Rebel gave an eye-roll and then looked at Rafael. “You really should be nicer.”
“Why? She’d cry more then.” He glared at Lupe, but softened it with a little smile and held out his hand to her. “Come here, woman. I’m fine.”
“Oh, please, everyone. It’s just fine. He’s fine, and I’m starving.” Duncan took Rebel’s hand and led her to the door. “Come out so no one thinks you’re dying, okay?”
Rafael just grinned. The old goat.
“He’s such a pain sometimes.” Duncan shook his head but his touch on her was gentle as he took her to the table. They made their way along the line, filling their plates, and Duncan introduced her to entirely too many people. Their names would never stick in her brain, she was certain of it.
After lingering over the meal and sharing coffee with the family out on the portál, Lupe approached Duncan and Rebel.
“The clinic is set up.”
“Clinic, what clinic?” Rebel had no idea what they were talking about.
“When I come for a visit, I run a health clinic for a few hours. These folks are the poorest of the poor, most of them come from Old Mexico and have never had regular health or dental care. They have issues stemming from lifelong malnutrition and chronic illnesses. We hope we can help them out and the children that are born here will be better cared for right from the start.”
“I didn’t know any of this.” She frowned. New Mexico was not a developing country, but what he was describing certainly sounded like it. “Most people I come into contact with in the ER have health insurance.”
“These folks don’t.” He shrugged and looked away, but she could tell he cared deeply about these people who worked on his family ranch. “Some of these folks have worked here their entire lives. Poverty, lack of education, and cultural biases have kept them this way. Slowly, we’re helping change their outlook. The kids are blossoming.” He tried to hide it, but a burst of pride pulled his shoulders back. “We even have a daycare and an elementary school on the ranch.”
“That’s amazing.” She leaned I closer to him. “I’m so proud of what you are doing here.” Truly she was. She’d never met a man like Duncan.
“I wish we could do more, but there aren’t enough resources and it’s a seasonal business.”
“Well, what can we do today?” Doing things for others had always helped keep her focus off her family tragedy and doing good works never went out of style.
“Let’s go see what the troops have set up.” Duncan took her hand in his firm grip and led her out to the staging area.
“During chili season we use this open-air shed to roast the chili and get it ready for locals. There’s nothing fresher than produce just picked and roasted within a few hours. Today I have a clinic in it.”
“So, what kinds of health issues do you see with your workers?” Though she’d worked in the ER for years, farming accidents weren’t something she’d had a lot of experience with.
“A lot of things are farming related, like cuts and other injuries sustained from using heavy machinery. Other things are minor, like tetanus shots, or colds and flu.” He shrugged. “The usual stuff.”
“You do good work, here, Duncan.” Indeed. He was not just some pretty face playing around at being a doctor. He had a heart dedicated to service to others that was very appealing to her.
“I’d like to do more of it, but at the moment there’s just not enough of me to go around.” That brought some pain to him. This was a group of people who could use his skills, not the people who held fund-raisers and had never set foot in a barrio.
They stepped around the large machine shed to a line of people that looked a mile long and her eyes widened. “Wow. That’s a lot of people.”
“I know.” He grinned. “Not doing anything else the rest of the day, are you?” He patted her shoulder, then let his hand linger there for a second. She was so different from women he’d known. That little alarm inside him started to go off, reminding him again that she could leave him at any moment and he’d best not set himself up for getting hurt again. Then he shook it off, reminding himself there was work to do now.
“Uh, no. No, I’m not.” She straightened her shoulders, ready for whatever would come up. She was an experienced ER nurse. She could handle whatever they had. Except…“I don’t speak Spanish. What do you want me to do?”
“The boys will help with translation for you. You can start with vital signs and triage, get a little info, then send them over to me. You’re over there.” He pointed to a long table where hand sanitizer, index cards for writing down information, and a blood-pressure cuff lay.
Duncan’s area even had a screen so people would have some semblance of privacy.
Jake and Judd stood by, ready to help with translation. With a last look at Duncan as he walked away, she put on her best nurse smile and accepted the first patient into her triage station.
They spent about four hours on mundane issues before a patient of concern surfaced. As Duncan had foretold, the majority of the issues were farm related or other minor complaints. Then a boy with a serious face was plunked down into the chair by his father.
“Hi, there.” Her welcoming smile faded. Usually she liked working with pediatric patients because they always had some interesting take on their situation or made up a grand and glorious tale about their injuries.
But not this.
Something was seriously wrong about his situation. She didn’t know what, but, watching the boy interact with his father, she knew something was off.
This little boy of about six years old was too thin for his age and bone structure. His hair had been cropped very short, as was the custom, but she could see scratch marks on his scalp, and a little bald spot where the hair was worn away. The child didn’t look at her but kept his eyes downcast, a sure sign of insecurity. He was not as frisky as the other children. Then the boy looked up at her and his eyes widened, fixating on her red hair that the wind had begun to tease from its clip.
“What’s the problem?” she asked his father, who had distant black eyes. He made eye contact but dropped his gaze quickly.
“He…no…” Frustrated with his attempt at English, he launched into a monologue in Spanish about the boy’s problems, pointed to the bald spot on his head and then at the boy’s back.
“His father says that he’s always hurting himself, falling down or tripping, and then the spot on his head, he keeps rubbing it, and if he doesn’t stop is going to be bald before he’s seven years old.”
A smile curved up her lips at that last statement. “It’s okay. He won’t be bald, but we do have to figure out the reason he’s rubbing the spot.” She held out a piece of candy to him. First his gaze flashed to his father, then he accepted it and focused on unwrapping the little sweet. “Kids his age, especially boys, are accident prone. They run full blast and don’t see the hazards, so he’ll stop falling if he stops running so fast.” She waited while Judd interpreted that part.
“What’s
