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.”
The old man nodded, then held out a gnarled and wrinkled hand to shake.
“Thanks, Doctor.” He shook his head and grumbled, “Darn kids. That new brand is cheaper than the old one. Wouldn’t you know one of them would be allergic?”
But, despite his grousing, he slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they walked away, and the youngster looped his own arm around the waist of the man he’d called “Grandpa.” Clearly there was genuine affection between the pair.
It was funny, David mused, how freely people talked about their lives in the short period of time they had with him in this clinic setting. Already today he’d heard myriad stories about difficult circumstances—like Mr. Jones and Tyrell, the pair now making their way to the dispensary. Mr. Jones wasn’t even the boy’s blood relative, but was married to Tyrell’s great-aunt, who’d taken Tyrell and his two sisters in after their mother went to jail. A sad story in a way, and yet a testament to people’s innate goodness.
David could relate to many of the stories of poverty. After all, he’d lived it, and it really wasn’t that long since he’d broken away from the grinding cycle of just trying to survive.
Sometimes it felt as if it were yesterday he’d been patching his shoes with newspaper and wearing clothes donated to the family by charitable organizations. Often he caught himself reverting to type—hesitating to buy something he could definitely afford because the price was still shocking to him on an almost visceral level, or rinsing a jar to save instead of putting it into the recycling. Some habits were definitely harder to break than others when they’d been acquired at a really young age.
About to call for the next patient in line, he glanced toward where Nychelle was working,
