The Doctor's Courageous Bride. Dianne Drake

helpful. I think this is where I first realized that paradise isn’t about a beach chair, an unsullied stretch of sand and a tropical drink with a paper umbrella and a skewer full of fruit. And I owe it all to Frère Léon, a man of great insight…and foresight, who stranded me here for a day. He simply dumped me in the street and drove away in…” he glanced back at her truck “…that!”

      “You, too?” Solange laughed. “He took me up to the old mission church in the mountains and didn’t come back for two days. By the time he returned to fetch me, I had two nurses and a short line of patients waiting to be seen. And I didn’t leave.”

      “Tricky devil,” Paul said, taking Solange by the arm and leading her up to the entrance of the hospital.

      He was all that, and more. Frère Léon had been her port in a very rough storm, and she owed him everything. “I don’t know what I would do without him.” She was pleased Paul shared her affection for the monk. In a way, it made them seem much closer already.

      “We think there’s a possibility we might have a case of Pott’s disease,” Dr Allain Sebastian stated, his nose buried in a medical chart. Allain was second in command of Killian Hospital, after Isabella Mordecai, who was the chief of staff there. Paul had made the decision to leave the medical workings of the hospital in their capable hands when it had turned out that he had been spending more and more time away. It had been a good decision, too, because they were a dynamic team. Hardworking, smart and, best of all, dedicated to the kind of care the hospital stood for.

      “Allain’s from an infectious disease program out of Boston,” he explained to Solange, as they both donned masks before entering the area of the patient wards. It was protocol. Universal precautions, no matter what the situation. Better safe and inconvenienced in some instances than sorry. “When he heard about all the perks we offer here, he couldn’t wait to apply for a job.”

      “Perks!” Allain snorted, fighting back a grin. “Long hours, no pay. And the accommodations…I gave up a townhouse with a Jacuzzi for a room with a sink.” He winked at Solange. “What more could a man want?” He extended his hand to her. “I’ve been on my feet sixteen hours already and I’ve barely begun.”

      “Believe me, I know those hours.” Solange laughed. “My name is Solange Léandre. Dr Solange Léandre. And, no, I’m not here to work.”

      “That’s too bad, because I was already looking forward to eight straight hours of uninterrupted sleep tonight. Haven’t had one of those in months. So, are you open to bribes, Solange? Anything I own just to have you cover one shift for me.”

      Solange smiled first at Allain, then at Paul. “I’m usually open to bribes, especially lavender soap and lobster dinners, but since I’ve had my share of those recently, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be awfully susceptible right now.”

      “Lavender soap and lobster dinner?” Allain raised a skeptical eyebrow at Paul. “Don’t think I’ll ask.”

      “Don’t think I’d tell even if you did,” she replied, smiling shyly at him. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks over the ideas Allain was forming, ideas she’d had herself.

      “Well, I do have a fondness for lobster, if you should ever have any left over. Don’t care much for the lavender scent, though. At least, not on me. So, Solange, is this a social call or a professional one?” Pudgy and short, with a ruddy complexion and red hair, Allain Sebastian stepped back and appraised both Solange and Paul. Then he gave them a big, toothy grin.

      “She’s here to demand one more hour a day from you,” Paul teased, faking a frown.

      “Stop that!” Solange laughed, hitting playfully at Paul. “It should only take half an hour of Allain’s time. You’ll have the good doctor thinking I’m quite the mercenary.”

      “And just when I finally quit believing all those rumors about the pirates on the Caribbean seas,” Allain quipped.

      “It’s not quite a pirate’s ransom that I want,” Solange explained. “Just a few routine tests for my patients whenever the need arises. I have a little medical infirmary up in the mountains, and I don’t have the facilities for X-rays and lab work. I came to make arrangements here.”

      Actually, Frère Léon had insisted she make the arrangements and had practically shoved her off the side of the mountain to get her to do it. Now she was here, she was glad she’d come. This was a wonderful facility. Neat, tidy. Clean. Paul was terrific. Allain was, too. And it was nice getting herself back into the medical community, around doctors, after being away from it this past year. Even if this was just a cordial acquaintance since she would rarely, if ever, have the need to come here again in person, she was enjoying the camaraderie. The working dynamics here were good, and the chumminess fun. Nothing like her last months at her clinic in Miami.

      “Well, for your patients, Solange, I always have an extra half-hour. But in the meantime, I need to get back to that possible case of Pott’s because, to me, it’s just not quacking like Pott’s.”

      “Quacking?” Solange asked.

      “Quacking,” Allain repeated. “You know the old saying, ‘If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck…’”

      “Then it must be a duck,” Solange supplied. “And your Pott’s disease isn’t quacking like Pott’s disease.” Pott’s disease, a form of tuberculosis, occurred when the TB bacillus escaped the lung and traveled throughout the body and lodged in the spine. It was a common occurrence, and in the Caribbean the leading cause of paralysis in young men.

      “Something like that. He has the right symptoms, especially the paralysis below the waist. But he’s latent.” Latent TB, meaning he tested positive for exposure to the disease but didn’t have the actual disease. “And I couldn’t find any significant case history of Pott’s in latent TB.”

      “Well, you’re right about that. You don’t normally see Pott’s in latent,” Solange replied. Then she deferred to Paul. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be stepping in here. I’m just the visitor.”

      “The visitor who’s welcome to step in any place, any time she wishes,” Paul said, gesturing for Allain and Solange to follow him to the small, two-bed room where the patient, Agwe Bourg, was snoozing quietly in bed. “We don’t really have any kind of a medical hierarchy here so, by all means, step in, comment, offer opinion, order tests. It’s all welcome.”

      “Why do I get the feeling that I’m working?” Solange asked, laughing.

      “Because Paul’s like that. He just sneaks it in on you. And watch your pockets, Doctor. He’s been known to pick a few of those on occasion.”

      “You left out the part where I make you think it was your idea to have your pockets picked,” Paul added, opening the door and walking straight to the bedside of Agwe Bourg, a man, probably in his mid-thirties, who had a wife and seven children depending on this diagnosis. “So in spite of Mr Bourg’s being latent, why would you suspect Pott’s, Dr Sebastian?” Paul asked, keeping his voice low so not to disturb his patient.

      “Like I said, he has the latent diagnosis, which puts him close to the disease. Maybe not right on it, but definitely close. And he does have the other symptoms—paralysis, general malaise.” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly through his mask. “But it’s not Pott’s. At least, that’s my gut instinct.”

      Paul nodded, but said nothing, so Allain continued. “He’s in the right age category, though, so that’s not a rule-out.” Often, diseases that were difficult to diagnose were given a final diagnosis by ruling out other conditions and symptoms. Rule out enough factors, then take a good hard look at what was left.

      Paul nodded again, looking down at Agwe Bourg. “Fever?”

      “Yes,” Allain said.

      “Weight loss?”

      Allain nodded. “He says he has no appetite, and we haven’t been able to get him to