Melting the Argentine Doctor's Heart. Meredith Webber
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of children were playing beside the clinic, and anger rose again. He turned back to the woman who had brought this cataclysmic shock into his life, letting his anger override the surge of attraction just looking at her produced.
‘And you’ve come for what? Some grand display? Some macabre retaliation for me dumping you? You’d drag a child halfway around the world in order to punish me in some way? ‘
Now anger fired her eyes, Caroline’s eyes, as blue as the skies over the snow-clad mountains in mid-winter—or so he’d thought four years ago …
‘Not really,’ she said, speaking calmly in spite of that anger flashing in the blue. ‘I came to fulfil a pledge we made a long time ago. Maybe you remember it, although from what I’ve read you’ve taken it to extremes. One month a year, we pledged. One month a year we’d work somewhere in the world, treating people who didn’t have the resources for the medical facilities most people enjoy. Until now I’ve worked my month a year in outback communities at home, helping set up different strategies to maintain good health. But when I read your clinic was always looking for volunteer doctors, I realised I could kill two birds with one stone.’
Although smiling was the last thing she felt like doing at the moment—in all the hundreds of scenarios she’d pictured of this meeting, Jorge yelling at her for dragging Ella halfway round the world had been the last—Caroline managed a smile, and waved her hand to where the taxi driver had dumped her large backpack and Ella’s smaller, koala-shaped one.
‘As you can see, I’ve come prepared. I’m here for a month,’ she finished, and felt a rush of satisfaction at the astonishment—not to mention horror—on his face.
His face!
His poor face!
Although the photo had prepared her for the scarring, seeing it, the physical manifestations of what had happened, had hit her like a punch to her stomach. For something like that to happen to a man as handsome and proud as Jorge, it was unimaginable how he had coped.
It had seemed natural when she’d read about the injuries he’d sustained, and learnt that for a time he’d thought he might not walk again, that the first thing he would have done was deny his love for her. He would have pictured her reaction to his injuries, seen himself as a burden, her love as pity, and a man as proud as Jorge would never in a million years accept pity.
So he’d sent that email?
She’d been so sure, reading the article, that this had to have been the explanation for his rejection and, furious that he’d had so little faith in her, even more angry that he’d denied Ella a father, she’d begun to make plans to get them to Argentina as quickly as possible.
Seeing him now, seeing his anger, the doubts that had crept in while she had been in the taxi intensified, and nausea swirled in her stomach. Yet her body ignored his anger; it knew he was still Jorge—the man she’d loved, still loved, it told her.
His next words slammed against her, emphasising her body’s folly, making it crystal clear that he was far from delighted to see her.
‘You cannot stay. I do not want you here.’
His voice was flat, hard and furious, although the fury was thinly veiled, no doubt tightly reined in, in front of Ella, but Caroline was not going to be put off at the first setback, no matter how much this blunt rejection might hurt. Despite her body’s automatic reaction to seeing him, she had no idea what would happen between Jorge and herself in the future but, whatever developed, she was determined Ella would know her father.
She ploughed on over his arguments.
‘The article I read said you had accommodation for a visiting doctor and Ella’s used to sharing my bed when we travel,’ she told him. ‘I figured, being a clinic, there are sure to be some trustworthy aides or patients who won’t mind babysitting if Ella’s a nuisance. In fact, I thought, as I’ll be here, once you’ve introduced me around and shown me how you work, you can spend some time getting to know your daughter, maybe even think about introducing her to your father.’
She rattled off the words, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt, which was as if she’d somehow been dropped into a washing machine—churning, tumbling, swirling.
‘You can’t work here!’
The blunt statement brought her back to earth. That was good, as she was running out of words to cover the way she was feeling. On top of that, his flat declaration revived her fighting spirit and she wasn’t giving in this time without a fight, no matter how much seeing him again was tormenting her body.
‘Of course I can.’ She shot the words at him. ‘I’ve been learning Spanish for the last three years and although I don’t know the Toba language, I assume, as they have been settled here for a couple of decades, most will speak a little Spanish. I have a visa, my medical qualifications have been approved by your medical association, and I have permission from.’ she couldn’t remember the name of the organisation ‘.something to do with the medical officer of the municipality of Rosario to do volunteer work at this particular clinic for the duration of one month.’
‘This is my clinic!’
Even as the words escaped his lips, Jorge realised how stupid they would sound. He didn’t need to see the smile twitching at Caroline’s lips or hear her cutting ‘Oh, really?’ to know she’d read the pettiness of it, and realised it was totally out of character.
So she knew she’d rattled him but, then, that was what this stupid escapade must be about—rattling him.
In more ways than one, although she couldn’t know that—wouldn’t ever know that!
Uncertain where to go next, needing time to think before he said anything more—needing, more than anything, to get away from the woman who had reawoken sensations he’d never thought to feel again—he turned to see where the child, Ella, no, he couldn’t call her that—not yet—had gone.
Although staying within sight of her mother, she had wandered closer to where the Toba children played. She watched the game, probably unaware of the sensation she was causing among the locals—a small stranger in their midst.
A child?
His child?
No! There was no time for wonder!
‘You have done this deliberately,’ he said to Caroline, letting his anger run free now the child was out of earshot. ‘You have come here on some mad whim, dragged a child all this way, when a letter and a photo would have sufficed. So why, Caroline? To punish me for not loving you?’
She stepped back as if he’d struck her, then straightened for the fight. He’d seen her fight before, but usually with him, not against him, fighting for the rights of others, fighting for what she called a ‘fair go’ for people who couldn’t fight for themselves.
‘And you’d have opened the letter as you did all the others, including the one I sent telling you I was pregnant?’ Sarcasm curled like wisps of smoke around the heated words. ‘Or should I have written “Photo of your child” on the envelope so you didn’t just scrawl “Return to sender” on it and pop it back into the mail?’
She paused then stepped closer, her voice softer, the faint hint of the lemon shampoo she must still use moving in her silvery hair, floating in the air towards him.
Momentarily distracting him.
‘You, of all people, know how I felt growing up without my father,’ she continued. ‘You were the first person I ever opened up to about how inadequate I’d felt all through my teens, and the foolish things I’d done to win boys’ attention. This is not about punishment, Jorge, neither is it about you and me, or about the past. I’ve come because I thought you should know Ella exists, but more for her sake than for yours, because the one thing I don’t want for her is to grow up without knowing her father.’
She took a deep breath, as if the words, and perhaps