Claiming His Baby

“Thank goodness your mother and I had you. I’m going to miss you, honey. Keep in close touch. You’re flying home for Thanksgiving?”

“Of course.” A wave of tenderness for her father swept over her. “Please take good care of yourself, Daddy. Don’t work too hard. I love you.”

“Forget about me. It’s the piano that’s the important thing.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks because it was so impossible to talk to him.

They hugged one more time before he walked out to the limo with his suitcase. After she’d waved him off, she dashed back to the room realizing she couldn’t go on this way any longer.

The last time she and Raul had been together, it was because he’d made a surprise visit. Now that she’d taken the necessary health precautions and had received her visa, she could venture into his world.

Surely the bush wasn’t as inhospitable as he’d made it out to be. He needed to know she would follow him to the ends of the earth. She had to see him again.

Reaching for the phone, she called the travel agency that scheduled her itineraries and booked a night flight to New York, followed by two more flights to Buenos Aires, then Formosa in the northeast region of Argentina. From there she would charter a bush plane to take her to Zocheetl.

That gave her about eight hours to prepare. First of all she needed to inform Franz’s housekeeper that she’d decided to take a small vacation before arriving in Vienna.

It was after midnight. Since Raul’s interlude with Heather three months ago, he’d developed a serious case of insomnia. Lately he dreaded going to bed unless he knew he would fall asleep from exhaustion the second his head hit the pillow.

Tonight he realized that wasn’t going to happen. The alternative was to stay in his office and tackle the ever-present mass of paperwork and correspondence.

He opened the last of the day’s mail and read the path report on the Toba tribesman sent from Formosa Province Hospital. Another death due to arsenic poisoning from the river!

Furious over a deplorable, ongoing situation, he left his office to find Dr. Avilar, one of two other resident doctors who rotated shifts with him. She was about to go off duty and be relieved by Marcos.

“Elana, could I see you in my office, please?”

“I’ll be right there.”

Raul nodded to Juan, the efficient nurse who flew in from Formosa three days a week to help staff the tiny government hospital. The rotation system Raul had worked out with several dozen nurses, lab technicians, and kitchen help from Formosa had been working well.

Daily cargo flights brought the mail and much needed blood plasma. Money from private donors who were family friends in Buenos Aires continued to roll in, making it possible for him to have new huts built for the staff, and to replace old equipment the government couldn’t or wouldn’t cover. All in all, he couldn’t complain about the world under his immediate control.

It was a group of men who held themselves above the law Raul wanted to strangle with his bare hands. The criminals owned a mine that dumped hundreds of thousands of tons of toxic pollutants into the Yana Machi river, which fed the Pilcomayo river bordering the chaco of Argentina. Not only fish, but the local tribespeople themselves were becoming victims!