Safe in His Hands

by Amy Ruttan

  “It’s for the best, Charlotte. We’re not ready. We have our careers ahead of us.”

  The day he’d walked out had been the day he’d lost her trust. She’d never let him in again.

  Never is a long time.

  “Hey, are you okay? You zoned out, there, for a moment,” Quinn said, waving a hand in front of her face.

  Charlotte shook the painful memory away. “If you’re sure you can handle Mentlana, I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Charlotte, your friend will be totally at ease and informed during the entire procedure.”

  “Trust is not easily given by people in a small, close-knit and isolated community.”

  “Trust me.” He grinned, a dimple puckering.

  “I did that once before,” she muttered.

  “What?” he asked. He hadn’t heard her, but when had he ever? When they’d been together, everything had been about him and she’d been so in love she’d been content to follow.

  It had taken her a long time realize she’d been so desperate to have her own family she’d been blinded to the fact she had been engaged to a man who was already married—to his work.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Though Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure he could fit in with the residents of Cape Recluse. A man like Quinn would stick out like a sore thumb.

  “Should I worry?” he asked.

  “So, I was surprised to learn you’re in Toronto,” Charlotte said, changing the subject but also feeding her nosy side. New York had been Quinn’s dream destination, his Mecca, his reason for leaving her, but when she’d called he’d been in Toronto.

  “My father’s health deteriorated two years ago. He offered me a position at the hospital. He wanted to groom me to become Chief of Surgery.” Quinn frowned and quickened his pace. Charlotte had an inkling it was a touchy subject. At least that explained why he’d given up his practice in Manhattan and moved to Toronto. It impressed her that he’d returned home to help his father, despite his history with his parents.

  “Did he retire?”

  “No.” His voice was stiff. “No, he died.”

  Good going, dingbat.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Quinn shrugged. “It was his fault. He didn’t practice what he preached. Excessive smoker and drinker. Cancer caught up with him.”

  “Still. I’m sorry.” Charlotte didn’t know what else to say. She knew Quinn hadn’t had the best relationship with his parents, but it was still hard to lose one. She was practically a pro in that department.

  She led him into a warm hangar where her little Citation jet was waiting. Quinn whistled in appreciation.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  “I bought it at an auction. It’s a ’93 and was in bad shape interior-wise, but I didn’t care about that. I kitted it out to transport patients.”

  “It’s a beaut.”

  Charlotte grinned. She was proud of her jet and it made her preen that Quinn looked up at it in admiration. When they had been choosing their specialties, he hadn’t been overly impressed with her choice of general practitioner.

  You don’t need his approval.

  “Well, then, we’d better get going. I’ll be back in a moment. I just have to clear something with the hangar’s manager.”

  Charlotte jogged away. Quinn’s personality was the same: overconfident, arrogant and cocky. But none of that mattered right now. His self-assuredness would probably be just the thing needed to save Mentlana and her baby.

  And that was all that mattered.

  * * *

  What am I doing here again? Quinn asked himself, as another round of turbulence rocked the plane. Yet he knew exactly why he’d come. Because of Charlotte.

  He’d had to see for himself that she was okay. Honestly, had he expected a broken, sad woman stuck in a dead-end job in the wilds of nowhere?

  Yeah, in fact, he had.

  When she’d refused to come to Manhattan after her miscarriage, he’d known she was done with him. Though it had smarted, he hadn’t been a stranger to rejection from someone he loved. He’d dealt with it and had thrown himself completely into his work, but some perverse part of him had needed, wanted to see her again. When he’d left her she’d been so ill, so fragile.

  Now she was whole and healthy.

  It was like the miscarriage had never happened. She was confident, happy in her job. Hell, she’d even learned how to fly a plane. When he’d seen that jet, he’d been impressed. She wasn’t the same girl he’d left behind. It seemed she was stronger for their parting.

  Whereas he was not.

  He glanced down at his hand and flexed it. The leather of his glove creaked, his hand inside, stiff.

  A year ago, he’d been in a car accident during a bad bout of fog on the highway. His hand had been crushed. Quinn flexed his hand again, curling and then releasing it. Yes, it’d been broken and he’d undergone countless surgeries to repair it, but he could still use it. His hand had mended with time. Perhaps Charlotte’s heart had, too, in the five years they’d been apart.

  He doubted it. When Charlotte had greeted him it’d been so formal. So forced.

  “Whoa, that was a bit rough,” he remarked, as they hit more disturbance. He was no stranger to flying, but that was the most jarring bit of turbulence he’d ever experienced. Of course, he was used to first-class seats instead of being crammed into a small cockpit beside the pilot, especially an alluring pilot like Charlotte.

  His shoulders almost touched hers in the tight space, just a near brush of her body against his sending his blood pumping. Just being in her presence again aroused him. Charlotte was a strong aphrodisiac, like ambrosia, and she had tasted just as sweet, too.

  Blast. Get ahold of yourself. You’re not some randy med student. You’re going to be Chief of Surgery when you return to Toronto.

  Only he couldn’t get ahold of himself. She looked exactly as she had when he’d first laid eyes on her. The slender figure and bright red curls were exactly the same. Her face, with only the barest hint of makeup, still looked as fresh and innocent. It was like time hadn’t touched her.

  Perhaps the cold preserves people up here.

  Quinn shook his head. He’d never understood her desire to live on top of the world. He hated winter at the best of times. The frigid air seemed to reach down his throat and scald his lungs with ice.

  “Is something wrong?” Charlotte asked casually, not looking at him.

  “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  The plane lurched and she adjusted her controls. “You’re muttering to yourself. Not used to a small plane, eh? Prefer first class?”

  “Well, at least I can get a drink in first class.” He rubbed his hand. “That, and I’m not used to turbulence that seems more like bull-riding at the Calgary Stampede.”

  Charlotte grinned. “This is mild.”

  “Good God. Mild? Are you certain?”

  She chuckled. He’d always liked her laughter. “Positive. There’s a storm coming.”

  “Did we hit it?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. The storm is chasing us. We’ll beat it.”

  Quinn shuddered. Snow. Ice. “I don’t know how you live up here.”

  “I like the rugged wilderness.”

  “I thought you were afraid of bears. Isn’t this bear country?”

  She laughed, her green eyes twinkling. “This is true.”

  “You never did tell me why you’re afraid of bears.”

  “It’s silly, really.”

  “Come on, humor me. There’s no in-flight movie, either.”

  “No. I’m not telling you.” She grinned and adjusted some more knobs.

  “Come on. I promise I won’t say anything.” He wagg
led his eyebrows, teasing her.

  She shot him a look of disbelief. “No way. And stop that eyebrow-waggling.”

  “What, this?” He did it again for effect. Quinn had forgotten it drove her batty and he’d forgotten what fun it was to tease her.

  “Lord, you look like a demented Groucho Marx or something.”

  “I’ll keep pestering. You know I have a bit of an annoying streak.”

  “A bit?” A smile quirked her lips. “Fine. It’s because I’m afraid of being eaten alive.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  Charlotte’s creamy white cheeks stained with crimson and fire flooded his veins as an image of her, naked, flashed through his mind. He could still taste her kisses on his lips, recall her silky hair and her smooth skin under his hands. Their bodies had fit so well together. It had been so right. His body reacted to her presence. So pure and so not the kind of girl his parents would want for him.

  They’d never approved of Charlotte but he hadn’t cared. He’d pursued her at first because she was good looking, bright and he’d known it would irk his parents to no end. She had not been like the boring girls they’d kept throwing in his path. Charlotte had not been suitable.

  No, Charlotte had been exciting and taboo. Somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with her. Only they’d wanted different things. She’d wanted a family. He hadn’t. With his loveless childhood, Quinn knew he wasn’t father material.

  When his relationship with Charlotte had ended, his mother had reminded him frequently that Charlotte hadn’t been the woman for him. His mother did like to rub salt into a wound.

  And they’d been right. Charlotte hadn’t been the woman for him.

  They were so different, but her difference was what had excited him most.

  Quinn pushed aside all those thoughts. They would do nothing but get him into trouble. He was a professional.

  A surgeon.

  The plane jolted and she was thrown against the dash. Quinn unbuckled and reached out, steadying her. The scent of her coconut shampoo wrapped around him, reminding him of the summer they’d spent in Yellowknife, in a cabin on the shores of Great Slave Lake. Endless nights of blistering passion under the midnight sun.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, closing the small gap between them. He could see her pulse racing at the base of her throat.

  “I’m fine. Fine.” She cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders. Only he didn’t move his hands from her shoulders. He enjoyed holding her again and she didn’t shrug out of his arms or move from his touch.

  “Are you certain?” he asked again. The blush still stained her skin, her gaze locked with his and her breathing quickened. She parted her lips and he fought the urge to steal a kiss from her. But he wanted to.

  So badly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LET GO OF HER. She didn’t want you.

  “Charlotte?” His voice cracked, he cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

  She broke the connection and turned away. “I’m fine. You’d better buckle up in case we hit some more turbulence.” She didn’t look at him but she appeared perturbed.

  “Sure.” He could take a hint. Quinn cursed himself inwardly for letting his guard down. When he’d decided to come up here he’d told himself to keep emotionally detached from her, but two hours in her presence and he was being swayed by her again. Just being around her and he forgot what had passed between them—for him it was like they’d never been apart.

  She was like a drug that intoxicated him quickly.

  Charlotte’s cold brush-off brought him out of the past into the present, and keenly reminded him of how lonely his life had been without her. He didn’t like to be reminded of that.

  He buckled back up and looked out the window as the clouds dissipated. In the distance the white landscape became dotted with brightly colored buildings, which appeared to be raised on stilts above the snow, smoke rising steadily from the chimneys.

  So this is Cape Recluse.

  The cape was at the mercy of the elements and the Northwest Passage surrounded it on three sides. The town itself was nestled against a panorama of majestic mountains. Squinting, he faintly made out what looked like a tiny airstrip on a sheet of ice.

  The whole town looked barren and very, very rustic. It was like something out of the old frontier towns of the Wild West, only snow covered. Quinn knew he was on the edge of civilization, here.

  This was what Charlotte preferred over New York?

  She flicked on the radio and gave out her call number. “Preparing to land.”

  “Roger that,” came the crackling acknowledgment over the line.

  Charlotte brought her plane in to land. Quinn was impressed with her piloting abilities as she brought the aircraft to a smooth landing on the slick airstrip. When the wheels of the plane touched the ice, the jet skittered slightly, but Charlotte kept control and then visibly relaxed.

  As she swung the plane round towards the small hangar, Quinn saw a group of villagers milling about.

  “That’s quite a homecoming.”

  “Yes, well, there’s not much winter entertainment up here,” Charlotte said.

  “I’ll bet there isn’t.” Quinn regretted his muttered comment the moment it had slipped past his lips.

  Smooth move.

  Charlotte’s eyes narrowed and flashed in annoyance, but all she said was, “Well, we’ll get you settled.”

  She taxied the plane into the hangar.

  “Sounds good.” He could do with a long, hot shower and some sleep, but judging from the size of the town he didn’t see any four-star accommodation nearby. The sooner he dealt with Mentlana Tikivik’s case, the sooner he could get back to Toronto, and sanity.

  * * *

  Charlotte’s pulse rate felt like a jackhammer at the moment and she hoped Quinn hadn’t noticed how much he had affected her.

  Damn.

  One stupid little embrace during turbulence had set off all sorts of crazy hormones zinging through her body.

  His stay in Cape Recluse was going to be more trying than she’d originally thought and had tried to tell herself it would be. To make matters worse, there were no hotels in town and Quinn would be staying with her. He had to stay with her.

  When his arms had wrapped around her in the cockpit, her blood had ignited and her common sense had wrestled with the side of her that had wanted to toss aside the plane’s controls and throw herself into his arms.

  Totally irrational.

  She was the fly to his spider, apparently.

  It wasn’t like she was desperate. She’d gone on other dates with good-looking, exciting men, but she hadn’t lost her head around them.

  And that was the point. Quinn always made her feel giddy, like a lovestruck fool. He was exciting, sexy and handsome, and made her body burn with a pleasure she hadn’t felt since he’d left.

  Every day she’d be forced to face Quinn, the man who had broken her heart, but she had to do this for Mentlana. She knew she’d be putting her heart at risk, and it had only recently mended since he’d left her for the greener pastures of New York. She’d rarely thought of him for the last couple years.

  Liar.

  Of course she’d thought about him, even though for the last couple years it hadn’t been as constant as it had been before that. Except for one day. Every year on the anniversary of the day she’d miscarried the baby and had nearly bled out, she’d thought of him and what could’ve been had he not walked away.

  Only, what could’ve been was just a fantasy. Quinn wouldn’t have settled down. She realized that now.

  Her throat constricted as she tried to swallow down those emotions. When she thought of what could have been, when she thought about the family she’d always dreamed of, she fou
ght the urge to break down in tears.

  Don’t think about it.

  Charlotte took a deep, calming breath, removed her headpiece and climbed out of the cockpit.

  “Doc Charley!”

  Charlotte glanced up to see George, her paramedic, approaching the plane. She embraced George, who was like a brother to her.

  “Good to see you, Doc. Good flight?” he asked, though Charlotte knew he wasn’t really that concerned about her flight. He was a pilot, too, and the Citation was like his baby. George moved away and stroked the side of the jet for good measure. “Any problems?”

  “None. Your baby is fine and the flight was good.” She glanced back to see if Quinn was disembarking okay. He appeared to be, as he climbed stiffly out of the cockpit.

  “Dr. Devlyn.” Charlotte waved him over, and Quinn strode over, his gaze intently focused on George. He didn’t respond. Charlotte gritted her teeth. “Quinn, this is George Atavik. He’s my paramedic and copilot. George, this is Dr. Devlyn, the specialist from Toronto.”

  George grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth. His dark eyes lit with sincerity. “Good to meet you, Dr. Devlyn. Thanks for coming up this far north to help out.”

  “The pleasure is all mine and, please, just call me Quinn,” he replied, shaking George’s hand. He glanced at her, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously, a look that spoke volumes, like he was undressing her right there on the spot, as he whispered, “Just Quinn.”

  “George is Mentlana Tikivik’s brother,” Charlotte said, clearing her throat. Why she’d blurted that information out she didn’t know. It was like she wanted Quinn to know there was nothing between George and her. She watched for any sign of reaction from Quinn, but there was none. All he did was nod politely.

  “I’ll take care of the plane, Doc Charley. I checked the weather satellite earlier and I was worried you were going to be delayed by that storm coming in from Labrador.” George chatted away, totally unaware of the tension Charlotte keenly felt hovering over them.