Ginger speared slices of pineapple and mango and laid them across her waffle. She accepted guava-citrus juice from the attendant at the breakfast bar, then glanced back at Ray. She should feel badly about sending Larry after him last night.
“Bacon?” asked another attendant.
Ginger nodded, smiling. Ray had always been able to hold his own in practically any situation. She doubted a simple confrontation with Larry would have concerned him, even if it had been at gunpoint.
When she joined him at the table, he greeted her with one of his dazzling smiles. Even in the morning light, after a night of little sleep, he might tend to look particularly appealing to some susceptible women. His dark hair, which looked as if he’d barely combed it, fell over his forehead rakishly.
He had always possessed that special ability to make anyone with him feel as if she were the most important person to him at the moment, that she had his full attention.
Nevertheless, appearances and actions could be deceiving. Honor mattered to her much more than physical appearance or an appealing personality. Character was of utmost importance.
She glanced at his breakfast selection, and wrinkled her nose. “Oatmeal and fruit? How unimaginative.”
“Old habits die hard. Besides, this is authentic Hawaiian oatmeal and fruit, sweetened with authentic coconut milk.”
No wonder he was in such good shape. She suddenly found herself reconsidering her own selections. If she wished to impress him with her good health and promise for a future in the mission field…
“I don’t eat like this all the time,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, as if not sure why she would say that.
“In fact, I’ve lost thirty pounds since last April.”
He nodded and took a sip of his tea. “That’s good, Ginger, but you don’t want to overdo it. You look great just as you are.”
She patted her stomach for emphasis. “Cholesterol is down below two hundred, and my heart is as fit as Shoji Tabuchi’s fiddle.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You know,” she said, feeling silly all of a sudden, “Shoji? The famous violinist in Branson?”
“You’re starting again,” he said.
“Starting what?”
“Your campaign for Belarus.”
She leaned back in her seat. “That’s ridiculous. Just because I don’t feel ready to be put out to pasture—”
“You were never put out to pasture, Ginger.”
“After all the trouble I’ve gone to with my weight loss program and exercise, if my health ever really had anything at all to do with my banishment, I feel I should at least be given another chance to serve in—”
“I think today should be about Graham and Willow’s wedding.”
She heard the warning in his voice. She couldn’t help herself. “Of course it is, and one reason I’m open to discussion is because Willow specifically asked me to try one more time to reach some kind of understanding with you so we would be able to cooperate as a team today. I’m simply responding to her request.”
His dark blue eyes filled with affectionate humor.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she warned, picking up her fork. No one could accuse her of allowing an argument to kill her appetite. Besides, all this contact with Ray was beginning to affect her in a strange way. It made her long for those times when they were friends. Or, at least, when she thought they were friends.
“I’d never do that,” he said softly. “However, I can’t help being impressed by your tenacity.”
“Thank you. This tenacity works well on the mission field, as well.” She bit into a piece of mango, and savored its sweetness, expecting him to smile at her jibe at least.
He didn’t smile. He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Ginger, you were right last night. Your health wasn’t the only reason I pulled you out of the country.”
She paused, studying his expression. He looked sad.
No, sad wasn’t the word. He looked remorseful. She’d spent quite some time before sleep trying to figure out exactly what he’d been talking about.
“But it was one of the reasons,” she said. “You told me that.”
“Yes, it was. Graham and I were both concerned by the sudden appearance of your heart abnormality.”
“It was nothing, just stress.” She took a bite of the waffle. Wonderful. Maybe not quite as good as Bertie’s, though.
“That’s exactly my point,” he said. “What was causing that stress?”
She shrugged. “The same kind of thing that causes stress in any job, on our own soil or in foreign lands. There will always be difficulties and interpersonal conflicts.”
“But we can’t afford interpersonal conflicts on foreign soil, Ginger. We’re ambassadors to Belarus, to every country on which our representatives set foot.”
“That’s ridiculous. It isn’t possible to interact with others on a daily basis and avoid conflict at all times.”
He looked down into his cup, as if seeking an answer there.
This time she did put her fork down. “Ray, are you saying someone on my staff complained about me?” But that was ridiculous. In spite of occasional conflicts, she had been close to her whole staff, both American and Belarusian.
“Your staff loved you,” he said. “The comments that concerned me were not from them.”
“Comments? Now we’re getting somewhere.” And she suddenly wondered if she wanted to find out where this conversation was headed. “Who were they from?”
He took a sip of tea, set the cup down and leaned back. “It’s something I’ve put off talking to you about because…well…anyway, I think it’s time we talked about it. Not this morning, though. I don’t want anything to place any more of a pall on this day.”
Ginger swallowed hard, resisting the urge to press the discussion. She wanted to know what he was referring to. Needed to know. But she also needed to create a favorable impression on him, for once, not force his hand as she had done last year.
Yes, she knew she’d done it. She’d forced him to choose between her and her replacement. That incident hadn’t ended well.
He dipped his spoon into the oatmeal, and she followed his lead by picking up her fork again. The food was fabulous. Fresh fruit, ripened on the vine, certainly added a lot of flavor…as did the pure butter and crispy crunch of the waffle that probably packed a wallop of calories that should last her all day. If only they would…
Ray sighed and looked at her again. “As an aside, the clinic was growing, Ginger. It needed a licensed medical trainer who could oversee the Belarusian medical residents’ training through the clinic, so they would be prepared to take over the management of operations in case we were ousted from the program.” He paused, then added quietly. “Or in case we decided to terminate it ourselves.”
“That’s ridiculous. You would never do that.” She took another bite of the waffle, savored it slowly. Keep your mouth shut, Ginger. Don’t press the subject. Smile and agree with him. Don’t put him in argument mode, because you know Ray Clyde in argument mode is not where you want him to be.
“So you’re saying you expect Belarus to close their borders to medical missionaries sometime soon?” she asked, merely as a way to extend a polite conversation.
He paused with another spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth, and closed his eyes.
She frowned at him. “Ray? There’s no chance of that, is there?”
“Not imminently, no, but in case they do, we need to be ready with nationals to take over. The clinics are important, and you yourself encountered the fierce national pride those people have.” He swallowed, cleared his throat. “They need to feel that they’re being honored in their professions, not looked down upon as second-class professionals.”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re absolutely right.” He couldn’t possibly be accusing her of treating the Belarusians—on whom she had lavished so much love—like second-class citizens.
“I’m not accusing you of anything, Ginger.”
She felt a trickle of deepening anxiety. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? To her amazement, she did lose her appetite.
“I know that look,” he said. “I’ve seen it often enough.” He put his spoon down. “Ginger, I’m simply telling you what kind of a spot I was in last year. I needed something you couldn’t provide. I needed what amounted to a residency trainer. A doctor.”
She held his gaze. If the real reason he’d pulled her out of Belarus was because he needed a trainer to take her place, he’d have told her that last year.
“Even so, you could have brought someone in and kept me there to help out,” she said. “I didn’t have to be the director, I just needed to be there. I still do. I could help whoever is there.”
“And I’m telling you that it isn’t a possibility at this point.”
She dropped her fork to the table, aware that the clatter caused several to look her direction. “So this is personal.”
He seemed to have lost his appetite, as well. His moment of hesitation sealed the fate of this conversation.
“I think I could use some fresh air.” She rose from the table, feeling the rejection as a fresh wound, as painful as it had been last year. He wasn’t talking about someone else’s complaint, he was talking about his own.
“Ginger, you’re jumping to the wrong—”
“Oh, stop it.” It was difficult to keep her voice down. “Drop the subject, okay? I’m taking a quick walk on the beach before everyone leaves to go shopping.”
“I don’t think you should—”
She fixed him a look of warning. “If I want to walk on the beach instead of sharing a meal with someone who has no respect for my medical or interpersonal skills, then I—”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said yet,” he snapped. “I told you we’d talk about it later.”
She looked around at the others, and found Graham and Willow watching them. “Keep your voice down. Better yet, return to your oatmeal. I’ve got a beach to check out.”
He stood up, obviously determined to follow her. The man sometimes had the social skills of one of those obnoxious bantam roosters out in the yard.
“If you really want to keep peace on this trip, then you’ll give me some space right now,” she warned, then turned and marched from the room. She stopped at the door, unable to resist a glance back.
He tossed his napkin onto the table, took a final swallow of tea and caught up with her. “I feel like a walk, myself,” he said as he joined her at the door.
“Then you don’t want to keep the peace?” she muttered.
“I happen to think there are some things more important,” he said, staying a step behind her. “I also believe you will stop somewhere short of murder on Graham and Willow’s wedding day, especially with the children looking on.”
“Don’t try to shame me. It’s Graham and Willow who should be ashamed for pulling this nightmare of a trip on me without any warning, as if I don’t have a mind of my own.” She knew she was repeating herself, but the truth bore repeating.
“You’re saying I’m the nightmare?” Ray asked.
She looked over her shoulder at him, and she could have sworn that comment had hurt his feelings. Amazing. Why should he be surprised?
“Take it however you wish to take it,” she muttered. “Now, would you please leave me alone?
“Your medical skills are excellent, and your ability to deal with patients is unequaled. That’s never been a problem, and I resent your implication that I ever said it was.”
She blinked at him. “Good, then I should receive an excellent recommendation from you next time one is requested, right?”
“That all depends on—”
“Good, I’m glad we agree,” she said. “I have contacts with other agencies. Now will you please leave me alone? I need a chance to lick my wounds in private.”
He followed. “How could I have wounded you? All I did was tell you that you have the best medical skills, as well as patient skills. What’s to take offense about that?”
“You implied that this vendetta you have against me is personal,” she said. “Obviously, you have your reasons for not trusting me in a management position at one of the clinics.”
“Your words, not mine. My concern is the same as it’s always been—your safety. And if it seems that I take your welfare a little too personally, well, sue me for caring enough to speak my mind.”
She turned and looked up at him, well aware that they stood within sight of the others inside the dining room—others who could be watching. She needed to start setting a better example for the children.
So she smiled. After his initial surprise, Ray smiled back, though his expression was tentative, as if he didn’t trust her seeming capitulation.
In that moment, she realized that, in spite of everything, she was not immune to the apparent sincerity in Ray Clyde’s eyes, or to the nearness of his broad shoulders. The intensity of his focus—fixed on her at the moment—was working just the way she was sure he’d intended.
How could a man like Ray, with the intellect, passion and focus of a genius, have that special way about him that made a woman want to know him better?
And how was it that she suddenly felt more alive than she had since she’d last seen him? Yes, she was still angry. But that emotion suddenly seemed preferable to the frustration she’d felt for so many months.
In spite of her anger, she suddenly felt…hope?
“Keep in mind,” he said, “that as medical director of GlobeMed, I would be asked to recommend you for any other organization to which you would apply, just like last time. I’m still concerned for your health.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t give me a good recommendation to return?”
“Not to Minsk. Not to Belarus.”
She clenched her teeth, leaning toward him. “How about deepest, darkest Africa?”
“Not at this time. But, you know, I would have placed you elsewhere last year had there been an opening. And if you will remember, I did offer you a job in Columbia.”
“Working at your clinic.”
“Would that have been so bad?”
“That was nothing more than an attempt to appease me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you’re qualified to analyze my motives, since you tend to hold everything I say or do suspect.”
She turned and marched toward the roaring waves. Several times after she’d returned home last year, Ray had attempted to contact her, either through Graham, or by calling her on her cell phone. He’d even resorted to writing a few letters, cards of apology, notes of entreaty, and when she didn’t reply, he had finally come to see her. She’d told him to stay away.
She had to ask herself now, why had he tried so hard to make amends last year if he truly hadn’t cared?