Thursday's Opening Scene from the Taurus Scorpio Connection #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Contemporary medical romance #astrology romance

 

The ceiling fan stirred the hot, humid air. Alien aromas of sweat, spices and perfumes assaulted her. Lauren Richmond leaned against the examining table and wiped her forehead with a cotton bandanna. A babble of voices floated through the partially open door of the triage room. She looked for Chandra and remembered the tiny Indian nurse had left for the day.

Lauren’s eyes blurred. A sneeze exploded. Her throat ached and a dull pain settled above her eyes. She looked down at her wrinkled khaki slacks, glad she wasn’t wearing white the way she would have at a hospital in the States.

The chatter from the waiting room became the voices of Babel, dislocating her in time and space. For an instant she wondered where she lived this week and what year headed the calendar. A dozen scenes from as many countries flashed in her thoughts. For the past four years she’d worked for International Health Rescue Mission as part of a team following disasters and dispensing medical care and training native health workers.

She opened her eyes. The moment of disorientation vanished. India. The team had settled in the costal plains where a cyclone had ripped through villages and towns leaving death and disease behind. She gripped the edge of the examining table and willed herself not to collapse.

After pulling her spinning emotions under control, she walked to the door of the triage room and motioned to the next group of patients. A dark-skinned woman with pleading brown eyes spoke in a high-pitched voice joining syllables with staccato beats. Three wide-eyed children clung to her sari. As if offering a gift the woman held out a baby. Lauren took the child.

The infant’s swollen belly and thin limbs spoke of malnutrition. Fevered flesh burned Lauren’s hands. The weak mewling cries brought tears to her eyes. She bathed the baby in tepid water and then plunged a needle into the thin muscles of his buttocks. With shaking hands she handed the mother a bottle of sugar water and several of diluted formula. Next, Lauren examined the little girls.

The sing-song spate of chatter stopped. Lauren looked around. Neil Bourne stood in the doorway. Though the day had almost ended, his khakis looked neat. His dark hair, lightly sprinkled with gray and the lines of experience in the corners of his eyes, revealed the ten years’ difference in their ages.

He smiled. In the past, his smiles had brought comfort and allowed her to speak of her dreams like a child talking to a trusted uncle. Today, his smile made her edgy.

“Dear girl, it’s nearly eight. Time to close shop for the day. You work too hard and too long.”

“No more than you.” She studied his face. Something in his expression told her he had news. Was the team moving to the scene of some new disaster? She wanted to protest another dislocation.

“Let me help you finish.”

Unwilling to let her tiredness show, she nodded, stepped to the door and gestured to the next patient.

For an hour, she and Neil assessed the rest of the patients in the waiting room. When the last patient had been seen, she closed the door and slumped on a chair.

“Time to leave.”

Neil’s deep voice lured her to her feet. She washed her hands and splashed water on her face. As they crossed the road to the house where members of the team lived, only his hand at her elbow kept her from staggering.

“Dinner?” he asked.

“Let me change.”

He shook his head. “If I let you go, you’ll collapse on the bed and miss another meal.”

She followed him into the house. “It’s too hot.”

“It’s a far cry from London in May,” he said. “Here, there’s the hot wet season and the hot dry season.”

“It’s not like home either.” Where was home? A chill made her tremble. Her vision blurred and she sank on a dining room chair. Flies droned. The ceiling fan stirred the air.