Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series) (8 page)

“Isn’t there a doctor following you out here?”

“Not right away.”

“Damn.”

“I know, right? I have two hands and one brain. I can only do so much.” The more she thought about it the less she liked the idea of being at Port Lucia without a doctor.

Trent pulled off the main road and wound his way through an even narrower street. This one was better maintained but didn’t leave any room at all for passing cars.

Trent slowed the Jeep as they rounded a curve, and out the window Monica saw a sprawling single story home.

“Where are we?”

Trent pulled the car to a stop and shoved his sunglasses into the center compartment. “Twenty minutes will take care of your need for coffee and a shower.”

“But Port Lucia?”

“Can wait twenty minutes. They may not even have running water there. I do. I’ll fire up the generator and make us coffee.”

Monica sat staring at him with her mouth half-open. “This is your home?”

He nodded and opened his door. “C’mon, Monica. I have a feeling this will be your last shower for a few days. Might as well grab it while you can.”

She swung her gaze to his house again. An open beamed porch wrapped around the outside. Beyond the roof, she could see a glimpse of the ocean. The thought of a shower… coffee… heaven. “I don’t even know you.”

Trent chuckled. “I didn’t kill you in the air, and I don’t own a pair of handcuffs.”

Monica squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the heat filling her cheeks. “Oh, what the hell.”

Trent stepped out of the car and from nowhere sprang a large red dog. “Ginger, down,” he yelled when the dog jumped up in greeting. “Say hello to our guest.”

Ginger barked with a happy wag of her tail.

“Her manners aren’t the best, but she won’t bite.”

Monica put her hand out for Ginger to sniff. “She’s beautiful.”

“Spoiled, too. C’mon in. The shower has a point-of-use water heater. It should take less than five minutes to heat up once I turn over the generator.”

Monica followed Trent inside. The front door wasn’t locked. Inside there were several household items scattered on the floor. She stepped over a pile of glass.

“I haven’t had time to clean up since the quake hit.” He clicked a light switch and nothing happened.

“I take it the power’s been off since, too.”

Ginger nudged her hand asking for a pet.

Monica obliged.

“I don’t know why I bother checking. Lines are down everywhere.”

She followed him into a great room that opened to his kitchen. Bay windows framed a breathtaking view of the ocean. Lucky for Trent, the water was well below his home. In fact, from where she stood, Monica didn’t see the damage of the tsunami, just endless vistas of turquoise blue and green. Well, gray at this point, but on a clear day she imagined the view would provide hours of serenity. “What an amazing view.”

“We like it. Don’t we, Ginger?”

Hearing her name, Ginger barked again.

“You can stay here. I’ll get the generator going.” Trent opened the French doors to the back patio.

“Trent?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

The road to good intentions was apparently paved in rubble; at least it was this week in Jamaica.

With a cup of strong coffee in hand, Monica relaxed in the passenger seat of Trent’s Jeep feeling a slight bit of guilt for taking the twenty-minute refresher. Only slightly. Even Donald said to take her breaks when she could manage them.

“The main road around the island was severely damaged from the water. It’s only a twenty-minute drive down the hill,” Trent told her as they hit yet another pothole in the road.

“I can see why you own a four-wheel drive,” she said. “Are all the roads on the island this messed up?”

“Those around the tourist areas are nice. Well, most anyway. Up here, and in the backcountry, they’re awful.”

“I guess if you’re flying over them all the time it doesn’t matter.” One plus on the side of being the pilot.

The Jeep lurched to the right again, and then abruptly to the left. When Monica peered out the window, the road didn’t look to be the cause of the bumpy ride. “Slow down,” she told him.

“My driving scaring you?”

She shook her head. She’d grown up in Southern California, earthquake central in the States. When an earthquake rattles you in your home, or in a building, you often hear the buildings move long before the earth bumps you around. When you’re driving a car, it’s silent and feels like you’ve got a flat tire. “No, stop the car.”

Trent lowered his speed while Monica glanced out the window. They were surrounded by trees and a power line that followed the road. There wasn’t a high-rise to crumble on top of them.

Sure enough, when Trent stopped the car it still felt like they were moving. Monica held her coffee in front of her to avoid it spilling. The rolling lasted only a few seconds longer, but it reminded her why she was there. “That was probably in the fours,” she said.

Trent looked out his window before narrowing his eyes on her. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”

“The earthquake?”

“Yeah.”

“No. That was a baby quake, not even enough to make me get out of bed in the middle of the night.”

He visibly shivered and started down the road again.

“So, you can guess the magnitude? No need for a seismograph?”

She chuckled. “You really don’t feel anything under a three. Well, unless it’s close to the surface and you’re right on top of it. Then maybe…” She sipped her coffee and went on. “Upper threes and lower fours… you roll over and go back to sleep. Now when you start getting up into the fives you start to wonder if it’s going to get worse. The sixes, the jolty ones, those make you move… if it’s a rolly one you still move, but not as fast. Over six and a half, you’re moving. And look at all the damage after a seven and a half. Makes you wonder what a nine, or God forbid, a ten, would do.”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

She shrugged. “I’m a Southern California native. Goes with the territory.”

They rounded a corner and found the road blocked by a landslide. There were a couple of cars ahead of them with the passengers already out and attempting to remove the debris.

“Well I guess I can stop feeling guilty for taking the twenty-minute breather at your house,” she said.

Trent rolled to a stop and cut the engine. “You stay here. I’ll help.”

Monica finished her coffee and leaned her seat back. Trent and a half dozen locals pushed, kicked, and carried rocks to the side of the road for nearly an hour. At one point Trent removed his shirt to beat the heat. Taut muscles stretched over his broad chest and tapered to a slim waist and tight butt. Monica couldn’t help but enjoy the attraction.

The fact that any mutual attraction would have to be temporary didn’t push her away.

Monica Mann was used to temporary. Less messy that way. No one to depend on, and no one depending on her.

Perfect.

Chapter Six

The clinic, or what was left of it, resembled nothing of its former glory. Trent maneuvered his car as close to the main structure as he could. He didn’t ask if Monica wanted him to accompany her inside, he simply grabbed her bag and led the way. The main hospital at least had some semblance of order. Not here.

“Are you sure this is right?” Monica asked as they approached the structure. Several locals watched their approach, their gazes speculative.

Trent noticed a few sets of eyes linger on Monica and he moved closer to her side.

What the hell was the doctor in charge thinking sending her here alone?
Even the local tourist authority warned visitors to keep their valuables locked up and to avoid wandering the streets alone. Monica, with her fair skin and blonde hair, didn’t blend in with the locals. And she was more valuable than a purse or camera bag.

The clouds had broken, leaving heat in its wake. On both sides of the clinic, brick buildings had collapsed making the path inside an obstacle course.

Trent captured Monica’s hand and helped her over a pile of rubble. She started to question him again when he heard the unmistakable sound of human suffering.

People were piled up outside of the clinic, three rows thick.
A couple of pickup trucks had people in the back of them, there were stretchers lining the outside wall of the building.

Trent glanced over at Monica. Her eyes had grown wide and any hint of a smile was now gone.

“Holy hell.”

“Do you know who’s in charge here?”

Monica shook her head. “Apparently the clinic doctor hasn’t been seen since the quake.”

Trent pulled her along behind him, weaving in between people as he went.

“Help me.” The person speaking leaned against wall closest to the door. “Doctor?”

Monica offered the patient a smile. “I’m a nurse. Hold on, OK?”

“I’m here two days. Please, ma’am.”

“C’mon, Monica. Let’s find who’s in charge.”

They walked past the man and inside. More people spilled from every corner of the room.

“Is there a nurse here?” Trent called out.

Several heads turned, a few pointed to another door.

“It doesn’t even look as if anyone has even been triaged,” Monica said almost to herself.

They found a woman in the middle of a room bandaging a woman’s chest. Trent had to swallow hard to keep his coffee down from the rancid smell inside the room.

“Hi,” Monica said as she approached the woman.

The lady glanced over her shoulder, looked them both over quickly, and returned to her task. “You here to help?”

She was Jamaican, but her accent wasn’t as thick as most.

“I’m the nurse from the States.”

“Thank the gods. What about you? You a doctor?”

Trent assumed she meant him. “I’m just her ride.”

She grunted. “You’re walking. You’re standing. You can help.”

Trent swept the room with his gaze. Even if he could get past the stench in the room, he’d have to take in the blood, this misery.

Monica moved around the patient and glanced at the bag of fluids hanging over the patient’s head. “Are you a nurse?”

The woman huffed. “I’m a secretary. The nurse, she’s with the
sick
patients.”

Monica’s hand dropped to her side. “One nurse?”

“Two… but the other one, she had to rest. Hand me that gauze.” The secretary pointed to the table separating two makeshift beds.

Monica’s hands hesitated over the dirty bandages. “Don’t you have clean ones?”

“Not enough. Those will do.”

Trent could see the argument on Monica’s lips. Instead of saying anything, she handed the gauze over and attempted to smile at the patient. “What’s your name?”

“Freya.”

“I’m Monica and this is Trent.”

Freya finished her task and turned away from the patient. “Come. I’ll show you where everything is.”

“Wait,” Monica said, stopping her. “Who’s in charge here?”

Freya stuck her ample hip out and laid a heavy hand on it. “Right now, in this room, I am. There are only a few of us and none of us were trained for this.”

“Who’s triaging the patients? Making the decisions?” Monica’s voice was elevating and at the same time, Freya’s jaw drew tighter.

“I’m doing my best.”

Monica took a deep breath. “I’m sure you are. Without a doctor or skilled help, this can’t be easy. I’m just trying to figure out what has been done so far.

From the looks of the room, not a lot.
Some patients were sitting up, but on a gurney or some kind of flat surface. Others rocked back and forth, moaning. Trent was way out of his league and he knew it.

“Maybe it’s time for me to go,” he suggested.

Monica whipped her head around so fast Trent thought it might spin in a complete circle. “Don’t you dare.”

He held up his hands in surrender.
Couldn’t be that easy.
“I’m not a nurse, doctor, or even a secretary in a clinic.”

Freya and Monica were both glaring now.

Monica’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the nurse with the
sick
patients?”

“In the clinic.”

“This isn’t the clinic?” Monica’s eyes never left Trent’s. It was as if she knew if she turned away, he’d slip out.