he spoke to everyone from the janitorial staff to the senior partners in exactly the same way. Professionally, everyone agreed he was an excellent diagnostician and a thorough, diligent doctor.
Anyone hearing the nurses talk would believe him to be a paragon of every virtue, and Nychelle was beginning to understand why. He knew all their names, and she’d even overheard him asking one of the nurse aides about her son, who’d been ill the week before.
Once you got past his amazing looks, David Warmington seemed to be just a thoroughly nice person—but she knew better than to trust her own assessment of a man’s character. She’d thought the same of Nick, and had been horribly wrong. She just wished she could get her hormones to remember how painful disappointment was, especially when it left you feeling used, so that they’d stop reacting to the man standing at her side.
“And now it’s just about time to open the door and let our patients in.” Dr. Hamatty beamed as he rubbed his hands together in what looked like anticipation. “Have a great, productive day, and on behalf of everyone involved in planning this I once more thank you for giving up your Saturday to help those in need.”
There was a short round of applause as Dr. H. stepped away from the microphone and the clinic committee chairperson stepped forward.
“Any latecomers who haven’t received their instruction packages, please report to the intake table. Everyone else—please go to your assigned cubicle.” She glanced at her watch. “We have fifteen minutes, folks.”
Her smile was slightly strained, and Nychelle felt a pang of sympathy. It was no wonder almost every free clinic had a different coordinator. The stress of getting it all arranged was immense.
Clapping her hands together, like a schoolteacher trying to rally her students, and injecting a strident enthusiasm into her voice, the chairperson concluded, “Let’s do this!”
As the crowd dispersed, Nychelle hesitated. She should acknowledge Dr. Warmington in some way, but was reluctant. Ridiculous as it might be, just thinking of meeting his intent gaze made goose bumps fire down her spine and had her nipples tightening to tingling peaks.
“This is quite some set-up. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
His words were obviously directed at her, since she was the only one left standing in the immediate vicinity.
Silently admonishing herself to stay cool, Nychelle made the half turn necessary to face him. Thankfully he was taking in the room, his gaze on the dispensary across the gymnasium.
Before she could answer, he continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pharmacy at a free clinic.”
Okay, this was a safe topic to talk about, and since she wasn’t skewered by that intense gaze Nychelle relaxed.
“Dr. Hamatty had to work really hard to get a special license for it. Apparently he realized, after the first few clinics he arranged, that it didn’t help the patients if they were given prescriptions they couldn’t afford to fill. All the medications are donated and, with a few exceptions, they’re limited to mostly over-the-counter drugs, so eventually he was allowed to have it.”
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.”