knocked the wind out of him. The face he’d seen all morning as he’d waited to get away from it.
He stared at her strong, silky eyebrows, lowered in concentration over eyes as green as a Brazilian rainforest. Her thick brown hair touched with streaks of bronze flowed over her shoulders, which were exposed by the sleeveless shirts she liked to wear. He nearly reached to slide his fingers over that pretty skin, and to hell with distracting her from driving.
He sucked in a breath and turned his attention back to the road. How could one night of great sex have seemed like something more than the simple, pleasant diversion it was supposed to have been?
“The road is worst these last couple miles, so hang on to your hat,” she said, a smile on the pink lips whose imprint he’d still been feeling against his own as he’d sat in that damned airport for hours.
“You want me to drive?”
“Uh, no. We’d probably end up around a tree. You stick with doctoring and let me handle everything else.”
He chuckled. The woman sure took her role as hospital director seriously, and to his surprise he enjoyed it. How had he never known he liked bossy women?
“So, where were you headed?” Charlotte asked.
“Florence.” But for once he hadn’t known what the hell he was going to do with himself for the three weeks the GPC gave doctors off between jobs. Getting in touch with one of his old girlfriends and spending time with her, whoever it might be, in London, Thailand or Rio until his next job began was how he always spent his vacation.
“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
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
