The Last Temptation of Dr. Dalton. Robin Gianna

no chance of that happening. Which wouldn’t be easy, since he’d like nothing more than to get her into bed again.

      He looked out over the landscape of lush green hills and trees that led to the hospital compound and realized he hadn’t got round to asking Charlotte how she’d ended up here. “You never did tell me how your family came to be missionaries in Liberia. To build all this.”

      “My great-grandparents were from North Carolina. My great-grandfather came from a family of schoolteachers and missionaries, and I’m told that when he and his new wife were barely twenty they decided to head to Africa to open a school. They came to Liberia because English is the primary language. Three generations later, we’re still here.”

      “They built the whole compound at once?” The hard work and commitment so many missionaries had put into their projects around the world amazed him.

      “The hospital came about twenty years after they built the house and school in 1932. I’ve always loved the design of that house.” She gave him a smile. “Since Liberia was founded by freed slaves, my great-grandparents brought the Southern antebellum style with them. Did you know that antebellum isn’t really an architectural style, though? That in Latin it means ‘before war’? It refers to homes built before the U.S. Civil War. Sadly ironic, isn’t it? That the same could be said for here in Liberia too.” She was talking fast, then blushed cutely. “And you probably didn’t want or need a history lesson.”

      “Ironic’s the word,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never worked here before. What the civil wars have done to this country is... Heck, you can’t begin to measure it.”

      “I know. Unbelievable how many people died. What the rest have had to live with—the chaos and terror, the shambles left behind. The horrible, disfiguring injuries.” Her voice shook with anger, her lips pressed in a tight line. “Anyway, nothing can fix the past. All we can do is try to make a difference now.”

      “So, your great-grandparents moved here?” he prompted.

      A smile banished her obvious outrage. “Apparently my great-grandmother said she’d only move here if she could make it a little like home. They built the house, filled it with beautiful furniture and even got the piano that’s still in the parlor.”

      “And Edwardses have been here since then? What about the wars?”

      “The wars forced my parents to leave when I was little and go back to the U.S. Eventually we moved to Togo to start a new mission. The hospital and school here were badly damaged by gunfire and shrapnel, but the house was just in bad disrepair, stripped of things like the windows and sinks. John Adams and I have been fixing it up, but it’s third on the list of priorities.”

      He couldn’t imagine how much work—and money—it was taking to make that happen. “So what made you want to resurrect all this? It’s not like you really remember living here.”

      “Just because I haven’t lived here until now doesn’t mean my roots aren’t here, and John Adams’s roots. They are. They’re dug in deep through our ancestors, and I intend to keep them here. My plan is to grow them, expand them, no matter what it takes.”

      “No matter what it takes? That’s a pretty strong statement.” He’d met plenty of people committed to making things better for the underprivileged, but her attitude was damned impressive.

      “These people deserve whatever it takes to get them the help they need.” Her grim tone lightened as they pulled in front of the one-story, painted cement hospital. “Let’s get the boy fixed up. And, Trent...” Her green eyes turned all soft and sweet and he nearly reached for her. “Thanks for coming back. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      THOMAS HOVERED IN the clinic outside the door to the OR, looking anxious. “Where is the patient?” Trent asked. “Is he prepped and ready, or do you want me to examine him first?”

      “I thought he should be examined again, to confirm my diagnosis. But he’s in the OR. With Dr. Smith.”

      “Dr. Smith?” Charlie asked. What the heck was he doing in there? Hadn’t she asked him to stay out of the hospital and away from patients? “Why? Did you tell him Dr. Dalton was coming back?”

      “Said since he was here and the boy needs surgery fast he’d take care of it.”

      Anger welled up in Charlie’s chest at the same time she fought it down. She supposed she should give Smith kudos for stepping up despite the circumstances, instead of being mad at her refusal to let him work there. “Well, that’s...nice of him, but I’ll tell him our other surgeon is here now.”

      “Give me a minute to scrub,” Trent said as he grabbed a gown and mask and headed to the sink.

      Charlie hurried into the OR to find Don Smith standing over the patient who was being attended to by the nurse anesthetist but not yet asleep. She stopped short and stared at the anxious-looking little boy. Could there be some confusion, and this wasn’t the child with the hot appendix? His eyelid and eyebrow had a red, disfiguring, golf ball-sized lump that nearly concealed his eye completely. How in the world could he even see?

      Her chest tightened and her stomach balled in a familiar pain that nearly made her sick. The poor child looked freakish and she knew all too well how horribly he must be teased about it. How terrible that must make him feel.

      She lifted a hand to her ear, now nearly normal-looking after so many years of disfigurement. Her hand dropped to her side, balled into a fist. How wrong that he’d lived with this, when a kid in the States never would have. More proof that the project so dear to her heart was desperately needed here.

      “Is this the child with appendicitis?” At Dr. Smith’s nodded response, she continued. “I appreciate you being willing to take care of this emergency, but my other surgeon is here now. Help yourself to breakfast in the kitchen, if you haven’t already.”

      “I’m here. Might as well let me operate. You’ll see that I’m a capable and trustworthy surgeon. I want you to change your mind.”

      “I won’t change my mind. Losing your license and falsifying your credentials is a serious matter, which frankly shows me you’re not trustworthy.”

      “Damn it, I need this job.” Smith turned to her, his face reddening with anger. “I told everyone I’d left to do humanitarian work. If I don’t stay here, they’ll know.”

      “So the only reason you want to work here is to save your reputation?” Charlie stared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but your drug addiction and loss of license is already public record in the States.”

      “For those who’ve looked. A lot of people I know haven’t.”

      “I’m sorry, Dr. Smith, but you’ll have to leave. Now.”

      “I’m doing this surgery and that’s all there is to it. Nurse, get the anesthesia going.” He turned to the patient and, without another word, began to swab the site while the child stared at him, his lip trembling.

      Anger surged through her veins. Who did this guy think he was? The jerk wouldn’t have spoken to her like this if she’d been a man. “Janice, don’t listen to him. Stop this instant, Dr. Smith. I insist—”

      Trent stepped between Charlie and Smith, grasping the man’s wrist and yanking the cotton from his hand. “Maybe you didn’t hear the director of this hospital. You’re not doing surgery here.”

      “Who the hell are you?” Smith yanked his arm from Trent’s grasp. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

      “No, but she can. And I work for her.” Trent had a good three inches on the man, and his posture was aggressive, his usually warm and laughing eyes a cold, steely blue. “I know your instincts as a doctor want what’s best for this boy, which is immediate attention to his problem. Your being in here impedes that. So leave.”

      Smith