Page 20 of Duty Devoted
He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t pay much attention to the back-end stuff. I just do what I’m told.”
Liar. “How much did they tell you about me when they hired you?”
A touch of a smile almost made it to his mouth at my persistence. “Enough.”
“Let me guess—brilliant but misguided daughter, throwing away her potential on people who can’t appreciate it?”
“Something like that.” At least he didn’t pretend otherwise. “They’re worried about you.”
“They’re worried about their legacy.” I pushed through a cluster of leaves with more force than necessary. “God forbid their daughter choose service over status.”
“Is that why you’re here? Rebelling against expectations?”
I stopped walking and turned to face him, anger flaring hot. “You think I’ve spent six months in primitive conditions, sometimes performing surgery by candlelight, treating infections that could kill me, all to make a point to my parents?”
“I think everyone’s motivations are complicated.” His expression remained maddeningly neutral. “Including yours.”
“And what would you know about my motivations?”
“I know you’re talented enough to work anywhere. I know you chose here. And I know you’re fighting leaving even though the smart move is obvious.” He stepped closer, using his height advantage. “So yeah, I think there’s more to this than pure altruism.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“It’s pretty obvious you’re stubborn to the point of self-destruction and that you don’t necessarily see some situations the way they really are, just how you want them to be.”
He was talking about thatnaivecomment again from yesterday.
“And you’re arrogant to the point of—” I cut myself off, hating that he’d gotten under my skin so easily. I was known for the fact that I had unwavering patience. That I didn’t tend to snap. That I was logical rather than emotional.
Somehow this man erased all that.
“We should keep moving. Patients are waiting.”
His mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “Lead the way, Doctor.”
I stalked ahead, focusing on the uneven path rather than the man whose presence seemed to take up too much space in my awareness. We reached Mrs. Rivera’s house in tense silence.
“Mrs. Rivera,” I called out in Spanish, forcing warmth into my voice. “How are you feeling today?”
Her weathered face lit up when she saw me, then grew curious as she took in Logan. “Much better, doctora. The antibiotics are helping. Who is your friend?”
“A colleague,” I said vaguely, settling into the familiar routine of checking her blood sugar and examining the healing infection. Logan positioned himself near the doorway, alert but unobtrusive.
“She’s improving,” I told him quietly as I repacked my supplies a little bit later. “Last week, I wasn’t sure she’d keep the leg.”
“You treated her here?”
“Cleaned the infection, debrided tissue, started antibiotics.” I stood, brushing dust from my knees. “Basic intervention that saved her life.”
“Nothing about working in these conditions seems basic.”
Was that approval in his voice? I couldn’t tell and refused to care.
We moved through the village, stopping at each patient’s home. A baby with a respiratory infection. An elderly man needing blood pressure management. With each visit, Loganobserved silently, occasionally helping carry supplies but maintaining that professional distance that shouldn’t bother me at all, yet somehow did.
“You’re good with them,” he said as we walked between houses.
“It’s my job.”
