Caro Carson - The Bachelor Doctor's Bride

As Quinn led his partner onto the dance floor, he smiled. He’d made Diana happy, and damn if that didn’t make him feel dangerously close to happy, too.

* * *

“Becky is a very nice person.”

Diana waited for a reply, but Quinn’s elegant friend barely made a polite noise of agreement.

Diana tried again. “Have you known each other long?”

Patricia Cargill, the woman who could be a match for Quinn, speared her with one direct look. “Long enough.”

Not for Quinn.

Oh, Quinn could handle her, of that Diana had no doubt. In fact, Patricia needed a strong man like Quinn, someone she couldn’t bully and intimidate. But Diana didn’t want Quinn to have to spend his whole life shaping another woman’s personality into something it naturally wasn’t. Patricia reminded Diana too much of a striking but strong-headed Dalmatian they’d had a terrible time placing at the animal shelter. Eventually, a professional dog trainer had volunteered to work with families that expressed an interest in the dog, until they found one that could provide her the consistent discipline she needed without breaking her spirit.

I don’t want Quinn to have to work that hard.

Quinn MacDowell was a nice guy. Diana hadn’t even had to drop a hint, and Quinn had known right away that dancing with Becky would help make the ball beautiful for her.

Diana looked for her champagne glass, wanting a sip to privately toast Quinn, but the glasses were out of place.

“This one,” Patricia said, and slid a flute toward her.

Diana took a sip. It was warm. And flat.

It was not real champagne.

She didn’t like it. What a horrible realization, to know that forever more, she would not enjoy fake champagne. Quinn had introduced her to something better, and she couldn’t undo that experience. Every interaction with every person left its mark, of course, so spending time with Quinn had been bound to affect her, but still...

Look on the bright side. You only got spoiled for champagne.

It could have been worse. She could have danced with Quinn.

It was a lucky thing that Patricia’s arrival had saved her from having a taste of being Quinn’s date for the night. Diana had never danced with a handsome man who wore a tuxedo as if it were a regular part of his wardrobe. A man who laughed as he poured champagne at a glorious gala.

She wouldn’t miss what she’d never had.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. “Moonlight Serenade” had ended two songs earlier. Quinn was surrounded by friends, Becky was enjoying herself, and it was time for Diana to move on. Patricia would surely claim the next dance, and Karen looked like she was ready to talk business all night. Diana was feeling distinctly like the third wheel, now that Quinn was no longer a lone figure, brooding silently at a party.

Diana took another sip of the “domestic sparkling wine,” as Quinn had called it, determined to be satisfied.

Patricia watched her. Her words were civil and smooth, but every muscle in her elegant body was tense. “You must have friends who are wondering where you are. Perhaps you should go back to them.”

“I will,” Diana said, fighting fire with friendliness, always her best chance at success. “I’ll just say goodbye to Becky and Quinn and then I’ll be on my way.”

Patricia leveled a direct look on her, one that would have made many a puppy at the pound drop its gaze in submission. Diana kept smiling, anyway. Patricia looked away, toward the far side of the dance floor. “I see Quinn and Becky have joined a group of my friends. Karen, let me introduce you.” She was already in motion before she casually spoke to Diana. “Do excuse us.”

“Of course,” Diana said, her smile firmly in place. Easy girl, I’m not going to fight you for that bone. See how friendly I am? I’m just the buddy.

But the buddy could hardly stand to watch, so Diana scooped up her tiny purse and retreated to the mezzanine once more, but not before topping off her sparkling wine with a tiny bit of the real champagne.

* * *

The buzzing of his cell phone gave Quinn the perfect excuse to leave Becky with a few of the young med school students who’d spent a month interning in his cardiology practice.

He stepped away from the group as he pulled the cell phone from his pocket. The first digits of the phone number indicated that it came from one of the hospital lines.

“MacDowell,” he said, turning his back on the orchestra.

“Quinn, it’s Brian. Irene Caulsky passed away about twenty minutes ago. Thought you’d like to know.”

“An MI?” Quinn knew it had to have been a heart attack, but he asked. It bought him a few seconds, the moments he needed to let that first punch of failure pass.

“Yes. She’d been sedated, but the nurses saw it happening on telemetry. I was on the floor when they called for the crash cart, so I stepped in. I think the nurses were relieved I was there to call it. Everyone could see this was the end.”

“Of course. I’m glad she wasn’t awake and aware.” Modern medicine had its limits. The patient had already survived two heart attacks. Given her age and health, the odds of Irene surviving a third were practically nonexistent, but the hospital’s floor staff didn’t have the legal authority to declare a patient dead. They had to keep attempting to resuscitate a hopeless case until a physician could make the call. Since Quinn’s new partner, Brian, had been present, everyone—including Irene’s fragile, expired body—had been spared significant stress.

The orchestra finished its song, and the crowd applauded. Quinn hunched his shoulders to block out the sound as Brian told him the family had taken the news well. “They specifically asked me to thank you for taking care of their grandma.”

Taking care of her. What had he done? He’d placed some stents in her arteries after the first heart attack. That had bought the octogenarian a few more years, until a second heart attack had brought her to West Central this morning, where Quinn had admitted her for an overnight stay in the critical care unit.

During those few years, she’d been a regular patient at the office as Quinn monitored the medicines he’d prescribed. She’d left his staff smiling after each appointment, because she called their boss “sonny boy” and she told all the women how beautiful and young they were. She’d never failed to ask Quinn how his mother fared.

He passed a hand over his eyes briefly. He’d have to call his mother tomorrow and break the news that her beloved fourth-grade teacher had passed away.

Brian’s voice was clear as the orchestra struck up another song. “I’m sorry to bother you on your weekend off, but I thought you’d want to know about Irene.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you were there, Brian.”

“Me, too. I’ll see you Monday.”

Quinn disconnected the call, slid the cell phone back into his pocket and waited. The feeling of being punched would pass. It always did.

The human body cannot last indefinitely. This was a fact. It would always be a fact, no matter what cures were discovered and which diseases were eradicated.

Death is part of any medical practice. His earliest mentors had impressed that upon him. He’d chosen this profession knowing he would see death, up close and personal.

The patient died, but I did not fail to do my best. That was an important one. Quinn knew he’d done everything right. Everything was sometimes not enough. After all, the human body could not last indefinitely.

The loop of logical statements ran through his mind again, as they always did when he lost a patient, as they always did until his mind muted his emotions.

Quinn reached up to rub the back of his neck. This punch had been powerful, because Irene had been a special patient. The hurt wasn’t subsiding at its usual pace. He focused on his surroundings, and realized he was staring at the potted palm trees Diana had hidden behind.