The Doctor And The Princess. Scarlet Wilson
wearing any make-up—but she didn’t need it. He could quite happily look at that face all day.
‘Sullivan?’ She nudged him with her elbow.
He started. ‘Sorry, what?’
Her smile spread. She raised her eyebrows. ‘You were staring.’
It was a statement that sounded like a bit of a satisfied accusation. Nothing could dampen the sparks that were flying between them.
He could feel them. She could feel them. He’d been here less than twenty-four hours. How on earth would he manage a whole two weeks around a woman like Gabrielle Cartier?
He was still getting over the wonder of actually feeling...something again. There had been a number of women over the last three years—but no relationships. He wasn’t in a relationship kind of place. But now he could feel the buzz in the air. It felt alive around him, pulling him from the fog he’d been in. Gabrielle Cartier was like the freshest air that had swept over his skin in the last three years.
Two weeks could be perfect. It was just long enough to be familiar with someone but not long enough for any expectations.
He smiled back. ‘I wasn’t staring.’
‘Yes, you were.’
He nudged her back. ‘I wasn’t. I was contemplating life.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t even want to take a guess at what that means.’
She was right. She didn’t. But he couldn’t stop staring at that smile.
She glanced at the notes. ‘How about we see these two patients now? It doesn’t really work well if the two doctors are seeing patients together.’ She took a hesitant breath. ‘We just have too many patients.’
He nodded carefully. ‘I get it, you don’t like having to teach the rookie.’ He shrugged. ‘Ten minutes. That’s all. Then hopefully I won’t need to ask for a second opinion again. I’ll be confident to make the diagnosis myself.’
He wasn’t joking. He would be confident. Sullivan had never needed to be shown anything twice in his whole career. He’d embraced the doctor’s motto of see one, do one, teach one.
Gabrielle’s gaze narrowed a little. She gave a quick nod. ‘No problem.’
* * *
The next few days passed quickly. Every time she turned, Sullivan Darcy was at her back. Or maybe it just seemed like that.
He hadn’t exaggerated. He picked up things quickly. He’d diagnosed more patients with non-pulmonary TB. He’d adjusted antibiotic regimes for patients who were struggling with side effects. He’d spent hours and hours with patients with the dual diagnosis of HIV and TB.
His only tiny flash of frustration had been with a young child who was suffering from appendicitis. They had no real surgical equipment in the field. No theatre. No way to sterilise the tools that would be needed for surgery.
The nearest hospital was four hours away across a dry and bumpy road. Finding transport was a problem. All they could do was give the child some pain relief and a shot of antibiotics in the hope it would stave off any potential complications before sending him off in the back of a worn-out jeep. As the jeep disappeared into the distance Sullivan kicked an empty water canister clean across the camp, his hands balled tightly into fists.
She watched from a distance.
There was something about him that was so intriguing. Ask him anything medical and he could talk for ever. Ask about training placements, hospitals, work colleagues and experiences with Doctors Without Borders and he’d happily share all his experiences.
But ask about his time in the army or his family and he became tight-lipped. And there was something else Gabrielle had noticed about Sullivan Darcy.
He had the same skill that she’d developed over the years—the art of changing the subject. She’d recognised it instantly. And it intrigued her.
Had he noticed the same skill in her?
It was late. The sun was starting to set in the sky. They’d stayed much later at this site. It was one of the furthest away from their camp—which meant that the people in this area rarely saw medical staff. It made sense to do as much as they possibly could while they were there.
There was a noise to her left and she looked up. The heat of the day rarely dissipated and she’d undone the first few buttons on her shirt and pulled it out from her trousers. One of the tribal leaders had emerged from behind some scrub trees and was scowling at her.
There were a few other men behind him, all talking rapidly and gesturing towards her.
She glanced around. Lucy and Gretchen were nowhere in sight. Estelle was at the other end of the site, loading their transport. In the dim light it was difficult to see anyone else. Their local translator had already left.
The tribal leader strode towards her, gesturing and talking loudly. She’d almost baulked when Gibbs had refused to leave the female staff alone on the mission. But the truth was there had been a few incidents when a traditional tribal leader had refused to allow the women access to their tribes.
It had only happened twice. But Asfar Modarres had played a vital role in negotiating access to the people suffering from TB.
The tribal leader marched straight up to her face, his voice getting louder by the second. She quickly started tucking her shirt back in. No skin around her waist had been on display, but it was clear that something was making him unhappy.
The rest of the men crowded behind the leader. She swallowed. Her mouth was instantly dry.
In the distance she could see Estelle’s head jerk up, but Estelle was too far away to offer any immediate assistance. Gabrielle had never been a woman who was easily intimidated. But she’d never been crowded by a group of angry men. The others had started to fan out behind their leader, surrounding her on all sides. Her automatic reaction was to start to step backwards, trying to maintain some distance between her and them.
Any Narumbi words that she’d picked up from the interpreter flew from her brain. ‘I’m a doctor. Wh-what do you want?’ She could only stammer in English.
The tribal leader poked her in the shoulder with one finger. It wasn’t a violent action. But that one firm poke was enough to make her stumble over her own feet and thump down onto the ground, a cloud of red dust puffing around her.
The noise came from behind. It wasn’t a shout. It was a roar. She recognised Sullivan’s voice instantly, although she had no idea what he’d just said in Narumbi.
All the men looked up immediately. She could hear the thuds and a few seconds later the men were pushed roughly aside, several landing in the dust like she had.
Strong hands pulled her up roughly. She hadn’t even had time to catch her breath. One arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder, pulling her close against his rigid muscles. The words were flowing from his mouth in fury.
She didn’t have a clue what Sullivan was saying, but it was clear that the men could understand every single syllable. The tribal leader looked annoyed for a few seconds and tried to answer back. But he was stopped by the palm of Sullivan’s hand held inches from his face.
Sullivan’s voice lowered. The tone changed. Became threatening. A kind of don’t-even-think-about-it message emanating from every pore in his body. She could feel the vibrations coming from his chest, shoulders and arms. But Sullivan wasn’t shaking through fear or intimidation. She knew straight away he was shaking with rage.
It was a whole new side of him. She’d seen the cheeky side. She’d even seen the flirtatious side. She’d seen the professional side, his willingness to adapt to a situation outside his normal expertise and practise effectively.
Now she was seeing something else entirely. This was the man who’d served in the military. This was the man who left her in no doubt about how vested