Magic of the Drums by Gael Morrison

Author:Gael Morrison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2014-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Blemish medication! At first glance, there seemed little else in the first aid station. Lise stared glumly at the tubes of cream in her hand, then back at the huge crate blocking the entrance to the pharmaceutical supply room. The return address of a Chicago hospital was printed clearly on the crate in black felt pen.

Disgusted, Lise tipped the tubes back into the crate.

"Don't worry."

At the sound of Simon's voice, Lise's heart clenched. She raised her head. He was leaning against the door jamb as though last night had never happened.

Her fingers sought her opal, her heart glad it was back where it belonged. If she hung onto it tightly, perhaps she would find the strength she needed.

"They don't even have one pimple between the lot of them!" she exclaimed.

Simon smiled, and the warmth in his smile heated the room. "The students will love this stuff." He stepped forward and crouched beside her.

So close. Too close. The morning scent of him, his soap, his aftershave, floated around her. She leaned away, longing to lean closer.

He reached in front of her and picked up a tube. Unscrewing the cap, he squeezed a small portion onto his hand then swiped an ivory streak across his tanned cheek. "It makes the best damn face paint they'll ever see." His smile grew to a grin.

"Face paint!" She smiled too.

"Bilas, decoration. The boys will arrive with every ache and pain they can think up in order to get a tube of this stuff as a reward." His face lost its teasing look, grew serious. "You'll catch the tropical ulcers sooner, before they infect so badly antibiotics are needed."

Her attention was caught.

"Besides," he said, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "We received a letter full of apologies that the wrong crate had been shipped. Another one, full of penicillin this time, is on its way." He held up the tube. "But in the meantime, there's no sense wasting this."

Nothing was wasted here. She liked that. It didn't seem to matter that the people didn't have much. The one thing they did have was the ability to achieve happiness. They made it look so simple.

"This crate needs shifting," Simon said. "I'll do it now."

"Thanks," Lise said, biting off the protest springing to her lips. To get into that supply room, she needed his help.

"You'll have to move."

She shifted so that he could squeeze past her into the narrow space between the box and the cupboard. He edged the crate out a few inches to give himself more room, then bent his knees, put his arms around and under the crate, and heaved.

It was as awkward as it was heavy. Simon's shoulders strained, and below his khaki shorts, his brown legs corded with exertion.

"Let me help," Lise offered, grabbing hold of one end of the box. It was only her fingers that touched his, but the shock sped through her entire body.

"Leave it," he growled.

She backed away, pressing against the wall as Simon moved past her and dumped the crate on the work bench in the middle of the room.

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