hours a day, every day, was beginning to wear on her.
Becca knew she should heed the advice of just about everyone urging her to accept a replacement and go back to the States for a long rest. But since Dr. Seth Andrews, the very talented but equally arrogant surgeon, had all but demanded she go, she stubbornly refused to leave.
Grateful for about the hundredth time for being advised to bring boots with her, Becca slogged along the squishy ground, her mind replaying the long shift she had moments ago completed. She sighed. For some reason Dr. I’m-The-Boss-And-You’re-Not Andrews had been exceptionally cranky throughout the entire day.
Head lowered, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Becca frowned as her sight became gray, darker than the overcast sky. What—
It was her last thought as darkness closed in, enveloping her. The next moment, she toppled over onto her face, out cold.…
Becca surfaced slowly from unconsciousness. Her head ached. Her entire body hurt. Her mind felt fuzzy, as if it were stuffed with cotton.
Her first thought wasn’t, where am I? It was, pain, so much pain. She made a soft moan of protest.
“Oh, finally awake are you? I told you that you were exhausted.”
Even with her mind cloudy, Becca recognized the barely civil voice of Dr. Andrews. “I guess so,” she replied, her voice an unfamiliar croak. “So, I suppose I’ll live to irritate you another day.” She decided her brain must have been rattled, or she’d have never had the nerve to speak to the Great One that way.
“No, you won’t, smart mouth.” His tone was menacing.
“I’m going to die?”
“No, Rebecca, you’re not going to die.” Now his tone carried a note of amusement. “You’re going home.”
Home? No! The word rang loud and clear inside her muddled head. Despite his obvious dislike of her, and his equally obvious desire to get rid of her, Becca didn’t want to leave. She just couldn’t leave the children. And, secretly, she didn’t want to leave him, and not see him again, either.
Besides, as grumpy as he was, Seth Andrews was the very best physician and surgeon she had ever worked with, in and out of the O.R.
“I…don’t…want…” she began, her throat tight with anxiety.
“I don’t care what you want,” he said, his voice flat and adamant. “You are worn-out. The next time you’d go down…” He paused, drew a sharp breath. “Well, there’s not going to be a next time. I’ve called for transport. You’re going stateside, like it or not.”
“But…” she tried to protest.
“No buts, Rebecca. You’re going home. Period. Now, shut up while I examine you.”
Becca closed her eyes to hold back the tears welling behind them. Damn him. She flinched slightly at the cold feel of the stethoscope on her bare flesh.
Her bare flesh.
A sudden, unwanted tingle slid the length of her body at the realization of her breasts being bared to him. He’s a physician, for pity’s sake, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth to contain the sensation. She sighed with a mixture of relief and disappointment when she felt her gown once again covering her.
“You’re a little congested.” He frowned. “Still, you’re good to go.”
Her eyes popped open. “Can I get up?” She stared at him. He appeared exhausted, strained. Lines of weariness scored his thin, chiseled face. If anything, he looked worse than he had the last time she had seen him. When was that, she wondered… yesterday, maybe?
“No.” He shook his head, setting his too long thatch of dark hair in motion.
Becca had always thought he had beautiful, shiny hair. But now, he badly needed a decent haircut. She wasn’t about to tell him that. She wasn’t up to his scalding rebuke.
She closed her eyes again.
“That’s right. Sleep, you need it.”
As if he didn’t. Becca kept the thought to herself. His lack of rest was his problem.
She was out again in moments. This time she fell into a deep, normal sleep.
When Becca woke the second time, the headache was gone, or mostly gone, very likely from whatever medication he’d ordered running through her IV. Her body still hurt all over, but not as much as before.
“Feeling any better?”
Not his voice. With a sigh of relief, Becca opened her eyes, smiling at the pretty, coffee-colored face of the young nurse standing by her bed. “Yes,” she answered, her voice still a dry croak. “I’m thirsty.”
The nurse, Shakana, smiled back. “I’m not surprised. You’ve been asleep a long time.” Her English was flawless, not only because she had attended an American university, but also because she had diligently practiced it…with Becca’s help ever since she had come to Shakana’s village.
Watching as the young woman filled a cup with water for her, Becca asked, “How long have I been here…I mean since I keeled over in the road?”
“You went down the day, or evening, before yesterday.”
“Two days.” Becca croaked, gratefully excepting a few sips of the cool water from the straw Shakana offered her. “I’m concussed?” It was obvious, of course she was concussed. She had done a header, hadn’t she?
“Yes, a mild concussion.” Shakana smiled. “How’s the headache?”
“Better.” She managed a faint smile. “But the memory lingers on.”
“You were exhausted, Becca, or you wouldn’t have collapsed. You simply couldn’t go anymore.”
Becca sighed, and blinked at the tears misting her eyes. “And now he’s sending me home,” she said, her voice still faint, but hard-edged with bitterness.
Grabbing a tissue from a box next to the bed, Shakana wiped away the tears running down Becca’s face. “Don’t cry,” she said. “It’s for the best.”
“Best for who?” Becca cried in a croak. “For me or him?”
“Whom.” Shakana smiled.
“Who, whom, what the hell difference does it make?” She was crying harder. “I don’t want to go, and he knows it. I want to stay here, work with you…” She was now sobbing. “He doesn’t like me, so he’s using my fall as an excuse to get rid of me.”
“Oh, Becca, no,” Shakana said, still mopping away the tears. “You didn’t fall, you collapsed. Dr. Andrews doesn’t dislike you…” She hesitated, bit her lip. “I think. He is a physician, and he is right about your condition. You’re worn-out.”
“But I could rest here,” Becca protested. “A couple days of rest and I could—”
