Amy Ruttan - Safe in His Hands

Quinn’s eyebrows arched. “I guess. With no trees to form a windbreak.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“It’s quite interesting—the landscape, that is.”

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to be impressed. He’d never been overly interested in anything else before, beyond the next surgery.

Well, he’d been interested in her until she’d got pregnant and decided to become a family physician.

“Yes. It is an interesting vista,” she agreed.

Quinn shivered and then nodded. “This is some community. They all seem to care for one another, like family.” He shook his head. “It’s like the Brady Bunch up here or something.”

“That’s because they genuinely do care. It’s a small place and everyone knows everybody. There are no secrets.”

That caught his attention and he shot her a questioning look. “Really? No secrets?”

“Nope. Not a single one.” Suddenly she had a bad case of butterflies. She was nervous. Perhaps it was the fact they were in an enclosed room, alone. After her reaction to him earlier, the last place she wanted to be was in a private office with him.

He strode over to her, his eyes soft, with a twinkle of devilment still dancing there. As he reached out and brushed an errant curl from her face, a zip of delight traveled down her spine. His knuckles brushed her cheek, causing her body to waken. One simple touch from him and her body responded as if it had been in a slumber for the last five years.

Maybe it had. No other man had been able to arouse her by a simple touch before. It angered her that Quinn was the only one who could.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

“What?”

“Touch me with familiarity.”

Quinn moved his hand. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. It’s force of habit, even after all this time.”

Tears stung her eyes and she cleared her throat before taking a step back. “You shouldn’t keep the Tikiviks waiting.”

“Do you have some scrubs for me?”

“Of course. See Rosie at Reception and she’ll get you fitted.” Charlotte tucked her hair behind her ear as he stared at her, the tension in the room almost palpable. Why wasn’t he leaving? “Is there anything else?”

Quinn glanced away. “No. I’ll go and see Rosie now.”

Quinn walked past her and Charlotte watched him go, unease and apprehension twisting her stomach. When he left the room she snatched the picture frame off her desk and stared at the sonogram, thinking about the baby she’d lost. He or she would’ve been five years old, now, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the baby would’ve had the same sandy-brown hair and deep brown eyes as Quinn. Perhaps their baby would’ve favored her, with red curls and emerald eyes, or been a mixture of them both.

Closing her eyes, she pictured a rambunctious boy, like she always did when she thought about her lost baby. He’d have had rosy cheeks, sandy-brown hair and green eyes. She felt the sting of tears and brushed them away quickly.

Why was she letting herself feel this way again?

Why was she letting Quinn Devlyn in again?

Because I never let him go .

Sighing, she opened her filing cabinet and pushed the picture to the back before locking the drawer. She slipped the key into her pocket. It was really a moot point, now. There was no baby of theirs, not now and not ever.

Quinn peeled off the clothes he’d been wearing for the last several hours. He was bone weary and absolutely freezing, but this was the moment where he shone, being a surgical god.

His hand trembled slightly and he gripped it.

Just tired, that was all.

Besides, this was nothing big. Just an ultrasound and a consult. If this tremor continued he’d remove himself from the case. The patient’s life and that of the baby were more important than proving to the world he was still a viable surgeon.

You can do this .

Quinn pulled on the scrubs. As he splashed some water on his face, his mind wandered to the sonogram he’d spied on Charlotte’s desk.

Their baby.

The one they’d lost. It had been the scariest moment of his life. Not even the accident that had damaged his hand had been as terrifying as the moment when they’d lost their baby. Charlotte had bled badly after she’d miscarried. He’d found her collapsed on the floor of their apartment.

“Hold on, honey. Hold on, Charlotte.” He reached down and stroked her pale face .

Quinn shuddered, sending the horrific nightmare back to where it had come from. That moment had been far worse than the accident he’d endured alone.

Seeing the sonogram on her desk, in a frame, had only reminded him of the pain when they’d parted. At the time, he hadn’t been too keen on the idea of a baby in their lives. How could he be a good, loving father when he had such a role model as his own cold, detached father? A baby was not part of his plans. However, it had hurt him when she’d lost it, to see her in pain. To watch her grieve and know there was nothing he could do about it. It had made him feel powerless.

And he didn’t like feeling powerless. Not in the least.

There were times in the neonatal unit, when dealing with babies born prematurely, that his mind wandered to what might’ve been.

But that was in the past. Their baby hadn’t survived. So he’d told himself it wasn’t meant to be, and had instead focused on becoming one of the best surgeons in his field, burying his sadness over the loss in his work.

Now he was at the top of his game.

And lonely as hell .

Another reason why he hated these godforsaken outposts of the North. He didn’t get Charlotte’s fascination with staying up here.

Even though her life had been spared, the North had still cost him Charlotte.

She had refused to leave and go with him to New York. Had refused to talk to him or even look at him. All she’d done was hand back the ring, along with everything else he’d given her, because in her note she’d stated she wanted no reminders of him.

Why did she still keep the sonogram?

Of course, he had no right to pry. The baby was gone.

He jammed the clothes he’d taken off into a suitcase, stuffing the unwanted emotions to the dark recesses of his mind, as well. He didn’t have time to let his personal feelings get in the way. There was a patient waiting, counting on him. He exited the bathroom, pulling his luggage behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he knew instinctively all eyes were glued to him. Turning, he smiled and waved awkwardly. No one returned his greeting.

Good Lord .

He approached Charlotte’s nurse, the one who had given him the scrubs. Lavender scrubs, no less. Quinn made a mental note to see if there were any blue or green in stock. He wasn’t partial to any shade of purple. Perhaps he was a bit of a pig for thinking this, but he felt a bit emasculated in such a feminine color.

“Sorry, I don’t remember your name,” he apologized.

“No worries. I’m Rosie, and I can take your luggage for you, Dr. Devlyn.”

“Thanks. And the patient?”

“In exam room one.”

“Thanks again.”

The eyes, he was pretty sure, followed him all the way to the exam-room door. The tension was so thick you could slice it with a knife. Perhaps they were shocked to see a man in lavender.

Quinn knocked on the door and Charlotte answered. A smug smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she looked him up and down.

“I think that’s your color,” she teased.

“Think again,” he snarled.

Charlotte stifled a giggle and stepped to one side. “Come in.”

Quinn entered the large exam room, his gaze resting on the Inuk couple in the corner. The woman was exceptionally pretty, with black hair and eyes to match. There was a dimple in her cheek as she grinned up at her husband.