Melting the Argentine Doctor's Heart / Small Town Marriage Miracle Read Online Free

kettle stopped the conversation. He took the gourd from her, turning it upside down a couple of times to move the finer leaves to the top, then tipping it from side to side. That done, he poured in cold water to saturate the leaves and let it sit a minute on the table. The mechanical movement of his hands as he made the
mate
gave him time to think—time to tell himself her admiration wasn’t personal. She would be equally admiring of any man she knew had built his own dwelling.
    Any man she knew?
    He glanced at her left hand, certain he’d see a wedding ring.
    No jewellery at all, but, then, she’d always shunned what she called fripperies. And if she’d married, Ella would have a father figure in her life, and there’d have been no reason for her to come.
    He tipped the gourd once more so the leaves settled on one side of it, and carefully added the boiling water.
    And while it steeped he shrugged off her admiration, making light of what had been a mammoth task.
    ‘It’s how people used to do it, and I cannot spend all my spare hours reading.’
    ‘Spare hours,’ Caroline replied. ‘I remember them, though the memory is hazy.’ She looked towards her daughter, then added, ‘Not that I’d swap Ella for even one spare hour.’
    The remarks bothered Jorge, for all he was trying to do was keep the conversation determinedly neutral—coolly polite, nothing more. She’d sounded wistful, as if genuine regret lurked somewhere behind the words.
    ‘You have so little time?’ he asked, dropping a silver straw into the
mate
then pausing for an unseen guest to try it before handing the gourd to Caroline.
    She lifted the gourd, and sipped through the straw, grimacing slightly at the taste, or perhaps the heat of the drink.
    ‘I pass it back to you, is that right?’ she said, and, knowing she’d remembered something as simple as the
mate
ceremony of sharing made his heart go bump again, but though the barriers he’d erected around his heart were as rough as the walls of his hut, he knew he had to keep them intact, heart-bumps or no heart-bumps!
    His mind tracked back to the previous conversation—the question Caroline hadn’t answered.
    ‘You have so little time?’ he asked again.
    It was all too weird, Caroline decided, standing in a little hut not unlike the one they’d shared in Africa—although that one had been round and roofed with palm fronds, not corrugated iron—with Jorge beside her, asking polite questions—exactly as it had been when they’d first met.

CHAPTER TWO
    S HE shook off the memory and steeled herself against the attraction that still tingled along her nerves when she looked at him or heard his voice. Best to consider his question—to answer him.
    Best to forget the past and all its joy and pain …
    ‘I work, I come home, and I try to be a good mother. Like all working mothers I feel guilt that someone else spends more time with my daughter than I do, so I probably overcompensate. Then, when Ella goes to bed, there are always business things to take care of, or articles to read or write—you know how it is, keeping up with the latest developments, hoping you’ll find something to help a patient you’ve seen recently.’
    He turned to face her so the scar on his cheek was fully visible and it was only with an enormous effort she resisted the urge to lay her palm against his damaged skin, as Ella had done earlier.
    ‘You said your father left you money. You must have no need to work.’
    She smiled at him and waved her hands around the hut, pleased to have such a bland, harmless topic of conversation to occupy her mind and distract it fromthe suggestions of her body—suggestions like moving closer, touching him.
    ‘And I’m sure you’re not so impoverished you needed to build your own hut, so you, at least, should understand. A lot of people put a lot of time and effort to train me for the job I do. I wouldn’t feel right to just stop doing it, especially when there are areas