shock waves that had fractured the very underpinning of society.
Laura’s experience here so far had been with smiling politicians and eager media people. Today had been her first real dip into Argentinian reality—though he had to admit, she’d surprised him. Flabbergasted him more like. It took incredible guts and skill to do what she’d done back there. It took fearlessness. More, selflessness. Had he been that wrong about her?
Niggling shame uncoiled inside him. He fought it down. So he’d been wrong. He was man enough to admit it. But it didn’t say she was qualified to run things here. If anything, it said she wasn’t. She might be a far better doctor than he’d thought, a far better human being, but the fact still remained—that she was uninformed, out of her element. She needed him in charge until she learned, until she realized…she needed him…
His thoughts fogged with unbidden heat, then scattered at the sight of Laura’s team running to meet him at the helipad.
The two blond men and the redheaded woman were watching him warily, but with a touch of defiance, too. He’d stepped hard on their toes, made them redundant. Now they’d be getting their baptism by literal fire. They’d all see if they could handle emergencies outside the luxurious protocols of American EMS services.
At the helicopter’s door he turned to Lucianna who’d bustled after him, carrying fresh supplies. “Get Romero and Pablo to follow me to the location as soon as they hit ground from their emergencies, along with anyone who can be spared. Prepare ORs One through Four. We’re low on blood, but get Bank to give us all the O-neg they can. Send collectors over to our regular donors and beg for some more. Pay Luca and Estefan whatever they ask. It’s out of my personal pocket so don’t document it.”
He lowered his voice so Laura’s team wouldn’t hear him. “I’d also feel better if you come with me this time. Just until we see how things pan out. This way I’ll give you some more blood on the way, too.”
When she hesitated, he exhaled. “El Bicho is safe, Luci. Noisy and bumpy and under-equipped but safe, OK?”
She nodded at once, trying to cover up her instinctive reaction. “But you can’t give me more blood!” she objected. “You just gave 850 mil a week ago, and that was a risk…”
“I eat like a horse. I’ve made it all up.”
“You know you couldn’t have. And anyway I can’t take blood from you while you’re flying that—the helicopter!”
“Next to flying ‘that—the helicopter’ while fighting off a crazed nut on crack, it’ll be a breeze. And it’ll only take ten minutes.”
Lucianna tutted, her genial middle-aged face disapproving. But she knew it was useless arguing with him. She rushed back to get the necessary blood drawing and preserving equipment.
Once they lifted off, he presented her with his arm, obediently sipping the two bottles of fruit juice Laura’s teammate, Nurse Susan Brent, held to his lips to compensate for the blood volume he was donating. He tried to concentrate on the coming crisis. And failed. His mind was with Laura.
What would he do with her?
What would she do?
* * *
She didn’t want to open her eyes.
She had to. If only to escape the claustrophobic nightmares she was trapped in. But she’d open her eyes to a reality that was even worse for being inescapable. Yet taking refuge in oblivion, no matter how suffocating, wasn’t an option any more. Her mind was already wide awake, her dilemma already in sharp focus and no way out in sight.
May as well get on with facing it all.
Laura sighed and opened her eyes. They immediately fell on Armando’s silhouette, his exhausted pose in the armchair beside her bed unmistakable.
“That was some sigh.”
His rasp shivered through her. Her internalized focus shifted with—concern? For him?
Rising to a sitting position in one brisk movement, she grimaced at her reaction, shaking off the softening. So he sustained an inhuman pace. It was one of the reasons she resented the hell out of him, wasn’t it?
“And that was some imitation of life,” she said. “What are you doing up? Trying to prove you’re Superman again? Matilda said you’ve been on your feet between ER and OR for 72 hours. Since that was before I fell asleep—again—hours ago, you’re into your fourth sleepless day!”
“You sure wake up sharp and ready with your math.” He huffed a hoarse chuckle, rubbed both hands over his face and slumped further in the armchair. “I caught an hour here and there during that time.” A silent heartbeat. “You’ve been crying.”
“Matilda is a darling mother hen but an unprofessional busybody. She had no call reporting that to you.”
“La Clínica isn’t like your US metropolitan medical centers, Laura. We’re close to each other here…”
“Too close, if you ask me!”
His eyes were barely visible in the faint indirect light, but she felt his gaze tightening. He went on, “And she was under strict instructions to report your very breath count.”
“So she had to report its increase when I cried. And here you had me thinking she cared.”
He sat forward in his chair, raked both hands again over his face and through his hair, expression still tight, unreadable. “She cares. We all do.”
“Yes—yes, of course. I was trying for some comic relief…” Her words choked. She felt stupid. Worse, she felt tears rushing to her eyes again. How pathetic she must seem to everyone here. To him.
Suddenly it seemed all-important to know. “Does—does everyone…?” She couldn’t say it, still couldn’t believe it. She was pregnant!
Armando understood, ended her distress. “Only me and Berto at the lab. He won’t tell anyone. That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about…” Armando let his words trail off, too, letting his head fall into his hands.
He really looked finished. And whether she felt sympathy for him or not, she was an extra burden he didn’t need. She hadn’t asked to be and it was his doing that she was, but, well, she wouldn’t be any more. She had his word he’d take out her stitches and release her tomorrow. Then she’d return to that cursed villa Diego had saddled her with for a six-month period, start thinking how she’d put her messed-up life back together, making allowances for—for…
She was going to have a baby!
When she had no home, no money, no man for herself or a father for her baby!
Armando raised his head and even in the semi-darkness what she saw in his eyes was something totally unexpected—sympathy? Empathy? Whatever it was, it hurt, coming from him.
He heaved a deep sigh. “Did you think about…?” The eloquent gesture of his hands painted her plight.
An incredulous laugh almost choked her. “What do you think? But maybe you’re right to ask. Thinking implies a rational mental process, not the panicking and obsessing I’ve been indulging in, considering my options…”
“Options?” His eyes emptied of empathy, if indeed it had been that. “What options? Adoption? Abortion?”
Those possibilities had entered her mind—only to exit the other side as no options. But how dared he presume to have an opinion on this anyway? A judgmental one, too!
“And what if I am?” She swung her legs angrily off the bed. “What is it to you?”
He sprang to his feet, an impatient step bringing him looming over her, exuding power, tension crackling about him. He flicked an extra light on. Now his intensity was visible in every line of his features. His hand shot out. She tensed, only to be