Page 13 of Love Everlasting

Jack leveled him with a pointed stare, smile flat. “No messing with the female volunteers. They have enough on their minds without some hotshot charming them into a crush. Got it?”

Sam flashed some teeth. “Sure, Jack. Anything else?”

Jack turned at the door, a gleam in his eyes as he offered a salute. “Yeah. And whatever you do, Ham,” he said with a twitch of a smile, “don’t wear a tie.”

Chapter Seven

“But I d-don’t want to see the n-nurse; I want to r-ride a h-horsy.” Little six-year-old Evie clung to Shannon’s neck, voice quivering with disappointment as they entered the reception area of the Camp Hope plantation house.

“I know, sweetheart, but you can’t ride a horsy if you’re dizzy and throwing up.” Shannon pressed a kiss to the child’s cheek, worry lines creasing her brow at the heat of her skin. This was the downside of volunteering at Miss Myra’s camp for ill and handicapped orphans—the heartbreak of seeing sickness steal what joy these precious children had. Shifting the little tyke in her arms, she wished she could give them far more than just volunteer time during the summers and on weekends. Like a family that would love and nurture them, she thought with a pinch in her chest.

Suppressing a melancholy sigh, Shannon poked her head in Miss Myra’s office, worry lacing her tone. “I’m taking Evie to sick bay, Miss Myra, because she’s not feeling well.”

“I want to ride the horsy,” Evie whimpered, red-rimmed eyes issuing a soggy plea to the camp’s matriarch as Shannon gently rubbed the little girl’s back.

Miss Myra glanced up, her perennial Southern air evident in a silk mauve dress perfectly complemented by a single strand of pearls. Most likely in her sixties, Miss Myra always appeared ageless to Shannon. Her classic ash blonde French twist and porcelain skin etched with fine lines was a perfect cover for a five-foot-one dynamo no one dared cross. Two tiny wedges appeared between Miss Myra’s brows as she rose to circle her desk. Her high heels clicked on the wooden floor with the same sharpness and efficiency with which she transformed her family’s plantation into a camp for orphans with illnesses, disabilities, and other challenges.

“There will be plenty of time to ride your horsy after you get well, darling.” Depositing a kiss to Evie’s brow, Miss Myra gently swept the little girl’s hair from her eyes, gaze connecting with Shannon’s. “Serena’s the nurse on duty today, but she just left for lunch after the volunteer doc arrived, so just take her on back. Oh my, she’s burning up,” she whispered, the thread of concern in her tone matching the soft blink of brown eyes.

“I hope it’s Dr. Nate,” Shannon said, readjusting Evie in her arms before turning to head down the hall. “He’s almost as good with the children as Jack.”

“No, it’s somebody new, according to Serena, but I haven’t had the chance to meet him yet, so you can be my scouting party.” Miss Myra actually winked, a gesture so out of character that Shannon grinned. “But she says he’s a real Southern gentleman, and I quote, ‘quite a hunk’ too.”

Shannon chuckled. “Everybody’s a hunk to Serena,” she called on her way to sick bay. Smiling, she shook her head over Serena’s comment. The young volunteer in her second year of nursing certainly seemed far more interested in the docs than a degree.

“I don’t feel so good, Miss Shannon,” Evie whispered, laying her head on Shannon’s shoulder. “My tummy hurts.”

Shannon paused on the threshold of sick bay—a former outdoor veranda converted into a sunny year-round mini hospital ward. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well you be sure to tell me or the doctor if you do, and we’ll get you a pot, okay?” Shannon wiggled her nose in the crook of Evie’s neck, making the little girl giggle as she carried her to a hospital bed. Along the far wall, a doc in a white coat emblazoned with a Superman logo squatted to give an insulin shot to a small child in a Little Tykes car. Giggles rose from a group of children that surrounded him while a young volunteer teacher looked on, the smile on her face practically aglow. “After all,” Shannon said, “we don’t want you puking on the doc or he might not come back.”

Her breath caught in her throat when the doc glanced over his shoulder.

Or maybe we do.

Sam Cunningham—or “Sham Cunningham” as she’d nicknamed him in her mind—had the audacity to give her a grin and a wink, charring her cheeks. “This is my last injection, so I’ll be right with you, Angel Eyes,” he said with a twinkle, gaze flicking to Evie to render another wink. “And you, too, sweetheart.” He turned back to his task before Shannon could deliver a scowl, his bedside manner obviously as deadly with sick kids as it was with unsuspecting women.

“Okay, what flavor shot do you want this to be, champ—vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate?” Sam reached for a clean syringe while gently rubbing an ice pack on the back of a little boy’s arm. “Or if you want to go daring like me, you can go with something like Chunky Monkey or Peanut Butter Fudge or my personal favorites” —he tossed Shannon a grin over his shoulder— “Baskin Robbins’ Wild and Reckless sherbet or Love Potion #31.”

Shannon rolled her eyes.

“I’ll just take vanilla, please,” the little boy whispered, hands gripped knuckle-white on the steering wheel of the Little Tyke’s car.

“You like to play it safe, eh?” Sam gently pinched some skin at the back of the boy’s arm. “Well that’s okay, buddy, because some of the nicest people I know like to play it safe. Now I’m going to hold this arm still, but let’s make some noise with the other by beeping that horn, okay?”

The boy started banging the horn while Sam and all the others whooped and made car sounds, the needle in and out so fast, the little guy was vaccinated before he knew it. “Okay, partner, good job,” Sam said, swabbing the boy’s arm while he fished a Tootsie Roll Pop from his pocket. “You’re all done.” Opening the car door, Sam carefully lifted the boy out, taking great pains not to bump his vaccinated arm.

“Thanks so much, Dr. Sam,” the volunteer teacher said before herding the children to the door, the adoration shining in her eyes enough to make Shannon sick. Trying to ignore the hugs and high-fives Sam doled out to each of the kids, Shannon sat next to Evie on the bed, hugging her close while the little girl’s head lagged against Shannon’s side.

Evie’s little chest expanded and contracted with a sigh way bigger than she, and Shannon found herself doing the same as she watched Sam out of the corner of her eye. True, he may be a hero with women and kids, but she was grateful she’d been “vaccinated” against charming players like him. She closed her eyes, and the memory of his kiss instantly invaded, tugging another heavy sigh from her throat. Vaccinated indeed. Her lips took a twist as she hugged Evie close. Including the booster shot last week in the car.

Chapter Eight

“So … what’s the problem with this little angel here?” Sam returned to squat before them.

Well, Doc, she’s nauseous and has a fever, and I’m just plain nauseous.