So Many Men.... Dorie Graham

us a hand with some fund-raising.”

      “What kind of fund-raising?” another of April’s group asked.

      “That would ultimately be for you to decide, but at Project Mentor we had talked about a big gala or ball where the proceeds would go toward creating a youth center. We would, of course, welcome all youths, but our focus is on the ones we find through the free clinic we established two years ago in downtown Miami.

      “Even though that clinic has experienced great success, we have seen more and more patients strung out on drugs and with HIV. When children are involved, our choice in the past has been to help the parents as best we could, then send them back to deal with their families as best they could. Unfortunately, they often don’t deal well with the added pressure of raising children, especially teens.

      “Though we have a mentoring program in place for these kids, we’re finding it isn’t enough. There’s a real need to provide a feeling of community for them, a sense that they belong somewhere. If we don’t supply that connection, they find it in gangs or other unfavorable settings. A youth center would help prevent that.”

      Tess glanced around expectantly, subduing the urge to jump to her feet and volunteer the group. She hadn’t yet officially joined their ranks. So it wasn’t her place to say anything. Surely, these women would put aside their differences for this higher purpose.

      April straightened in her seat, though she remained closed off, her arms folded across her chest. “Why can’t your group arrange this ball on its own?”

      “You ladies are known for your fund-raising abilities. We could make an effort, but all of us have careers in addition to our volunteering with the project. We simply don’t have the resources or connections you do. The gala is guaranteed success if the Dade County Women’s Club is associated with it.”

      Silence reigned over the room. April uncrossed her arms and sat forward. “I don’t see how we would have the time to help you. We have several other projects we’re currently tied up with and our own gala event not far around the corner.”

      Disbelief flashed through Dr. Davies’s eyes. “But that’s nearly nine months away. Surely you’d have time to handle this event.”

      April rose, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so. There’s a lot that goes into planning any event as you so clearly point out, but I can’t speak for the entire group.” She gestured to the tables around her. “What do you think? Can we help Dr. Davies with his project?”

      Tess stiffened at the note of warning in her voice. She held her breath as not a soul offered an opinion. How could these women just sit there? Did April swing so much clout that she could cow everyone into not helping?

      Fisting her hands in her lap, Tess fought the urge to offer her services. She didn’t even know these women. Why would they listen to her? Acting against April would most likely cost Tess any chance at making friends. And so much for service work with the group.

      She glanced up to find his gaze on her and froze.

      His dark eyes beseeched her. What could she do? Surely one of the other women would say something.

      “I see.” The defeat in his voice cut deep. “Then I won’t be taking any more of your time.”

      Tess took another deep breath as he exited, but it did little to ease the knot of regret forming in her stomach. She stared at the empty doorway. The man had left. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Besides, chances were another group would come to his aid. If he was a doctor, he must have all kinds of connections.

      The women’s club seemed to have other charities it was involved in. Surely she’d find another project she’d feel good about helping with. And there was the added bonus of making women friends. She’d come here to get away from men. She sipped her water and tried to relax. With the good doctor gone, now maybe she could get on with building some kind of relationship with her own kind.

      2

      SHE WASN’T THEIR KIND. Everything about the redhead at the women’s club told Mason Davies that she was cut from a different cloth. He closed his eyes against the image of the memorable woman who’d captured his attention. Though she’d sat in their midst, she was as different from those women as he was.

      He’d seen the emotion shining in her blue eyes when he talked about the project. She’d understood the need—the fact that this event was worthwhile. Somehow, he had felt her dismay at the lack of support.

      Yet, she’d sat silently as he’d left in defeat. He couldn’t believe she was so like them. Something about her—maybe her bearing—seemed to say she’d made up her own mind about things, even though she’d held her tongue.

      He shook his head. He needed to forget the redhead and focus on a new plan. She certainly wasn’t giving his project—or him—any second thoughts.

      Plastering a smile on his face, he continued down the hospital corridor to his next patient’s room. Vases of flowers topped the dresser and nightstand. Peggy Williams was fortunate. Her husband had barely left her side since her arrival yesterday and it looked as though more family members had arrived today.

      She smiled at him, only half her mouth lifting. He moved to the side of the bed. “Good morning, Peggy. How are you?”

      She nodded slightly. “Um…ah…” She shook her head, frowning in frustration.

      He glanced over her chart. “I see you ate better today. No problem swallowing?”

      “Ah…um…no.”

      “Good.” He paused to take her pulse.

      “She ate a good bit of her lunch, though she had some trouble with the soup. Her hand was a little shaky and she kept spilling. I wanted to help her, but the nurse said that it was best to let her try on her own,” Brad Williams explained.

      “Soup?” Mason glanced at the lunch tray that had been pushed to one side. “That’s great.”

      “This is our daughter, Paige, and her two girls, Leslie and Sarah.” Brad gestured to the worried-looking brunette standing next to him and the two youngsters clinging to her sides.

      “It’s a pleasure.” Mason smiled at the girls. A vibrancy and innocence that he saw in far too few children these days radiated from them. “I think it’s helped your grandmother’s spirits to have her family near. It’s wonderful she has you to cheer her up.”

      He straightened and addressed both Brad and Paige. “The nurses were quite concerned yesterday that she seemed depressed. That can be tough on recovery. Having this kind of support can make all the difference to a patient.”

      “So what can you tell us, Doc? Will she recover?” Paige smoothed her daughter’s hair.

      “It’s difficult to say. I don’t want to give you any false hope, but the stroke was mild and it helped that your father brought her in right away. She’s weak and recovery will take time. I’m referring her to a physical therapist as well as a speech therapist for her aphasia.”

      “Aphasia,” Mr. Williams repeated. “That’s her difficulty with her speech?”

      “Yes.”

      “Is that why she can’t tell us stories?” The smaller of the girls stared at him, wide-eyed.

      “The language center of her brain was damaged, which isn’t unusual in these cases. Your grandmother is as smart as she ever was, but it may take a little time before her brain rewires itself and she can tell you stories again.”

      “She has to learn to speak all over again?” Mr. Williams squeezed his wife’s hand.

      “Yes, more or less. The brain is a remarkable tool, though.”

      “She said ‘hi’ when we came in,” the older girl said.

      Her mother smiled at her,