A Family for the Children’s Doctor
Dianne Drake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS beautiful land down there. So lush and green. Trees as far as the eye could see. It had a certain peaceful quality to it he liked. Peaceful…hopeful…something he needed in his life.

Dr Adrian McCallan stared down over the treetops in the jungle below, excited by the prospect of what lay ahead of him, yet dreading the two weeks it would take to accomplish his promise. He wanted to be here. Had wanted it for a very long time now. Yet he didn’t, and that little bit of dread in him was using up all the peacefulness he had in reserve. Until now, he’d truly never known what it felt like to be ripped in half.

Now he did.

Physically he was here, ready to do the work. Intellectually he was intact and up to the chore. But emotionally he was far away. He shut his eyes, conjuring up an image of what he was leaving behind and, as always, the face that he envisioned brought a sure smile to his face. It always did.

In a sense, it was amazing that he was going through all these conflicting feelings. That he could go through all these feelings. It hadn’t been that long ago that feeling anything had been foreign to him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been able to, but more that he hadn’t wanted to. It had made life easier that way, without encumbrances. But now he had a personal testimony to what they said—absence did make the heart grow fonder. Absolutely! Or, in his case, tore it into shreds. For him, the pain of absence was almost a physical one, and he was glad to feel it. Glad for the reason to feel it.

Yet what he was about to do—working with all those children—he’d wanted to do this, wanted to get involved in something so worthy for a long time now. That part of the absence he didn’t regret in the least. But the other part…

Sighing, he opened his eyes and stared out the window again, listening to the low drone of the airplane engines. The rumble of the monotone these last two hours should have dulled his senses, but all it had done had been to give him empty time in which to doubt his choice to come here. He’d known it was going to be tough being away from Sean, but he hadn’t counted on it being this tough, and so early on. For God’s sake, he was only into it a day and already it felt like a week…a month…a year. Which was ridiculous. But damn it! He already missed his son. Separated from the person he loved most in this world by only twenty-four hours and already he missed him like hell.

What in the world was he going to be like being away from him for a full two weeks?

That he didn’t even want to think about. One day at a time. That’s what he was promising himself. He’d get through it one day at a time and each day spent would mean one day closer to Sean.

Still, with all the internal reassurances that he could do this, and with his son’s own stamp of approval that his daddy was going away to do a very good thing, he couldn’t fight his mixed emotions. Operation Smiling Faces was such a worthy cause. Dr Caprice Bonaventura and her group provided valuable medical services to children who might not otherwise receive the help they needed. He’d read about her in a journal a while ago, then listened to her speak at a medical seminar well over a year ago. After that he’d finally made the decision to add his name to her volunteer roster, but only as an anesthesiologist on an emergency basis, as he did have Sean to consider. Two weeks at a time was what Dr Bonaventura asked of her volunteers, and that’s what he’d agree to do—once, maybe twice a year. It wasn’t much in terms of what other volunteers gave but, at this point in his life, it was all he had. In Sean’s life, two weeks was for ever, although he did understand why his father was leaving for a little while. To help other children. Sean had been good with that, and very mature for a six-year-old.

More mature than he himself actually, as right now he wasn’t sure he had two weeks in him to give. Not with the way he was missing his son.

“Can I get you anything?” the flight attendant asked him. “Water? Maybe a cola or a packet of peanuts? Something to settle your stomach?”

“It shows?” Adrian asked.

She laughed. “I recognize that expression on your face. See it all the time. A little airsickness.”

Not airsickness. This wasn’t anything that could be cured with a little bromo or Dramamine. “No, thank you,” he said, recognizing the edge in his voice. “I’m fine for now,” he continued, forcing himself to sound a little less wound up. “But you’ll be the first one to know if I do need something.” He forced a smile at her. Not a convincing one, but apparently she didn’t notice that, because the smile she returned was genuine.

“You just do that,” the attendant said, then bounced away to tend to a little old lady who was in a fit to have one of those tiny, overpriced bottles of booze. Scotch, she was demanding over the buzzing voices of the other passengers.

Scotch…if he were a drinking man he might just have one himself. Except he didn’t drink. And if he did, drowning his feelings in alcohol wouldn’t blot them out. More like just make them sloppy, thinking how this was the first time in six years he’d been separated from Sean for more than a couple of days, thinking how he was feeling damned guilty over it. Not that his son really cared so much. Two weeks with his grandmother was an adventure any six-year-old loved. And Sean would exploit that in every way someone his age could with an over-indulgent granny. Trips to the park, the zoo, to the toy store, to buy ice cream… Knowing that his own mother would take care of Sean did make him feel better. But not enough.

Adrian smiled, thinking about Sean’s big plans. Big boy at age six. Bright. The single most abiding love of Adrian’s life and the person who made him the happiest.

The one person who defined his life.

Adrian sighed again, closing his eyes to think about his redheaded, green-eyed ball of energy. Two weeks was an awfully long time to be separated from him, and while he still didn’t regret his decision to volunteer with Operation Smiling Faces, he did wish there was a way to have the best of both worlds—his son and this volunteer job. Caprice Bonaventura did allow children along. But the court had been specific in the child custody decree, thanks to his ex-wife Sylvie’s selfish motives. She didn’t care about Sean. All she cared about was herself, and the child support payments. Somewhere in her tiny little brain she’d fixed a notion that if Adrian took Sean traveling it could mean he wouldn’t bring him back, which might also mean no more money for Sylvie. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Miami was home and stability for Sean, and apparently Adrian was the only one concerned with that.

Nevertheless, the judge had ordered restricted travel for Sean as part of Adrian’s joint custody with Sylvie, and any travel across the border came only with court approval, which couldn’t happen in two days, as that was all the notice Adrian had received for this emergency trip to Costa Rica.

So Sylvie, who never saw Sean unless it benefitted her in some way, had won again and Adrian and Sean were separated now because of her. Not that she cared. But on the bright side, Sean was having the time of his life with his grandmother, safe and sound, and there was nothing Sylvie could do to ruin that.

Damn that Sylvie, anyway. Why did she always find a way to mess up their lives?

“The pilot has instructed the passengers to buckle up for the final approach,” the flight attendant said, shaking Adrian out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes to find her bending over him, her big brown eyes fixed on his face, her smile at him so bright it nearly blinded him. She was so close he could smell the faint trace of her flowery perfume in his nostrils. She was a good-looking woman, not that it mattered. Once upon a time he might have shown some interest in the sexuality she was obviously putting on display for him. But not any more. Not for a very long time. Seven years, to be exact. Oh, he’d enjoyed occasional dates, but nothing more than once or twice as his spare time belonged to his son. “He says the landing could be a little rough.” She deliberately picked up the seat belt that was dangling over the edge of his seat and dropped it into his lap. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

Rough landing, rough heart. Nothing a seat belt could take care of. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate the warning,” he added quickly, still forcing himself to sound nicer than he felt.

“We aim to please,” she replied, with a genuinely kind smile and eyes that widened in a bit of hope. He recognized the look. He’d seen it before, not that it ever did any good when it was directed at him.

Encouraged by this, the flight attendant lingered over him a little longer than she should have, giving him ample opportunity to whisper something to her. An invitation to dinner, an invitation to bed… But when he didn’t, she straightened back up, blushing from the conspicuous rejection, and scurried away to hide in the service cubby where drinks and snacks were prepared.

You could have had her, the blue-haired, tattooed young man sitting across the aisle from Adrian said. Actually, he didn’t say the words aloud, but the look on the kid’s face spoke volumes. And the kid was right. He probably could have had her. Or any number of women he’d encountered over the past few years. But there wasn’t extra time in his life, and given his choice between spending time with them and being with Sean…well, there was no contest.

Hard choice sometimes. But a good one always. He didn’t regret it.

On principle, he didn’t regret his choice to come to Costa Rica either, and he wasn’t about to bow out of his responsibility. He wanted to do this, actually—to work with the children. Especially since he’d turned his anesthesiology practice into pediatric anesthesiology, but now that he was on his way, and missing his son like he was, he was having second thoughts.

Adrian smiled. It was crazy, worrying about Sean, who was having the time of his life. That’s what Adrian had to remember. And it did comfort him some when he did, even though a little residual wistfulness for something more in his life did flash by. A relationship? A wife? He didn’t rule them out for his future, but after his first time through with Sylvie, he didn’t rule them in either. Too many complications, he thought as he turned to stare out the window while they started to descend.

If there was one thing he and Sean didn’t need, it was any more complications. Over the years, that had become a mantra of sorts.

Below, as the plane swept ever closer to the ground, he saw a banana plantation and all he could think of was how much Sean loved bananas. Of course, Sean’s granny would give him bananas. Knowing that, however, didn’t make easier the anguish of missing his son, or the emptiness he was feeling.

“But I don’t want to read another book!” Isabella Bonaventura was being stubborn just now. Caprice knew it, and indulged it, as her daughter jerked her hand away from her mother’s and plopped down in a black fake leather chair, her back to the windows overlooking the runway. “And I don’t want to draw pictures or write another story.” She folded her arms irritably across her chest and pulled her face into an angry frown, huffing out a melodramatic sigh. “I’m bored. I want to go back to the hospital.”

The hospital, meaning home. They were staying in one of the visitors’ suites at the Golfo Dulce Hospital just outside Golfito—a strikingly beautiful area with modern amenities. Many children were coming in which apparently kept Isabella better occupied than she was doing today. Poor child was bored out of her mind, waiting, and Caprice couldn’t blame her. So was she! “We’ll go as soon as he gets here,” Caprice replied for the tenth time in twenty minutes.

“How much longer will th-that be?” Isabella shifted in her seat to look out to the runway. “I don’t see any planes landing.”

Caprice glanced at her watch. The plane was already over thirty minutes late, which, loosely translated into kiddie hours, was about a lifetime. Or so it seemed, anyway, to both child and mother. “Should be any minute,” she said, keeping her fingers crossed that would be the case.

Any number of the Operation Smiling Faces crew had volunteered to watch Isabella. So had Josefina, Isabella’s Costa Rican caregiver. Caprice had refused the offers, though, and now she was beginning to think she should have taken somebody up on one of them. But she spent so much time away from her daughter as it was, she simply didn’t want to be separated from her. Of course, Isabella had an opinion in the matter, too, and hers was not anything like Caprice’s.

But in a sense Isabella’s mood was to be expected. Yesterday, her eighth birthday, hadn’t been a good day either. Caprice knew these few days were going to be rough. Birthday time and holidays were always when Isabella’s father forgot her. Which he always did.

“Can I get something to d-drink?”

“You just finished a guava juice,” Caprice said, her patience stretching out to a most tenuous thread.

Isabella regarded the empty bottle, made an annoyed face, then looked back at her mother. “I wanted fresco de maracuyá,” she said, forming the words with deliberate care.

Passionfruit. A local favorite, and right about now that sounded good to Caprice, too. What sounded better, though, was hearing Isabella attempt the language. “But they don’t have that here, sweetie,” she said, knowing that wouldn’t make any difference. Isabella was tired, bored, impatient and nothing short of a miracle was going to change her mood. Except, perhaps, a mother’s best bribe. Caprice smiled. “The plane will be here in just a few minutes, then we’ll be going. We’ll stop for ice cream on the way back to meet Grant.” Dr Etana “Grant” Makela, her resident GP and short-hop pilot.

“Ith cream?” Isabella said, suddenly forgetting her mood now that something had caught her interest.

“Say it properly,” Caprice instructed.

“Ith…ice cream.” Getting the words out was an effort, but when she had, Isabella looked pleased with herself.

Sometimes it was still a struggle, but most of the time her daughter was able to work through her speech difficulties, thanks to a great speech therapist back home. And thanks to Isabella herself, who was determined to get it right and go beyond anything expected of her. She worked harder than any child should ever have to, and sometimes Caprice feared all the struggles and work would deprive Isabella of her childhood. It was a difficult balance, keeping everything in its proper perspective. But so far Isabella seemed fine with the rigors and the balance.

Her daughter still had a little trouble with some of her words, especially when she was tired or excited. Overall, though, the difference was nothing short of a miracle. From a little girl who had shied away from people and never spoken to the Isabella who existed right now. A miracle of grand proportions and Caprice’s inspiration for these trips to Costa Rica.

She was grateful the therapist had released Isabella to come along to Costa Rica for a month. She’d traveled with her before, but only for short trips. Two weeks at the most. And Isabella didn’t always come along on some of those shorter trips because of school commitments. But on this, the timing was perfect. School was out on holiday. One thing Caprice would never do was interrupt her daughter’s regular routine, but this trip was interrupting nothing except several weeks of play, which she could do as well in Costa Rica as she could in California. And she seemed to have more friends here. So it couldn’t have worked out better. Except for Isabella’s birthday, that was. The residual mood from that was spilling over into this debacle of a trip to the airport, since Isabella was usually much more cheery than she was being now.

“Vanilla ice cream,” Caprice said, knowing what came next.

“Chocolate. I want chocolate!”

“But I thought you liked vanilla best.”

“You like vanilla best, silly,” Isabella squealed, her dark mood finally lightening.

“But I thought I was the one who liked chocolate, silly. ”

“No, you don’t. I do!”

“Are you sure?” Caprice asked, laughing.

“Are you sure?” Isabella retorted, laughing, too. They played word games, light banter back and forth as practice exercises. Caprice guided Isabella through the difficult words and as they were having fun and Isabella relaxed she always, without fail, got them right. A year ago, Isabella had barely spoken. Two years ago, she never did unless she’d had to. Now there was no stopping her.

Damn that Tony, Caprice thought, as the light-hearted mother-daughter banter continued for the next few minutes. He threw away the best child in the whole world because she embarrassed him. All because she’d been born with a cleft lip and palate.

She thought back to the day of Isabella’s birth. The excitement, the expectation during all those months of pregnancy—she hadn’t wanted to know if it was a boy or girl. She’d wanted to be surprised. Then all she’d seen after she’d heard the doctor say it was a girl had been a beautiful daughter. All Tony had seen had been a facial deformity.

His loss, the idiot. “We’ll both have chocolate,” Caprice said, pulling her daughter into her arms for a hug. Tony’s loss, her gain. And such a wonderful one.

“Dr Bonaventura?”

Startled, Caprice looked up from her embrace to the man towering over her. Then she blinked. He was…not what she expected. For some strange reason she’d had elderly fixed in her mind. Along with that image went gray-haired, little wire-rimmed glasses slipping down to the end of his nose, wrinkles. If this was the Dr Adrian McCallan, who’d signed on for two weeks, she’d certainly been wrong.

Caprice straightened up, then stood to greet him. “Dr McCallan?” she asked, surprised by the tightness of her voice. Oh, she’d talked to him on the phone once—cellphone, bad connection, crackly voice. With their combined hectic schedules, they’d mostly e-mailed.

Then there was the matter of his résumé. Accolades all over the place, all that seemed to indicate…well, someone much older than what she was seeing. Director of a large medical practice, head anesthesiologist over thirteen others. Part-time med school professor. Well published in medical journals. Noted lecturer. No wonder she’d expected seventy and tired. But the man extending his hand to hers was half that age and…well, it wasn’t exactly a tired look she saw on him, but it was one she couldn’t quite define.

Next time she was going to request a photo with the résumé.

“It’s good to meet you, Dr McCallan, and I’m grateful you could do this on such short notice. Monica Gilbert, who was set to come out as anesthesiologist, had a pregnancy complication, and I’m so happy to get you at the last minute. Especially someone who specializes in pediatrics. It’s not every day we have a pediatric anesthesiologist join us, and…”

Was she really babbling at him? It certainly sounded that way. Babbling, giddy like a schoolgirl… He already knew the facts, didn’t need a recap. “And thank you.” She clamped her mouth shut before any other foolishness slipped out.

“My pleasure,” he said, his eyes darting briefly to Isabella, pausing for a moment, then returning his focus to her. “I’ve been looking forward to doing this for quite some time and, as it happens, the timing worked out.” He glanced back at Isabella.

Caprice’s first reaction was to bristle. She always did. Call her over-protective, call her over-reactive, and that was fine. She was. But so many people had stared at Isabella before all the corrective surgeries and been horribly cruel to her daughter that her natural tendency was to protect her. And to get riled when someone stared. She knew she was often over the top with her reactions, but that still didn’t stop her. Any mother would have done the same.

Instinctively, Caprice stepped in front of Isabella to shield her from Dr McCallan’s stare. Although he wasn’t exactly staring. It was more like he was trying to make eye contact with a child who still rarely ever did. “We have a long flight ahead of us,” she said stiffly. “I think we’d best be going if we want to get to Dulce by nightfall.” Dulce, the nickname for the hospital.

Isabella peeked out from behind her mother. “Ith…ice cream?” she asked, forming deliberate words as she stared at Adrian’s kneecaps.

Caprice didn’t want to disappoint her daughter, but she also didn’t want to have ice cream with this man. He made her uncomfortable. Because of Isabella, perhaps. Or maybe because he was half the age she’d expected and gorgeous in a way she simply didn’t want to acknowledge. Whatever the reason, she was ill at ease, and glad the normal seven-hour trip by road would be greatly reduced when they took to the air.

“Maybe another time,” she said to Isabella. “I’m sure Dr McCallan is tired from his long trip, and anxious to get settled in.”

“I like ice cream,” Adrian said, twisting his head to see Isabella, who finally met his gaze with a cautious gaze of her own and the tiniest little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Vanilla. What kind do you like?” he asked her.

“Vanilla,” she said, taking one step away from her mother. “Just like you. It’s my favorite.”

“Then I think we should have vanilla.” He glanced up at Caprice. “If that’s OK with your mother.”

“She likes chocolate,” Caprice said, almost sounding adamant about it. Her daughter was already smitten with this man…smitten enough to change her favorite ice cream flavor for him. It stung some, having Isabella’s attention, and possibly affections, divided just a little. It was only momentary, she knew, but that didn’t lessen the feeling that Isabella was so eager to allow someone else in. It had been just the two of them for so long she’d never thought in terms of anybody else. Especially not a man.

Caprice shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath, willing her sensibility back. Dr McCallan wasn’t a threat. He was merely Isabella’s reaction after another disappointment, courtesy of her father. That’s all. “Chocolate,” she whispered, trying to focus on something other than the man standing mere inches away. “We both like chocolate.”

“I like what he likes,” Isabella protested. “Va-vanilla!”

Adrian squatted down. “And you are?”

“Itha…Ith…Is-a-bella!”

“And I’m Adrian, Isabella.” He extended his hand to her, and she was not at all hesitant to take it. In fact, Caprice thought Isabella clung a little too long to Adrian’s hand. Another aftereffect of another disappointment from her father, she supposed. Isabella didn’t often have a man in her life and Adrian cut an imposing figure to an eight-year-old, as well as to a thirty-four-year-old. Tall, chestnut-colored hair, brown eyes. Friendly brown eyes, the kind that would smile even when his mouth didn’t. And nice, broad shoulders… She almost caught herself sighing over his broad shoulders. But she didn’t, of course. Instead, she took Isabella by the hand and led her down the corridor in the airport terminal, leaving Adrian to follow along behind them.

It was an odd first meeting. More than she expected, and a whole lot less. Not that she was sure what that meant. But Adrian McCallan wasn’t the stodgy old codger she’d thought him to be. Which could be a powerful problem, as it seemed her young daughter was already in full-fledged infatuation, dragging her heels, looking back at him and flirting in the way only an eight-year-old girl could flirt. “You’re getting chocolate,” Caprice said. “And that’s final!”

“So what brings you out here?” Adrian asked, taking a seat across from Caprice and Isabella in a little sweet shop in downtown San José. Already Isabella had chocolate smeared on her face, and instinctively he handed her his napkin. “Other than the surgeries you do, why Costa Rica?”

“This was the first place I ever came with Operation Smiling Faces and I fell in love with it.”

She had a little speck of chocolate above her lip and he handed her a napkin, too. Caprice Bonaventura…everything he’d expected in a good surgeon, and so much more. He’d known she was beautiful, even though he’d only seen her from afar. Then when he’d read the article about her, he’d been amazed by the scope of her work. Plastic surgery got such a bad rap. Vanity medicine was what most people thought. A new nose, eyelid readjustment, breast implants. That came to mind right off when you thought of a plastic surgeon. But she didn’t do vanity work. It was all corrective—birth defects, accidents, severe illness. She was an amazing doctor in the field. Noted internationally for her work. And up close, even the word “beautiful” seemed lacking. Caprice was exquisite. Shoulder-length black hair pulled back to the nape of her neck in a no-nonsense style, which made her look sexy as hell. Dark brown eyes surrounded by thick, black eyelashes. Sexy as hell again. And her body… No man should be having those kinds of thoughts about a woman with the woman’s daughter sitting next to her. But, damn it, Caprice was enough to rob a man of his breath, then hold it for ransom.

And that wasn’t just his long stretch of abstinence talking.

Sexy aside, though, she was a little tight where her daughter was concerned. Over-protective didn’t go far enough in describing what he was seeing right here. Isabella was a bright, outgoing child, beautiful like her mother, but Caprice seemed to stifle all that in her, and if there was one thing he did not want in his life, it was a woman with issues. Mother issues, professional issues, relationship issues. Issues of any kind. He’d had one, and Sylvie’s had been just the opposite of Caprice’s… She didn’t want to mother her child at all… Issues were issues. He steered clear. And that was going to include the over-stressed mother sitting across from him now. Which, admittedly, took away from some of that sexy-as-hell aura she’d been exuding.

No, he didn’t go anywhere near a woman like her. Burned once, and he wasn’t going back to the flame. Not even anywhere near it. That was his motto as well as his sworn oath.

“So you’ve kept coming back?” he asked, deliberately staring at his ice cream rather than at Caprice lest his motto wanted to slip a little.

“I know the area, the people. And as far as I’m concerned, Costa Rica is the most beautiful place on earth. As long as the children here need my help, this is where I’ll keep coming back.”

“And you’ve done how many surgeries?”

“Just over one hundred fifty now.”

“All free of charge?”

Caprice nodded. “It’s not about the money. We have sources who fund us, especially after they see the smiles.” She herself smiled, talking about her work. “And, like you, our staff is all volunteers.”

“It’s worthy,” Adrian commented, just as his cellphone jingled.

“You’ll have to go outside to get reception,” Caprice said. “And once we’re out in the jungle, you won’t get any at all. It’s back to the old-fashioned land lines.”

He glanced down at the number. His mother’s. Probably Sean wanting to talk to him, and as this might be the last time for a while, he was glad to step outside to say his temporary goodbyes to his son.

“Sylvie took him,” were his mother’s first words, after Adrian answered.

“What do you mean, Sylvie took him?” he said, not yet alarmed. “She came by earlier, and demanded to take Sean out for ice cream.”

“You let her?”

“She has shared custody, Adrian. I couldn’t stop her, could I?”

Damn, he hated shared custody. He’d fought for more at the original hearing and lost as the judge had believed a mother had rights, too. Under most circumstances Adrian would have agreed. But not in this case. Not with Sean. “So she hasn’t brought him back?” The warning hairs on the back of his neck were beginning to stand up.

“Not yet.”

“How long?” he asked, trying hard not to sound irritated with his mother. It wasn’t her fault after all. It was Sylvie’s.

“Five hours, Adrian.” Emma McCallan began to sniffle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to let him go with her, but she had papers…court papers.”

The infamous custody agreement. She always used it when she wanted something from him…money, mostly. “Did she tell you which ice-cream parlor?”

“Yes, and I called them. Sylvie and Sean haven’t been there.”

“And you tried calling her house?”

“Phone’s been disconnected.”

Now the warning hairs on his neck were rioting.

“Have you called Ben?” Benjamin Rafferty, his attorney.

“Yes, and he’s reported it to the police, but the police said that since Sylvie does have partial custody there’s nothing they can do about it if the child’s not in danger.”

“She runs off with my son and there’s nothing they can do?” He glanced back in the window at Caprice, who was staring at him, then turned his back to her. “Have him call a private investigator.”

“What if she hurts Sean?”

“She won’t. This is just for effect.” Sylvie was a lot of things, most of them not so nice, but she would never hurt her son. She wasn’t cruel like that at all, and as much as he wanted to throttle her for doing this, he truly didn’t fear for Sean’s safety. Not physical safety, anyway. But his emotional well-being…that was something entirely different. “She asked me to up her child support payments last week. Up them permanently. Enough to nearly wipe me out, and I turned her down.” He’d given in every single time before when she’d come at him, each time against his attorney’s advice. After all, Sylvie didn’t have custodial care of Sean, just occasional visitation rights, which legally entitled her to no financial support. But he’d done it merely to make things easier, to avoid arguments. To protect Sean.

In fact, if anything, she was legally obligated to pay Adrian child support. Which she didn’t, and he wouldn’t have accepted had she offered. But what she did was demand it from him in large amounts, always with the threat of dragging their whole custody issue into court one more time, which would pull Sean right into the middle of it. And Sean didn’t need to be part of the ugliness between his parents.

Adrian would not allow that. Not under any circumstances. It had already happened at the initial hearings after they’d separated, and Sean had suffered. So, not again. It was easier to meet the woman’s demands and leave his son out of it altogether. Except the last demand had been unreasonable. She’d wanted practically every penny he had, and in one lump sum at that!

That’s where he’d drawn the line and, for the first time in their rocky relationship, said no! Now Sylvie was having her say in the matter. “Tell Ben to get me the best he can find, and that I’ll be on the first plane back to Miami.”

“What about your obligations there in Costa Rica?” his mother asked.

What about them? He turned back around and saw Caprice still staring at him. “I’ll find someone else to take my place.” Though he knew that was easier said than done. He was the replacement. Replacing the replacement wasn’t going to be easy. Not on such short notice. He’d had to move heaven and earth to set his schedule aside for this, and getting someone else to do the same… “I’ll be home as soon as I can. And if Sylvie does bring Sean back, don’t let her near him again, Mom, no matter what kind of papers she shows you. Promise me you won’t let her near him until I’m there and can deal with her face to face.”

As he clicked off the phone and jammed it back in his pocket, he hesitated for a moment, trying to gather his wits before going back into the ice-cream parlor and walking over to the table where mother and daughter were finishing off their ice creams. It wasn’t fair to leave them in the lurch here, but he needed to be back home for Sean. His son came first. That’s all there was to it. “Dr Bonaventura,” he said before he’d even stopped in front of them, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”

CHAPTER TWO

BAD news. Why wasn’t she surprised? Judging from his body language throughout his phone call, she’d been pretty sure the news wasn’t good. Then, when he’d caught her eye and deliberately turned his back, she’d gotten the distinct impression that his bad news, in some way, affected her. Which could only mean he was backing out of his promise. The expression on his face right now confirmed it.

Caprice braced herself for the actual words, still hoping she was wrong. “Why do I get the feeling your bad news has direct bearing on me and Operation Smiling Faces?”

“Because it does. I have to return to Miami as soon as I can catch a plane out of here. Family emergency.”

“Someone died?” she gasped.

Adrian shook his head.

“Injured, ill?”

He shook his head again.

Now she was beginning to wonder. “Disaster?”

“No. Just something personal I need to take care of.”

Personal? The man had a personal problem and he was about to dump them? She shook her head in disbelief. It truly hadn’t crossed her mind that someone with such a sterling reputation as Adrian McCallan’s would back out on her. But he was doing just that, and he wasn’t giving her a good reason. There were many things she could and would accept, but a vague personal reason? “And what about your obligation here?” she asked, trying to delay her anger in case there really was a valid reason for him leaving.

“I don’t have a choice. I’ve been called back because of…” He frowned. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say that some finished business back home wasn’t as finished as I’d thought it was.”

“Unfinished business.” Initial shock over with now, it was all beginning to sink in and the anger was starting to bubble. He was leaving for nothing that seemed all that pressing, which meant there would be a shortage in her medical teams. They were geared up for four teams, and Adrian’s departure would reduce their workforce by one-fourth, because without the anesthesiologist the surgeon could not operate. As simple as that. Children expecting follow-up surgeries, or even the beginning surgeries in a long series of procedures, wouldn’t get what they expected because of Adrian’s unfinished business. In his two weeks here, that could mean as many as fifteen or twenty surgeries not getting done, fifteen or twenty children expecting a miracle and a smile being turned away. More tears over more ridicule.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what this unfinished business is, would you? I have numerous contacts back in the States, and maybe I can find someone to take care of your problems so you won’t have to leave.” Nice try, but from the dead hard set to his face, she knew she’d failed. He wasn’t about to tell her any more than he already had.

“Nothing you can help with,” he said gruffly. “And I’m sorry it worked out this way. I really intended to fulfill my part of the obligation. Unfortunately, it’s simply not meant to be this time.”

“Not meant to be?” she exploded, unable to keep it in any longer. “You’re pushing this off like it’s a casual trip to the grocery store. Can’t go this time but maybe next time. I resent that, Doctor, since so many people are depending on you as part of the surgical team.” Caprice glanced at Isabella, who’d stopped eating and was staring up wide-eyed at her, then she took a deep breath to steady herself. “We had an agreement, Dr McCallan,” she said stiffly, aware that there was no way, legal or otherwise, she could keep him there if he chose to leave. “I counted on you keeping your word.”

“So did I, Dr Bonaventura, but, like I said, something came up.”

“So, what am I supposed to do? Tell my patients that they’ll have to go away because something came up? Try to schedule them for another time, even though my next three trips down here are already booked solid with former patients? Tell them, tough luck, that a hemangioma doesn’t matter, or that Goldenhar syndrome can be fixed by heavy cosmetics, low-brimmed hats and lots of scarves? Because that’s not good enough. These people expect that when I promise them a procedure I’ll deliver it, and part of that delivery is you, Dr McCallan. Some of these children have waited for years and it’s not fair to tell them I’ll have to put them back on the list, that they might have to wait another few months or years.” She slapped her napkin down on the table, scooted her chair back across the floor so hard it hit the empty chair behind her, and stood. “That’s not good enough. And it’s not fair.”

“I’ll find a replacement,” he offered. “As soon as I return I’ll make some calls.”

“And have someone here when? By tomorrow morning? Because that’s when we open the clinic and start evaluating patients, looking at new cases coming in—and there will be dozens of them—and doing physicals for the children already scheduled for surgery. Will you have me that replacement by then, Doctor?”

“Who’s next on the list?” he asked. “I’ll call them right now, and I’ll assume the financially responsibility to get them here. I mean, it’s really not my intention to cause you any problems here. So, I’ll be glad to—”

“You’re next on the list, Doctor,” Caprice interrupted. “My other replacement wasn’t available, and the one after that is out with another of the Operation Smiling Face units right now. Meaning you were last on the list.”

“Last on the list?” he sputtered.

“Last. Very last. People are good to send money, but finding time to volunteer is another thing.”

“He’s not coming back to Dulce with us?” Isabella piped up.

Caprice turned to her daughter, fighting hard to erase the angry expression from her face. “No, sweetie, he’s not. He’s got to go back home as soon as he can.”

Isabella scrunched her face into a sulky little frown, then crossed her arms angrily across her chest. “I don’t want him to. I want Adrian to stay.”

Great, just great! One fleeing doctor, one pouting child. Could this day get any worse? “So do I, but it’s not my decision to make.”

“But you’re the boss,” she cried. “Can’t you make him?”

Caprice turned back to Adrian. “What would it take to convince you to stay?” she asked, the anger returning the instant she looked at him. This man was really leaving her in a lurch, and all she could think about were the disappointments and heartbreak she would have to cause. She hated that. Hated him for being the cause of it. “If it’s money—”

“Not money,” he interrupted. “Like I said, it’s just some matters that need my attention.”

“Can’t they wait for two weeks?”

He shook his head. “Look, I feel bad about this. I really wanted to come out here and do the work. And I’ll be willing to come back at another time…”

“Once is all you get, Doctor. I can’t afford second chances when somebody stands me up on the first chance. Not with the workload we carry here. It would be foolish of me to trust you again. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Then maybe one of the other units will have me in the future because I really want to do this. But right now I’ve got to get home. Sorry about that.”

Sorry? He was sorry? “Not half as sorry as the children will be,” she said, taking Isabella by the hand and leading her away from the table. As Caprice swished by Adrian, she shoved the check for the ice cream at him, then marched on out the door. Wasn’t much of a last word, and ever since her marriage to Tony had ended, she tried always to get the last word. No, a check for ice cream wasn’t much of a last word, but under the circumstances it was the best she could do.

Damn it, this wasn’t the way it should have worked out. Not only had Sylvie’s little ploy upset his mother, it had disrupted an important medical operation. All things considered, Dr Bonaventura had been very good about it. Much better than he would have been. She was actually pretty sexy when riled, he thought. Not that he’d intended to rile her. But he sure couldn’t help but see the obvious.

Sexy aside, though, he felt sick about what he had to do. Thinking about all those children who wouldn’t have their surgeries because of him…because of Sylvie…literally made him sick to his stomach. Suppose Sean had been one of those children? Suppose he’d been on a waiting list for a medical procedure only to be turned away because some selfish idiot of a woman had pulled a stupid stunt for money? Or some idiot of a man had never seen it coming?

Damn, he cursed himself for this as much as he did Sylvie. And in the meantime, a whole lot of innocent people were going to suffer. That was inexcusable. Absolutely inexcusable!

Adrian paid the bill then stepped out onto the street and spotted Caprice and Isabella fairly flying down the sidewalk. They were trying to get away from him, and he couldn’t blame them. What he’d just done wasn’t a very noble thing. In fact, it was downright despicable and he was embarrassed. “Ben,” he said, cellphone to his ear, as he followed them. “Suppose something detained me here and I couldn’t get home right away?”

“What do you mean?” his attorney asked.

“Realistically, how much help can I be if I come back to Miami today? Is there anything I can do to help find Sylvie and get Sean back?”

“Not much. I’ve got my best investigator on it, and the truth is, unless Sylvie wants to be found, there’s a good chance she won’t be until she’s damn good and ready. She wants to take you good this time, and you know what I’ve got to say about that.”

“Same thing you always say. Take it to court. Try and get all her parental privileges revoked. But you know what I’ve got to say about that.”

“I know. You want to protect Sean from all the ugliness, and I do understand that, Adrian. But until you can legally put Sylvie in her place, this is going to happen over and over. Also, if you think that having her take Sean with her is going to traumatize him any less than what he’s going through, being torn in half by the two of you, you’re sadly mistaken. Sylvie wants it all, and if she doesn’t succeed this time, next time’s only going to be worse. And Sean will be the one to suffer then, too. Bottom line is, you can’t protect him any more. He’s old enough to understand what this is about, and while you’ve fought a hard battle and done a good job taking care of him and protecting him, it’s out of your control now. Sylvie’s seen to that.”

That much was true. Ben was right. “I’ll give it some thought, and we’ll talk about it when I’m back in the States. For now, I don’t want the police involved, if there’s any way we can get around it.”

“They’re not particularly interested, so I don’t see any reason to drag them in. Like I said, I’ve got the best investigator on it money can buy. If Sylvie’s anywhere to be found, Paul Radke will find her. And going back to your first question about how much you’re needed here—my advice is to stay where you are. You’re too hot-headed when it comes to Sylvie. I don’t want you dealing with her yet. Especially if we’re going to position ourselves to get her into court at some time in the future.”

True again. He did tend to lose his temper where his ex-wife was concerned. Every time he did, she benefitted. From his bank account to her pocketbook.

“Communications aren’t good where I’m going. At least not by cellphone.”

“They have land lines and computers, don’t they?”

Grudgingly, Adrian conceded that they did. He really did want to go home, to be there for Sean when Sylvie brought him back, to take Sylvie to task one more time. But there was Caprice Bonaventure and Operation Smiling Faces to consider, too, and she didn’t deserve the fallout from this war between Sylvie and him. Neither did the children.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, Adrian doubled his pace to catch up to Caprice. “I’ll give you all my contact numbers and references as soon as I get to the hospital,” he told Ben.

“Good decision.”

“Then why the hell am I not feeling good about it?” he grunted.

“I’ll handle it, Adrian. Don’t worry. You know Sean’s safe with her. And if I need you here for any reason, I’ll let you know.”

That was the way they left it, and as Adrian tucked his cellphone back in his pocket, he wasn’t sure what he felt. He was sick over leaving Sean behind. Caprice had Isabelle here, and if Sylvie hadn’t interfered so much he’d have had Sean here, too. He was also worried. What father wouldn’t be? His son was missing. Safe or not with Sylvie, Sean wasn’t where he was supposed to be. That’s the only thing that counted here. So maybe Ben was right. Maybe it was time to bring an end to Sylvie’s involvement.

Or bring an end to his own if Sylvie had a mind to do it, as, after all, he really wasn’t Sean’s father.

“I thought he was nice,” Isabella said, as Caprice slowed down a little once they were away from the ice-cream shop.

“Nice, maybe, but when you make a promise you’re supposed to keep it.” Like Tony had promised to be a father to Isabella, even after the divorce. Like Adrian had promised to be her anesthesiologist. Other things always got in the way, didn’t they? And it was so easy to drop the really important matters when they did. Tony did without a flinch, and Adrian had without even the batting of an eyelash. So had her father, in so many ways.

Which was why she didn’t get involved with men on any level. She just didn’t trust them. Simple as that. Keep them at an arm’s length personally, let them stand in their professional place with her, but nothing else. That kept Isabella safe. Kept her safe, too.

Fighting the urge to look back to see if Adrian was watching them, and she knew he was from the feel of the prickly goose-bumps popping out on her arms, Caprice turned the corner and spotted the little landing strip at the private airport. Grant Makela was there, leaning casually against the airplane, eating a mango. Baggy khaki shorts hanging down to his knees, red and yellow Hawaiian print cotton shirt, sandals… Nice guy, Grant. He worked in a clinic on Oahu. Born and raised there, he was good for a couple weeks away from the islands before he got homesick and went back. But she could count on him for two trips during the year. Being a pilot helped, too. One of the local ranchers donated the plane, and Grant flew it when necessary.

He was truly one of the few men she did trust. Not her type, in his overly casual ways. But she liked him. Like a brother. And right now she couldn’t get to the plane fast enough. All she wanted was to leave San José and put the whole, ugly scene with Adrian McCallan miles behind her. Of course, what she was about to face wasn’t good—so many people to let down. But there was nothing she could do about that.

“Caprice!”

She heard the shout from behind her. Recognized the voice. Ignored it.

“Slow down. I want to talk to you.”

She didn’t want to talk to him, though. Not any more. What was there to talk about?

“Adrian wants us to stop, Mommy,” Isabella said, trying to tug her mother to a stop. “Mommy! We have to stop!” she cried, when Caprice only quickened her pace.

“If he wants to talk to me, he’ll have to catch up,” she replied stiffly, upping her pace even more, even though Isabella was trying to slow her down.

“Why don’t you l-like him?”

“I don’t know him well enough to like or dislike him,” she lied. Truth was, from that first tug of attraction until now, she simply didn’t know what she felt about Adrian. If he did have problems at home, and she certainly did understand problems at home as she’d had her fair share, she was being much too harsh about this. And as for the way Isabella acted toward him…well, the child liked him, and she was old enough to have her own opinions. Although Isabella’s quick reaction to Adrian did worry her some.

Still, what was it that had her nearly running away from a man she’d only just met?

“Look, Caprice, I don’t blame you for being angry, but I’ve made arrangements to stay.”

That stopped her. Dead in her tracks, actually. Taking a firmer grip on Isabella’s hand, she turned around slowly to face him. “So now you want to stay?” she snapped. “Quit one minute, come back the next?”

“I always wanted to stay,” he defended himself. “I didn’t think my circumstances would allow it, but I’ve made some arrangements that’ll let me stay here.”

She should have been glad to hear it, and deep down she was, but she still wasn’t able to react the way she should. Something about the man put her on the defensive. “Arrangements you could have made before you let me know how little you think of your obligation to Operation Smiling Faces? You’re not making a good first impression here, Doctor.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she couldn’t tell if the look was speculative, angry or amused. And that put her on the defensive all the more. “We’re a serious operation, and we deserve more respect than you’re giving us. I’m not so sure I want someone working with us who has an obvious lack of real concern for what we do, as you seem to.”

“You talk a lot, Doctor,” he said, his face dead serious even though a twinkle was in his dark eyes. “And say all the wrong things for someone who, only a few minutes ago, wanted me to stay.”

Standing there doing nothing more than staring at her, he was disarming her. Disarmed in one twinkle. Bad sign. Very bad sign, and she drew in a sharp breath to steady her resolve. “You expect me to grovel and slobber out a thank you after what you’ve put me through? Is that what this is about now? You’re trying to humble me, trying to put me in my place?”

“This is me trying to extend a sincere apology and honor my commitment. And what I expect you to do is get me to Operation Smiling Faces the fastest way you can.” He stepped up next to Isabella, who immediately latched onto his hand. “I’m sorry we got off to a bad start, and even more sorry about almost leaving. None of it is what I’d intended to happen, but it did, and all I can do is keep on apologizing. Or go to the hospital and start work, if you’ll have me. Your choice, Caprice. Do I stay, or do I go?”

In answer, Caprice started off toward the airplane, she holding one of Isabella’s hands, he holding the other. Neither Caprice nor Adrian spoke, but sandwiched between them, Isabella was smiling for all she was worth.

The flight was smooth enough, and Grant was certainly a fine pilot, but basically Caprice hated flying and hated flying in these little planes even more. Good thing for the Dramamine already in her system. She never flew without it. Good thing for the earphones, too, and the drone of Mozart from the CD player in her ears. None of this actually alleviated all her nervousness over stepping into an oversized tin can and having somebody hurl it straight into the air, but anything, short of tranquilizers, which she never took, that calmed her down and got rid of the nausea was just fine with her.

Isabella had gone to sleep almost immediately after they’d left the landing strip. She was curled up in the seat across from Caprice, totally oblivious to all the things that were currently making Caprice jumpy. Just as well. Poor child had enough problems without heaping her own phobia on top of them.

And Adrian… When he wasn’t sitting with a scowl on his face and a black cloud hanging over his head, he was shouting medical talk at Grant over the clatter of the engine. And so it went for the entire trip. When they finally landed on the grass strip cut into the thick of the jungle outside Golfito, Caprice was ready to get out and kiss the ground, she was so happy to be back.

“You don’t like flying much, do you?” Adrian asked, taking the sleeping child from the seat and carrying her to the door.

Caprice stepped up to take Isabella away from him, but he didn’t give her that choice. Instead, he exited the plane carrying her, taking obvious pains not to jostle or awaken her. Then when they were all on the ground and Caprice made another attempt to take Isabella, he shrugged her off.

“I can do that,” she whispered.

He smiled. “So can I, and for me she’s not so heavy.”

Caprice wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he being considerate, or was he trying to impose himself into a place he didn’t belong? Maybe her need to over-protect was causing her to read more into a simple gesture than was there. “I hate flying,” she said, falling into step with Adrian as they crossed the grass on the way to the pickup truck sent to fetch them. “Always have. Always will.”

“There are pills for that,” he said.

“I could get liquored up, too, but I don’t. It’s easier to listen to Mozart. Better for the body, too.”

Adrian gave Caprice a sideways glance, one that extended from head to toe—one she was not unaware of—then returned his focus to the truck ahead. “Look, I know we’re off to a bad start here, and I’m sorry about that. Since I’ve decided to stay, I’d like for us to find some way to have a cordial working relationship.”

“Since you’ve decided to stay?” she snapped. “Your first choice is to not be here. I don’t know what changed your mind and kept you here, Dr McCallan, and truthfully I don’t want to know. We don’t get into other people’s personal business. But as for that cordial working relationship you want…our working relationships here don’t have outside factors coming into them. We don’t allow that. We have a lot of work to do in a very short time, and distractions are costly. So if you want cordial, that’s fine. But as for your bad start, that’s not so easily forgotten. You nearly threw us into a position that would have damaged us, and it was clear that staying here and honoring your obligation wasn’t important enough to you. And even now you’re only here because something else came up that kept you from going home. That didn’t get past me, Dr McCallan. So, as far as I’m concerned, you can be as sorry as you want, but I’m wary and I’m going to stay wary until you prove yourself to me. Now, would you, please, hand me my daughter?”

“Do you hate all men, or is it just me?” he asked, still hanging onto the sleeping girl.

Caprice narrowed her eyes in anger. “This mission is about the children, Dr McCallan. That’s all it’s about. You don’t get to ask me personal questions.”

“So do you like your work?” he asked, stopping next to the old, green, dented, rusty truck and turning to face Caprice.

“I said no questions.”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You said personal questions. Asking you about your work is totally professional.”

Caprice opened the door to the passenger section behind the front seat and climbed in, then stretched out her arms to take Isabella. “How I feel about my work is highly personal, Dr McCallan,” she said as he slid the child over to her. Then, instead of continuing the discussion between them, or the argument, depending upon the perspective, she slammed the door shut, leaving Adrian to climb into the front seat with Grant and a local named Don Pepe, who’d volunteered to bring the truck to the landing strip.

No one said a word all the way to the hospital, partly because Isabella was still sleeping soundly—sleeping the way only a child could under the circumstances—and partly because Caprice’s bad mood seem to permeate even the rusty metal of the old truck. It wasn’t rational, the way she was feeling. She knew that. She even tried to force herself into a better mood, but something about Adrian McCallan was setting her off, and she simply didn’t know what it was. Meaning there was no way to put it right. She tried convincing herself that his preference to leave was the reason but, honestly, she knew better. That was only part of it, and the rest was a great big blank.

Sleep. After a good night of it things would be better tomorrow. She was sure of that. Well, not so sure as much as she hoped that would be the case. Because one thing was certain. If she didn’t get over it, working with Adrian McCallan was going to be impossible.

Briefly, she wondered if him going back to Miami might have been better for all concerned.

“I don’t know what you did to her,” Grant Makela said, showing Adrian to his little room. It was a sparse cell—bed, bathroom, chair, closet. Nothing inviting. Nothing nice. Just basic living space in the hospital resident quarters. “One of the reasons we all come out is because of Caprice. She’s extraordinary. Such passion.” He tossed Adrian’s duffle in the door. “She was pretty cheerful when we went to San José, but now…” He shrugged. “All I can say is good luck. She’s scheduled you to be on her surgical team, meaning the two of you are going to working in some pretty tight quarters. With the way she’s acting right now, all I can say is better you than me.”

“That ought to be fun, the two of us in the OR,” Adrian replied, thinking about the corrosive way in which the two of them had started. It was his fault entirely. He admitted that. Regretted it. But Caprice was as stubborn a woman as he’d ever met, and she wasn’t going to give him any mercy. Briefly, he wondered if anybody had ever earned her forgiveness.

Grant shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you get it worked out pretty soon, as we’ve got a full docket to get us started. Starting at seven tomorrow morning, by the way. And brace yourself for some long days. We work, on average, sixteen hours. Sometimes more. People are already lining up outside.”

Adrian went to the window and pulled back the blinds. Sure enough, there was a single line with about thirty people standing in it—mothers and fathers with children, grandparents, brothers and sisters—all people affected by a facial deformity in their lives. All there with the same purpose. “They’ll be here all night?” he asked.

“Some of them have been here since this morning. They come prepared for this.”

“But you won’t be able to see them all.”

“One way or another, everybody gets seen. Whether or not all the children get scheduled for a procedure is another thing. We prioritise. First, severity. Is the deformity affecting a substantial life issue like eating or drinking? Second, age. Caprice is very sensitive to how cruel people can be to children with facial deformities and she also knows that the older the child gets the more hurtful people can become, so she likes to get to the older children as soon as she can. Then another priority is the children who are likely to be abandoned because of the way they look, or may have already been abandoned. They go to the top of the list, too.”

“Then it’s not just about the procedure.”

Grant laughed. “Once you’ve been around for a couple of days, you’ll learn that there’s much more to this than only the medical procedure.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s going to start early, and I’m ready to turn in for the night. If you’re hungry, there’s a staff lounge down the hall. Refrigerator is full. We keep it stocked as there won’t be any regularly scheduled meals, so help yourself. And I’ll see you bright and early.” With that, he gave Adrian a salute, backed out the door and closed it after him, leaving Adrian standing in the middle of his sparse room, wondering just what in the world he’d volunteered to do.

He didn’t stand there thinking for too long, however. Once he’d shoved his foldable clothes into a drawer and hung up the rest in the closet, he left his room and hurried down the hall in search of a telephone. His first few hours with Caprice Bonaventura had gotten off to a rocky start, but maybe there would be some good news from home. Maybe Sylvie had come to her senses, brought Sean back, and life was back to normal.

She was always restless the night before they opened the clinic. Tonight she was even more restless than usual. Probably because she was tired. Probably because she wasn’t sure that, come morning, her anesthesiologist would still be there. Certainly, he’d started off on the wrong foot, and not just by almost leaving. Actually, it wasn’t that he was mean or grumpy or had any personality traits that truly rubbed her the wrong way either. It’s just that, well…she didn’t know what it was. More than that, she didn’t want to think about it.

Taking a look to make sure Isabella was fast asleep, Caprice decided to wander down to the cafeteria and scrounge a cup of coffee. There was always a pot brewing, and while a good jolt of caffeine wasn’t what she needed to calm her nerves, just sitting and relaxing might help. So she let Josefina, Isabella’s caregiver, know where she was going before she trotted off to the cafeteria. Josefina—she counted her blessings for that woman! She was a smart, sharp-tongued, outspoken, grandmotherly woman who truly loved Isabella. Caprice had known her since the first time she’d come to Costa Rica, nearly five years ago, and counted her as a dear friend. In fact, Caprice trusted her with Isabella as much as she trusted her own mother. If not for Josefina’s devotion, these long trips wouldn’t have been possible as Caprice would not have left her daughter home in California for more than a week or two. Not even with her own mother. Yes, the woman was truly a godsend, she thought as she closed the door behind her and scurried down the hall.

The cafeteria was dim inside when she got there, with only the minimum of lighting turned on. And so quiet that the faint electrical hum of the vending machines and refrigerator seemed almost an intrusion. A very nice mood here for the middle-of-the-night coffee craving, she thought as she found the coffee-pot, poured herself a cup, and took a seat at the table in the corner. It was obscured from almost everything else in the room by the vending machines, and she was glad to tuck herself away to be alone for this little while. She rarely got to do that, rarely got to have time to herself.

Sighing, she took her first sip of coffee, then settled back into the hard-backed metal chair and stared up at the green light from the coin return on the candy-bar machine reflecting off the ceiling. On the other side of the room, voices entering whispered in muffled tones, apparently in respect for the quiet atmosphere there.

Ten minutes. That’s all she would allow herself, then she’d return to Isabella, and try to get some sleep, too. Or else she’d be all baggy-eyed and sluggish come morning.

“You really do like doing this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice coming out of nowhere.

Caprice startled. “I didn’t see you,” she gasped, immediately bolting upright.

“I saw you,” Adrian said, taking a seat next to her. Without invitation. “You’re wound up pretty tightly for a woman who has a large medical operation ready to start in the morning.”

“I’m always like this the night before. There’s so much to do, and I’m afraid I’ll overlook something, or miss someone who needs to be seen. A lot of people depend on our trips down here, and…” Why was she telling him all this? It seemed that she was always babbling on around him. He had that kind of effect on her. Wary, yet babbling away. Odd mix.

“Somehow I don’t see you overlooking anything. My guess is that you’re obsessive over detail.”

“Not obsessive. Just careful.” Maybe a little obsessive, but she wasn’t going to babble on about that, too.

He chuckled. “There’s a fine line, and you’re over it, Dr Bonaventura. You couldn’t do otherwise.”

“What makes you think you know me so well?” she snapped, that strange response to him clicking on with a slight chill wiggling up her spine.

“Takes one look. Over-protective mother, a doctor passionate to her cause. How could you not be obsessive?”

“Protective,” she corrected. “Not over-protective.”

He chuckled again, then took a sip of his own coffee. “Your eyes practically popped out of their sockets when Isabella took to me. Oh, you were polite about it. But you were bothered. Admit it.”

“You’re a stranger. I’ve taught her never to talk to strangers.”

“It’s hard for children to make the distinction between strangers and friends when the person they trust most in the world introduces that stranger into their life. Child trusts parent, therefore child trusts parent’s judgment. You brought me into Isabella’s life and she trusted that.”

He surprised her, sounding so insightful in matters to do with children. Of course, his own medical practice was devoted to children, so that was probably the reason. He worked with them every day. “Are you to be trusted, Dr McCallan?”

“Depends, I suppose.”

“On what?”

“To what aspects of my life are you referring? Medically, as a doctor, I’m absolutely to be trusted. Personally, as a friend, I’ve never had anyone say I’m not trustworthy.”

“But as a man?” she asked, immediately regretting it. That had just slipped out. Some of her true sentiments shining through, the ones she never, ever let loose around any aspect of her professional life.

“I’d say that’s pretty revealing,” he answered. “A mother alone in the Costa Rican jungle with her daughter. No wedding ring on her finger. Very distrustful of men. I’d say those are all signs of a relationship ending very badly.”

“And I’d say those are personal things I don’t discuss.”

“But didn’t you open the door to that conversation by asking me if I’m trustworthy as a man? That seems like personal conversation to me, and if you’re allowed to indulge in it, in all fairness, I should be given the same consideration.” He sat his cup down on the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “And the answer to your question is yes. As a man, I can be trusted. So now it’s your turn. You owe me one. Did the relationship end badly?”

She glared across at him, and even though the room was dim, she could see the intense look on his face. He was serious. He really did expect an answer. “Why do you want to know?” she asked.

“Because I like to know with whom I’m dealing. My reading on you before I came here didn’t reveal much. Mostly academic credits, medical accomplishments. Certainly nothing about Caprice the person. By design, I’m sure.”

“And why would knowing more about Caprice the person benefit you?”

“I’m not answering any more of your questions until you answer mine. In this world, you always have to give a little something to get something.”

Caprice huffed out an impatient sigh. Her time was up. She needed to get back to Isabella. “In this world, sometimes it’s nice to give something without expecting anything in return for it.” With that, she stood, then looked down at him. “And in answer to your question, yes. It ended badly. As badly as a marriage could possibly end.” Then she left him sitting there.

When she got out into the hall she slumped against the wall, thinking about putting her burning cheeks up against the cool cement blocks to stop the heat. Instead, though, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and fairly ran to her room before anyone had a chance to see how badly she was blushing. And shaking. And going wobbly in the knees.

From the end of that same hallway Adrian stood in the cafeteria doorway, watching Caprice make her hasty retreat. When she finally disappeared through her door, he returned to the public telephone to make yet another try at a call home.

CHAPTER THREE

THE room was basic. One great, open area partitioned into separate exam spaces by curtains, with each cordoned space containing a stainless-steel exam table, a stool for the doctor and a chair for the child’s parent, blood-pressure cuff, hand disinfectant, gloves—the most basic of medical equipment. Minimally equipped, yet equipped well enough.

Near the main entrance to the room stood several rows of brown folding chairs, all set up in neat long rows for parents and children awaiting their turn with one of the doctors. And there was a play area in the corner with donated bright red, blue and green plastic toys for the youngest children. It was always the most popular spot in the room—a place for them to come together to make new friends.

When the room wasn’t in use as a mass exam for Operation Smiling Faces, it served as a hall for hospital meetings and in-service training sessions—a multi-purpose room in function with three white cement block walls and a fourth wall that was more a row of windows overlooking the lush Costa Rican jungle.

Caprice liked the room. Over the many times she’d been here, she’d come to appreciate the sparse quality of it, and even taken it on as a symbol of their mission—basic, without extras, minimally equipped, yet equipped well enough to give the children what they needed. No one complained that, in surgical sequences which would require multiple procedures, the entirety of the medical treatment might be spread out months, even years longer than it would elsewhere. The people here weren’t like that. They weren’t impatient or presumptuous. Rather, they were kind, friendly and, most of all, appreciative.

Perhaps that’s why she kept coming back. In truth, she loved the smiles. One smile on a face that had never before smiled made all the effort worth everything it took to reach the medical end.

The medical end…even her own Isabella hadn’t reached the end yet. She would require more surgeries over time as her face matured. The same with many of these children. Tweaks to compensate for growth, maybe another scar reduction depending on how technology advanced. More dental work. But then, somewhere, came a logical, beautiful end to it—an end everyone in this room wanted badly. Including herself, for them, and for Isabella.

This morning, Caprice had ordered all the blinds closed as there were so many people now waiting outside those windows. Many more than last night. Hopefuls who didn’t have a scheduled appointment but came anyway, in the expectation that their child might find a place on the ever-growing appointment list. Sighing as she shut the last of the blinds on the more than one hundred people out there, Caprice turned back to face her team. “It gets bigger and bigger every time we’re here,” she said, smiling. It didn’t bother her. In fact, it rather pleased her that she was trusted here.

“All facial disfigurations?” Adrian asked.

“No. About half the people here know there’s some kind of free medical treatment being given to children, so they bring their children no matter what’s wrong. Tonsillitis, common virus, skin rashes. Sometimes nothing’s wrong at all.”

“Sometimes the adults try to pass themselves off as children,” Grant Makela commented, laughing.

“And?” Adrian asked.

“If it’s simple,” Grant replied, “and we have time, we take care of them. If it’s anything more than a scratch or a bump, anything requiring real treatment, we refer them to the hospital.”

Caprice nodded her agreement. “Medical standards are good here in Costa Rica, but there are always poor people in need no matter where you go, and in this area the medical facilities aren’t adequate for the overall need,” Caprice said, then smiled. “You can’t blame people for trying. I’d probably do the same.” In her heart she knew there would have been nothing she wouldn’t have done to find help for Isabella. More than anyone else in this group could realize, Caprice did understand that need in a parent.

“And if the hospital won’t see them?” Adrian asked.

“Then there’s nothing we can do.”

“In other words, we let them walk away!”

He sounded exasperated—much more so than he should have. Truth was, he’d known the protocol before he’d come. So why was he on the verge of arguing with her? Caprice’s brow knit with curiosity rather than anger over his near-challenge. “That’s not fair, Doctor. Each and every one of us gives everything we have to this cause, but that doesn’t always work out for the people who want to see us. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.” My, but he was irritable this morning. Irritable and, from the looks of that scowl clamping down over his face, itching to pick a fight with someone. Well, not her, not now. She didn’t have time. “We do the best we can do and hope it’s enough.”

“And the best we can do is send them out the door with a pat on the back and good wishes?” he continued.

Caprice finally leveled a cool stare at Adrian. Well, so much for forcing the situation between them. “You send them to me and I’ll make the decisions. At this stage of the operation your only job is to do a preliminary exam and give me your opinion. Do you understand me, Dr McCallan? The one, and only, thing I want from you is your medical opinion. I’ll take care of the decisions.”

Instead of reacting with a comeback or even a frown, he merely stared back at her, nearly as cooly as she stared at him. And didn’t speak.

One problem doctor out of the bunch. She’d had them before—the ones who knew better than everybody else. The ones whose opinions were the only ones that mattered—or so they thought. In the scheme of things it was easier to leave those types alone and let them do their work. Most were here only two weeks, and for what she got out of them in those two weeks, Caprice found it much easier to allow them their attitudes and opinions and bad moods. In the end she was still in charge, and she still made the final decisions regarding each and every patient they took on. She knew that, and normally she took care not to flaunt it. Yet something about Adrian made her want to flaunt it. Or need to.

She watched him standing by the window, brooding, and desperately hoped that he wasn’t going to present any problem worse than his attitude and mood. Those she could handle, but anything else…

“So, as some of you know, and others may have already observed, there are ten doctors out on this trip. Four surgeons, four anesthesiologists, and two general practitioners. Also along are a group of ten nurses, surgical techs and general medics. Next week I’ll have three dental surgeons coming in.” This was her largest group ever and, judging from the numbers of people lining up outside, she worried if it would be enough. “So, we all know what to do for starters. Find your exam space, and one of the volunteers will start showing patients in. Do a preliminary physical exam, all the standard things, note any other physical observations you find, and based upon what you see, make a recommendation.” She glanced at Adrian, who’d completely turned his back to her now, and was focused on the line of people waiting outside. “We’ll each do general duty today and tomorrow, and go to a third day if necessary. Children who meet the criteria for surgery will be sent to me and children who need medical care not connected to Operation Smiling Faces will be sent to Dr Makela for further evaluation. Any questions?”

She looked straight at Adrian, expecting something from him, but his back was still to her. “Well, then. Good luck. If you need anything, or have any questions, I’ll be in the private exam room across the hall.” That was where she made the final determinations, where she accepted children for facial reconstruction or rejected them. Broke the good news, or the bad, to the hopeful parents and eager children. Gave that pat on the back and good wishes, as Adrian had called it. “Dr McCallan, could I see you in my office in five minutes?” she asked, then signaled for Isabella, who was anxious to go off to the play area with Josefina.

“So, is this where you dole out the punishment for me being out of line?” Adrian asked, strolling into Caprice’s office and shutting the door behind him.

It was a small office, stark. One desk, two chairs. An exam table. No window. Adrian gave it a quick scan then plunked himself down on the edge of the stainless-steel exam table.

“No. This is where I give you the opportunity to tell me what the bad attitude is about.” Like he would! But she figured that was as good an opening as any.

“You consider being inquisitive a bad attitude?”

She’d hoped he might have mellowed out, but apparently he hadn’t. “I consider the way you challenged me in front of the others a bad attitude. Or bad manners.”

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