Page 26 of Waiting for Devon
Devon only laughed, led Lara outside, and relinquished her to an eager Tyson McCormick.
After witnessing what Devon did for Lara, Blair joined her and asked with a grin, “What’s your secret? You’ve got Lara in the palm of your hand.”
“A good bedside manner?” she joked.
“That must be it.”
When the fireworks display ended and the last guest left the estate, Devon entered the extensive library for a book to read. She turned on a single lamp and perused the shelves. Unaware of another occupant in the room, she yelped in fright when Reed asked from behind her as he sat in one of the comfortable leather recliners, “Feeling better?”
“What does it matter to you? I won’t find any sympathy with you.”
“You’re wrong.”
Devon didn’t care for Reed’s half-hearted apology and turned her back as she flipped through the pages of the book she held in her hands. “No, you were right. I shouldn’t have broken down like that. Doctors lose patients every day. Why should I need sympathy because a ten-year-old little girl lost her battle with cancer? No need to shed tears over that, is there?”
“Devon, I…”
“Excuse me,” she interrupted him. “I’m going to my room. Good night, Reed.”
Chapter Eight
Two days laterLincoln drove Devon into Dallas where she met Shane for her long-awaited tour of Barrington Industries. She admitted the smooth and efficient daily operation of a conglomerate the size of BI impressed her.
Devon said as much as she and Shane enjoyed seafood salads in the executive dining room. “Shane, I hate to bring this up, but I’m not going to put my life on hold forever. Almost a month has passed, and you just admitted to me the other day that you don’t have a clue what Jasper is doing or thinking. Either you broach the subject with your father, or I’m returning to San Francisco, and you can explain why to the rest of your family. You’ve got one week.”
Shane panicked. “Devon, be reasonable. I can’t risk…”
“One week,” she interrupted as she rose to her feet. “Not a day longer.”
Late afternoon traffic forced Lincoln to drive slowly through one of the poorer areas of Dallas. As they passed a side street, Devon noticed a little girl struggling to walk with a brown paper bag clutched in her hands. To her dismay, she watched the girl drop the bundle and slump to the ground. Devon pressed the intercom button to signal Lincoln and cried, “Stop! Go back to Third Street!”
“But, Miss Brooks…”
“Do as I say! Now!”
Devon ordered him to park, and before Lincoln could guess her intention, she leaped from the limousine. Kneeling next to the unconscious child, Devon checked her vital signs. The little girl felt hot to the touch, and she also noted shallow, congested breathing and a thready pulse. Devon lifted the ill child into her arms, grabbed the bag of bread as an afterthought, and paused a moment before heading toward the nearest run-down apartment building. She hoped someone in the building would recognize the girl.
Inside, the dim interior vibrated with sounds of life. Babies cried, mothers yelled, and children’s footsteps pounded across floors. Devon addressed the first adult she came across and asked, “Do you know this child? She’s very sick. I found her on the street and want to take her to her mother.”
The Mexican woman shook her head and indicated she did not understand English. Devon repeated her question in Spanish as the woman looked at the child. The woman’s face split into a toothless grin, and she nodded her head. “Her name is Téa. She lives on the third floor, apartment332.”
“Gracias.”
She raced upstairs with little exertion since Téa hardly weighed forty pounds. Devon judged her age somewhere between seven and nine. When she found the right door, she pounded and yelled in Spanish, “Please let me in! I’ve got Téa in my arms. She’s sick.”
A frightened woman, probably seven months pregnant Devon estimated, pulled open the door and began exclaiming and gesticulating in Spanish.
Devon laid Téa on a small, worn sofa and turned to the girl’s mother who still muttered in terror. “My name is Devon Brooks. I’m a doctor, and I want to help your daughter. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded her dark head as she gazed at Devon through glassy ebony eyes.
“What is your name?”
“Inez. Inez Rodriguez,” she answered with a moan. “Téa. Why isn’t she moving? What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m almost positive she has an upper respiratory infection. She needs fluids and antibiotics right away.”
“No hospital!” Inez cried. “We can’t afford it.”
