Safe in His Hands

by Amy Ruttan

  “There’s some aloe vera in the living room. That’s best for burns.”

  He spun round. “You’re back. I wasn’t sure when you were going to come back.”

  “Neither was I.” She took a cautious step into the kitchen. “What’re you doing? I didn’t think you could cook.”

  “I can cook one thing. Garlic bread. But I felt I needed to feed you more than that.” He gestured to the bubbling pots on the stovetop. “I found some spaghetti and sauce in the cupboards. Not much fresh stuff.”

  “Fresh stuff is hard to come by and very expensive.”

  Quinn sighed. “It’s pretty bad when the town’s doctor can’t even afford some button mushrooms.”

  Charlotte chuckled and picked up a spoon, stirring the clumps of spaghetti before it was too late to be saved. “There’s some canned mushrooms in the cupboard.”

  “Sacrilegious,” he teased, but he pulled out the can and opened it, draining the juice into the sink before rinsing the mushrooms off. “Oh, look at that, they’re even sliced.”

  “Extra fancy,” she teased.

  “But essential for this dinner.”

  “Oh?” Charlotte was intrigued. “Why essential?”

  “I’m trying to replicate the meal we had in Niagara Falls on our first spring break away from medical school.” Quinn dumped the mushrooms in the sauce.

  The first time they’d made love. She remembered. They’d stayed in a cheap motel on the Canadian side of the falls and had got two coupons for dinner at an Italian restaurant.

  The last thing she needed tonight was to be reminded of that moment.

  “Quinn, this isn’t necessary.”

  “Let me do this for you, Charlotte. You’re tired and grieving.”

  Charlotte sighed in resignation. There was no harm in letting him make dinner. They’d been sharing meals since he’d arrived and they had been innocent enough.

  “Hey, bring that pasta here. The sauce is ready.”

  “Sure.” Charlotte dumped the spaghetti back into the pot and placed it on a cool range.

  “Go sit down. I’ll be serving you tonight.” Quinn pushed her towards the table and she didn’t fight him. She sat down and waited for him to serve dinner. The garlic bread smelled heavenly and she couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her a spaghetti dinner. Hell, she couldn’t even recall the last time she’d eaten spaghetti. When she cooked for herself, when she allowed herself time to eat, it was fast and quick. She worried, briefly, how long the ingredients had been in her pantry.

  It wouldn’t matter. Quinn had tried and she was going to eat the meal, though she might regret it later. The way she was feeling now, she could eat a whole plate of muktuk if given half the chance.

  “Voilà.” Quinn set the plate down in front of her. A huge mound of spaghetti with Bolognese sauce and a crispy side of cheesy garlic bread made her stomach growl loudly in appreciation.

  “The first taste is with the eyes.”

  “Is that your subtle way of telling me it won’t taste good?” she asked.

  He winked. “Taste is all in the mind.”

  “Oh, dear.” She grinned.

  Quinn picked up his tumbler of juice. “To Anernerk and the wonderful century she graced this earth.”

  “To Anernerk.” The words were hard to get out and it was even harder to swallow the juice. She set down the tumbler and Quinn’s hand slid across the table, his fingers twining with hers. She pulled her hand away.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She couldn’t let him touch her. She was too weak.

  “It’s okay. You’re mourning. You have every right to mourn her. You loved her.”

  “Thank you for understanding. I need my space.”

  “I went through my own situation not that long ago.”

  “Your father. Of course. I’m sorry.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Don’t be. He wasn’t the most loving of fathers.”

  “You never really told me how your parents felt about me.”

  “I know.” Quinn didn’t meet her gaze.

  “That bad, huh?”

  He grinned. “He wanted me to marry a socialite, or whatever Toronto’s equivalent is to that. Marrying the daughter of some ‘hippy’—even if she was a physician—wasn’t good enough.”

  “My father was a doctor. He was far from being a hippy.”

  “You weren’t my father’s ideal idea of a wife for me.”

  “Apparently not for you, either.” She regretted the words instantly.

  Quinn’s smiled faded and he took a bite of his spaghetti. “I could say the same in reverse.”

  Guilt washed over her. “You could.”

  They ate in silence, but it was hard to chew. The food was like sawdust in her mouth.

  “My cooking is that bad, then?” Quinn asked, breaking the tension.

  She glanced up and the earlier twinkle was back in Quinn’s eyes. “It’s great—better than those brownies.”

  He groaned. “Let’s not bring that up again. Please tell me I’m improving.”

  Charlotte picked up a piece of garlic bread and took a bite. It was like pure heaven, compared to the clumpy mess that was the spaghetti. The garlic bread melted in her mouth like cheesy goodness. She could marry the garlic bread and she would if it asked her.

  “I take it from your orgasmic expression that I did quite well with the bread.”

  “You did,” she said between bites. “You’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “You can cook garlic bread. It’s divine.” She took another bite. “Of course, it could be because I haven’t had real garlic bread in about three years and I’m desperate for it.”

  They ate the rest of the meal. She’d forgotten how delicious someone else’s cooking was, even if it was Quinn’s.

  “What do you think?” he asked, as he poured another glass of juice.

  “Could be better.” She grinned and then winked.

  “Better? I ought to take you over my knee and spank you for that remark.”

  Quinn’s jest instantly sobered her up. She set down her fork and then picked up her plate, taking it to the sink.

  “Did I say something wrong, Charlotte?” he asked.

  “No. Nothing.” It was all becoming too easy with Quinn again. He was charismatic and broke through her defenses so easily. “I’m really tired. I need to go to bed.”

  “Okay. I’ll clean up,” he said.

  Charlotte nodded and without so much as a look she retreated to the safety of her bedroom, locking the door behind her. The bed was still messy and Quinn’s scent still lingered in the air, causing heat to creep up her neck. The memory of last night’s kisses were suddenly fresh in her brain once more.

  She wanted him still, but she wouldn’t give in.

  Instead, she stripped her bed of the sheets and shoved them in the laundry hamper, shutting the lid firmly.

  For her own sanity, she had to stick to her original plan and keep her heart on ice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AFTER ANERNERK’S MEMORIAL, Quinn and Charlotte moved down to Iqaluit. Quinn’s reputation as a surgeon had preceded him and the hospital was willing to bend over backwards to accommodate them. He knew the hospital was trying to woo him into staying permanently.

  For a month Charlotte traveled between Cape Recluse and Iqaluit as they prepared for Mentlana’s eventual surgery.

  Charlotte was polite to Quinn and willing to learn, but the barriers were back up and it smarted. Although what could he expect? The night they’d made love, Charlotte had been looking for comfort, not to renew their relationship.

  And he had to respect her wishes, even though he wished the reverse. Once Mentlana successfully delivered he would
return to Toronto and she’d remain here.

  You could stay.

  Only what would be the use of staying if Charlotte didn’t want him?

  There were times Quinn thought she was pulling away, distancing herself from him, building those walls back up. Then at other times it was like the years hadn’t passed them and their separation had never happened.

  “That’s it, keep the needle steady.” Quinn watched the monitor as Charlotte manipulated the laparoscope in the lab. She was doing quite well. They’d done a couple of dry runs for placing a thoracoamniotic shunt, the most minimally invasive treatment for Mentlana’s baby.

  Quinn began to teach Charlotte everything he knew. Charlotte kept in close contact with George, who flew in once a week to take Charlotte back to check up on Mentlana and her other patients. No one else was seriously ill or needed the kind of care Mentlana did.

  The residents of Cape Recluse understood what Doc Charley was doing and they didn’t mind. The community was still shaken by Anernerk’s death and everyone was rooting for this baby. Cape Recluse needed a happy event. This baby represented the hope of a small community.

  When he’d last checked on Mentlana, her baby’s CCAM was still within the safe range and wasn’t pressing on the heart yet. “Yet” was the operative word. At any moment the CCAM could worsen. He was holding off operating, hoping to get her further along in her pregnancy.

  The pressure to succeed was keenly felt. Mentlana was thirty weeks, now, but if he could get her to thirty-five then the baby had a better chance of survival should he have to deliver him early.

  Quinn wasn’t a praying man, but he was wishing for that right now with all his heart. He didn’t want to have to perform an in utero procedure. The pediatric specialist in Iqaluit would be quite capable of handling Mentlana’s baby and the CCAM if delivered after thirty-five weeks.

  It was the surgery that had the young specialist apprehensive. Dr. Richards, the pediatrician there, hadn’t done many. Indeed she spent as much time in the skills lab as Charlotte.

  Plans were being put in place with the obstetrician, as well. Everything seemed to be running smoothly. However, when Charlotte had returned from her last stint in Cape Recluse three days ago, she’d seemed out of sorts.

  She’d been aloof since the dinner he’d made her, but now she looked drawn, tired and ill. He hoped she wasn’t catching a cold. If she got sick, she couldn’t be allowed near the O.R.

  “Dr. Devlyn?” Charlotte said, disturbing his silent rumination. She’d taken to addressing him in a professional manner in front of the other surgeons.

  “Good. Now place the shunt. Do you remember how?”

  “I do.”

  Even though they weren’t practicing on living tissue, there was a certain finesse about placing such a small shunt inside something so tiny and fragile.

  “Then let’s see.”

  Charlotte bit her lip, her brow furrowing as she concentrated and placed it.

  “Good.” Quinn let out an inward sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Charlotte hadn’t managed it yesterday, but each day, she was improving. His hope was that she could perform the surgery with Dr. Richards, should his hand fail. He rubbed the appendage in question. It’d been paining him after too many hours in the lab, and the thought of it not being strong enough to operate worried him.

  “Excellent job, Dr. James,” praised Dr. Richards, who was taking copious notes in a flipbook.

  Charlotte took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Richards. Now, I’d better head back to the hotel and pack. George should be here soon for my trip back to Cape Recluse.”

  “Of course,” Quinn said. He would miss her. He always did when she returned to Cape Recluse.

  “I’ll call you about Mentlana’s status when I examine her later today.”

  “Thank you, Dr. James. I look forward to your assessment.”

  Charlotte left the skills lab while Quinn cursed inwardly.

  You’re being selfish, Quinn Devlyn. Tell her you miss her. But he couldn’t. Even though he didn’t want to be parted from her and wanted to heal the rift between them, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend the rest of his life in Nunavut in the cold and ice.

  The selfish side of him wondered if she’d come to Toronto to be with him, but he doubted that very much. She hadn’t left the North five years ago when they’d been engaged, so why would she now?

  This was where Charlotte belonged. But he wasn’t sure if he did.

  He turned to Dr. Richards. “I’d better be off. I have some sonograms to review.” Quinn excused himself from the lab, relieved he didn’t have to talk shop with Dr. Richards, who usually talked his ear off. Right now his head was pounding behind his eyes.

  When he was in the locker room he pulled off his scrubs and deposited them in the laundry receptacle before washing his hands. As soon as the water hit his skin the muscles in his palm tensed, forcing his fingers to curl upwards, freezing in a clawlike position.

  “Dammit,” he cursed as he gripped his bad hand with his good one. He massaged the palm, willing the spasms to cease before someone walked in on him. His whole arm was tense, the muscles rigid up past the elbow. It’d been a long time since he’d had a spasm like this, where it locked his entire arm into a useless tangle of sinew and flesh.

  How the hell could he even contemplate operating on Mentlana? This just proved all his fears. There was no way he could risk doing a delicate surgery such as a thoracoamniotic shunt or fetal resection when his muscle spasms were so unpredictable.

  Bile rose in his throat as he thought about holding such a delicate, fragile life in his hands and having a spasm like this. He would crush the fetus.

  His muscles began to relax under his ministrations. Once his arm ceased tensing up he was able to relax his fingers. Quinn’s other hand ached from massaging his damaged one so long and so hard.

  Dammit.

  His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his trouser pocket. It was a text from Charlotte, who needed to speak to him before she left for Cape Recluse. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He texted back that he had been held up at the hospital and then jammed his phone back in his pocket.

  Quinn pulled his arm close to his side, cradling it as pins and needles coursed up and down from his elbow to the tips of his fingers. The aftermath of the spasm always felt like he’d fallen asleep on his hand. He had to leave the hospital before anyone saw his hand all clenched and tense, before anyone suspected anything. He quickly dressed in his street clothes, his hand impeding the process slightly.

  How the hell was he going to tell Charlotte he couldn’t do the surgery?

  Right now he needed some liquid courage, but he didn’t know where he was going to find it in Iqaluit and he didn’t relish the idea of wandering through bitterly cold streets in an attempt to do so.

  “Ah, Dr. Devlyn. Just the man I was looking for.”

  Quinn groaned inwardly as the chief surgeon approached him, followed by members of the board of directors. He’d nothing against Dr. Spicer or the board—in fact, he was grateful they were willing to open up their hospital and allow him to be here when their hospital was full of surgeons—but he didn’t want to be stopped at the moment.

  He didn’t want them to see him this way.

  Dr. Spicer stopped in front of Quinn and the board members closed in around him. He was trapped, his escape route cut off.

  Deep breath.

  “Dr. Devlyn, may I introduce you to our board—Mr. Leonard Saltzman, Mrs. Jennifer Chenery and Mr. Harry Westman.”

  Quinn shook each member’s hand, forcing out pleasantries through gritted teeth, keeping his bad hand behind his back.

  “Dr. Devlyn is a renowned neonatal surgeon. He’s up here preparing for surgery on a possible congenital cystic adenomatoid malfor
mation on an Inuk woman’s fetus.”

  “Impressive,” Jennifer Chenery said, looking him up and down with an appreciative eye. “Are you carrying out the entire procedure as well as the birth?”

  “No,” Quinn replied. “No. Your head of obstetrics is more than capable of assisting me. He will be delivering the infant at term.”

  There were a few murmurs, and Quinn knew without a doubt they were impressed. He knew Mrs. Chenery was, from the way she was eyeing him like he was piece of chocolate cake or something.

  “You worked at Manhattan Mercy for a time, is that correct, Dr. Devlyn?” Leonard Saltzman asked.

  “Yes, I did, and then I returned to Canada. I worked at Mount Sinai for a couple of years before taking a sabbatical after my father’s death.”

  “Dr. Devlyn is highly praised by Manhattan Mercy’s chief of surgery,” Dr. Spicer told the board members.

  Quinn’s stomach twisted and he had a feeling about where this conversation was going, but he wasn’t sure if he was in a position to listen to it. Dr. Spicer was still talking him up to the board members and Quinn supposed he was talking to him as well, but Quinn couldn’t hear anything but muffled words.

  “Dr. Devlyn?” Dr. Spicer said.

  “Sorry, Dr. Spicer. I was thinking about... I was contemplating something about a patient’s procedure. Please forgive me.” Quinn tried to extricate himself from the conversation, but it didn’t work.

  “No problem, Dr. Devlyn. I know you’re a busy man. The board members were just leaving.”

  Quinn nodded and shook their hands as they left, until it was only he and Dr. Spicer standing in the surprisingly quiet corridor.

  “I’d best be on my way, as well,” Quinn said, but Dr. Spicer reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

  “A moment of your time, Dr. Devlyn.”

  “Yes, of course. Lead the way.” Dr. Spicer opened the door to a small consult room they’d been standing in front of.

  Dr. Spicer shut the door and motioned for Quinn to sit. “I think you know why I’ve asked you in here.”

  “I have an inkling.”