The Doctor's Lost-and-Found Heart. Dianne Drake

of your situation would be going down to the village, joining in or at least observing from one of the outside tables at a cantina. Talking to people, letting people talk to you. You know, having fun.”

      “You think reading medical journals isn’t fun?”

      “I think you’re hiding behind a bunch of journals because you know you will have fun if you step out.”

      “Then you’re challenging me.”

      “Not so much challenging you as …”

      “Purposely distracting me.”

      “No. I’m telling you what I think.”

      “See, I was right. You wanted me to know, so you sneaked it in there when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

      “Oh, you were paying attention. I doubt there’s ever a time in your life when you don’t.”

      He was definitely one tough nut to crack. Still, she wasn’t giving up on him, and it had nothing to do with professional camaraderie. She just plain wanted to see Jack unwind. Wanted to see what he’d be like when his mind wasn’t on such weighty things.

      Okay, she was attracted on some weird level. She’d admit it. Back in Texas, the first time she’d met him, that attraction had crept up on her, but there had been nothing she could do about it as he’d been a family member of one of her patients. Yet here, in Argentina, they were doctor to doctor, and that attraction level was turning into something more than she’d expected.

      “Oh, and fun is what you want it to be, Jack. If spending a dull evening reading journals is your type of fun, my brother’s got boxes of them when you get done with these. But if you want to go meet the people here, mingle a little, see what makes them who they are, then fun is where I’m going, and you’re invited along—to participate, or simply observe.” Okay, maybe she was trying to distract him a little. Nothing serious, and not for long, though.

      “Except I’m on call.”

      “So am I, but we’re not going that far. And we’ve got adequate staff on to take care of anything routine that arises.” She rolled over on her right side to face him, and propped her head up with her hand. “At a leisurely stroll we can be back here in ten minutes. Running, in less than two. Any more excuses?”

      “Give me a minute to think, okay?”

      “Said as the man is sitting up and putting his glasses on the table next to the bed. Which means you’re coming to the village with me. Right?”

      “Or getting ready to explore your brother’s boxes of journals.”

      “Ah, yes. The way Argentinian Friday nights are meant to be spent.”

      “Are you goading me, by any chance?”

      “Not goading. Just … ” She paused, thought for a moment, wrinkled her nose when she couldn’t come up with an answer.

      “See, I was right, wasn’t I? You are trying to distract me.”

      “Or show you something beneficial.”

      “Beneficial? How so?”

      “A night off clears your head, lets you relax …”

      “Oh, so we’re weighing more medical knowledge against a night of bright lights and music? Now I understand.” He gazed across at her for a minute—a solid gaze that gave away no aspect of himself whatsoever—then shut his journal. “I had this relationship once, back in medical school. Fine-looking woman. One of my professors, actually. At the end of her day she was done. She could go home, kick off her shoes, read a book, cook a meal, do whatever she wanted to do.”

      “Which was you, I’m guessing.”

      He arched a suggestive eyebrow at her. “The only problem with that was at the end of my day I had to work a part-time job to keep myself in medical school. When I wasn’t delivering pizzas, I was studying. When I wasn’t studying, I was sleeping. So I got maybe two hours with her, which gave her cause to think that we could have our benefits