patients a month.”
“Fifty?” Her eyes widened. “You think we’ll refer that many people?”
“Probably not. It depends on how many are willing to be screened. The whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ attitude is the scourge of most health-care professionals.”
“Ignorance is death.” Her voice was soft, maybe remembering what Sebastian had once told her father when he’d tried to refuse treatment. Thank God the man had changed his mind—all thanks to his sister’s willingness to be vulnerable and share her own story with him. It was exactly what Sebastian was hoping would happen with this unit.
Sara pulled her hair over one of her shoulders, catching the long dark waves together in one hand, the ends sliding over the curve of her breast. It was something he’d seen her do at Natália’s wedding as well—he’d been fascinated by the way she’d kept twisting those silky locks. It had taken his mind off his best friend marrying Sebastian’s sister, something he still had trouble wrapping his head around.
She twisted the rope of hair tighter. Nervous habit? He wasn’t sure, but with her crisp white shirt and dark skirt she was the epitome of a professional nurse, but not quite what he was looking to put forth when they ventured into the neighborhoods. But he wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject without appearing to be dictating what she should and shouldn’t wear. It was just that climbing in and out of the back of the ambulance was going to be difficult enough as it was, and it was Sebastian’s hope to appear casual and approachable—engender trust where there was normally suspicion.
His gaze traveled down to her feet, where a hole at the toe of each shoe allowed a glimpse of pink sparkly polish, something that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of her attire. She’d had the same sparkly polish on at the wedding. He’d kissed each of those gorgeous toes of hers…
Her hair not being pinned up was another of those little idiosyncrasies. Maybe that’s what was with his continued fascination with it. His eyes traveled back up her bare legs.
He definitely didn’t want men ogling them as she got in and out of the truck.
Like he’d ogled them that night? And was still ogling them?
No, he was simply trying to decide how to best bring up the subject of their attire.
He’d worn jeans and a dark T-shirt today.
Her fingers twisted the rope of hair yet again and a corresponding knot in his throat formed and then squeezed shut. He swallowed to loosen it. “Do you want to see inside the vehicle?”
Time to get this show on the road and Sara out of his thoughts.
She nodded, moving around to the back with him. When he opened the doors and pulled down the steps he’d had installed for their patients, her brows went up.
“Maybe this isn’t the best thing to wear out on runs.” She released her hair, the locks tumbling free as her palms ran down the smooth line of her skirt.
Okay, here was his chance. “I think the more casual we are the better, if that’s okay. I want people to see us as allies rather than as authority figures. It’s why we put a few dents and dings in our vehicle.”
She seemed to think about that for a second. “That makes sense. I guess.”
Her slight hesitation over that last word made him frown. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Will people take us seriously?”
Professionalism was one of the things impressed upon students in medical school, and it was probably the same in the nursing sector. But he’d seen from Lucas’s own practice in the favela that his friend had fit in and become a fixture in that community. He almost always wore simple, even slightly tattered jeans. Maybe it wasn’t his clothing that did it, though. Lucas had been born in that very same favela. But Sebastian thought it went deeper than that, and he hoped to be able to build on Lucas’s success. Maybe they could be an example to other doctors who would then give their time and talents in other communities. Sebastian had taken a trip into the Amazon several years ago and had worked with a medical missionary who’d traveled to villages providing free health care. It had impacted him deeply.
Almost as deeply as his sister’s cancer journey.
And his parents’ simmering anger toward each other. And how he’d always felt the need to shield Natália from it.
He guessed he’d done something right, since she’d fallen in love and gotten married. Too bad he’d been the one to see all the ugliness first-hand. It had soured him on relationships and made him suspicious anytime a woman started wandering a little closer than he wanted.
Like Sara?
Totally different situation.
“I would hope so.” He climbed the metal steps that led into the back of the truck. “We also have a ramp we can use for people who have trouble climbing stairs. Do you want me to slide it out?”
Her pink lips curved, activating a dimple in her right cheek. “I grew up on a ranch, remember? I’m actually a tomboy at heart, so wearing jeans will be a welcome relief. I can manage.”
Okay, so much for wondering if she was going to be upset about not wearing scrubs or skirts. When her dad was being treated at the hospital, she’d always worn sleek tops and fashionable slacks. And at the wedding she’d looked like every man’s dream.
And she’d been his for a single heady night.
As for tomboy, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her in jeans. But now that he thought about it, the description might not be so off the mark. It was there in the loose-limbed way she walked. In the slight twang to her words. Maybe she’d felt she had to dress to match the hospital’s fancy decor.
Sara put her first foot on the bottom step, the narrow skirt tightening and exposing a pale knee. Her skin was fairer than that of most of the women he knew, maybe because Rio Grande do Sul had a large contingent of people with German ancestry. Her hair was dark, though.
“Okay, so a handrail might be useful for women who come for screening wearing skirts or dresses.” She paused.
He got the hint, reaching a hand toward her. Her fingers wrapped around his, and she made short work of the other three steps, coming to stand within inches of him. He released his grip in a hurry. “Point taken. I’ll have one installed.”
Anything to avoid having to touch her each time she went up or down those steps. Something about the way she stood in front of him…
An image flashed through his head of a woman straddling his hips, laughing down into his face at something he’d said, his words slurring slightly due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The sensation of being squeezed. Soft hands with a firm grip, just like hers had been a second ago.
His brain went on hyperdrive.
What was wrong with him?
Then, almost without volition, the words came out. “Why did you leave that night?”
Something in her eyes flashed, and she suddenly grabbed for the metal edge of the ambulance’s door opening.
Afraid
