>
About the Author
SUSAN CARLISLE’s love affair with books began when she made a bad grade in maths in the sixth grade. Not allowed to watch TV until she brought the grade up, she filled her time with books and became a voracious romance reader. She has ‘keepers’ on her shelf to prove it. Because she loved the genre so much, she decided to try her hand at creating her own romantic worlds. She still loves a good happily-ever-after story.
When not writing Susan doubles as a high school substitute teacher, which she has been doing for sixteen years. Susan lives in Georgia with her husband of twenty-eight years, and has four grown children. She loves castles, travelling, cross-stitching, hats, James Bond and hearing from her readers.
The Nurse He Shouldn’t Notice
Susan Carlisle
Dear Reader
Often when we stop focusing on ourselves and start concentrating on others good things happen that we never dreamed were possible. Too many times we become so secure in our own world that we must step out beyond our comfort zone to change our perspective. When we do that we are more aware of others around us, and that can make a difference in our own lives. My characters, Court and Maggie, are no different from us. They must struggle, but they find the truth in the saying ‘Give and it will be returned to you.’
Although the hospital in Teligu is fictitious, and Maggie and Court’s story comes completely out of my imagination, there are dedicated and hard-working doctors and nurses who spend their lives working to provide healthcare to the people in the remote areas of northern Ghana. You can find out more about the medical work being done there on my website: www.SusanCarlisle.com
I hope you enjoy Court and Maggie’s love story as much as I enjoyed telling it.
Susan Carlisle
DEDICATION:
My special thanks go to:
My Tuesday night critique group for all your advice.
Dr. Chupp for giving medical details.
Sia Huff and Carol Burnside
for being such great critique partners.
Flo Nicoll for being such a supportive editor.
CHAPTER ONE
THE dry season dust surged past Maggie Everett as she halted the battered Jeep next to the sleek jet. Raising a hand, she shielded her eyes from the sun and the haze of the plains of northern Ghana in West Africa.
As the passengers disembarked from the plane, one in particular drew her attention. Maggie hadn’t seen many American men near her age of twenty-eight in the last couple of years but she could still recognize a fine-looking specimen when she saw one.
He looked in her direction, while behind him the three other newcomers sorted out their luggage. A balding man pointed and issued orders while pulling boxes and baggage from the belly of the aircraft. Two young women, chatting with excitement, searched through bundles that were unloaded. They must be the nursing students who’d be working during their summer break from college.
These were the latest medical personnel to fill in at the remote hospital for a few weeks. She appreciated the assistance but what the hospital desperately needed was enough financial support to hire additional physicians who would be committed to staying for years.
The man caught her full attention again as he strode toward her. His aviator sunglasses added mystique. Slimhipped, wide-shouldered and, if she had to guess, over six feet. He reminded her of the guys in those year-old magazines her mother sent in care packages. Like one of the models from a cologne ad. An undertone of ruggedness, offset by a touch of refinement. Maggie’s pulse beat a little faster in anticipation.
Reaching her, he flipped the glasses up to rest on the top of his head, revealing crystal-blue eyes, made sharper by the deep tan of his skin. “I’m Dr. Court Armstrong. I’ve two sensitive pieces of equipment that need to be seen about right away.”
No hello, nice to meet you. His crisp New England accent caught her off guard. Could he be? “Armstrong? As in the Armstrong Foundation? Boston?” She didn’t try to keep her disgust out of her voice.
“Yes.”
He could be the very one who had denied the hospital’s request for aid, including her plan for an urgently needed children’s clinic. The locals were desperate for medical care, children the most. The hospital required help to stay open, and her new program could make a difference. But the hospital didn’t meet their requirements for funds. It was in too remote an area, not seeing enough patients. She gritted her teeth. Not qualify! She couldn’t imagine a project more qualified or a hospital more in need.
“So why are you here if you’ve already denied our application?”
His mouth compressed for a second before he said, “I’ll be glad to discuss that with you after we get this equipment out of the sun.”
Before she could respond with the sharp retort that sprang to mind, her name filled the air.
“Missy Maggie, Missy Maggie.” Neetie, a young African boy, ran across the parched ground toward her. Clouds of dust trailed behind. He halted beside the Jeep. “Truck. Hit. Hurt,” he said in his native tongue between panting breaths. “Come. Now.”
“You’re needed,” she said to the doctor. “Get in, Neetie.”
The long-legged doctor gave a curt nod and picked up a knapsack from the pile of luggage before climbing into the seat beside her. Maggie noted his split-second hesitation before he reached for Neetie.
Using one arm, Dr. Armstrong swung the boy into the back and called over his shoulder, “John, see to the machines.” Turning to her, he said, “Let’s go.” He returned his dark glasses to their place on his nose. She missed the clear blue coolness of his eyes. What a shame to hide those pools, and an even greater shame they belonged to such an insufferable man.
The Jeep cranked on the first turn of the key. Maggie floored the gas and the vehicle shot forward. She steered a circle around the plane and back toward the compound. “Where, Neetie?” The wind whipped the words away.
“In front of Arthur’s.”
Dr. Armstrong gripped the edge of the windshield, one foot propped on the raised edge, a hand on his bag as if he wasn’t comfortable racing to an emergency in an emerging country. After he realized the conditions he’d have to practice medicine in, she wouldn’t be surprised if twenty-four hours from now, he took off in that fancy jet, looking for his pressed-white-lab-coat world again.
She slid the Jeep to a stop in front of the hospital. When Dr. Armstrong’s hand slapped against the dash to stop his forward motion, Maggie’s mouth lifted slightly at the corners.
“Why’re we—?”
“Supplies.” She gathered up a handful of her skirt’s material, climbing out of the Jeep. This was one of those times when the clothes she was required to wear were a nuisance.
Minutes later, Maggie returned with a large black bag she kept prepared for this type of situation.
Dr. Armstrong jumped out and met her. “I’ll take that,” he said, reaching for the bag. He placed it beside Neetie.
Before she put the Jeep in gear he’d returned to his seat.
Maggie