Safe in His Hands

by Amy Ruttan

  “Well, from what I can see, your placenta, though previa, is fully attached and not bleeding.”

  “That’s a relief.” Genen kissed his wife’s hand. “And the baby?”

  “The bleeding is not being caused by the baby. I have to run some more tests to determine the severity of the CCAM, but other than that, his heart is beating and he’s moving well. His other organs are forming satisfactorily for a gestational age of twenty-one weeks.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Devlyn. I appreciate it,” Mentlana said.

  “I want you on bed rest, though.” He turned to look at Charlotte. “I’m sure Dr. James will agree with my assessment.”

  “Yes,” Charlotte said. “I think we’ve had this discussion before.”

  “For how long?” Mentlana’s gaze traveled nervously between him and Charlotte.

  “For the remainder of your pregnancy. With your pulmonary embolism and placenta previa alone, it’s for the best,” Charlotte said, brushing back Mentlana’s hair.

  Mentlana nodded. “Okay.”

  “We’ll call you when I’m through analyzing your labs and diagnostic images.” Quinn wiped the sonogram gel from her abdomen and then turned back to the machine. “Until then, take it easy.”

  “Sounds good, Doctors.”

  Quinn saved various shots of the baby’s heart and other organs to determine whether or not he would have to do the surgery in utero. It would be better if he could wait until the baby was full term to deliver it via Caesarean and do the operation on the newborn.

  He’d done that surgery several times since his hand had been damaged.

  If the baby could wait until its birth, by then he might be able to figure out a way to get Mentlana to Mount Hope, where his surgical team could assist him. Even Iqaluit would be better than here.

  Charlotte may be a competent physician, but she was no surgeon.

  She could’ve been great if she’d only come to New York with me.

  Quinn stood up and left. He knew Charlotte followed him, and so did the collective gaze of the mob huddled in the waiting room as they passed to get to Charlotte’s office.

  Once they were behind the closed doors he wandered over to the window and wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction at the swirling snowstorm, which had caught up with them.

  Then again, it would make a nice photograph and he was glad he’d brought his camera. Since his father’s death, he had been indulging in his secret passion for photography. Something his father had always stated was a waste of time.

  He was on sabbatical, as his father had just died when Charlotte had called, and he’d planned on taking a trip to India to photograph scenery. Instead, he was up in the High Arctic and not getting paid much to be there.

  The money didn’t matter to him.

  His father would roll over in his grave if he knew, and he already knew how his mother felt about this excursion.

  “You don’t have time for a charity case, Quinn. You have to prepare to take your father’s place!”

  God. He hated winter. It probably stemmed from the fact he’d been forced into endless hours of hockey practice by his father, when all Quinn had wanted to do was take photography lessons. Photography hadn’t been manly enough for his father, whereas hockey was the sport of champions.

  “Don’t they have winters in Toronto?” Charlotte asked, breaking the silence.

  Quinn glanced back at her. “Pardon?”

  “The way you’re scowling at the snow.”

  Quinn shrugged. “You know I hate winter.”

  “How could I forget?”

  “I’m not the only Canadian who does. Think about all the snowbirds that go to warmer climes every winter.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You want me to picture you as an old man in a RV?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

  “I’m sorry about the scrubs.” A devilish smile played across her lips.

  “You’re not in the least. You enjoyed watching me give the locals a fright.”

  Charlotte laughed and he couldn’t help but join in. “I’ll see if George has any spares.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  “What do you think of Mentlana’s condition?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject.

  “Your assessment is correct, though I don’t know the severity of the CCAM yet.”

  “How long will it take you to determine that?” she asked, her voice tight and her lips pursed together in a thin line. He could see she was stressed about Mentlana.

  Charlotte always got over-attached to people.

  “A few days. I want to be absolutely certain. I sent the scans to your computer and I’ll email them to my laptop later. I have an internet stick, because I figured there’s no Wi-Fi up here.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Wise move.”

  Quinn moved away from the window and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk. As soon as he sat down he noticed the little frame with the sonogram picture was gone. He didn’t search the room for it as he didn’t want Charlotte to know he’d seen it. Apparently she’d hidden it. It irked him that she was hiding it from him.

  Like it had never existed.

  Like they had never existed. And that saddened him.

  He shook that thought away.

  “I’m glad it was just an irritated cervix.” Charlotte sat across from him, her back ramrod straight, her fingers laced in front of her.

  “There are no pools of blood darkening on the scans. The fetus is thriving, despite the CCAM. I take it they knew the gender beforehand. I hope I didn’t make a blunder with that.”

  “They knew.”

  Quinn nodded. “I’m hoping we can get Mentlana to twenty-five weeks before I even think of doing in utero surgery to repair the lungs—that way, if we have to deliver, the baby has a better chance of survival.”

  Unlike ours, who miscarried at a mere sixteen weeks.

  “In utero surgery is needed?”

  “It may not be. We’ll monitor her. She may go to term and then the baby’s lungs can be repaired after delivery, but if there’s much more fluid collection we risk hydrops. If that’s the case we’ll have to place a shunt in the fetus’s lungs so the fluid can drain into the amniotic fluid and take the pressure off the lungs. Then, when the baby is full term, we can resect the lesion on him. Really, that would be the ideal situation.”

  Quinn rubbed his hand, which had begun to bother him again. He needed to do his strengthening exercises. “There has to be a way to get to Iqaluit, though. You don’t have the facilities here to deliver a baby by Caesarean, let alone operate on a fetus in utero.”

  “She has a pulmonary embolism. I can’t fly her.”

  “What about low altitude?”

  “I’ve thought of it, but with the sudden storms and mountains...it’s risky. It would double the flight time.”

  “It’s risky leaving her up here. When the time comes we need to get her to Iqaluit. If she makes it to twenty-four weeks, we need to consider flying her down there.”

  Charlotte scrubbed her hand over her face. “You’re right. I know it. All right, when the time comes we’ll fly her at low altitude to Iqaluit, but if her water breaks or a storm hits, we’ll have to do it here. I’ve been stockpiling supplies.”

  “Supplies won’t cut it. I need a proper surgical team to assist me. I’m sorry. You alone won’t be of any use in this situation.”

  Charlotte’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “I’m more than capable of assisting you, Dr. Devlyn.”

  “Have you done surgeries here before?” he asked, intrigued.

  “Yes, but never this kind. It’s why I need you here, Quinn.” She reached across the desk and took his hand. Her small, delicate hand fit so snugly in his. Wa
rmth spread across his chest. He wanted to pull her closer to him.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

  Don’t. She didn’t want you.

  Quinn pushed her hand away.

  It was too little, too late. There was no going back.

  She cleared her throat and her expression was serious. “Will you let me assist, Dr. Devlyn, or do I have to hire help?”

  As much as he was tempted to tell her to bring up a surgical team, he knew the money would be coming out of her own pocket and he couldn’t do that to her.

  “If it comes down to it, I would like you to assist.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHARLOTTE WAS TAKEN aback. She wanted to believe that Quinn trusted her abilities as a surgeon and was willing to let her help save her best friend’s baby, but a niggle of self-doubt gnawed at the back of her mind.

  She knew what his thoughts about general physicians and surgeons had been in medical school. Quinn had believed in the discipline, drive and focus of training for years in a specialty, which of course had been very egotistical of him. He had been obsessive when it came to his training. In med school he’d do anything to scrub in on any surgery and she knew he never gave up on a challenge. That’s why he was at the top of his field so young.

  Charlotte hoped he had changed, though she seriously doubted it. As her father had always said, a leopard didn’t change its spots.

  Why am I worrying about this?

  Quinn was no longer her concern. She didn’t care what he thought about her chosen career path and, frankly, if he was going to let her assist in a once-in-a-lifetime surgery, she was going to take it.

  Even if it was because Quinn had no other option.

  “I think I’m going to have a shower and peel myself out of these oh so charming scrubs.” Quinn rubbed his hand, wincing momentarily, and then stood up. “Where am I staying and where can I call a cab?”

  Guilt assuaged her. She wasn’t heartless. He was exhausted and here she was thrusting him straight into the exam room the moment the plane had touched down. Although it hadn’t been intentional, it had just happened that way.

  “There are no cabs and there’s no hotel.” Charlotte stood and walked over to the door. She needed an escape route for what she was about to tell him. Even though she hated having to share a clinic space with him for the next twenty-and-some-odd weeks while they monitored Mentlana, it was even worse having to share accommodations with him.

  Already it was proving hard to keep her attraction for him under wraps, but there was nothing to be done. Cape Recluse had no hotels, motels or anything of the kind. The people in this town opened up their homes to strangers. Quinn would be more comfortable at her home, which was connected to the clinic, than at the home of someone he didn’t know.

  “No hotel?” Quinn’s eyes widened. “Am I supposed to crash here?” He glanced down at the old brown sofa that had once adorned their college apartment. “I think I’m too old to curl up on the ‘Couch of Gibraltar,’ here.”

  “I have a guest bedroom at my place.” Heat began to crawl up her neck and she prayed the blush wouldn’t reach her face.

  “Are you asking me to spend the night?”

  “N-no,” she stammered.

  Quinn grinned and crossed his arms. Even though he thought the lavender emasculated him, that was far from the truth. He was still as sexy as ever and she wanted to tear those scrubs from his body to get to what was underneath.

  Whoa, slow down.

  Where had that thought come from? True, it’d been a long time since she’d been with a man...the last time having been with Quinn. Her heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. Maybe that was the cure. To have one last night and get him out of her system. Warmth spread through her at the thought of that foolish notion.

  Get a grip on yourself.

  Sleeping with Quinn Devlyn was the last thing she needed to do.

  “So let me get this straight. You’re inviting me over to your place to spend the night?” He was teasing. He wasn’t going to let it go. Quinn was annoying that way. He moved closer and Charlotte raised her hands and took a step back.

  “It’s not like it’s in my bed. You’ll be in the guest bedroom with its own bed. Same general house, two separate beds.”

  Quinn’s brown eyes gleamed with devilment. “You’re mentioning the word bed quite a lot, whereas I haven’t even once.”

  Charlotte snapped her fingers. “Ha, you just did.”

  “Someone has bed on the brain,” Quinn teased again.

  “You’re welcome to find your own lodgings, but unless you want to bunk with strangers or build an igloo you’re better off staying with me. Trust me, I don’t like it, either.”

  “Igloo? You’re pulling my leg.”

  “No, really, and, trust me, you don’t want to. The bears have been bad this year.”

  “Bears? You mean as in polar bears?” he asked, startled.

  “Yes, what other kind of bear do you think I mean? This is the North, my friend.” She chuckled at the expression of horror plastered across his face as she left the room. At least it got her out of that conversation with him.

  She walked out of her office to retrieve his luggage from Rosie. It was almost time for the clinic to close, but the residents knew she was only next door. She didn’t even have to leave the clinic to go home as the door at the far side of the clinic led straight into her humble but comfortable abode.

  “I’m here for Dr. Devlyn’s luggage.”

  “Ah.” Rosie got up and lifted the luggage, handing it to her. “He packs light.”

  “Always has.”

  “I find it strange he didn’t bring his own scrubs,” Rosie remarked, as she began to collect up her belongings.

  Charlotte grinned, thinking about Quinn in his scrubs again. “Do you think we can get some blue or green ones?”

  Rosie frowned over the bridge of her rhinestone-studded glasses. “What does he think this is, the local store?”

  “I know. But please try for me, Rosie. He’s used to the big city where everything is provided to physicians on a silver platter.”

  “In Canada?” Rosie asked in disbelief.

  “Well, no. He had a private practice in New York for a while.”

  Rosie nodded. “That makes sense. I’ll see what I can do.” She zipped up her parka. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc Charley.”

  “Good night, Rosie.”

  No sooner had Charlotte uttered the words than the doors of the clinic were flung open. George came rushing in with a stretcher. On it was Wavell Agluclark, a ten-year-old boy who was being taught the ways of his people in traditional hunting. George had his hand clamped over Wavell’s thigh, which was bleeding heavily.

  Rosie instantly peeled off her parka and quickly went about preparing a room while Charlotte jumped into action.

  “What’ve we got here, George?”

  “Deep laceration to the thigh, possibly a nick to the femoral artery,” George answered.

  “Exam room one is ready for you, Doc Charley,” Rosie called out.

  “Bring him in.” Charlotte began to scrub while Wavell’s dad, Sam, and George lifted him from the stretcher onto the exam bed. Wavell’s face was pale with blood loss, pain and fear. A twinge of sympathy raced through her. She hated seeing a child in pain, but this wasn’t Wavell’s first accident. The boy seemed prone to mishaps.

  “So what happened this time, Wavell?” she asked, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, as Wavell was allergic to latex.

  “I was cleaning fish after ice fishing, and the knife slipped,” he said, through gritted teeth.

  “Well, let’s take a look.”

  George removed the gauze he’d been using to compress the wound. Gingerly inspecting the
site, Charlotte could tell it was deep, but because the blood was being controlled and not gushing, the femoral artery was probably all right.

  Rosie came back into the room.

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “I need ten ccs of lidocaine.”

  “Yes. Right away.” Rosie skittered away to the locked medicine cabinet to prepare the local anesthesia.

  “I don’t like needles,” Wavell murmured grumpily.

  “I know, buddy, but this needle will numb your wound and I’ll be able to stitch it up without you feeling a thing.”

  “Okay.” Wavell pursed his lips. “I can handle it.”

  Charlotte smiled and ruffled his hair. “You’re being very brave.” She took the syringe from Rosie and injected around the laceration. “Tell me when you can’t feel it and I’ll stitch it up.”

  “Okay.” Wavell nodded.

  “He’s okay, then?” Sam Agluclark asked warily.

  “He’ll be fine. He didn’t cut the artery. Once we sew up his wound he’ll need to rest for a couple of days.”

  “Can’t feel it.” Wavell slurred slightly.

  “Good stuff.” Sam was obviously relieved as he looked down at his son.

  Rosie handed her a tray with everything she’d need for stitches. Charlotte thoroughly irrigated and cleaned out his cut with saline and Betadine, because she didn’t think a knife for gutting fish was exactly clean.

  Once she’d thoroughly inspected the site, she began to close the wound with sutures. Wavell didn’t make a fuss but held perfectly still as she washed the suture site in more Betadine and packed it with gauze. In fact, Wavell was drifting off from the anesthesia.

  “He’s all done. I think it’s best if you let him have a rest here. I’ll get you some painkillers for later. He’s to keep his leg elevated and come back in five days to get the sutures removed. No more fishing for a bit. He’s lucky it didn’t do more damage.”

  “Thanks, Doc Charley,” Sam said.