wall of his office said, “Doctor Mitchell Rollins.” Wanting to get the hell out of Dodge wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Better doctor up.
He strolled around the makeshift infirmary. Twenty or so wounded people lay on cots or stretched on the ground. Mitch averted his eyes from the one lying too still. Another doctor pulled a sheet over the woman’s face.
God, he’d landed in a war zone!
The world trembled. Yeah, a war zone. At war with Mother Nature.
“Can you see to him?” Another doctor heaved a weary sigh and nodded toward a man a few feet away, one leg wrapped in bandages.
Don’t look around. Don’t think about where you are. With no other thought in his head but what he needed to do in the moment, Mitch dropped his pretenses and became the doctor his mentor always claimed he was.
The sun rose as Mitch sat on the ground by a pallet, watching over his new favorite patient. The tiny girl couldn’t have been more than three or four, her face and one arm swathed in loose bandages, the rest of her body sporting bruises and intermittent burns. She’d made no sounds when he’d checked and redressed her wounds, save for tiny whimpers. She needed a hospital.
Though she’d been silent, the night around him had been filled with screams and moans. Three of the wounded hadn’t lived through the night. The cries of their loved ones ripped into Mitch’s soul. He’d been very young the last time he’d lost someone close to him—a great aunt—but still remembered thinking life was over. Here were people who’d lost husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers—even children.
He sought out the little girl. The steady rise and fall of her chest beneath tattered clothes helped him breathe easier. “You won’t get this one,” he declared to the sky. “I won’t let you have her.”
Several men stepped from the trees, a large piece of canvas stretched between them, backs bent from the weight.
So weary his eyes felt coated with sand, he searched the horizon for signs of Arnulfo.
Several doctors rushed for the canvas, their grim expressions clearly saying, “No survivors.”
A soft cough brought his attention back to the child lying so still and otherwise quiet on a blanket. Her eyes were open. “Papa?”
Mitch looked to Cassie, seated on the girl’s other side, who replied, “No Papa.”
The girl nodded, large eyes dark and pleading. When she slipped her hand inside Mitch’s, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Didn’t want to pull away.
“I see you’ve found my favorite patient.” That voice! Relief flooded through him.
“Papa!”
Papa? What? Arnulfo? A father? Mitch whipped his head around to face the cause of the little girl’s smile.
While soothing Spanish words calmed the child, Arnulfo begged Mitch with his eyes, “Not now! I’ll explain later.”
Damned right he’d explain. Had he been leading Mitch on, using him for a bed warmer while away from the wife and kid waiting back home? Wouldn’t be the first time Mitch heard of such. He’d even willingly entertained visiting doctors who remained closeted at home.
But he’d never been a home wrecker—not consciously anyway.
Together the men sat by Lida’s cot. Who knew Arnulfo had such a great singing voice, or a goofy grin?
Despite her injuries, the little girl giggled.
“What’s he singing about?” Mitch asked Cassie, who fought not to laugh.
“It’s a local children’s favorite about a stubborn donkey who sits down in the middle of the road. First the carpenter asks him to get up, then the baker, then the bus driver. Eventually the grain merchant succeeds.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “It’s kinda like ‘A Dog and his Bone’ back home.”
Wispy curls framed her face where they’d broken free of her pony tail, and her T-shirt needed a close encounter with a washing machine.
Mitch pulled his sweaty shirt away from his body. Too hot for this early in the morning.
Arnulfo dropped his voice softer and softer. One didn’t need to understand the words to recognize a lullaby.
Lida’s eyelids drooped. She gave up the fight to stay awake after two more verses.
“How much longer do you have?” Arnulfo asked.
Cassie answered for them. “Two more hours and we’re back on shift.”
Two measly hours, and no need trying to sleep. Mitch might never sleep again. Too many horrors appeared behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.
Arnulfo nodded and trotted off down the village’s main road. Mitch started to follow. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.
When had Mitch ever been so tired? Or dirty? The world trembled again.