Saved by Doctor Dreamy Page 11

  “Hablas inglés?”

  When a third response didn’t come, Damien looked at Juliette and shrugged. “He’s not admitting to speaking either Spanish or English, and he’s not telling us his name, so I’m at a loss what to try next. Any ideas?”

  “No. But I do know we can’t leave him here like this.”

  “So what are we supposed to do with him?”

  “Take him back to Bombacopsis with us, and ask if anyone there knows him. Or if anyone knows of someone whose child went missing.”

  “Or comb a thousand square miles of jungle to see if he’s from an isolated family living God only knows where. Or see if we can get someone out from the Child Services Agency who will, no doubt, relocate him, put him in a group home and let him get lost among all the other lost children there. Or—we could leave him here and let his family come find him which, I’m sure, they will.”

  “That’s not safe, Damien, and you know that! We can’t leave him alone.”

  Damien shut his eyes and shook his head. “I know. But there’s no guaranteeing that we could even get him in the truck, much less get him all the way back to Bombacopsis. He’s not used to outsiders, Juliette. In fact, he’s probably never even seen an outsider before.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he’s automatically afraid of us.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But the people here aren’t that trusting. At least, not until we prove ourselves to them. And he, most likely, is being raised by a family that avoids us.”

  “He’s not running away from us, though. Just look at him. He’s staying here, and I think that probably means he wants help.”

  “You’ve got some mothering instincts going, don’t you?”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  “No, it’s not. But I’m afraid it’s the thing that’s going to convince me to take this boy back to Bombacopsis with us, then figure out what to do with him once we get there. So, can you direct some of that mothering at him and get him into the truck, because I’ve got a tonsillectomy to perform, and I need to get back to the hospital as fast as I can?”

  Good Lord, what was he doing, picking up a child off the side of the road? The sad truth was, there were a lot of children, on the sides of a lot of different roads. That was simply a fact of life. The other fact of life was that this little boy, if not rescued, stood a good chance of being found by someone who would force him into child labor on one of the plantations. Damn, he hated this! Hated the harsh existence that so many people were forced into.

  “I can try.” Juliette took a couple of steps closer to the child, then held out her hand to him. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” she said gently, “but I want to help you.”

  The boy pulled away from her, but made no attempt to run.

  “I know you’re scared. I would be, too, lost out here, all alone in the jungle. But we want to take you someplace safe, someplace where there are people who can help us find your family.” She continued to hold her hand out to him. “We really do want to help you.”

  “Said to the little boy who looks too afraid to accept help.” Damien took another step closer to the child and held out his hand. “Permítame ayudarle.” Let me help you.

  Juliette stepped back, amazed by what happened next. The child took hold of Damien’s hand and stood. No hesitation, no fear. It was as if the boy instinctively knew he could trust Damien. “Looks like you two are forming a bond,” she said.

  “OK, now what?” he asked, standing alongside the road, hand in hand with the little boy.

  “We take him with us, like we discussed.”

  “Like you discussed,” Damien said, leading the boy over to the truck. “I didn’t discuss it.”

  “Your gruff side isn’t working on me right now, Damien. I can see right through you, and what I’m seeing is a big softy.”

  “What you’re seeing is total confusion. I don’t know what to do about the kid.”

  “What I’m seeing is a man who’s stepping up to something even though he’s not sure about it.”

  Well, that much was true. He wasn’t sure about it. Had never thought about taking on the responsibility for a child, never even for the short term. Didn’t want that obligation because he was always sure there was someone else who could do it better than him. Daniel could do it better. He saw that with Maddie. Juliette could do it better. He saw that with this little boy. So, as for him stepping up to anything—best-case scenario was someone in Bombacopsis would know the boy and, by evening, Damien would have him reunited with his family. Worst-case scenario—well, Damien didn’t want to think about that one. Didn’t want to think about how happy Juliette looked sitting in the truck next to the boy. Didn’t want to think about how that mothering instinct in her had turned him on.

  Nope. He didn’t want to think about any of that. In fact, all he wanted was to get back to the hospital and get on with Pabla’s tonsillectomy. “Do you think he’s hungry?” he asked Juliette. “Because I have a candy bar in my medical bag.”

  She smiled at him. “Yep, a big, big softy.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “IN THE EXAM ROOM?” Juliette shook her head in amazement. “You’re going to perform a tonsillectomy in the exam room?”

  Damien looked over his shoulder into the waiting area, to check on the little boy they were calling Miguel for a lack of a real name, and shrugged. “I have an exam room, hospital ward, a storage shed out back and a one-room hut in which I live. Which one of those places do you think I should turn into an operating room?”

  “OK, so I’m overreacting. I get it. But Damien, you need a real surgical suite if you intend on doing surgeries here. Even minor ones.”

  “How about I add that to my list of needs, not to be confused with my list of wants, not to be confused with my list of desires. Which you’ll find in the filing cabinet, filed under nonexistent, since I don’t even have the means to buy the paper to write that list on. The government doesn’t fund me here, Juliette. The people who use my services do, when they can afford to. And when they can’t they cook me food and wash my clothes and clean my hut. They’re also the volunteers you see doing odd jobs around the hospital.”

  “But you do have some income, don’t you?” She knew that El Hospital Bombacopsis operated on a shoestring, but she’d never known just how short that shoestring was.

  “Some. And I have my own personal money, which is seriously on the decline since it’s all about expenditures now, and no income.”

  He was using his own money to fund the hospital? She knew Damien had it in him to be noble, but she was only now coming to realize just how noble he was. “Have you ever thought about trying to find a benefactor? I know that can’t happen in any of the villages because the people are usually too poor, but you could go into San José, or even back to the United States. I’m sure someone somewhere would be willing to donate to your hospital.” She’d seen generosity at work all her life, seen what it could do. So why couldn’t some of that generosity she’d come to count on go toward this ragtag little operation?

  “And what would I have to offer them in return? A plaque over the door dedicating the building to them—a dedication that most of the people here won’t be able to read? Or maybe I could name one of the beds after them? I mean, people who donate money do so for a reason, and we’re fresh out of reasons here. There’s no glory in it, no bragging rights, no visibility. So why bother?”

  “That’s a little jaded, isn’t it?”

  Damien shrugged. “It’s all I’ve ever seen.”

  “So it gets back to your aversion of the wealthy.” A very limiting aversion as she knew people out there who would donate simply out of their need to make a difference and their desire to see less fortunate people receive good medical care. Her father was one of those people. She’d watched him write checks for worth
y causes all her life.

  “Well, if you happen to run into one of them, tell them my door is open to them 24/7. But don’t hold your breath, Juliette. This hospital’s been operating hand to mouth for ten years, and none of them has ever shown up yet. And I’m not expecting that they ever will, even though your naive view of the world is telling you just the opposite.”

  “My view of the world is based on what I know—based on generosity I have seen all my life.” And sure, she hadn’t traveled as much as Damien had, or seen as much as he’d seen, but she trusted that people were basically good—something Damien apparently didn’t trust, and that made her feel sad for him. To have so much to offer, and to keep it buried away under such deep resentment—it was a waste. “And I know people, Damien. Generous people I can contact in due course.”

  “You know people who keep themselves locked into a tight little clique. And I’m not criticizing you for that, Juliette, because I don’t think you’ve ever had the opportunity to spread your wings and see what’s out there in this world.”

  “But you have?”

  Damien nodded.

  “And what you’ve seen—it’s all ugly?” Had the man never witnessed true generosity and goodness? Or was he just too wounded to accept that it could exist?

  “Not ugly. Just harsh. And not as giving as you seem to think it is.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’ve never taken the time in the right places to find beauty and happiness, and optimism. But I know it’s out there, Damien. I’ve seen the good in so many people. You just have to look for it. Expect it.”

  “Like I have to look for donors for the hospital, and expect that out of the goodness of their hearts they’ll want to help us here?” He shook his head. “I’ve gone knocking on dozens of doors, asking for donations, only to have them slammed in my face. Asked pharmaceutical companies for donations and been denied. Approached medical equipment companies for anything they want to get rid of and, as you can see from what we have around here, failed miserably at that, too. I’ve turned up too many rocks, Juliette, and I know what’s underneath them—nothing!”

  “Yet you’re here, doing good, in spite of all your rejections. Going into debt, taking a physical beating, getting lashed emotionally more than you’ll ever admit, and you dare to tell me there’s no good?” She shook her head and smiled at him. “Nope. You’re wrong about this, Damien. I’m looking at good right now, and you give me the hope that there’s so much more of it out there to be found. All you have to do is look for it. And that doesn’t mean just turning up rocks to see what crawls beneath them. Although I’m sure if you turn up enough rocks you’re bound to find something good there, too.”

  “What in the world did I do to deserve little Miss Optimism?” he groaned.

  “You ran an ad, remember? And if you didn’t want optimism you should have stated, Optimists and believers and people who have a general sunny outlook needn’t apply.”

  “That’s exactly what the ad said when I applied,” George said as he walked into the hospital. “Which is what got him me.”

  “And I’m glad to have you,” Damien reminded him, smiling.

  “Good thing, since I’m not leaving.” George patted Damien on the shoulder as he walked by him and entered the exam. “Now, what about this tonsillectomy?”

  This was an interesting dynamic, to say the very least, Juliette observed. Not just Damien and George, but the whole hospital and all its workings. And the more she was here, the more she was growing to like it.

  “So while you two are operating, what do you want me to do?” she asked. “Oh, and, Damien. I’m not giving up on you and the whole donation thing. You need an operating room, and there’s going to be a way to get it.” Even if she had to fund it herself, which was actually an appealing idea.

  “You’re not going to be here long enough for that to happen. In fact, I probably won’t, either.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” she said cheerfully.

  “Stop that!” Damien said.

  “What?”

  “Being so damned optimistic.”

  “You afraid it’s contagious?” She took the stethoscope off his neck and put it around her own. Damien responded by heaving out a defeated sigh, but the twinkle shining in his eyes spoke of something other than defeat. Juliette wasn’t quite sure what she was reading there, but she liked it, whatever it was. “Now, tell me what I need to do.”

  He bent down and whispered in her ear, “I’m not taking your money,” he warned, then straightened back up.

  She smiled up at him. “Who said I was offering it?”

  “Your eyes.”

  “You read all that in my eyes?”

  “I read all kinds of things in your eyes,” he said with a seductive arch of his eyebrows. “And I meant what I said.”

  “So what if I march in here with a brigade of contractors ready to build you a proper OR?”

  “How well do you withstand punishment?”

  A slow smile crossed her face. “What kind of punishment are you offering?”

  “Juliette, I mean it...” he said, squaring his shoulders, trying to put on a rigid face. And failing.

  She laughed. “Just tell me where you want me to work. OK?”

  He shook his head in surrender. “Do you always win?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never really tried. But I’m liking the feel of this.”

  “And I’m not.”

  “Then we agree to disagree. Good!”

  “You’re incorrigible,” he accused, finally giving in to his own smile.

  “I’m working really hard at it, so I hope so. Now, about my assignment...”

  “Fine. You win—this round. But only because I need to get to work. So, for you—take care of Miguel for starters. Make sure he gets fed. Get him washed up, get his hair combed. Padre Benicio’s going to come and take him to the festival so people there can see if they know him.”

  “And if no one does?”

  “Then we give him a bed for the night, and approach the problem from a new perspective in the morning.”

  “If I’m attending to Miguel, who’s going to look after the patients in the ward?”

  Damien grinned. “You are.”

  It sure sounded as if it was all adding up to a busy night. Owing to the fact that she was already a little draggy, she wasn’t sure how far her limited reserve of energy was going to take her. But she’d be darned if she’d let it show to Damien. For a reason she didn’t understand, it was important that he saw her as capable in everything she attempted. His opinion of her mattered more than she wanted it to. “Then I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t I?”

  “Did I mention that you also need to supervise Diego? He’s coming in tonight to do some filing for me since his mother is going to be out, delivering meals to some of the village’s shut-ins.”

  “Two little boys, several sick people—anything else? Any beds that need changing? Or windows that need washing? Floors needing a good scrubbing?”

  Damien chuckled. “Well, you might have a few inebriated partygoers wander in later on. This is the first night of Festival del Café, a celebration of the good fortune they receive from their coffee crops. Singing, dancing, food, beer—they really know how to put on a good party and usually we get some of the casualties of that fun. But don’t worry, I should be done with my tonsillectomy before anything gets too out of hand.”

  Juliette shook her head. Well, so much for the little nap she’d hoped to sneak in sometime during her shift. “Fine, I’ll get myself ready.”

  “You don’t sound so enthused.”

  “I’m just...just worried about Miguel,” she said. “That’s all.” That plus a definite lack of sleep these past few days.

  “Well, just keep your fingers c
rossed that someone at the festival knows him.”

  An hour later she was still keeping her fingers crossed, as Padre Benicio took hold of Miguel’s hand and escorted him out of the hospital.

  “Where’s his madre y padre?” Diego asked. He was currently working in the G section of the file drawer, putting away folders and sorting the ones that were already in there.

  “We don’t know. That’s why he’s going out to the festival tonight. To see if anyone there knows who he is.”

  “Doesn’t he know who he is?” Diego asked in all seriousness.

  “He hasn’t talked since we found him, so I have no idea if he knows who he is or not.”

  “Will he come here to work for el doctor Damien, the way I do?”

  She wondered if Diego was fearful for his position here. He had such an affinity for Damien, much like the way Miguel did, that she suspected Diego was scared to death of being replaced. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do yet, Diego. Right now, we’re just hoping to find his parents.” She was happy both boys responded so positively to Damien. And Damien was so kind to the boys, even though he tried to hide it. It was a side of him that made him sexy and likable and all kinds of other good things she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “That would be good,” the boy said. “Very good.”

  An hour after that, though, very good hadn’t panned out, as Padre Benicio returned to the hospital with Miguel in hand. “No luck,” he said to Juliette, who was in the middle of doing routine patient assessments.

  Huddling over a patient who was being treated for general flu symptoms, she looked up at the priest and took her stethoscope earpieces out of her ears. “No one?” she asked him.

  Padre Benicio, an older gent with a round belly, thinning brown hair and kind gray eyes, shook his head. “No one has heard about a missing child, either. And I talked to everybody in the streets.”

  “Well, I appreciate what you’ve done.” What she didn’t appreciate, though, was the outcome as her heart ached for the little boy. “So, what do you think we should do next? Does the church have some provision to take care of lost children?”