by Amy Ruttan
Honestly. Men.
* * *
Quinn did take his debate about cuisine inside with George. He quite liked George, which was odd. Especially as he’d considered George competition when he’d first arrived, but Charlotte had quickly quelled any thoughts on that score. Now, George was like a buddy. Quinn knew he didn’t make friends easily and didn’t have many people he really considered friends. His parents hadn’t encouraged any camaraderie in his childhood. Only competition.
The only real friend he’d made had been Charlotte, and look how that had turned out. He’d hurt her. Terribly.
The hum of the centrifuge echoed in the quiet clinic and he followed the noise to her little lab at the far corner of the building.
He paused in the doorway; she was hunched over the counter, her head down on her arms, watching the whirling of the machine.
He wished he had his camera on hand so he could capture this moment. She was so beautiful. Her red curls were tied back, except for one errant strand, which every so often she would blow out of her face. Quinn could remember lying in bed with her on their days off, when they’d had hours and no one to disturb them, and he would take that one curl and wrap it around his finger, as she had done that first time he’d seen her. It had been so soft and he’d felt so relaxed, so at home with her.
He’d never felt that way before meeting her.
His father had been a workaholic and the best damn cardiothoracic surgeon in Toronto. It was ironic it had been a myocardial infarction that had killed him. Quinn’s mother had set her son on a pedestal when he’d got into medical school at Harvard. She’d expected the same results as his father had achieved in his chosen field, not ever accepting any failure from him.
Quinn remembered how angry his mother had been when he had started dating Charlotte.
It had made him wonder, later, when he’d realized how foolish he had been to lose Charlotte, if his parents had ever truly loved each other.
Quinn hadn’t realized it at the time, but Charlotte had made life worth living and he’d thrown it all away.
As if sensing his presence, she turned her head, her eyes widening when she saw him. She sat up and tucked the lock of hair behind her ear.
“Is something wrong, Quinn?”
“No... Yes.”
“Is it something I can help you with?” There was a look of anticipation on her face, and she bit her lip, almost as if she was silently urging him to talk.
He clenched his fist, biting back the pain.
No.
“Just wanted to know what you wanted for dinner.”
Charlotte chuckled. “Since when do you cook? Never, if I recall.”
Quinn laughed and glanced down at the pristine tiled floor. “I don’t suppose there is any takeout in Cape Recluse, is there?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No takeout, but there is a diner. Would you like to go get some there?”
“As long as I’m not forced to eat that blubber stuff, sure.”
Charlotte smiled, her grin lighting up the dimness of the lab. “Let me just put Anernerk’s specimens away and we can grab something to eat.”
Quinn tracked her movements. God, she was beautiful. Even though he knew the reasons why he had gone to Manhattan and that they’d made sense to him at the time, he now wondered why he’d left her behind.
You’re an idiot.
“Come on.” She took his hand and led him out of the lab. They slipped on their winter jackets and Charlotte jammed a furry toque down far on her head and wound her scarf around her face.
“It’s not far, is it?” Quinn asked. “No dog sleds are needed?”
“No,” Charlotte replied, despite being muffled under her thick scarf. “Just a short jog.”
He hoped so. He wasn’t enjoying the frigid temperatures of the Arctic. She opened the door and he was hit by a blast of icy air. He should’ve been used to it by now, but the low temperatures still surprised him.
They said nothing to each other as they shuffled through town to a little shack near the hangar. A steady stream of exhaust fumes floated up from the chimney—the aroma of old-fashioned cooking.
He could smell fries and his stomach growled at the thought of poutine. He was so hungry he might just take Mrs. Kamuk up on her offer to eat muktuk.
Chimes over the door jingled and they stomped their feet on the mat to shake off the snow. When he looked up, the patrons of the restaurant were all staring in wide-eyed wonder and Quinn felt like a specimen under examination at that moment.
“I should’ve mentioned that this diner is run by the Tikivik family,” Charlotte whispered as she hung up her coat.
“Ah, so these are the hordes that were waiting in your clinic when I arrived yesterday?”
Charlotte nodded. “Yep, that would be them.” She turned and waved and the group waved back then returned to their regular restaurant chatter.
“Do we wait for someone to seat us?” Quinn asked, looking around.
“It’s not that kind of place, Devlyn.” She took his hand again and his blood heated at her gentle touch. She led him to a corner booth and they slid into it. He sat down across from her. Charlotte handed him a vinyl-covered menu.
It was one sided and a bit smeared. She laughed as he held it with disdain. “The food is safe, Devlyn. You’re hungry, I’m tired and you can’t cook.”
“Right. This stuff has to be better.” Only his mind began to wander to the disgusting conversation with George earlier. If he continued thinking like that he wouldn’t be able to eat anything.
Charlotte nodded and glanced at the menu.
“Ah, so the two doctors are gracing us with their presence tonight.”
Quinn looked up at the pretty young waitress, who was the spitting image of Mentlana.
“Hey, Lucy. You haven’t met Dr. Quinn Devlyn. Dr. Devlyn, this is Mentlana’s twin, Lucy.”
“Pleasure.” He nodded.
“So, what’ll it be tonight, Charley? Usual?”
“Yep.”
Lucy nodded and looked expectantly at him. “What can I get for you, Dr. Devlyn?”
“What is a usual?”
Lucy chuckled. “A BLT, a salad and a diet cola.”
“Sounds good, but make mine with fries. Oh, do you do poutines here?”
Lucy grinned. “Of course.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
She nodded and headed back to the kitchen.
“I forgot about your affinity for poutines, Quinn. I guess you don’t get many of those in Manhattan.”
“Only on lunch breaks. Dinner out was more...a bit more top of the line.”
“Escargots and the like?”
“Dammit.” Quinn banged the table.
“What?” Charlotte asked, stunned.
“I forgot to tell George about escargots. I bet he’d be seriously squicked out.”
Charlotte laughed. “He knows. He’s been to Toronto many a time. He’s just having some fun with you.”
“That little...” Quinn laughed.
“He likes you.” Charlotte smiled. “I think it’s nice.”
Lucy placed their drinks in front of them, grinning before leaving discreetly again.
“So, what is your obsession with food today?” Charlotte asked, playing with the straw in her glass of diet soda. “Have you suddenly miraculously learned how to cook?” There was a sparkle of devilment in her eyes.
He leaned closer to her across the table. “Do you remember the time I tried to make hamburger and cheese out of the packet and used lard instead of butter?”
Charlotte choked on her water. “Yes. It was horrific. Epically horrific, in fact.” She shuddered. “I think I repressed that memory.”
Quinn laughed and reached for
her hand. Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock at his touch, but she didn’t try to pull away. Her hand was so slender and gave off the illusion it was delicate, but really it was strong. She’d had such potential to become a brilliant surgeon. Only Charlotte hadn’t wanted that. She’d wanted to be a general practitioner. Her hand felt so snug in his. So warm. So right.
“Remember the time I tried to make brownies and they only baked around the edges.”
There was a twinkle in her eye. “I remember. Hard as a rock around the edges.”
“But soft and gooey in the unbaked center. I must have tried to cook those brownies for three hours.”
“I remember,” Charlotte whispered. “I remember the smell. I was going through such bad...” She trailed off. The mirth disappeared. She straightened her spine and pulled her hand away.
He knew why she’d retreated emotionally. Quinn had known when he’d been making those brownies that she had been going through horrid morning sickness. She had been on Diclectin because she hadn’t been able to keep anything down. It had killed him to see her suffer like that. So sick.
He’d tried to bake the brownies to cheer her up and butter her up to go to Manhattan. That day, the day of the miscarriage, the day Charlotte had lost the baby, had been the day he had been offered the private practice and fellowship in Manhattan. The offer had come from Dr. Robert Bryce, one of the leading neonatal surgeons on the Eastern Seaboard, and Dr. Bryce had wanted him, but Charlotte had refused to leave the godforsaken North.
That’s how he’d felt about it.
Godforsaken.
Now he wasn’t so sure. Charlotte was happy, and a successful physician.
And he was lonely.
“Anyway, I remember.”
“Here are your meals, Doctors. By the way, Jake said they’re on the house.”
“No,” Charlotte said, shaking her head vehemently. “We can pay, Lucy. You tell him we’ll pay.”
Lucy smiled, that cute dimple like her sister’s appearing in her cheek. “You know Jake. He won’t take no for an answer.” Lucy looked at him then, her black eyes shining with warmth. “You are saving his nephew and my nephew. Jake is Genen’s brother.”
Charlotte sighed. “Lucy.”
“It’s done, Doc Charley. Deal with it.” Lucy left them.
“That’s awfully generous of them.” Quinn turned and waved to the man behind the counter, the man he presumed was Jake.
“It’s his way of saying ‘thank you.’ Everyone up here is family. Mentlana and Genen’s baby means so much to this community.”
Quinn’s stomach rumbled and he looked down at his poutine. The meaty smell of the gravy made his mouth water in anticipation. The fries were fresh cut and thick and it had been a long time since he had real, home-cooked poutine.
“Lucy is actually going to be leaving us after Mentlana has her baby,” Charlotte said, spearing a piece of lettuce.
“Really? Where’s she going?”
“To Hamilton, Ontario. She’s training to become a midwife and a registered nurse. I’m hoping she returns to Cape Recluse. I could use her.”
“Doesn’t Cape Recluse have a midwife? You mentioned her.”
Charlotte nodded, chewing. “Lorna is getting old and ready to retire. Besides, if Lucy becomes a nurse she’ll have much more training and knowledge than Lorna did. Lorna was trained by her mother...Anernerk.”
“Anernerk is an impressive woman. So, midwifery is a generational thing. Well, I don’t mean to interfere, but what you really need is another physician up here.”
Charlotte nodded. “I know, but we’ve had this conversation before.”
“I know.” Quinn took a bite of his poutine and it was absolute heaven. God, he loved cheese curd. So bad for the arteries, but he was enjoying every bite.
“What do you think of Jake’s cooking?” Charlotte asked. There was a smug smile plastered across her face.
“My compliments to the chef, for sure.”
“Does it beat out all those fancy Manhattan restaurants?”
“Some. I won’t lie to you, Charlotte. New York is a gourmand’s paradise.”
She smiled. “Really? I suppose your favorite restaurant is some crazy-ass posh spot where all the ‘it’ crowd goes.”
“Nope. But it does serve the best fettuccine in the world.”
“Mmm. I do love fettuccine.”
“I know.” Quinn took her hand again. “Perhaps you’ll go there someday.”
Charlotte put her head to one side, staring at him. “Perhaps.”
Then he heard it, the distant rumble of something, something that was stirring at the back of his mind. A sound he should have recognized instantly. Charlotte heard it, too, and pulled her hand away. She stood and looked out the windows of the diner, like the rest of the patrons. Her phone started buzzing and she cursed under her breath when she pulled it out.
Far off on the horizon he could make out the flashing lights of a chopper, and the closer it got the louder the spinning of its blades became.
“What in the world...?” Quinn asked, puzzled.
“I’ll wrap up the rest of your food and bring it over to the clinic, Doc Charley,” Lucy called.
“Wrap up our food?” Quinn asked.
“Medical. There’s an emergency. That was the text I received,” Charlotte said quickly, before dashing off to get her coat. Quinn got up and tried to get his coat on before Charlotte disappeared out the door into the bitter cold towards the landing strip.
He zipped up his parka and went after her as she ran to meet the helicopter, which was making a quick landing.
Quinn’s heart beat in time with each revolution of the helicopter’s blade. George appeared by Charlotte’s side, a gurney ready as they ducked to avoid decapitation.
Quinn hovered to the side, wanting to do something but not quite sure how trauma scenes played out up here. He watched the transfer and watched the paramedics climb into the helicopter again. Charlotte and George carried the gurney through the snow towards the clinic with a man dogging their heels.
He ran to head them off, opening the doors to the clinic and flicking on the lights.
Charlotte paid him no attention and he heard the patient’s moans of pain as they came closer. His throat constricted when he got a good look at the patient on the stretcher and the obvious swelling under her thick blankets.
He could tell what was happening just by the woman’s grimace and her husband’s pained expression. An expression he had seen far too often, in countless men and women in waiting rooms.
The woman on the gurney was in labor and about to give birth.
He was the only qualified obstetrician currently in Cape Recluse.
Now was his time to shine.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“HOW FAR APART are the contractions?” Quinn asked.
“The medic said every fifteen minutes,” Charlotte responded.
Quinn helped her wheel the gurney into exam room one. It was the largest room she had, but still a bit of a tight squeeze. Charlotte had delivered babies on her own before, but usually at the patient’s home with Lorna in attendance. And there hadn’t been that many births up here in recent years. This baby, for better or for worse, was on its way. The eyes of the patient, Mrs. Grise, were wide with fright, her mouth a thin line and her face white with pain.
“I tried to get her to Iqaluit,” the patient’s husband said nervously. “I thought we had time. It’s our first and the baby is three weeks early.”
Quinn shook his head and let out a tsk of frustration at what he saw as the man’s stupidity. Charlotte could tell by the look on his face what Quinn thought of the husband’s assumptions.
“You should’ve taken her down weeks ago.” Quinn snapped as they wheeled the pa
tient over to the far side of the exam room and transferred her to the bed.
“I wouldn’t let him,” Mrs. Grise panted. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Grise—” Charlotte started.
“Rebecca,” the woman interjected through her deep breathing. “Please, just Rebecca.”
“Rebecca,” Charlotte said soothingly. “I’m Dr. James and I’m going to do everything I can to ease your discomfort.”
“If you wanted an epidural, I’m afraid there’s no time. I’m sorry,” Quinn said gently to the panicked woman. The patient was terrified, and he was being very gentle with her as they continued to prep.
She was amazed. When they had been doing their residency he had never been this calm and soothing with patients before.
“It’s okay. No drugs. I’m ready,” Rebecca said.
“You’re sure?” Charlotte asked.
Rebecca nodded. “I want a natural birth.”
“Dr. James, may I speak with you?”
Charlotte was stunned by Quinn’s formality. This wasn’t some big city hospital. This was a small clinic, her small clinic at the top of the world.
“What?” Charlotte asked, never taking her eyes off of the patient.
“Do you have the supplies in case of an emergency C-section?” Quinn whispered.
“Do you think her case warrants it?”
Quinn shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just being prepared.”
“Yes. I have everything.”
Quinn gave her a half smile. “Keep her comfortable and I’ll handle the rest.” He turned to walk away, but Charlotte gripped his arm.
“You know you won’t get paid for this. I’ve delivered babies before.”
“And I’ve delivered probably ten times the amount you have. As for payment, I don’t care. This is an emergency.”
She should fight it, throw him out of her clinic, only he was the specialist and she knew nothing about this patient. He was right and she was stunned he was willing to do this delivery with no compensation, something the Quinn Devlyn of five years ago wouldn’t have been happy about.
Still, there was his hand to consider.
“Dr. James?” Mr. Grise said, his voice panicked.