Radclyffe - Fated Love

by Fated Love (lit)

  "I know you can, but I want to give you a hug first."

  Carefully, Robin passed the child to Honor, who hitched her daughter onto her hip as if she were two instead of nearly eight. Even as she did so, she searched the one eye she could see for any signs of altered consciousness. "I guess you bumped your head, huh?"

  "Jeannie bumped it," Arly grumbled with a mixture of residual tears and emerging indignation.

  Honor glanced at Robin in concern. "Is Jeannie okay?"

  "She's got a goose egg on her forehead, but no other damage." She reached out and stroked Arly's hair and looked over at Linda, who stood nearby. "I've got to run. The kids are out front in the car, and the security guard is baby-sitting."

  Linda gave Robin a quick hug. "Go ahead, honey. I'll call you later."

  As Honor walked back to the nearest open examining room, she explained to Arly, "We 're going to have to take that bandage off and see what's underneath, okay?"

  "Will it hurt?"

  "Does it hurt now?"

  Arly seemed to give this some consideration. "A little. It feels kinda lilfe my knee did when I fell off my skateboard."

  "Well, it might hurt a tiny bit more for a few minutes while we put some medicine on it to clean it up. But not a lot,"

  "Will you do it?"

  Honor hesitated. She still felt the effects of the swift surge of panic accompanied by the unexpected resurrection of past fears, and she wasn't certain how steady her hands would be. Before she could answer, Linda spoke up.

  "You know what, Arly? I think Mom ought to hold your hand while one of the other doctors fixes you up. What do you say?"

  "Who?"

  Honor looked past Linda to Quinn walking quietly along beside them, the memory of the reassuring hand against her back comforting still. Deep blue eyes, kind with compassion, met hers. Without a second thought, Honor extended her free hand and Quinn took it, stepping closer. "This is Quinn, Arly. She's a surgeon, and she'll take really good care of you, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Linda held the curtain to exam room one open, and Honor gently deposited her daughter on the stretcher. Then she pulled a stool close and sat down as Quinn walked to the other side.

  "I'm going to take this big Band-Aid off your forehead," Quinn explained. "There's some tape that will pull a little bit when I do. You ready?"

  Arly held her mother's hand and nodded.

  "So," Quinn said conversationally, surveying the four-centimeter laceration just above the child's eyebrow, "baseball, basketball, or soccer?"

  "Soccer," Arly proclaimed as if anyone should know the answer.

  "Neat." Quinn glanced at Honor, whose eyes were fixed on the wound on her daughter's forehead. She waited for Honor to look up at her, and then she smiled reassuringly. Honor rewarded her with a swift, if slightly shaky, smile in return. "I'm going to shine a light in your eyes. It'll be really bright."

  Quinn pulled a small penlight from her chest pocket and checked Arly 's pupils, both of which were equal and briskly reactive to the light stimulus. Then she held her index ringer up about twelve inches from Arty's face. "I'm going to move my finger around, and I want you to watch it. Okay?"

  "Why?"

  "So I can be sure that your bump on the head isn't going to make it hard for you to see the ball during the next game."

  Intently, Arly nodded and followed Quinn's moving hand.

  "Does your neck hurt anywhere at all?"

  "No."

  "I'm going to poke around a bit, and you tell me if it's sore." As she spoke, Quinn slipped her fingers behind Arly's head and palpated each of her cervical vertebrae, one after the other. She elicited no tenderness. Then she felt the bones around her eyes, cheeks!, nose, and jaws. All fine. Looking in Honor's direction, she murmured, "I don't see any need for x-rays."

  "All right." Honor's throat was dry, and her voice came out husky. With each passing moment, she felt better and, unexpectedly, found herself soothed by Quinn's calm voice and gentle compassion.

  "Okay, Arly, here's the deal." Quinn leaned over so that the child could see her face. "You've got a cut on your forehead, and it's going to need some stitches. Do you know what stitches are?"

  "They're little tiny threads to help the cut get better faster." Arly looked in her mother's direction uncertainly. "Do I have to?" For the first time since she had arrived, the child looked as if she might cry.

  "That's what we use when Band-Aids aren't strong enough, honey." Honor smiled reassuringly.

  "Yeah, but they don't work on magical cuts, so maybe they won't work on me either." The child's tone was dubious.

  Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Magical?"

  "Mr. Weasley," Honor stated, as if that would explain things.

  "Huh?"

  "In Harry Potter!" Arly clarified. "Ron's father is a wizard and he needed stitches, but Muggle medicine doesn't work on wizards."

  "Ah. I see." Quinn nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. I'm sure they'll work on you though—unless you're a wizard too?"

  "I don't think so." Arly shook her head seriously. "Are you going to put them in?"

  "Yep. But first, I'm going to make it so you don't feel it when I do." As she spoke, Quinn pulled on gloves and Linda opened an instrument tray. Turning her back slightly so that the child would not see her draw up the lidocaine into the syringe from the bottle that Linda held out to her, she said, "Soccer, huh? So what position do you play?"

  "Wing."

  "Midfielder? You must be a really good passer."

  "Most of the time." Stitches forgotten, Arly asked excitedly, "Do you play soccer?"

  "I used to, when I was in college." Quinn gently wiped Betadine around the edges of the laceration,

  "What position did you play?"

  "Offense."

  "Were you good?"

  Quinn laughed and glanced at Honor, who merely shook her head and grinned.

  "Uh—well, not bad."

  Quinn stepped slightly out of Arly's line of vision and leaned down with the syringe. "I'm going to put in some medicine now that will feel a little bit like a big mosquito bite. You ready?"

  "Okay."

  Softly stroking her daughter's arm, Honor watched as Quinn slowly and carefully injected the local anesthetic. The secret, she knew, to minimizing the pain of the injection was to do it extraordinarily slowly, but most surgeons lacked the patience. Quinn, however, couldn't have been gentler. Her hands were steady and sure, and Honor realized as she watched her child lying quietly during the procedure how truly gifted Quinn was. Who are you, really, Quinn Maguire?

  When the injection was completed, Quinn glanced at Honor. She'd seen parents, even seasoned medical people, faint when their children were injured. Parents could handle anything, apparently, except their own child's suffering. Gently, she asked, "You okay?"

  This time Honor's smile was sure and strong. "Fine. You're very good."

  Quinn blushed, her heart racing. "Arly's the star."

  In ten minutes, the wound was cleaned, irrigated, and sutured. Throughout the process, Arly and Quinn kept up a running conversation regarding the virtues of various soccer positions and strategies as if nothing were happening. By the time Quinn had applied Steri-Strips in lieu of a bandage, the girl seemed to have forgotten completely about her injury.

  "So, can you come to one of my games?" Arly asked eagerly as she sat up, her eyes fixed attentively on Quinn's face.

  For the second time, Honor's daughter caught Quinn off guard, and she found herself at a loss for words. Helplessly, she looked at Honor. "Uh..."

  "Quinn just moved here, honey," Honor said gently. "She's awfully busy right now."

  "Maybe someday, though, right?"

  "Maybe," Quinn said awkwardly.

  "Thanks," Honor said softly as she lifted Arly down from the stretcher.

  Quinn smiled into Honor's eyes, warmed by the tenderness in her voice. "Sure."

  "I'm going to need to take off early today so I can get her home.
I'll see you tomorrow."

  Nodding, Quinn watched mother and daughter disappear with Linda, leaving her in the empty room with the discarded dressings and used instruments. She suddenly felt as abandoned as the space around her. That was often the case after the intense high of dealing with an emergency, but this time she missed more than the adrenaline rush. She missed the heat of Honor's gaze upon her face.

  She was checking the tray to be sure that all the needles had been deposited in the sharps bin for disposal when Linda returned.

  "Nice job, Doc."

  "Great kid," Quinn observed. "How old is she? Eight?"

  Linda had to stop and think, putting her two kids and Arly in order. "Almost. She was born right at the end of Honor's fourth year in medical school,"

  "She looks like she was cloned. She's got Honor's eyes and just about everything else, too."

  "She does," Linda agreed, intrigued by Quinn's pensive expression.

  Quinn cleared her throat, "Uh, what does Honor's husband do?"

  "Honor doesn't have a husband." Linda delivered the statement calmly as she wrapped up the instruments, sneaking a quick peek in Quinn's direction to judge its effect. She smiled when she saw the quick look of pleasure followed by consternation cross the attractive surgeon's face, Uh-huh, yes, she's interested.

  "Oh." Quinn leaned her shoulder against the door frame, considering the possibilities. Separated? That would explain the wedding ring still Divorced? No, she wouldn 't still be wearing his ring, would she? Gay? Maybe, because Linda sure is, considering the hug she gave the redhead in the ER earlier. Quinn gave herself a mental shake. Regardless of the answer, it didn't concern her, because that ring spelled unavailable. "I'd better get back out there. Are the charts piling up?"

  "The usual, Listen, we're having a barbecue at my place on Saturday afternoon. Most of the ER staff and some people from the neighborhood will be there. One o'clock."

  Quinn's immediate reaction was to make an excuse and beg off. She didn't particularly like social situations in which she didn't know anyone. On the other hand, Honor would be there. Yeah, like that makes any difference. To her surprise, she found herself saying, "Sure. Thanks. Can I bring something?"

  "How about wine? We never think to buy any."

  "No problem."

  "Excellent It'll be fun."

  "Thanks again."

  Linda stared after Quinn as she disappeared through the curtain, thinking of the way Honor had looked at Quinn as she had taken care of Arly. Appreciatively, which was understandable. But there had been more than gratitude in Honor's face; there had been something that she hadn't seen in her good friend's face in years. Something that looked a lot like attraction. That brought up the image of Quinn's expression as she had asked about Honor's husband. Curious and hopeful. Oh yes, plenty of interest all the way around.

  * * * * *

  At a little before 7:00 p.m., Quinn looked up from the nurses' station where she was completing the follow-up instructions for a seventeen-year-old with a badly sprained right ankle to see Honor, in blue jeans and a faded red polo shirt, coming down the hall. The red of the shirt echoed the highlights in her hair, and her dark eyes shimmered with warmth and the promise of laughter. For an instant, Quinn allowed herself to simply enjoy the sight of her. Then she realized that Honor was regarding her quizzically and that she had been staring at the emergency room chief, very possibly with her mouth hanging open. For the second time in the same day, Quinn blushed.

  "Everything okay?" Quinn asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but feeling her heart race.

  Honor nodded, aware of Quinn's gaze and, despite her misgivings, enjoying it. "I left in such a hurry earlier, I forgot to finish some paperwork that's already late."

  "How's our patient?"

  "At the moment, she's ensconced in front of the television with an enormous ice pack on her eye and her grandmother fussing over her." Honor smiled softly. "She's fine. She's actually very tough, and she's already asking me if she's going to be able to go to soccer practice tomorrow afternoon."

  "Good." Quinn sat on one of the rolling stools a foot away from Honor, her face at about the level of the other woman's breasts. She tried very hard to cast her gaze elsewhere, but nothing could prevent her from sensing the heat of Honor's body so near. She could smell her sweet fragrance, a lush earthy scent. Never in her memory could she recall being so affected by the mere presence of a woman.

  Honor leaned her hip against the counter. "I want to thank you for how good you were with her earlier."

  "You're welcome, but thanks are not necessary. I'm glad it wasn't too bad for her."

  "It's her first big sports injury." Honor grinned ruefully. "Since she's quite the up-and-coming jock, I'm sure there will be more."

  "Well, hopefully you won't require my services too often."

  "No," Honor replied softly, thinking how gentle Quinn had been. "Hopefully not."

  Quinn was surprised when Honor reached out and lightly touched her shoulder, but before she could respond, Honor turned and walked away. Quinn was left staring after her, her skin tingling beneath the cotton of her scrub shirt. Forcefully, she reminded herself that the gesture had been innocent and that the events of the day had made it very clear that Honor was not available for casual flirtations. Not only married, but married with children. Get a grip.

  And casual flirtations were the only thing that interested Quinn currently. Her life was much too unsettled to contemplate anything else, even had she desired it. Which she didn't.

  She put her mind to the task of completing the paperwork on her remaining patients, and forty-five minutes later, she stepped out through the emergency room doors into a vicious summer storm. The sky was gray-black with rolling thunderclouds, lightning slashed sporadically, striking fiery fingers into the very treetops nearby, and a fierce wind whipped icy bullets of rain into her face. Quinn dug her denim jacket out of her backpack, shrugged it on, and pulled the collar high around her neck in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the rain from running down her back while she unlocked her bicycle.

  "You can't ride in this storm!" Honor called from nearby.

  Turning her head, Quinn blinked at the rivulets of water streaming into her eyes. She had to shout to be heard above the wind and rain. "It's not far! I'll be fine."

  "That's insane!" Honor grabbed Quinn's arm and tugged. "Come on—we'll put your bike in my car, and I'll drive you home."

  Quinn saw no point in arguing while they both got drenched to the skin. She merely grabbed her bike and followed as Honor ran to the parking lot opposite the emergency room entrance. Before they had even reached the Subaru station wagon, Honor had keyed the remote to unlock the doors. After Quinn hefted the bike into the back, they both piled into the front seats in a breathless rush.

  "God, that's brutal," Honor gasped. Soaked to the skin and freezing, she started the car and prayed that the heater would warm up quickly. She glanced at Quinn, who was running her hands through her sopping hair. "Has it occurred to you that riding a bicycle in this is inviting lightning to strike?"'

  "One in a million chance." Quinn grinned.

  "Well, I'd prefer not to have to defibrillate you, all the same." To Honor's surprise, Quinn actually paled. It was the first time Honor had ever seen Quinn appear even slightly off balance, and-— even more than that—there was a fleeting shadow of pain in her expression. Without thinking, she rested her hand on Quinn's thigh, feeling the muscles beneath her fingers tighten in response. "You okay?"

  Quinn glanced down, unable to understand what Honor's hand was doing on her leg. The graceful fingers curling gently over the arch of her midthigh looked completely natural there. She had to resist the urge to put her own fingers over Honor's. The touch was electric, and her stomach clenched with the swift rush of arousal. She sat very still as she struggled to answer.

  "Yes." Quinn's voice was low and husky. "Fine."

  Beneath her fingertips, Honor was aware of Quinn trembling faintly. She
was also aware of the fact that she liked the way the lean, tight thigh felt. As casually as she could, she withdrew her hand.

  "We're both soaked. We'd better get going."

  "Yes."

  Even with traffic crawling because of the poor visibility and occasional tree branch blowing into the road, it took less than fifteen minutes to reach their neighborhood.

  "My house is just up the block," Honor remarked, the first words either of them had spoken since leaving the hospital. "Where are you?"

  "Just around the corner there on Morris. I can walk—"

  "Of course not," Honor said emphatically. "I'll just circle the block and drop you off. It's no problem."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  Two minutes later, Honor pulled to the curb in front of the house that Quinn indicated. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

  "Will do." Quinn pushed the door open, stepped out into the downpour, and looked back into the car. "Thanks again, Honor."

  Honor just nodded, waited while Quinn pulled her bike from the back, and continued to watch as Quinn made a run for the front porch. For just an instant, she had contemplated inviting Quinn home with her for dinner. She had no idea why, because it was completely out of character for her to be spontaneous in any kind of social situation. All she knew was that she hadn't wanted to say good night to Quinn. And that thought was enough to spur her into action. With a quick glance into her mirrors, she pulled away from the curb and headed toward the comfortable security of home.

  Chapter Five

  H onor parked in the narrow drive beside her half of a three-story Victorian twin and entered through the back door into the kitchen. Her mother-in-law, Phyllis Murphy, was doing dishes in the sink that faced a window overlooking their shared backyard. Phyllis lived in the other half of the twin, the mirror image of Honor's.

  At the sound of Honor's arrival, Phyllis turned to survey her with a mild frown on her smooth, heart-shaped face. Although close to sixty, Phyllis could easily be taken for fifteen years younger, with her still-shapely form and her wavy chestnut hair that showed not a trace of gray. Her blue eyes were piercing and bright, and at the moment, sparkling with fond exasperation. "Well, you're a fine spectacle. You're soaking wet. Get out of your shoes right there, and then go directly upstairs and take a warm shower."