Free Heartbeat (Medical Romance) by Anna Ramsay

one of the African helpers had brought what Papa Mganga required within seconds.
    Ross quirked an eyebrow and Jenni thought she detected a slight grimace turn down the corners of that steeltrap mouth. She waited tight-lipped for him to tell Paul she was more hindrance than help.
    But Ross wasn't rising to the bait. His heavy-lidded gaze slid back to the printed page.
    In his affectionate way Paul reached over and gave her hand a warm brotherly squeeze. ‘Give it time, sweetheart, give it time.'
    ‘After a big London hospital, I think—well, there's a simplicity about life at Mbusa Wa Bwino… It’s going to be deeply satisfying working here.’ Nothing like making yourself a hostage to fortune, but Jenni knew she meant every word and if the doctor was silently sneering ‘Dream on, ginger!’ that was just too bad.
    'It's totally different from anything I've ever known. The experience of a lifetime. Already I'm asking myself if I'll ever want to go back to the UK.'
    Golden eyes flicked challengingly to the doctor's face. Only to find herself defying the back of his head since he had swivelled round in his chair to hold out his coffee cup for a refill.
    Paul gestured to her empty cup. 'More coffee, sweetheart?'
    He used to call her that when she was doing school exams and very reluctantly wore prescription reading glasses because dad couldn’t afford to pay for contact lenses. It was Paul who comforted her when the Year Ten boys called her 'sexy spexy'.
    'No, thanks. I need to get a really good sleep tonight.'
    'Would you mind passing me the sugar,' interrupted Ross's deep voice.
    'Of course,' Jenni murmured ambiguously, handing him the bowl of brown sugar. Take two big spoonfuls to sweeten you up . But then she felt contrite, for hadn't he been reasonable company this evening, and shouldn't he be given some credit for that revelation about the uchavi incident?
    Trouble is, considered Jenni, frowning and perplexed, I just don't know what to make of this man. He hasn't an ounce of charm - but there is a certain magnetism there. Could this be what they mean when they talk about charism a? …
    I'd really like to find out more about Ross McDonnell. For starters, how’s he picked up that trace of an Aussie accent. And what motivates him—apart from living for his medicine? What could have driven Ross McDonnell to the Good Shepherd Mission? Who's he running away from? So many questions …
    'Hear that, Ross?' grinned Paul.
    He clearly liked and respected his medical colleague and the two men seemed to have an easy, even jocular relationship. 'Nurse here wants her beauty sleep, so none of your Miles Davis tonight.'
    Suddenly there was a flurry at the door and Sylvia Anstey came in, a navy cardigan slung across her shoulders and the smell of hospitals clinging to her white uniform. 'Ross?' she called sharply. 'You're needed on the men's ward. Matt's having a spot of trouble with the old man.'
    Ross got to his feet, stretching his big frame as if there were all the time in the world. A few people looked up, but it seemed an emergency was nothing special, and most, after a cursory interest, returned to their games of chess or Scrabble, their dog-eared copies of Hello or their letters home.
    Sylvia's ponytail was collapsing in an untidy mass of tendrils. She looked attractively flushed, if rather harassed. ‘Come on, Ross,’ she said crossly as if keen to get him away from the new nurse’s side. Disturbing visions of witchcraft abroad in the dark of the night reeled through Jenni’s over-active imagination. 'I’ll come,' she offered tentatively.
    'Don't bother,' the other nurse said curtly. 'Just be on time for the morning shift.' Clearly it was Ross she wanted and Ross alone.
    Quite understandably, thought Jenni, trying not to feel hurt. Sylvia was tired. And hours of long night stretched ahead. Anyway, she realised on a flash of intuition, they were probably having an affair—bossy doctor and the only British and available