by Amy Ruttan
“It’s a good solid plan and looks great on the résumé.”
She shook her head. “Is that the only thing that matters to you?”
“My career, you mean?”
“Of course. What else would I be talking about?” Charlotte set down the dish towel she’d been holding. “I don’t want to get into this with you. I already know how you feel about it.”
“I’m sorry that my career was important, but it should be the top priority for any physician. Hell, for anyone who busted their ass studying in a tough industry. I’m sorry I thought of my career. Is that what you want to hear? You stayed up here and that was for your career, so why should I feel bad about going after what I wanted?”
He regretted the words the moment they tumbled past his lips. Charlotte bit her lip and shook her head, tossing the dish towel on the counter.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t. I’m going to go do some paperwork. I’ve fallen a bit behind. Make yourself at home.”
Quinn watched her disappear through her bedroom door. It closed behind her with a thud.
You’re an idiot, Devlyn.
He was standing stubborn on the pulpit and ideals he had preached so often. Advice he gave to fledgling surgeons in the field of obstetrics, advice that gave him nothing and no one.
He really did have the personality of a sledgehammer, most days. Pain shot up his arm and he flexed his hand.
* * *
Fleshing out his résumé wasn’t the only reason he’d come to the North. Charlotte had been the reason. The true reason, and he’d blown it.
He shook the morbid memories away, suddenly craving a drink. Only he knew Nunavut was a dry territory. Not a drop could be brought in. He’d watched the Mounties confiscate liquor from some guys who had been on their way up for some ice fishing in Iqaluit.
Quinn wandered over to the fridge and opened it. Orange juice beckoned him. He pulled it out and resisted taking a swig straight from the carton. Instead, after opening several cupboards, he found a glass. He poured himself some and drank the tangy juice down in one gulp. It burned his esophagus. Since his accident he was a little bit more sensitive to acidic things, but the burn felt good.
The burn helped him forget.
“You’ve already made up your mind. You don’t need my approval.” She was lying in the bed, so pale against the crisp white hospital bedding. The IV was still embedded in her vein, giving a transfusion. She was pallid as she stared at the far wall, not responding to his announcement about going to Manhattan to a lucrative job.
Didn’t she understand? Life would be better for both of them.
“Charlotte...”
“No.” She turned and looked at him, her face devoid of expression. “No.”
The sound of shattering glass shook away the ghosts of his past and he stared in disbelief at the shards on her linoleum floor. His bad hand had frozen in a crab-like vise.
Quinn cursed wearily. He cleaned up the shards of glass and then headed over to the computer in the corner and wiggled the mouse. The monitor came on with a faint hum and he went directly to the folder on the desktop. Tikivik, Mentlana. He clicked on the pictures and brought up the multiple sonograms of Mentlana’s baby.
Although the baby was thriving, the lesions in the paracheynma were quite visible.
Dammit.
If the lesions continued to grow then fluid would begin to collect in the lungs and he would be forced to perform in utero surgery.
Quinn rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sleep out of them. He wasn’t sure if he was up to this in these conditions, but he’d promised Charlotte. It was the least he could to do make up for the hurt he’d caused her five years ago.
Perhaps I won’t have to perform the surgery.
Perhaps he could get Mentlana down to Toronto where he could perform the surgery, and if not him, someone just as good as him.
He’d see to it personally.
* * *
When Charlotte came out of her bedroom, Quinn was nowhere to be seen and even though she was frustrated with him, she wondered where he’d got to. She snuck off to her office, intending to spend the day doing some administrative stuff.
For an hour Charlotte stared at the paperwork. She’d been holding the same manila folder for what seemed like forever.
“This is ridiculous.” She dropped the folder back onto the large amount of files teetering on her desk.
Get a grip.
She’d known when she’d called Quinn up here that it would be hard to deal with him. She’d known that, but she’d been willing to ignore her own hurt feelings, her attraction to him for the sake of Mentlana and her baby.
Why was she mad that he’d followed his dreams, just like she’d chosen to stay in the North?
Because it broke your heart that he left you.
Yet here she was, hiding away in her office instead of doing what she always did on a lazy Saturday morning, which was slumming around her house and enjoying the solitude. But she didn’t want to appear like a bum in front of him.
So, what? She shouldn’t give two hoots that he was in her house. She was the reason he’d come up here, so why was she allowing Quinn Devlyn to dictate her schedule?
I’m not going to let him.
Charlotte stood up and marched purposefully, head held high, to her house. She opened the door with a “look at me, here I am” attitude and was stunned that Quinn was nowhere in the vicinity of her living area. His plate was still on the table, her carton of orange juice was sitting on the counter and her computer’s tropical-fish screensaver bubbled with activity.
“Quinn?” she called out cautiously, but there was no answer.
Great. She mustered up the courage to face him, to show him that she didn’t care he was here. To prove to him that he didn’t affect her anymore. And he wasn’t even here to see it.
Blast.
Charlotte ran her fingers through her tangle of curls and proceeded into the kitchen.
Just like him, leaving a mess behind.
His residence, before they’d roomed together, had been known as the sty for very good reason. The man was a meticulous surgeon but a veritable pig, though Rosie would say the same about her filing habits.
She picked up the orange-juice carton and shook it slightly. There was a bit of juice in it, but when she peered inside there was barely any worth keeping. Except orange juice was damn expensive up here. She’d treated herself to this carton. Charlotte chugged the remainder of the juice so she wouldn’t waste a single drop.
A smile tugged the corners of her lips briefly as she recalled the numerous arguments they’d had over his propensity to leave barely a dribble in the bottom of a carton.
The last time, they’d fought over a carton of eggnog during Christmas and they’d ended up making love under the Christmas tree.
Her pulse raced as that memory replayed in her head like a cozy movie. It’d been so long since she had thought about it. Her heart began to beat faster and butterflies began to swirl around in her stomach.
Damn.
Charlotte crumpled the carton in her hand before tossing it out under the sink. She slammed the cupboard shut, angry at herself for letting herself feel this way about Quinn again.
“Domestic duties prevail over paperwork?”
Charlotte startled and spun around. He was inches from her, half-naked. The scent of his body wash was masculine and spicy as she inhaled deeply.
“Uh—uh,” she stuttered, and backed up to the counter. She gripped the cheap melamine as if her life depended on it.
“What?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought I’d shower and wash off that certain smell that seems to permeate most planes.”
Charlotte couldn’t think straight as her gaze trailed hungrily down his
body, abruptly ending at the tropical beach towel tied around his waist.
His hair curled and glistened with drops of moisture. She ran her tongue over her lips. Oh, how she wanted to run her tongue over his chest, particularly around his nipples, which she knew were particularly sensitive.
“Charlotte, you’re starting to scare me.”
She shook her head. “Sorry.” She turned back to the sink and turned on the faucet, hoping the rushing water would drown out the erratic beat of her pulse and make him move away. “Yeah, going to do some dishes.”
Only he didn’t move away. He moved closer, and the heat of his body permeated her back, through the thick sweater and turtleneck she was wearing. Gooseflesh broke across her skin and she held her breath.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Charlotte?” he asked, his breath branding her flesh at the base of her neck.
Charlotte turned around again, staring deep into his deep brown eyes. Oh, God. She was falling again. She had no strength when it came to him. He still made her weak at the knees.
“I...”
“What do you need, Charlotte?” He reached out and ran his knuckles against her cheek. “Tell me what you need. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”
CHAPTER SIX
HE WAS SO close to her that her heart was racing. Her traitorous body was reacting to him.
“Charlotte,” he whispered, and reached out to touch her.
“Hey, Doc... Whoa...sorry!”
Quinn jumped back and Charlotte saw George, a shocked look on his face, standing dumbstruck between her clinic and her home. In his hand was a plastic bag bulging with what looked like blue-and-green scrubs.
“George, come in. Dr. Devlyn and I were just talking about...” She trailed off, her brain totally blank, and Quinn just cleared his throat. He was absolutely no help.
George blushed and looked away, staring at the ceiling. “Sorry, Doc Charley. I should’ve knocked.”
“No, it’s okay, George. I was just doing dishes.” She pushed past Quinn, feeling humiliated that George had walked in on them in such a compromising position. George would definitely blab about this to Mentlana and she’d never be able to live it down. Ignoring what had happened, she feigned nonchalance. “Is something wrong, George?”
“Nothing. I just brought some scrubs and came to remind you about a certain appointment today.” He pointed at his watch. “You didn’t forget, right?”
“Shoot,” she cursed. She had. Today was her scheduled checkup on Anernerk Kamuk, Cape Recluse’s oldest woman and George’s grandmother. The woman who had taken in Charlotte when her father had died. Anernerk would certainly have something to say if she was late for the checkup. “I’ll be ready in a few, George.”
George nodded, a funny smile plastered across his face. “Okay, Doc Charley.” His dark gaze landed on Quinn. “Dr. Devlyn, pleasure to see you again.”
Charlotte could hear his chuckles as he closed the door to her clinic.
Dammit.
“What did you forget?” Quinn asked.
“Today is my bi-weekly check on Cape Recluse’s oldest resident. She’s one hundred and one, and an artist.”
Quinn’s eyes flew open in surprise. “One hundred and one?”
“Hard of hearing, Devlyn?” She grabbed her parka off the coat rack, but a smile tweaked at the corners of her lips.
“I’m sorry. I’m amazed, frankly. In my line of work I don’t meet many people who’ve passed the century mark.”
“It’s the fresh air up here.” She fished around in her pocket for the keys to her snowmobile.
“You said she’s an artist. Would I know her work?” Quinn asked.
“Doubtful. Unless you’re an expert in traditional Inuktitut artwork.”
“Ah, no.” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t get me wrong, though. I’ve seen some really intriguing native art in New York.”
“Her name is Anernerk Kamuk. Does that name ring a bell in the ‘it’ crowd of Manhattan?”
“Not in the art scene, no, but didn’t you live with her after your father died?”
Charlotte was impressed. “Oh, so you actually did listen to me when I spoke.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Give me some credit.”
Charlotte blushed. “Sorry. Yes. She’s George and Mentlana’s grandmother and she took me in when my dad died. Look, I have to get going or she’ll raise a stink.”
“Can I come?”
Charlotte paused in the middle of rummaging through her bag and stared at Quinn. “You...you want to come?”
Quinn ran a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah. If that’s okay?”
She blinked in disbelief. “Sure. Can you be ready in ten minutes? I have to collect a few things from the clinic. Dress warmly and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Excellent. See you in ten.”
Charlotte watched him pad off towards her guest bedroom. When the door shut she shook herself out of her daze and headed into her clinic to collect her bag and instruments. Actually, she was quite looking forward to seeing how Quinn dealt with Anernerk. He’d never had the best people skills when dealing with non-medical professionals, and Anernerk was a bit of a handful at the best of times.
She was going to eat Quinn alive and that thought gave Charlotte a secret thrill. It would be an entertaining appointment, that was for sure.
As she shoved Anernerk’s file in her rucksack, Quinn entered her office. He was, surprisingly, kitted out in appropriate cold-weather gear and she was impressed he’d done his homework before coming up here.
“Ready?” she asked with a bit of trepidation.
“Whenever you are.”
Charlotte nodded and led him outside. George was waiting on his snowmobile, ready to lead the way through the snowdrifts to the cabin on the outskirts of Cape Recluse, where Anernerk lived and still worked as an important Inuk artist.
“Hey, Dr. Devlyn. Good to see you’re going with us. Grandma sure likes to get her hands on fresh meat.” George chuckled again and, despite the bitter cold, Charlotte felt her face heat with a blush.
She sent a silent warning of shut up to George as she pulled her rucksack on. Charlotte mounted her snowmobile and glanced over her shoulder at Quinn, who was still standing by the door, shifting from foot to foot.
“Nervous?” she asked, pointedly staring at his shuffling feet.
“No. I’m freezing out here. I’m trying to keep the circulation going in my lower extremities.”
Charlotte bit back her smile. “Well, let’s get going. It’s freaking cold out here.”
Quinn chuckled and climbed on behind her. His body nestled against her back, his arms wrapped around her waist. Even though many layers of thick clothing and snowsuits separated them, she squirmed in her seat. She was suddenly very warm and it wasn’t her winter clothing that was causing it.
“Are you sure you’re not nervous, Devlyn?” she teased, trying to dispel her own nervousness at having him so close to her.
“Not in the least,” he said. Although something in his voice told her she wasn’t the only one feeling a bit edgy about being so close together again. She smiled and revved the engine. It felt so good to have his arms wrapped around her.
“Hold on to your hat.”
“Wagons, ho,” George shouted above the roar of the Bombardier machines, pumping his fist into the air. They took off across the snow, northeast toward the sea and Anernerk’s home.
Charlotte had tried time and time again to get Anernerk to move closer to the clinic, into the main town with one of her children. Anernerk refused on the grounds that the spirits had told her that in order to paint, she needed to see where the sea met the sky without the clutter of town in the way.
A thin column of smo
ke rose in the air as they crested a bank of snow. Charlotte let out an inward sigh of relief, glad to know Anernerk was still alive. Anernerk also refused most modern technologies and didn’t have a phone.
Anernerk’s little red house on high stilts looked warm and inviting. This was where Charlotte had lived when her father had died. This was home. Charlotte parked her snowmobile beside George’s. George was humming and grinned at Quinn as he stumbled off the back of her snowmobile.
“Your first time, Dr. Devlyn?”
“On a snowmobile? Yes.” Quinn chuckled. “I guess you could say I am a virgin in that respect.”
George let out a large guffaw. “Well, you’re a virgin no more, Dr. Devlyn. You’re officially deflowered.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes at the men’s childish banter. The door to Anernerk’s door swung open quickly to reveal a little wrinkled face peering outside. Dark eyes flashed under a mass of wrinkles.
“Are you just going to stand out there all day? I’m not going getting any younger, you know,” she called down from her porch high above them.
“Oh, hush, Anernerk. We’re coming, we’re coming.”
* * *
Quinn was stunned by the Inuk woman. Though she was a mass of wrinkles and weathered skin, he wouldn’t have guessed from her fluid movements that she was over a century.
Anernerk’s beetle-black gaze rested on him. There was a twinkle to them and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The intensity of her perusal unnerved Quinn slightly. It was as if the old woman was peering deep into his soul.
“Who’ve you brought to visit, Doc Charley?” Anernerk asked.
“A friend of mine from med school. He’s come here to take care of Mentlana.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Mentlana? Well, this is good news indeed.” Anernerk stepped aside as George and Charlotte crossed the threshold into her home.
Quinn followed up the steps, seeking the warmth that emanated from the wood stove in the center of the large room of Anernerk’s clapboard shanty, which, like most of the other homes, was tethered down and on stilts. He peeled off his coat and hung it on a peg near the wood stove.