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Hoping he hadn’t realized she’d lied and that if he had, he wouldn’t call her on it, Chrissie focused on the stage.
Agnes was still speaking and Chrissie did her best to take in each word. With Trace standing so close, she couldn’t focus on the woman on stage. She was surrounded by people. How was it possible to be so physically aware of one man that she could smell his spicy scent, hear the call of his body?
“I don’t believe you,” Trace whispered close to her ear, further sensitizing her nerve-endings.
His breath tickled her skin. She could feel his heat and would swear he’d just nuzzled her hair.
“It really doesn’t matter what you believe,” she said, stepping back. “I’ll see you in medical.”
With that she pushed through the crowd to get away from him.
But mainly to get away from her unwanted reaction to everything about him.
* * *
Later that evening in the medical tent, Trace lifted the fifty-year-old woman’s foot and examined her swollen ankle.
“Yep.” He glanced at her name tag on the lanyard around her neck. “Ms. Perez, you have definitely done a number on your ankle.”
“I shouldn’t have been quite so vigorous dancing in the bubbles, eh?”
“Apparently not.” He had her turn and rest on her knees while he squeezed her calf, watching carefully as it triggered the appropriate movement in her foot. “There’s no evidence that you’ve torn your Achilles’ tendon, but you’re definitely out of commission for the rest of the weekend.”
The woman’s face fell. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Can’t you give me a quick-fix pill?”
“It’s not that easy, Ms. Perez. Some things take time and rest, not a pill. I’m sorry.”
She heaved her chest in frustration. “Me, too.”
“Sit here with ice for about twenty minutes with your foot elevated. Later, one of the guys will drive you on a gator to your tent. Is there someone we can call for you?”
Ms. Perez shook her head. “My daughter is out of town with work and my son lives in Chicago with his wife and kids. I’m by myself.”
He gestured to her leg. “You need to stay off that ankle.”
“I was looking forward to volunteering in the food tent. I’ve not missed a year there since CCPO started these events.”
“There’s no way I can okay for you to serve food.”
The woman perked up. “Maybe I could volunteer in a different way? One where I could still keep my foot up?”
Trace didn’t want to burst the woman’s bubble, but she was going to be in quite a bit of pain and wouldn’t be able to put any weight on her ankle for several days. Not with the amount she’d injured the tissue.
Stepping back into the exam area, Chrissie assisted the woman in propping up her foot and then put the woman’s ice pack back on her ankle. “Is there anything I can get you? We have a few magazines if you’d like, and I brought a stack of books I’ve finished if you want to take one.”
The woman shook her head and held up her cellular phone. “I have books on this thing to keep my mind occupied for times such as these.”
Patting the woman’s hand, Chrissie smiled. “That’s good.”
The medical tent had been slow most of the evening.
Trace liked being busy, and felt restless. He was used to having more to do than time to do it.
Alexis was seeing a gentleman who had come into the tent with some indigestion. The other volunteers were not quite twiddling their thumbs but none of them were busy, either.
Trace compared it to where he’d been not so long ago, in the midst of mayhem and a war-torn country where there had been more ill and injured than hands to care for them, with problems much worse than a sprained ankle.
He closed his eyes. There were other assignments he could take with Doctors Around the World. Less dangerous places. He didn’t have to go back to the places he’d gone before, but he chose to.
