Dancing in the Rain by Amanda Harte Page A

reached the end of the shift and the odd electrical current had not recurred, though she had handed Dwight dozens of instruments and bandages, and their hands had touched more than once. Thank goodness!
    Perhaps it was also her imagination that they worked together more smoothly than ever before. From the beginning, Carolyn had found it easy to work with Dwight. Helen, who had seen them operating, had told Carolyn that they looked like dancers in a perfectly choreographed ballet. Today, however, even the slightest hesitation was gone. Carolyn knew exactly what Dwight was going to need, and she handed it to him before he could telegraph his request. Though he said nothing, she sensed that he was pleased with their performance.
    When the last patient had been treated, Dwight stripped off his mask and turned to Carolyn. “Thank you, Nurse,” he said, obviously remembering his promise of formality in the operating theater. “I’ve never seen such flawless work.”
    One of the blushes that seemed to come so often stained Carolyn’s cheeks. “You make it easy,” she told Dwight, trying to return some of the pleasure his compliment had given her. “You always do things in exactly the same way.”
    The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then you admit that planning has its merits?”
    Carolyn removed and folded her apron, thankful that she was not the one who had to launder it. “I never said it didn’t.”
    “But you still prefer spontaneity.”
    She nodded. “It has its place,” she agreed, “but I’d be the first to admit that an operating room is not that place.”
    The smile that had been teasing Dwight’s lips turned into a full-fledged grin. “We’ve agreed twice in as many minutes. That calls for a celebration.”
    “What did you have in mind?” He still had rounds to do, and she had planned to visit the men in the wards.
    “A cup of hot chocolate and some biscuits.”
    Carolyn wasn’t certain which sounded more appealing, the food or the opportunity to sit down for a few minutes. “Biscuits? You sound English.” Dwight shrugged and opened the door for her. As they entered the long hallway that led past the wards, he said, “I can’t pronounce the French word for pastry the way you can.” He sounded as if he regretted his lack of fluency in French. That was silly. One man couldn’t know everything.
    “While you were learning to be a doctor and save lives,” she told him, “I was taught to set a table, arrange flowers, and pronounce a few French phrases. Somehow I suspect your education has proven more valuable.”
    “Unless you live in Goudot and want one of those fancy lemon pies that we ate yesterday.”
    “The tartes à citron?” They had been delicious. As Carolyn spied a familiar uniform, she smiled. “I just saw something even better than lemon tarts: the mailman. Let’s see what he’s brought us.” The mailman made two deliveries, the first to the wards, the second to the dining room. Although the staff normally picked up their mail in the dining room, if they happened to be in the wards, they would collect their letters there.
    Ten minutes later, when Carolyn had slid envelopes from Theo and Ed into her pocket, she touched Dwight’s arm. He was standing with his back to her, staring out the window as though fascinated by the sight of puddles. “Are you ready for hot chocolate?”
    “May I give you a raincheck?”
    Carolyn glanced outside, surprised at his suggestion. Anyone who had been in France for any length of time knew better than to delay activities until the rain stopped. “It’s not raining very much.” Besides, they were only walking to the other side of the courtyard. She looked back at Dwight and saw that the gleam in his eyes had faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked. When he did not answer, she took his arm and started walking toward the door. “You can tell me about it over chocolate. And don’t say no or promise me a raincheck, because I won’t accept