Doctor's Guide To Dating In The Jungle. Tina Beckett
had her hand in that as well.
‘Yes. Why? Don’t you think two women can handle the job?’
‘What I think has no bearing on anything, or Tracy never would have hired you.’
‘What an awful thing to say.’
‘Not really. And Tracy won’t be the one living with you.’
She blinked once, then again, his response evidently surprising her. ‘Okay, so it’ll be another doctor. It doesn’t really matter who it is.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
A hand went to her stomach and she plucked at the hem of her shirt. ‘Not at all.’
‘So it wouldn’t bother you to discover that we—you and I—will be living together, if you take this job.’ He caught sight of a pale sliver of skin beneath her blouse as she fiddled with it. He forced the rest of the words from his suddenly dry mouth. ‘We’ll be under the same roof. For weeks at a time. Possibly months.’
She sucked down an audible breath and held it for a second or two before the muscles of her throat relaxed. ‘I can handle it, if you can. Besides, there’ll be another doctor on board to play chaperone, if you’re worried about me throwing myself at you.’ Her brows arched. ‘Are you the ship’s captain or something? The cook?’
He laughed. ‘Unfortunately for you, it’s neither of the above. And if you get on that boat, you’ll have to put up with me 24-7.’
‘Because?’ Her teeth came down on her lower lip as if she realized something terrible was heading her way.
‘Because I’ll be your traveling companion, not Tracy. And I happen to be the only critical-care doctor within a hundred-mile radius.’
Stevie perched on the seat of the Land Rover, keeping her body braced against the passenger side door as they navigated around the worst of the potholes. The ones they couldn’t avoid, they plowed straight through.
With her teeth clicking together like castanets, she tried to gather her wits. Okay, so the introduction to her new job wasn’t going quite like she’d expected. No cheering, no gratitude. Just a doctor who acted like he’d rather she drop off the face of the earth.
So what? She wasn’t here to bask in anyone’s praise. She’d come to help people.
The memory of Michael’s laughter when she’d shown him the article on Projeto Vida swept through her mind. ‘Seriously?’ he’d said. ‘What kind of person practices medicine in the jungle?’
Too embarrassed to admit she found the idea fascinating, she’d laughed along with him and had quickly blanked out the computer screen. The truth was, she’d toyed with the idea for the past year. She used to think Michael felt the same way, that he wanted to give back to those in need. Why else would he be at the helm of a public hospital?
Certainly not just to commandeer a private room for his little no-tell rendezvous, like the one she’d caught him having with a female doctor. On her birthday, of all things.
Humiliation and pain washed through her, bringing with it an inner scream of frustration. Why couldn’t she get past this?
She must have made some sound because her new colleague’s head swiveled toward her. She squirmed in her seat before tilting her chin a bit higher.
Just because the good doctor wasn’t thrilled about having her on board it didn’t mean she should tuck her tail and go scurrying back to New York—no matter how much she wanted to right now. She’d agreed to stay for two years, and she intended to see them through, down to the very last day.
‘So, why leave New York and come to our little neck of the rainforest?’
She gave a guilty start. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d been thinking. ‘Why do people normally do these types of things?’
His eyes searched hers before turning back to the road. ‘Sometimes they don’t think through the realities like they should.’
‘And sometimes they just want to help.’
‘Right. The last two doctors who “wanted to help,” ended up leaving before they’d been here a month. It would have been better if they’d just mailed Projeto Vida a check.’
‘Money can take the place of qualified doctors these days?’
His hands tightened on the wheel. ‘No, but it doesn’t help our cause when the faces change each time the boat pulls into a village.’
Interesting.
‘You’re talking about earning people’s trust.’
‘Yep. And it’s mighty hard to come by these days.’
No kidding. She knew that for a fact.
She turned in her seat, her attitude softening a bit as she watched him shove a dark lock of hair off his forehead with an attitude of resignation. ‘Every time someone leaves, you’re the one who has to break the news to the villagers, aren’t you? How long have you been with Projeto Vida?’
‘Long enough.’
‘Maybe it’s time you started thinking about packing it in yourself, Dr. Palermo.’
‘No.’ He glanced back at her. ‘And if you’re going to take a trial run down the river with me, you’ll need to call me Matt.
We try to be as informal as possible. The villagers will use your first name as well.’
She ignored the last part of his speech and concentrated on the first. ‘Trial run? I signed up for two years.’
He grunted. ‘So did the others.’
‘Maybe I’m tougher than they were.’ She smiled at him. ‘Maybe I’m even as tough as you.’
Dark brows winged upward. ‘Doubtful.’
‘That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.’
‘Does it?’
Stevie could swear his lips twitched as he said it and that the grooves where his frown lines sat became a little less pronounced. ‘It does. And you might be sorry later, because I rarely back down from a challenge.’
Unless it came from her cheating ex as she’d hightailed it for the nearest exit. If you leave now, you’ll have a black mark on your record! His shouted warning had cemented her decision to leave the hospital. To leave him.
‘We’ll soon see, won’t we?’ said Matt.
One of his tanned hands dropped from the wheel to the seat between them. There was a fresh cut across the knuckle of his middle finger that looked deep, and several old scars marring the back of his hand. Something about those hurts, old and new, made her stomach twist. This was a man who didn’t play it safe. Who put his all into everything he did. That was something Stevie could relate to. She’d gained a few new scars of her own over the last month or so.
‘You use protection, don’t you?’
He glanced over, eyebrows high. ‘Excuse me?’
Oops. That hadn’t come out right.
‘Surgical gloves,’ she clarified, touching a spot just beneath his cut, not sure where the urge came from. ‘Especially when you have injuries.’
He curled his fingers into a fist, the muscles in his forearm bunching. ‘Of course.’
‘Good.’ She gave a brisk nod as if the heat from his skin hadn’t just singed her. As if she wasn’t scrubbing her fingertips across her thigh in a vain attempt to remove