The Nurse He Shouldn't Notice. Susan Carlisle

we—?”

      “Supplies.” She gathered up a handful of her skirt’s material, climbing out of the Jeep. This was one of those times when the clothes she was required to wear were a nuisance.

      Minutes later, Maggie returned with a large black bag she kept prepared for this type of situation.

      Dr. Armstrong jumped out and met her. “I’ll take that,” he said, reaching for the bag. He placed it beside Neetie.

      Before she put the Jeep in gear he’d returned to his seat.

      Maggie said nothing to her passengers as she drove. Instead she concentrated on weaving her way through streets lined with clay-brick, one-story buildings and filled with people and animals. She glanced at the man beside her. The doctor made no attempt to speak either, seeming to absorb everything around him.

      Reaching the accident, she could see that a truck had hit a cart. People mingled around an elderly man who must have been pushing the cart. He lay off to the side, clutching his chest, while a child of about nine had her legs pinned beneath the cart. A woman chattered in a loud voice at the man standing beside the truck.

      Maggie’s stomach clenched. She hated to see a child hurt most of all. No matter how far she ran, she still couldn’t outrun her mothering nature when a child was in trouble.

      The Jeep had almost come to a jolting stop when Dr. Armstrong’s feet touched the ground. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he lifted the other bag from the back. “You check the child. I’ll take the old man. Looks like a heart attack.”

      Well, he certainly had no trouble giving orders! Who did he think he was to drop out of the sky and five minutes later start telling her what to do? As lead nurse, she’d been the one who’d made most of the daily decisions. She knew what to do, and didn’t need super-Doc to take over before he’d even seen the hospital in Teligu. She made no comment regarding his high-handedness. Having someone in charge during an emergency was critical to maintaining order, and Dr. Armstrong made it clear he believed that was him. “Neetie, you go with Mr. Doctor. Talk for him,” she instructed the boy.

      Going to the girl, Maggie used a gentle voice hoping to calm her fears. Her ex-emergency-room nurse instincts took over. Quickly she assessed the girl’s injuries while keeping an eye on the doctor’s progress. She couldn’t have a newbie fresh off the plane damage the relationship and trust that the hospital had painstakingly built with these people.

      He gave curt, simple directions that Neetie translated from a distance, as if the doctor had placed Neetie in that spot, not too far away but not too close.

      Using hand gestures, Maggie instructed three men on how to raise the cart off the child. Maggie pulled the girl out by the shoulders and then examined the girl’s injured right leg.

      Dr. Armstrong joined her. “Thankfully no heart issues. The man’s forehead will require stitches but those can wait. I applied a couple of four-by-four gauze bandages and told Neetie to tell him to hold them in place. The girl?”

      “Fractured leg,” Maggie said, not looking at him. “Thank God that appears to be the only injury.”

      He pulled the supply bag over to him and knelt across the girl from Maggie. The doctor ran long tapered fingers over the girl’s distended skin with medical thoroughness but something was missing. No soothing voice, no tender touch, no personal involvement. His actions were all strictly clinical. “Let’s get this stabilized and get her to the hospital.”

      Despite the negative emotions his last name and attitude kindled in her, Maggie grudgingly admitted he seemed to know his medical care despite his almost non-existent bedside manner. Still, he wasn’t going to push her out of the way as if this was her first day in Ghana, instead of his.

      Maggie handed him splints. He gave her a quick glance of admiration. She squeezed the girl’s hand, before holding one of the boards in place while the doctor gripped the other.

      Pursing her lips, she drew in a breath. The pain in the girl’s eyes pulled at Maggie’s heart. She reassured the girl that she would be fine. If it hadn’t been for her own accident, Maggie might have been the mother of a little girl close to the same age. Because she couldn’t have her own children, she’d embraced each native child as hers. She even planned to adopt Neetie. It made her livid to think about how much she could do for them if the Armstrong Foundation would support the hospital. “The bandage is in the right-hand corner of the bag, Dr. Armstrong.”

      He reached for it. Passing the material back and forth, they slowly began to wrap it around the boards holding the leg straight.

      “You make my surname sound like a dirty word. Why don’t you call me Court?”

      “What?” she asked, distracted by her thoughts of getting the bandage just right.

      “My name. After an emergency—what, less than five minutes after I land?—I think we can survive on a firstname basis. And you’re Missy Maggie.”

      Her usually efficient movements faltered when his fingers slid over hers as he handed her the wrapping. “I’m Maggie Everett. The head nurse. You can call me Maggie.”

      He glanced at her as she returned the wrapping. With deft movements suggesting years of practice, he secured the end by tucking it under the edge of the material. Without looking at the girl, he said, “Maggie, tell her that we are taking her to the hospital.”

      No “please” there but Maggie did as he instructed, then went to move the Jeep closer. She couldn’t fault the new doctor’s care, but she was used to the visiting doctors showing more personal attention, more personal interaction with patients. He was no different than his family’s foundation.

      The people of Teligu needed help and this man had the influence to see they got it. Could she convince him to persuade the foundation to reverse its decision?

      Court stepped into the cool evening. He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. The air smelled fresh compared to the busy city of Boston. Even the noises of the night were a sharp contrast to those of home. He took a moment to listen to the wildlife bickering back and forth, and the shuffles of an animal searching for food outside the compound fence. He’d never call this place home.

      Was Ghana something like his parents had experienced all those years ago? Part of what had kept them going on medical mission trips even when his mother had become pregnant? He shook his head. His parents should have been in the States, not off in the wild, especially with his mother so far along.

      He shook his head. With his kind of luck, his first patient in Ghana had to be a young girl. He’d not trusted himself with a child’s care since that awful night. The girl had required his attention and he’d had no choice but to tend her. The constant reminder to focus ticker-taping through his mind kept his hands steady.

      The soft casting of the girl’s leg hadn’t been challenging. Yet he felt exhausted. He’d flown all day, crossed three time zones and was coming down from the adrenaline rush of an emergency. It did feel good to be practicing medicine again, even if he had to start with a child. Still, he needed sleep.

      Heck, he didn’t even know where he was to bunk. Scanning the compound, he didn’t see anyone to ask. The screen door behind him slammed, and Maggie stepped out.

      They’d worked well together, despite his feeling that she didn’t like him. He’d been impressed by her efficiency in casting the girl’s leg regardless of the rudimentary exam room and equipment. She did everything with precision and care. In America, these facilities would be comparable to a back-alley clinic. Like the one he and his brother had been born in. The one without enough technology to help his brother. Now wasn’t the time to start dredging up those ugly, negative memories. He pushed them back into the corner of his mind where they belonged.

      Even with the events of the past few hours, Maggie still had a fresh look about her. Her dark, wavy hair was pulled high on her head and brushed the top of her shoulders. What would it be like down? A dark flowing waterfall? In the dim light, he could just