Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III

by Barbara Lohr

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us, and a big role is bolstering the spirits and expanding the knowledge base of Guatemalan midwives. Following the Peace Accords of 1996, the government insists on sending patients to hospitals, where midwives are not allowed,” Selena continued. The group shifted in their seats. “Hospital care in Guatemala is not necessarily top-notch. They have a very high C-section rate in the hospitals, which worries the midwives. On top of that, if anything goes wrong, the midwives are blamed for their early involvement.”

  The room fell silent. Laughter from a group passing in the hallway was a sharp contrast to Selena’s grim expression. “We hope to fortify those practitioners as well as train newbies in ways to handle some of the emergencies they may run into. They need to know when a transfer to a hospital might be the only hope.”

  For a second, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner.

  “What about the food?” Sherry asked, breaking the tension. “We bring our own stuff?”

  Selena nodded and a list appeared on the screen. “Of course, basic food is supplied, but it's simple. If you drink tea, bring it. Gluten free products? Pack them in your duffle bag. Also, you might want to bring a small umbrella or poncho. Still the rainy season down there. Reading light or small flashlight. Backpack to keep organized. Never hurts to have some mace handy, not that we expect any problems. Insect repellant is also a good idea.”

  McKenna was jotting things on her pad while Logan took a few notes on his phone.

  A hand went up to the side. “What about family photos? Didn’t we take those last year?”

  Selena nodded. “Sure, bring family pictures. Pictures help break the ice. Even if you can’t speak their language, the pictures do.”

  He’d take a pass on that.

  Slides continued to flip on the screen. “Here is a little background about Guatemala.” As Selena ran through data on a country struggling in the aftermath of a thirty-six year civil war, Logan was amazed and humbled. Talk about resilience. Although he’d always known his life had been privileged, the information on the screen served as a stark reminder. To spend the summer golfing and sailing in his free time almost seemed criminal in the face of need like this.

  And the children. They looked hungry. The taste of the oatmeal cookie lingered on his tongue, criminally rich. The dark-haired kids with wide smiles and hollow cheeks, sitting on hard-packed dirt with sticks for toys did it. He made his decision right then.

  Haiti? The Philippines? He’d felt helpless in the face of those two enormous disasters. Now that he had this opportunity in Guatemala, he was taking it.

  “There’s a desperate need for family planning education,” Selena continued. “Our base station this year will be El Limar, a village in the highlands northeast of Guatemala City. Once people from other villages hear we’re there, they come, usually on foot.”

  McKenna stopped writing and focused on the photos fading in and out on the screen. He saw his own sadness in McKenna’s face.

  Any homes pictured were mere sheds or huts. Then the pictures took a different turn. In contrast to the disturbing poverty, the location looked jaw-droppingly beautiful. And unlike a lot of European countries, its lush tropical vegetation, soaring mountains and crystal streams hadn't been spoiled. Not yet.

  But you can’t eat scenery.

  “So what did you think?” McKenna asked when Selena brought her talk to a close.

  “About what? Bringing my special tea?”

  McKenna swatted him playfully with her notebook. “Not quite. Is this something that interests you?”

  “Is this a pass or fail test?” What did this project mean to McKenna? Funny, but he didn’t want to disappoint her.

  Her presentation completed, Selena had taken the chair on his other side. “So, Dr. Castle, can we count on you?”

  “Selena, you should work for the Foundation. Of course I’d like to help,” he said slowly, trying to fill in the blanks. “What do you see as my role?”

  Never breaking eye contact, Selena leaned closer. “Some of the women need your surgical skill.”

  Was he imagining that McKenna tensed next to him?

  “Tubal ligations? What are we talking about here?”

  His apprehension deepened when McKenna and Selena exchanged a glance. “Restoring vaginal integrity,” Selena finally said in an undertone.

  “What?” Okay, that came out louder than he’d intended. Logan sucked in a breath when Sherry Barry glanced their way. “That sounds more like a Congressional bill than a medical service.”

  McKenna had fallen silent, hands twisted tight in her lap. “Guatemala is a conservative country,” Selena said, keeping her voice low. “To be respected, women must marry with their hymen intact. But for some, that isn't possible.”

  “They have little or no knowledge of effective contraception, Logan,” McKenna added. “So far the government has not been proactive. Women have few choices.” A delicate line appeared between her brows as the two of them described what was probably the case in many underserved countries—few rights for women and punishment if they broke the rules.

  Hypocrisy at its worst and he hated it.

  “Teresa, the midwife organizing our visit, has told us that women will travel a long distance for this service. Don’t worry, this is not an epidemic, but it happens. Although some unscrupulous physicians are offering the surgery, the price is high and there have been many problems,” McKenna concluded with a disgusted shake of her head. The intensity of her conviction stirred something deep inside.

  What they were describing was far from his antiseptic operating room where well-heeled women delivered babies into lives of baby formula and doting grandparents. Of course, even in the best environment, mistakes could happen. If he could save one child from suffering the fate of his son, it would be worth it. “I'm in.”

  When McKenna smiled, warmth unfurled in his stomach. But he wasn’t doing this because of her. At least, not totally.

  “Terrific.” Beaming, Selena shot out one hand. “Thanks, Dr. Castle.”

  “You can call me Logan, Selena.” He ignored the twinge of trepidation as he shook her hand. What was he getting himself into? But he just couldn’t sit on the sidelines.

  Exhaustion forgotten, he couldn’t wait to get to his laptop at home. There was so much he wanted to learn about Guatemala.

  ~.~

  Going into that weekend, McKenna felt giddy. Logan was coming to Guatemala. On the heels of elation came a wave of reservation. What if her own enthusiasm had swept him into a situation he might not handle well? Could a man with a structured, squeaky clean life handle the grinding poverty and everything that came with it?

  Bring it on. Best to know it now.

  She was sitting in her office staring out at the leaves shriveling from the heat on the trees in the courtyard. The weather had been brutal. Her mind circled the Logan problem like the airless wind that sucked the air out of Chicago. Maybe she’d invite him to dinner. Give him a chance to opt out of the trip. Just a friendly chat.

  But her body wasn’t agreeing with the “friendly” bit. She squirmed in her chair, remembering brunch at his condo. The food wasn’t uppermost in her mind. Goosebumps rose when she remembered his hands. Who knew they could be so talented? His wandering lips? Brought a damp rush to her lap. Her office chair squeaked as she shifted restlessly. She reached for her chocolates. After enjoying one dark bite thoroughly, she grabbed her phone.

  “Want to hang out Saturday night?” she asked when Logan picked up.

  “Hang out?” His tone indicated she’d invited to tour the morgue.

  “Right, I’ll make dinner. We can talk about the upcoming trip. Make our lists. You might have some questions.” She was clutching the phone so tight her hand cramped.

  “Um, sorry, McKenna. I have dinner plans Saturday. But thanks for the invite.”

  Disappointment swamped her. “Oh, well, sure.”

  “Sorry.” Was that a smile in hi
s voice? “What about golf Sunday? Practice our game.”

  Game? “Golf, right?”

  “Of course? What else?” He was toying with her. She loved and hated it.

  By the time they ended the call, she was wondering who the heck he was going out with on Saturday.

  “What’s up?” Selena lounged in her open doorway. “Girl, you look like you lost one of your best friends.”

  McKenna chewed on her lower lip. “I invited Logan for Saturday dinner, but he has ‘plans.’ Suggested golf Sunday instead.”

  Selena’s cackle did nothing to ease McKenna’s discomfort. “Good for him. You better decide what you want from that man, McKenna. The goal is to be the Saturday night date, not the Sunday filler. You gotta be the main event, girl.”

  “Hey, I don’t need that, okay?” Selena was right and they both knew it. Every woman knows the Saturday night date ranks higher than Friday night. Sunday afternoons? For cripe’s sake, they hardly ranked at all. McKenna was relieved when her phone rang. Answering the call, she could hear Selena’s laugh as she retreated down the hall.

  That Sunday they played golf at Logan's club. McKenna was eager to improve her game before the Foundation golf outing in August. The Marketing Department was doing a stellar job of promoting the event. Already they had signed three anchor sponsors, as well as dozens of gold and silver supporters.

  But she really didn’t feel like playing golf today. The day was hot and sunny, with not even a breeze for relief. The backs of her thighs stuck to the vinyl seat of the golf cart, and perspiration trickled from her upswept hair.

  “Good thing we’re not sailing.” Moving restlessly next to her in the cart, Logan looked up at the leaves of a maple tree hanging listlessly overhead.

  “Right, although a dip in the water would be nice.”

  Logan in a bathing suit. She had to blank that image out while they waited for the couple ahead to tee off. Play was so very slow. Mouth dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. After picking up her now-empty cup of iced tea, she swirled the melting ice cubes. One glance at Logan and she knew that no liquid would slack her thirst.

  “Maybe it's too hot for golf,” Logan whispered, so close that she could see the perspiration beading his sculpted lips, could feel the damp warmth of his breath on her skin. “Maybe we should head back to my place?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Wait, what had she just said?

  Without another word, he backed up the cart and headed for the clubhouse. They were bundling their clubs into the back of the Porsche when her phone went off. Logan’s head bowed.

  “It’s the ER,” she said, checking her phone. “Brody Lightcap.”

  “McKenna, we just admitted a patient named Angie Dowd,” Brody told her, voice terse when she took his call.

  “Right, Angie’s in my natural childbirth class. I'm on my way. Brody, how bad is it?”

  “We won't know the whole story until we run some x-rays and tests. She's beat up pretty bad, McKenna.”

  “Be right there.”

  “What is it?” Logan asked, ripping the car door open for her.

  Sliding into the passenger seat, she didn’t trust herself to say much. “A patient from one of my classes.” Angie’s pale face flashed in her mind as Logan tore out of the parking lot.

  Bless his heart, Logan broke just about every law in the books speeding down the Eisenhower toward the city. Maybe the police saw his OB MD license plate because they didn’t stop him.

  When they reached Montclair, he left the car in the doctor’s slot. The two of them slammed through the doors of the ER. Recognizing them, the receptionist waved them back.

  Face stormy, Brody was coming out of the cubicle as they approached. “We’re taking her to radiology, McKenna. Maybe she'll talk to you.” His expression said it all and her stomach tightened.

  “Really bad, Brody?”

  “Some asshole broke her jaw.”

  Behind her, Logan expelled a breath. “I'll wait out here, McKenna.” He squeezed her hand before she went into the cubicle.

  Under the stark overhead lighting, Angie’s slender form was covered with a white sheet, her baby bump a slight hope.

  “Angie, it's McKenna,” she said softly, fighting her own tears.

  Although the girl’s left eye was swollen shut, Angie’s right eye fluttered open. A tear squeezed out, headed for a jaw visibly misaligned.

  “You don't have to say anything, Angie, but you're going to be all right.” She unhooked a stethoscope from the wall. Lifting the sheet, she listened for the baby’s heartbeat. “We're going to do some tests, Angie, but the baby sounds good. For now.”

  Angie whimpered and McKenna’s fists knotted. She wanted to kill the bastard. After checking Angie’s IV for pain medication, she told her she’d be right back and slipped into the hall to update Logan.

  “I’m going to stay here,” she told him.

  Logan nodded, pushing one tangled curl behind her ear. “Call if you need me.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  His knuckles brushed her chin softly. “No, I mean it. Call.”

  Logan’s words bolstered her as she watched him walk away. He seemed like such a steady guy.

  And that thought is totally premature. She returned to Angie.

  Throughout that afternoon, she stayed with the girl, accompanied her to radiology and conferred with Jeff Botsford on the films. Angie’s jaw and right arm were broken. They were still assessing any internal injuries.

  Cindy came in to talk briefly with Angie, assuring her that she was not going back to that apartment. The women's shelter that Cindy had in mind was the same facility Fay Shriver, the Foundation Board member, had mentioned.

  “But you're going to be staying here for a while,” McKenna told Angie. “Cindy will talk to your boss at work. Don’t worry about that.”

  In the afternoon, Logan reappeared with a carton of soup and a ham sandwich from Panera.

  “How did you know I haven’t eaten lunch?” she asked as she wolfed down the sandwich in an ER consult room.

  Logan grinned. “I know you. Patients first, food later.”

  His silent support was something she sure wasn’t accustomed to but now discovered she needed.

  Good grief. She was starting to need Logan Castle.

  Chapter 12

  While McKenna clucked over Angie like a mother hen, the battered girl continued to improve. With Cindy’s help, three days later Angie was discharged to New Horizon, the women's shelter. Thank goodness Angie’s baby survived the cruel attack. The short conversation McKenna had with Angie before discharge indicated the girl was torn. She realized she was in no position to raise a child. At Angie’s request, Cindy put her in touch with an agency that handled private adoptions.

  McKenna was thinking through other options for Angie when Logan called to ask her to join him the following Sunday on his boat. “Sounds fabulous.” Humidity and heat bore down on the city. Flattered, she was still aware she was the Sunday date.

  Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? Her mind spun as she prepared a picnic lunch Sunday morning for Logan and her to enjoy later that day on his boat. As she layered thick slices of ham with brie and Dijon mustard, a bad case of jitters plagued her stomach. She was glad Logan had decided to join the Guatemala group, but she was still nervous about it. Would the trip into the wilds prove to be too much for Logan? Could he function successfully without a sterile operating suite for his use?

  After pulling on a coral polo and white shorts, she finished packing the wicker lunch basket. Outside the kitchen window, finches competed with cardinals for seeds at the bird feeder—a scurrying bundle of feathers and high-pitched chirping. Comfortable on her window platform, Sasha followed their activities with great interest, tail twitching.

  “Know how you feel, little girl,” McKenna murmured. “Sometimes what you really want is just beyond your reach. Those birds would peck your eyes out if you got near them.” Nibbling on
one of the chocolate-covered strawberries, she knew Vanessa and Amy would laugh at her. What advice had she given both of them? “Be a babe.”

  Right now McKenna was terrified to follow her own advice. With a sigh, she threw some chocolate brownies into the basket.

  The front doorbell rang and Sasha leapt from her perch, startling the birds from the feeder. After clicking the basket shut, McKenna crammed a baseball cap on her head and dashed for the door. Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the parquet floor she’d laid by hand.

  When she threw open the door, Logan stood smiling in the glow of a summer day. Clean shaven and wearing a crisp blue and white striped oxford cloth shirt with his khaki shorts, he looked unbearably handsome. “Ready for a little sailing?”

  “You bet.” She gave him a quick kiss.

  Minutes later, they were in the car and on their way down Lake Shore Drive. “How’s your student doing?” he asked. “The girl from your class?”

  “She’s at the shelter now.” As they drove, she filled him in on Angie’s condition.

  “Thank God you took an interest,” he said.

  “If I didn’t, who would?”

  “Right, but today let’s relax and have fun.”

  With a deep sigh, she settled into the leather bucket seat. “So things are hectic with you too?”

  He shrugged as he shifted. “Just busy, with Priscilla coming on board. It’s all good.”

  “So how's that coming?” she asked, angling her body toward him. Seemed like she was always running into Priscilla in the hospital. So perky and perfect. McKenna had shoved her in Logan’s direction and now she wondered. Was Priscilla his Saturday date? McKenna would cut out her tongue before she’d ask.

  Eyes on the road, he pursed those wonderfully sculpted lips. “Bringing someone new on board requires time. Pays off in the end. But we’re going to forget all that today.”

  The parking lot at Dusable Harbor was crowded. On weekends, boat owners were probably eager to get out on the lake, Logan explained. Gulls cawed overhead and a playful breeze tousled the long curls that bounced from her cap as McKenna followed Logan to the office. The smell of the lake engulfed her, rich and damp. Within a few minutes, they were in a dinghy, and a young man named Mike buzzed them out to a blue-and-white sailboat with trim, clean lines. Larger than she expected and very Logan, except for the name.