She wasn’t the same girl he’d left behind. It seemed she was stronger for their parting.

He glanced down at his hand and flexed it. The leather of his glove creaked; his hand inside was stiff. A year ago he’d got into a car accident during a bad bout of fog on the highway. His hand had been crushed. Quinn flexed his hand again, curling and then releasing it. Yes, it had been broken, and he’d undergone countless surgeries to repair it, but he could still use it.

His hand had mended with time. Perhaps Charlotte’s heart had too, in the five years they’d been apart.

He doubted it. When Charlotte had greeted him it had been so formal. So forced.

“Whoa—that was a bit rough,” Quinn remarked as they hit another disturbance. He was no stranger to flying, but that was the most jarring bit of turbulence he’d ever experienced. Of course he was used to first-class seats instead of being crammed into a small cockpit beside the pilot—especially an alluring pilot like Charlotte.

His shoulders almost brushed hers in the tight enclosure. Just that near brush of her body against his sent his blood pumping. Just being in her presence again aroused him. Charlotte was a strong aphrodisiac, like ambrosia, and she tasted just as sweet too.

Dear Reader

Thank you for picking up a copy of SAFE IN HIS HANDS, my debut book with Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™. I’m thrilled to be sharing this with you.

It’s always been a dream of mine to become a writer, especially with Harlequin®, and this stems from my grandmother’s hidden stash of romance novels—books we shared together as she bravely fought and then lost her battle with cancer.

SAFE IN HIS HANDS was inspired by my love of northern Canada. Even though I was raised in Toronto, my family has strong roots firmly planted in the muskeg and forests of northern Ontario. It also comes from my admiration for medical professionals who work under the toughest conditions worldwide to provide healthcare.

Also, this book is about a second chance at love, because I believe there’s always a second chance—especially in light of a tragedy, like the one which separated my hero and heroine years before.

I hope you enjoy my debut Medical Romance™. I love to hear from readers, so please drop by my website: www.amyruttan.com

With the warmest wishes

Amy Ruttan

Born and raised on the outskirts of Toronto, Ontario, AMY RUTTAN fled the big city to settle down with the country boy of her dreams. When she’s not furiously typing away at her computer she’s mom to three wonderful children, who have given her another job as a taxi driver.

A voracious reader, she was given her first romance novel by her grandmother, who shared her penchant for a hot romance. From that moment Amy was hooked by the magical worlds, handsome heroes and sigh-worthy romances contained in the pages, and she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Life got in the way, but after the birth of her second child she decided to pursue her dream of becoming a romance author.

Amy loves to hear from readers. It makes her day, in fact. You can find out more about Amy at her website www.amyruttan.com

Safe
in His Hands
Amy Ruttan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated firstly to my husband, Chris. I couldn’t do this without you.

A big thanks to my critique partner, Ann R, who read this book in its many incarnations and never once complained about reading it yet again, and my editor Suzanne Clarke who whipped my hero into shape!

Also a big thanks to a certain group of ladies, in particular Kimber, for cheering me up every day!

And lastly a big thanks to all the physicians and healthcare professionals who do work in remote places because of their passion to provide healthcare to everyone.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

DAMN. WHAT’VE I done?

Dr. Charlotte James had been watching the arrivals board in the Iqaluit airport for some time. She was so focused on arrivals she didn’t even notice the people coming and going around her. A watched pot never boiled, or so the old saying went, but she couldn’t help it. This was probably the longest she’d ever stood still. In her job there was no time to stand still. In fact, she hated it. She could be doing so many other things. Filing, for instance.

Not that she particularly liked filing. She preferred her organized chaos. However, there were a ton of files on her desk, and Rosie had been pestering her for a week to put them away. Instead, she was waiting here for his flight to arrive.

“Flight 207 from Ottawa now arriving at gate three.”

The past, when it came to Dr. Quinn Devlyn, was where it needed to be: firmly locked away. She’d moved on and she had no doubt his life had, too. He was, after all, at the top in his chosen specialty, and she was right where she’d always wanted to be.

This time Quinn Devlyn wouldn’t blindside her or suck her into some crazy off-kilter distracting, albeit passionate, love affair.

No, siree.

Her life was good. Not perfect but, then, whose was? Charlotte was happy.

Courage.

She spun around and saw the plane taxi in on the small airstrip, blending in with the stark, white landscape of Canada’s High Arctic. The only color out there was the brightly painted houses that dotted the landscape. Her pulse thundered between her ears.

He’s here.

The pit of Charlotte’s stomach dropped to her knees. No. Scratch that. Make it the soles of her feet. Not since her MCATs had she felt this way, as though she was perpetually on the verge of hurling.

She was seriously beginning to doubt her sanity in bringing her ex-fiancé up to Cape Recluse. It wasn’t a place where she could avoid him easily. He’d be constantly underfoot and she was dreading every moment of it. Would she be able to resist him? The only time she had resisted him had been when he’d left. When their relationship had ended, she’d never wanted to see him again, but his presence here now was a price she was willing to pay to help out her friend.

Get a grip on yourself.

A blast of cold air shook her from her reverie. Her gaze focused on the tinted windows, watching the passengers head across the tarmac to the warmth of the bright yellow airport building. Immediately she picked Quinn’s form out of the group of passengers.

Tall and broad, even though he was huddled down under his collar against the cold. Just the sight of him made her heart beat a little bit faster, her cheeks heat and the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. Her pulse thundered between her ears like a marching band. She hadn’t seen him in five years—not since he’d walked out on her—but he was making her feel like a giddy teenager again.

Don’t let him affect you like this, Charlotte chastised herself. She’d moved on with her life. The wound he’d left in her heart had finally healed.

The double doors opened and he stepped into the airport, moving to the side to let more people in from the frigid cold.

He set down his luggage and unwound his scarf.

Damn, he still looks as good as ever. Charlotte had been kind of hoping Quinn’s fast, career-driven lifestyle would’ve caught up with and aged him, but he looked as sexy and charming as ever.

Even from a few feet away she could see there was a bit of gray around his sandy-brown temples, but it suited him. Made him look more dashing and debonair. Some stubble shadowed his chin, but it didn’t hide the faint line of the scar that crossed his lips. A tingle of heat shot through her body as she suddenly recalled the way his lips had brushed across hers. A flush of goose bumps spread across her skin just at the thought of the way he would kiss a path down her body, his strong hands caressing her, holding her.

What’re you doing? She was not some lovestruck goofy med student anymore. She was a physician with a thriving practice. There was no way she was going to let him in again.

Hell would have to freeze over, not that it would take much, given the current temperature outside was minus thirty.

Charlotte shut those memories away firmly, refusing to think about them any further.

Instead, she remembered how he’d brushed off the miscarriage of their child as being for the best.

As a chance to move to New York and pursue their careers.

Only New York had not been what she’d wanted. She was where she wanted to be. Not to follow him had been her decision, her right to go after her dreams.

I can do this for Mentlana.

This was all for her best friend. The only thing close to a family she’d had since her father had died when she was ten. Charlotte never knew her mother, who’d died when she was two. Mentlana and her family had been there with open arms when Charlotte had returned to Cape Recluse after Quinn had left and she’d lost her baby.

Correction: their baby.

Now Mentlana needed help and Quinn was the best when it came to neonatal medicine. For her best friend, Charlotte would face death itself. Even though, as far as she was concerned, Dr. Quinn Devlyn was far more dangerous than the Grim Reaper. She’d take him on, anyway.

Quinn would save Mentlana’s baby.

Mustering her courage and holding her head high, Charlotte strode over to him. All the while her heart was racing and her knees shook like they were about to give out on her. He looked up, his chocolate gaze reeling her in as she moved toward him. His eyes were twinkling and she suddenly remembered how easy it was to get lost in those eyes.

They were hypnotizing.

The thought frightened her and she stopped a foot away from him, frozen in fear. Distance from him would be the safest.

Remember, he left you. You can’t get hurt again. You’re over him.

She couldn’t let her guard down when it came to Quinn Devlyn.

Not now that she was finally whole again.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the great wilderness physician,” he teased, as his eyes roved over her from head to toe, a haughty smile on his lips and that damn dimple in his cheek popping up.

His mocking tone made her grind her teeth just a bit. She pressed her lips together, forcing a smile. “Dr. Devlyn. I’m glad you could come.”

“It’s Dr. Devlyn, now? When did we become so formal? I know we didn’t part on good terms, but can we drop the formalities?” The spicy scent of his cologne—a clean scent of masculine soap and something else—teased her senses.

“Fine, but first names are as far as we go, do you understand? You’re here in a professional capacity. Nothing more.”

“Agreed. I would expect nothing less, Charlotte.”

It was the way he said her name that triggered the memory. The two of them together for the first time, locked in a small hotel room in Niagara Falls, and the way he’d whispered her name against her neck.

“God, Charlotte. I need you.”

I need you. Never, I love you. She should’ve taken that as a sign when she’d said yes to his proposal in the first place, but she’d been so blinded by love.

Charlotte nodded, but blooming warmth in her stomach spread to her cheeks. “Did you have a good flight?” she asked, trying to make small talk.

“As good as can be expected. The man next to me seemed to invade my space a lot, but overall it was as enjoyable as any other flight.” He pulled up the handle to his rolling suitcase with a snap. The tone was a bit arrogant and that attitude was why she’d never brought him to Cape Recluse when they had first got engaged. Quinn had champagne tastes and was a city slicker through and through. Of course, if she’d brought him home when they had first got engaged it might’ve saved her some heartache.

Then she wouldn’t have lost the baby, except she didn’t regret carrying his baby, even for such a short time. She had known from the get-go that Quinn was not a family man. In her youthful naivety she’d thought she could change him.

How wrong she’d been.

Let it go.

It was no longer her job to care what Quinn Devlyn thought. “Well, we’d better get up to Cape Recluse. It’s a two-hour flight there and there’s talk of a storm coming in from Labrador. Also, I’d like to get up there before it’s dark.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” he said, puzzled.

“The sun sets early up here.”

“I thought this was the land of the midnight sun?”

“In summer … This is winter. We have long periods of night.”

“Yikes.” Quinn shook his head. “So how are we getting there?”

“I fly.” Charlotte turned on her heel and strode off toward the other section of the airport where her plane was kept in a private rented hangar. Quinn kept in step beside her.

“What do you mean, you fly? As in a plane?” His tone was one of surprise and perhaps awe.

“Yes, I don’t have wings.” To prove her point she flapped her arms. Quinn rolled his eyes; he had never been one for foolishness in public places.

“You know what I mean. When did you learn how to fly?”

“About four years ago, after a man died in my arms from a very mild myocardial infarction. His death could’ve been prevented if we’d had regular flights from Iqaluit to Cape Recluse. By the time the air ambulance landed, Mr. Tikivik was dead. It was then I decided to learn how to fly, so I could fly my patients to Iqaluit if need be.”

“So you’re a physician and a paramedic, as well?” The tone was sarcastic, making her bristle with annoyance. His attitude on job specifications certainly hadn’t changed one bit.

“What else are they supposed to do? Plan their medical emergencies to fit around a pilot’s schedule?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I think it’s a lot to ask for limited pay.”

Charlotte turned to face him. “Money doesn’t mean that much to me. Lives mean more.”

Quinn didn’t respond but looked a bit taken aback. Guilt assailed her. She didn’t want to pick a fight with him, not after he’d come all this way and on his own dime. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“For what?” he asked.

“If I insulted you.”

“You didn’t. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Of course.” Charlotte shook her head. Quinn never had hidden the fact that success and to be the best in his field drove him. In his eyes you were nothing without those attributes.

“I’m interested in meeting Mentlana Tikivik and examining her and the baby. Still, I don’t quite understand why you don’t just fly her down to Toronto.”

“She has a pulmonary embolus.”

Quinn whistled. “Does she know about the diagnosis of the fetus?”

“Yes, I told her.” Charlotte sighed. “I told her I was bringing a specialist up to determine the severity of the CCAM. She’s aware of what may have to happen, and she’s fine with it. She wants to do whatever it takes to save her baby.”

Just like I would’ve done to save mine.

A lump formed in her throat as her mind wandered back to that horrible day when she’d spotted the mass on the baby’s lungs. She’d recognized the congenital cystic adenomatoid malformation, or CCAM, for what it was, and there had been no way she could fix it. She was only a general practitioner. She wasn’t qualified.

“Of course.” He nodded. “Did you explain the procedure to her?”

“Oh, yes.” Charlotte couldn’t help but smile as she remembered having to go through each step of the procedure, like she was talking to a first-year surgical resident.

“Did she understand?” Quinn asked, confused.

“Eventually,” Charlotte replied.

“Eventually?”

Charlotte laughed. “She understands, but Mentlana is very … inquisitive. I’ll warn you now, she’ll bombard you with questions.”

“No need to warn me. I’ve dealt with worse, I’m sure. I’ve consulted on many patients before and I’ve a way of explaining complex medical procedures so patients understand me.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Your pride is healthy, I see.”

Quinn smiled. “I have an excellent bedside manner.”

In your dreams, perhaps.

“Right, I forgot about your charming persona with patients.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re something of a McSteamy.”

“A … what?”

“Never mind, it’s a Grey’s Anatomy joke.”

“Didn’t that character die?”

Charlotte smirked. “I didn’t know you were a Grey’s Anatomy fan.”

He sighed. “What I meant was that I have a way of getting people to open up to me. I have a winning personality.”

Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Quinn chuckled. “Okay. Look, what I meant was I’ll be able to explain it to her and gain her trust. I’ve done this surgery before.”

Trust was important, especially in the Inuk culture. Trust was important to her, too. She’d trusted Quinn. She’d never forget how deeply in love with him she’d been. Quinn had claimed her heart, body and soul. He’d taken her innocence and had then crushed all her hopes and dreams when he’d walked out on her after she’d lost their baby.

“It’s for the best, Charlotte. We’re not ready. We have our careers ahead of us.”

The day he’d walked out had been the day he’d lost her trust. She’d never let him in again.

Never is a long time.

“Hey, are you okay? You zoned out, there, for a moment,” Quinn said, waving a hand in front of her face.

Charlotte shook the painful memory away. “If you’re sure you can handle Mentlana, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Charlotte, your friend will be totally at ease and informed during the entire procedure.”

“Trust is not easily given by people in a small, close-knit and isolated community.”

“Trust me.” He grinned, a dimple puckering.

“I did that once before,” she muttered.

“What?” he asked. He hadn’t heard her, but when had he ever? When they’d been together, everything had been about him and she’d been so in love she’d been content to follow.

It had taken her a long time realize she’d been so desperate to have her own family she’d been blinded to the fact she had been engaged to a man who was already married—to his work.

“Don’t worry about it.” Though Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure he could fit in with the residents of Cape Recluse. A man like Quinn would stick out like a sore thumb.

“Should I worry?” he asked.

“So, I was surprised to learn you’re in Toronto,” Charlotte said, changing the subject but also feeding her nosy side. New York had been Quinn’s dream destination, his Mecca, his reason for leaving her, but when she’d called he’d been in Toronto.

“My father’s health deteriorated two years ago. He offered me a position at the hospital. He wanted to groom me to become Chief of Surgery.” Quinn frowned and quickened his pace. Charlotte had an inkling it was a touchy subject. At least that explained why he’d given up his practice in Manhattan and moved to Toronto. It impressed her that he’d returned home to help his father, despite his history with his parents.

“Did he retire?”

“No.” His voice was stiff. “No, he died.”

Good going, dingbat.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Quinn shrugged. “It was his fault. He didn’t practice what he preached. Excessive smoker and drinker. Cancer caught up with him.”

“Still. I’m sorry.” Charlotte didn’t know what else to say. She knew Quinn hadn’t had the best relationship with his parents, but it was still hard to lose one. She was practically a pro in that department.

She led him into a warm hangar where her little Citation jet was waiting. Quinn whistled in appreciation.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“I bought it at an auction. It’s a ‘93 and was in bad shape interior-wise, but I didn’t care about that. I kitted it out to transport patients.”

“It’s a beaut.”

Charlotte grinned. She was proud of her jet and it made her preen that Quinn looked up at it in admiration. When they had been choosing their specialties, he hadn’t been overly impressed with her choice of general practitioner.

You don’t need his approval.

“Well, then, we’d better get going. I’ll be back in a moment. I just have to clear something with the hangar’s manager.”

Charlotte jogged away. Quinn’s personality was the same: overconfident, arrogant and cocky. But none of that mattered right now. His self-assuredness would probably be just the thing needed to save Mentlana and her baby.

And that was all that mattered.

What am I doing here again? Quinn asked himself, as another round of turbulence rocked the plane. Yet he knew exactly why he’d come. Because of Charlotte.

He’d had to see for himself that she was okay. Honestly, had he expected a broken, sad woman stuck in a dead-end job in the wilds of nowhere?

Yeah, in fact, he had.

When she’d refused to come to Manhattan after her miscarriage, he’d known she was done with him. Though it had smarted, he hadn’t been a stranger to rejection from someone he loved. He’d dealt with it and had thrown himself completely into his work, but some perverse part of him had needed, wanted to see her again. When he’d left her she’d been so ill, so fragile.

Now she was whole and healthy.

It was like the miscarriage had never happened. She was confident, happy in her job. Hell, she’d even learned how to fly a plane. When he’d seen that jet, he’d been impressed. She wasn’t the same girl he’d left behind. It seemed she was stronger for their parting.

Whereas he was not.

He glanced down at his hand and flexed it. The leather of his glove creaked, his hand inside, stiff.

A year ago, he’d been in a car accident during a bad bout of fog on the highway. His hand had been crushed. Quinn flexed his hand again, curling and then releasing it. Yes, it’d been broken and he’d undergone countless surgeries to repair it, but he could still use it. His hand had mended with time. Perhaps Charlotte’s heart had, too, in the five years they’d been apart.

He doubted it. When Charlotte had greeted him it’d been so formal. So forced.

“Whoa, that was a bit rough,” he remarked, as they hit more disturbance. He was no stranger to flying, but that was the most jarring bit of turbulence he’d ever experienced. Of course, he was used to first-class seats instead of being crammed into a small cockpit beside the pilot, especially an alluring pilot like Charlotte.

His shoulders almost touched hers in the tight space, just a near brush of her body against his sending his blood pumping. Just being in her presence again aroused him. Charlotte was a strong aphrodisiac, like ambrosia, and she had tasted just as sweet, too.

Blast. Get ahold of yourself. You’re not some randy med student. You’re going to be Chief of Surgery when you return to Toronto.

Only he couldn’t get ahold of himself. She looked exactly as she had when he’d first laid eyes on her. The slender figure and bright red curls were exactly the same. Her face, with only the barest hint of makeup, still looked as fresh and innocent. It was like time hadn’t touched her.

Perhaps the cold preserves people up here.

Quinn shook his head. He’d never understood her desire to live on top of the world. He hated winter at the best of times. The frigid air seemed to reach down his throat and scald his lungs with ice.

“Is something wrong?” Charlotte asked casually, not looking at him.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

The plane lurched and she adjusted her controls. “You’re muttering to yourself. Not used to a small plane, eh? Prefer first class?”

“Well, at least I can get a drink in first class.” He rubbed his hand. “That, and I’m not used to turbulence that seems more like bull-riding at the Calgary Stampede.”

Charlotte grinned. “This is mild.”

“Good God. Mild? Are you certain?”

She chuckled. He’d always liked her laughter. “Positive. There’s a storm coming.”

“Did we hit it?”

She shook her head. “Nope. The storm is chasing us. We’ll beat it.”

Quinn shuddered. Snow. Ice. “I don’t know how you live up here.”

“I like the rugged wilderness.”

“I thought you were afraid of bears. Isn’t this bear country?”

She laughed, her green eyes twinkling. “This is true.”

“You never did tell me why you’re afraid of bears.”

“It’s silly, really.”

“Come on, humor me. There’s no in-flight movie, either.”

“No. I’m not telling you.” She grinned and adjusted some more knobs.

“Come on. I promise I won’t say anything.” He waggled his eyebrows, teasing her.

She shot him a look of disbelief. “No way. And stop that eyebrow-waggling.”

“What, this?” He did it again for effect. Quinn had forgotten it drove her batty and he’d forgotten what fun it was to tease her.

“Lord, you look like a demented Groucho Marx or something.”

“I’ll keep pestering. You know I have a bit of an annoying streak.”

“A bit?” A smile quirked her lips. “Fine. It’s because I’m afraid of being eaten alive.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Charlotte’s creamy white cheeks stained with crimson and fire flooded his veins as an image of her, naked, flashed through his mind. He could still taste her kisses on his lips, recall her silky hair and her smooth skin under his hands. Their bodies had fit so well together. It had been so right. His body reacted to her presence. So pure and so not the kind of girl his parents would want for him.

They’d never approved of Charlotte but he hadn’t cared. He’d pursued her at first because she was good looking, bright and he’d known it would irk his parents to no end. She had not been like the boring girls they’d kept throwing in his path. Charlotte had not been suitable.

No, Charlotte had been exciting and taboo. Somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with her. Only they’d wanted different things. She’d wanted a family. He hadn’t. With his loveless childhood, Quinn knew he wasn’t father material.

When his relationship with Charlotte had ended, his mother had reminded him frequently that Charlotte hadn’t been the woman for him. His mother did like to rub salt into a wound.

And they’d been right. Charlotte hadn’t been the woman for him.

They were so different, but her difference was what had excited him most.

Quinn pushed aside all those thoughts. They would do nothing but get him into trouble. He was a professional.

A surgeon.

The plane jolted and she was thrown against the dash. Quinn unbuckled and reached out, steadying her. The scent of her coconut shampoo wrapped around him, reminding him of the summer they’d spent in Yellowknife, in a cabin on the shores of Great Slave Lake. Endless nights of blistering passion under the midnight sun.

“Are you okay?” he asked, closing the small gap between them. He could see her pulse racing at the base of her throat.

“I’m fine. Fine.” She cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders. Only he didn’t move his hands from her shoulders. He enjoyed holding her again and she didn’t shrug out of his arms or move from his touch.

“Are you certain?” he asked again. The blush still stained her skin, her gaze locked with his and her breathing quickened. She parted her lips and he fought the urge to steal a kiss from her. But he wanted to.

So badly.

CHAPTER TWO

LET GO OF HER. She didn’t want you.

“Charlotte?” His voice cracked, he cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

She broke the connection and turned away. “I’m fine. You’d better buckle up in case we hit some more turbulence.” She didn’t look at him but she appeared perturbed.

“Sure.” He could take a hint. Quinn cursed himself inwardly for letting his guard down. When he’d decided to come up here he’d told himself to keep emotionally detached from her, but two hours in her presence and he was being swayed by her again. Just being around her and he forgot what had passed between them—for him it was like they’d never been apart.

She was like a drug that intoxicated him quickly.

Charlotte’s cold brush-off brought him out of the past into the present, and keenly reminded him of how lonely his life had been without her. He didn’t like to be reminded of that.

He buckled back up and looked out the window as the clouds dissipated. In the distance the white landscape became dotted with brightly colored buildings, which appeared to be raised on stilts above the snow, smoke rising steadily from the chimneys.

So this is Cape Recluse.

The cape was at the mercy of the elements and the Northwest Passage surrounded it on three sides. The town itself was nestled against a panorama of majestic mountains. Squinting, he faintly made out what looked like a tiny airstrip on a sheet of ice.

The whole town looked barren and very, very rustic. It was like something out of the old frontier towns of the Wild West, only snow covered. Quinn knew he was on the edge of civilization, here.

This was what Charlotte preferred over New York?

She flicked on the radio and gave out her call number. “Preparing to land.”

“Roger that,” came the crackling acknowledgment over the line.

Charlotte brought her plane in to land. Quinn was impressed with her piloting abilities as she brought the aircraft to a smooth landing on the slick airstrip. When the wheels of the plane touched the ice, the jet skittered slightly, but Charlotte kept control and then visibly relaxed.

As she swung the plane round towards the small hangar, Quinn saw a group of villagers milling about.

“That’s quite a homecoming.”

“Yes, well, there’s not much winter entertainment up here,” Charlotte said.

“I’ll bet there isn’t.” Quinn regretted his muttered comment the moment it had slipped past his lips.

Smooth move.

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed and flashed in annoyance, but all she said was, “Well, we’ll get you settled.”

She taxied the plane into the hangar.

“Sounds good.” He could do with a long, hot shower and some sleep, but judging from the size of the town he didn’t see any four-star accommodation nearby. The sooner he dealt with Mentlana Tikivik’s case, the sooner he could get back to Toronto, and sanity.

Charlotte’s pulse rate felt like a jackhammer at the moment and she hoped Quinn hadn’t noticed how much he had affected her.

Damn.

One stupid little embrace during turbulence had set off all sorts of crazy hormones zinging through her body.

His stay in Cape Recluse was going to be more trying than she’d originally thought and had tried to tell herself it would be. To make matters worse, there were no hotels in town and Quinn would be staying with her. He had to stay with her.

When his arms had wrapped around her in the cockpit, her blood had ignited and her common sense had wrestled with the side of her that had wanted to toss aside the plane’s controls and throw herself into his arms.

Totally irrational.

She was the fly to his spider, apparently.

It wasn’t like she was desperate. She’d gone on other dates with good-looking, exciting men, but she hadn’t lost her head around them.

And that was the point. Quinn always made her feel giddy, like a lovestruck fool. He was exciting, sexy and handsome, and made her body burn with a pleasure she hadn’t felt since he’d left.

Every day she’d be forced to face Quinn, the man who had broken her heart, but she had to do this for Mentlana. She knew she’d be putting her heart at risk, and it had only recently mended since he’d left her for the greener pastures of New York. She’d rarely thought of him for the last couple years.

Liar.

Of course she’d thought about him, even though for the last couple years it hadn’t been as constant as it had been before that. Except for one day. Every year on the anniversary of the day she’d miscarried the baby and had nearly bled out, she’d thought of him and what could’ve been had he not walked away.

Only, what could’ve been was just a fantasy. Quinn wouldn’t have settled down. She realized that now.

Her throat constricted as she tried to swallow down those emotions. When she thought of what could have been, when she thought about the family she’d always dreamed of, she fought the urge to break down in tears.

Don’t think about it.

Charlotte took a deep, calming breath, removed her headpiece and climbed out of the cockpit. “Doc Charley!”

Charlotte glanced up to see George, her paramedic, approaching the plane. She embraced George, who was like a brother to her.

“Good to see you, Doc. Good flight?” he asked, though Charlotte knew he wasn’t really that concerned about her flight. He was a pilot, too, and the Citation was like his baby. George moved away and stroked the side of the jet for good measure. “Any problems?”

“None. Your baby is fine and the flight was good.” She glanced back to see if Quinn was disembarking okay. He appeared to be, as he climbed stiffly out of the cockpit.

“Dr. Devlyn.” Charlotte waved him over, and Quinn strode over, his gaze intently focused on George. He didn’t respond. Charlotte gritted her teeth. “Quinn, this is George Atavik. He’s my paramedic and copilot. George, this is Dr. Devlyn, the specialist from Toronto.”

George grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth. His dark eyes lit with sincerity. “Good to meet you, Dr. Devlyn. Thanks for coming up this far north to help out.”

“The pleasure is all mine and, please, just call me Quinn,” he replied, shaking George’s hand. He glanced at her, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously, a look that spoke volumes, like he was undressing her right there on the spot, as he whispered, “Just Quinn.”

“George is Mentlana Tikivik’s brother,” Charlotte said, clearing her throat. Why she’d blurted that information out she didn’t know. It was like she wanted Quinn to know there was nothing between George and her. She watched for any sign of reaction from Quinn, but there was none. All he did was nod politely.

“I’ll take care of the plane, Doc Charley. I checked the weather satellite earlier and I was worried you were going to be delayed by that storm coming in from Labrador.” George chatted away, totally unaware of the tension Charlotte keenly felt hovering over them.

“I was, too, for a moment,” she answered absently.

“I’ll go and collect my bag,” Quinn said, walking back toward the plane, where people in the hangar were unloading his suitcase and some supplies Charlotte had brought up. So like him to be haughty.

It’s Quinn.

Even though she knew she shouldn’t follow him, Charlotte hurried after him.

“Are you still tired from the trip?” she asked.

“A bit,” Quinn answered. “Don’t you and George have to deal with the plane?”

“George can handle it. He’ll yell if I’m needed.”

“He seems like a nice fellow, I hope he makes you happy.”

Charlotte did a double take. Quinn thought she was with George and, despite the fact they’d once been intimate, was wishing her happiness. So unlike the selfish man he’d been when he was younger.

“Quinn, George is like a brother to me.” Again, why was she telling him that? She should’ve let him think George was her lover, and then she shuddered at the thought. She’d babysat George at one time and he’d been a terror. “Besides, George is too weird, too into his Westerns. I think that if given the chance, he’d trade in his paramedic bag for a saddle and six-shooter.” She said the last part loudly.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Clint Eastwood is da man!”

George called back.

A look of pleasure flashed momentarily across his face. “Well, that makes for a good partnership between physician and paramedic.”

“Doc Charley!” The frantic call made both Charlotte and Quinn spin around. Charlotte saw Lorna, the village midwife, come running into the hangar.

Charlotte didn’t need to be told. Her instinct kicked in and she grabbed her medical bag from the top of the pile of supplies. “What’s happened? Is it Mentlana?”

Lorna nodded. “She started bleeding, and I don’t know if it’s from the fetus, the placenta or something else.”

Oh, God, no.

Charlotte remembered the way she herself had almost bled to death when she’d lost her baby. Sweat broke out across her brow. Charlotte glanced at Quinn, who was standing close to her. His lips were pressed together in a firm line and he looked a little pale as he nodded his understanding, obviously ready to follow her lead.

“Where is she?” Charlotte asked.

“The clinic.” Lorna was wringing her hands nervously.

“Thanks, Lorna.” Charlotte started running, praying she wasn’t too late.

“Is everything okay, Charley?” Mentlana’s voice was anxious as Charlotte peeled off the rubber gloves and placed them in the toxic medical waste receptacle.

“Your cervix is irritated, that’s all.” Charlotte had been relieved on her arrival to see the blood loss was minimal, but enough to worry Lorna. Given all the things wrong with Mentlana and her high-risk pregnancy, Lorna had reacted quickly and done the right thing.

“Well, yours would be irritated, too, if you were carrying around an elephant.”

Charlotte chuckled. “I’m going to have Dr. Devlyn, the specialist from Toronto, perform an ultrasound to make sure there’s nothing wrong with the placenta or the baby. But the heartbeat is strong, and from the internal, the placenta is still in place. If it had been an abruption there would’ve been a lot more blood.”

And death. Charlotte kept that thought to herself. There was no sense in worrying the pregnant woman over nothing.

Mentlana visibly relaxed as she took her feet out of the stirrups and rearranged the sheet over her lower half. Charlotte ran her hands under the tap and scrubbed them thoroughly.

“Do you want me to get Genen? He’s probably climbing the walls.”

“Let him wait for a moment. I want to talk to you.”

Confused, Charlotte pulled her wheeled stool over to her friend’s side nonetheless. Mentlana was leaning up on one elbow, a serious look on her face.

Charlotte knew that look all too well. It meant business.

“What’s your question?”

“This doctor from Toronto, he’s the one, isn’t he?” Mentlana asked.

Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

Mentlana’s eyes narrowed, glinting as black as coal as she fixed Charlotte with the serious gaze that made Genen and George almost wet their pants. “Don’t lie to me, Charley. This is the guy, right? He’s the guy who broke your heart and left after you lost the baby. The one you wouldn’t bring home to meet us. The one who, if I wasn’t pregnant and in need of him, I’d give a stern kick to the crotch.”

Charlotte stood. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she scrubbed her hand over her face. “Yes. Dr. Devlyn is the one.”

Mentlana reached out and grabbed her hand. “I know how hard it is for you to trust him, to bring him here, and I know you’re doing it for me and the baby. Thank you.”

A sob caught in Charlotte’s throat but she controlled it. She forced a wobbly smile and smoothed Mentlana’s jet-black hair from her forehead. “I would do anything for you, even face the devil himself—or Devlyn, in this case.”

“Witty.” Lana chuckled. “Now I’m really interested in meeting him.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and padded towards the door. “Well, he does have the bedside manner of a bull in a china shop, most days. Stay tight. I’ll bring him in to see you in a moment.”

“Tight, right.” Mentlana snorted as Charlotte shut the door to the exam room. Just as she’d thought, Genen was pacing, and the rest of the family was crowded into the small reception area of her clinic. Genen almost rushed her as she approached.

Charlotte held up her hands. “It’s nothing, just an irritated cervix. Mother and baby are fine, but I’ll have the specialist do an ultrasound to be absolutely certain.”

Relief washed over Genen’s face. “Can I see her now, Charley?”

“Sure. But just Genen,” she said, as the entire Atavik and Tikivik clan seemed to rise. Scanning the clinic area, she couldn’t see Quinn anywhere. Biting her bottom lip, she headed over to George.

“Where’s Dr. Devlyn?”

“In your office. I thought he’d be most comfortable there.”

The blood drained from Charlotte’s face. “My office?” Oh, God. She hadn’t had a chance to clear away her personal items, including the cherished, faded old sonogram. The ultrasound he hadn’t even bothered to attend. The same sonogram he’d just grunted at when she’d shown it to him.

“Don’t you want to see? It’s amazing!”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen a sonogram before.”

“I know. But, Quinn, it’s our baby.”

He shrugged. “I have to go, Charlotte. I’m late for my rounds already.”

He hadn’t wanted to see it then and even though it was childish, she didn’t want to share it with him now. Not after five years. He didn’t deserve to see it or share in any part of her grief.

CHAPTER THREE

TRYING NOT TO panic, she thanked George and headed towards her office. She raised her hand to knock and then thought better of it. Why should she knock? It was her office and he was the visitor. She walked in. Quinn wasn’t behind her desk, but was staring out the window at the snow swirling over the inlet. He turned when she entered, his face unreadable.

“Is Ms. Tikivik stable?” he asked.

“Yes. It was an irritation of the cervix, but I’d like you to do an ultrasound and check the status of the fetus yourself.”

“I will.” He glanced back out the window. “I have to say I’ve never seen so many houses tied down to cables and supported on metal beams. It’s like they’re a bunch of beach houses or something.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. “The houses are raised because of permafrost. There are no basements in Cape Recluse. The village also has a lot of high winds. We may seem sheltered, with mountains surrounding us, but it’s really very windy. We have to tie everything down.”

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.

“Mentlana, Genen, this is Dr. Devlyn. He’s the specialist I told you both about.”

Genen stood and came over to grasp Quinn’s bad hand, shaking it firmly. Quinn didn’t wince, even though the man had a strong grip.

Quinn approached Mentlana and was surprised by her measured gaze. This woman was picking him apart with her eyes and he felt like a slab of meat.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tikivik.”

“And you, Dr. Devlyn. Charley wasn’t wrong. You are cute.”

He arched his brows and held back the grin threatening to erupt.

“Ahem.” Charlotte cleared her throat from behind him and now it was his turn to stifle a laugh. Craning his neck, he looked back at her. She was conveniently staring at the ceiling, but her blush was evidence of her embarrassment. He liked the way the pink bloomed in her creamy white cheeks.

Focus.

“Well, thank you for the compliment. I’d like to do an ultrasound, now, if that’s okay?” he asked, steering the subject back to the examination. But he planned to use Mentlana’s little disclosure of information to get him a manlier color of scrubs. Right now he had a job to do. Now was not the time for frivolity or personal feelings. “Do you have a full bladder?”

“When don’t I?” Mentlana replied. “Please, before I burst.”

“I’ll get the ultrasound machine,” Charlotte said.

Charlotte wheeled the machine over and then dimmed the lights, refusing to meet his gaze.

So, I still make her uncomfortable.

That thought secretly pleased him.

Getting to work, he uncovered Mentlana’s belly. “Sorry. This is a bit cold.”

“That’s not cold, Dr. Devlyn. Outside is cold.”

He grinned, but didn’t engage in any further pleasantries. He had a consult to complete. Quinn placed the probe against her abdomen and began to adjust the dials to get a clearer picture. Genen leaned forward, his eyes transfixed on the image on the monitor.

“Well, from what I can see, your placenta, though previa, is fully attached and not bleeding.”

“That’s a relief.” Genen kissed his wife’s hand. “And the baby?”

“The bleeding is not being caused by the baby. I have to run some more tests to determine the severity of the CCAM, but other than that, his heart is beating and he’s moving well. His other organs are forming satisfactorily for a gestational age of twenty-one weeks.”

“Thank you, Dr. Devlyn. I appreciate it,” Mentlana said.

“I want you on bed rest, though.” He turned to look at Charlotte. “I’m sure Dr. James will agree with my assessment.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “I think we’ve had this discussion before.”

“For how long?” Mentlana’s gaze traveled nervously between him and Charlotte.

“For the remainder of your pregnancy. With your pulmonary embolism and placenta previa alone, it’s for the best,” Charlotte said, brushing back Mentlana’s hair.

Mentlana nodded. “Okay.”

“We’ll call you when I’m through analyzing your labs and diagnostic images.” Quinn wiped the sonogram gel from her abdomen and then turned back to the machine. “Until then, take it easy.”

“Sounds good, Doctors.”

Quinn saved various shots of the baby’s heart and other organs to determine whether or not he would have to do the surgery in utero. It would be better if he could wait until the baby was full term to deliver it via Caesarean and do the operation on the newborn.

He’d done that surgery several times since his hand had been damaged.

If the baby could wait until its birth, by then he might be able to figure out a way to get Mentlana to Mount Hope, where his surgical team could assist him. Even Iqaluit would be better than here.

Charlotte may be a competent physician, but she was no surgeon.

She could’ve been great if she’d only come to New York with me.

Quinn stood up and left. He knew Charlotte followed him, and so did the collective gaze of the mob huddled in the waiting room as they passed to get to Charlotte’s office.

Once they were behind the closed doors he wandered over to the window and wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction at the swirling snowstorm, which had caught up with them.

Then again, it would make a nice photograph and he was glad he’d brought his camera. Since his father’s death, he had been indulging in his secret passion for photography. Something his father had always stated was a waste of time.

He was on sabbatical, as his father had just died when Charlotte had called, and he’d planned on taking a trip to India to photograph scenery. Instead, he was up in the High Arctic and not getting paid much to be there.

The money didn’t matter to him.

His father would roll over in his grave if he knew, and he already knew how his mother felt about this excursion.

“You don’t have time for a charity case, Quinn. You have to prepare to take your father’s place!”

God. He hated winter. It probably stemmed from the fact he’d been forced into endless hours of hockey practice by his father, when all Quinn had wanted to do was take photography lessons. Photography hadn’t been manly enough for his father, whereas hockey was the sport of champions.

“Don’t they have winters in Toronto?” Charlotte asked, breaking the silence.

Quinn glanced back at her. “Pardon?”

“The way you’re scowling at the snow.”

Quinn shrugged. “You know I hate winter.”

“How could I forget?”

“I’m not the only Canadian who does. Think about all the snowbirds that go to warmer climes every winter.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You want me to picture you as an old man in a RV?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“I’m sorry about the scrubs.” A devilish smile played across her lips.

“You’re not in the least. You enjoyed watching me give the locals a fright.”

Charlotte laughed and he couldn’t help but join in. “I’ll see if George has any spares.”

“Much appreciated.”

“What do you think of Mentlana’s condition?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject.

“Your assessment is correct, though I don’t know the severity of the CCAM yet.”

“How long will it take you to determine that?” she asked, her voice tight and her lips pursed together in a thin line. He could see she was stressed about Mentlana.

Charlotte always got over-attached to people.

“A few days. I want to be absolutely certain. I sent the scans to your computer and I’ll email them to my laptop later. I have an internet stick, because I figured there’s no Wi-Fi up here.”

Charlotte nodded. “Wise move.”

Quinn moved away from the window and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk. As soon as he sat down he noticed the little frame with the sonogram picture was gone. He didn’t search the room for it as he didn’t want Charlotte to know he’d seen it. Apparently she’d hidden it. It irked him that she was hiding it from him.

Like it had never existed.

Like they had never existed. And that saddened him.

He shook that thought away.

“I’m glad it was just an irritated cervix.” Charlotte sat across from him, her back ramrod straight, her fingers laced in front of her.

“There are no pools of blood darkening on the scans. The fetus is thriving, despite the CCAM. I take it they knew the gender beforehand. I hope I didn’t make a blunder with that.”

“They knew.”

Quinn nodded. “I’m hoping we can get Mentlana to twenty-five weeks before I even think of doing in utero surgery to repair the lungs—that way, if we have to deliver, the baby has a better chance of survival.”

Unlike ours, who miscarried at a mere sixteen weeks.

“In utero surgery is needed?”

“It may not be. We’ll monitor her. She may go to term and then the baby’s lungs can be repaired after delivery, but if there’s much more fluid collection we risk hydrops. If that’s the case we’ll have to place a shunt in the fetus’s lungs so the fluid can drain into the amniotic fluid and take the pressure off the lungs. Then, when the baby is full term, we can resect the lesion on him. Really, that would be the ideal situation.”

Quinn rubbed his hand, which had begun to bother him again. He needed to do his strengthening exercises. “There has to be a way to get to Iqaluit, though. You don’t have the facilities here to deliver a baby by Caesarean, let alone operate on a fetus in utero.”

“She has a pulmonary embolism. I can’t fly her.”

“What about low altitude?”

“I’ve thought of it, but with the sudden storms and mountains … it’s risky. It would double the flight time.”

“It’s risky leaving her up here. When the time comes we need to get her to Iqaluit. If she makes it to twenty-four weeks, we need to consider flying her down there.”

Charlotte scrubbed her hand over her face. “You’re right. I know it. All right, when the time comes we’ll fly her at low altitude to Iqaluit, but if her water breaks or a storm hits, we’ll have to do it here. I’ve been stockpiling supplies.”

“Supplies won’t cut it. I need a proper surgical team to assist me. I’m sorry. You alone won’t be of any use in this situation.”

Charlotte’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “I’m more than capable of assisting you, Dr. Devlyn.”

“Have you done surgeries here before?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes, but never this kind. It’s why I need you here, Quinn.”

She reached across the desk and took his hand. Her small, delicate hand fit so snugly in his. Warmth spread across his chest. He wanted to pull her closer to him.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

Don’t. She didn’t want you.

Quinn pushed her hand away.

It was too little, too late. There was no going back.

She cleared her throat and her expression was serious. “Will you let me assist, Dr. Devlyn, or do I have to hire help?”

As much as he was tempted to tell her to bring up a surgical team, he knew the money would be coming out of her own pocket and he couldn’t do that to her.

“If it comes down to it, I would like you to assist.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARLOTTE WAS TAKEN aback. She wanted to believe that Quinn trusted her abilities as a surgeon and was willing to let her help save her best friend’s baby, but a niggle of self-doubt gnawed at the back of her mind.

She knew what his thoughts about general physicians and surgeons had been in medical school. Quinn had believed in the discipline, drive and focus of training for years in a specialty, which of course had been very egotistical of him. He had been obsessive when it came to his training. In med school he’d do anything to scrub in on any surgery and she knew he never gave up on a challenge. That’s why he was at the top of his field so young.

Charlotte hoped he had changed, though she seriously doubted it. As her father had always said, a leopard didn’t change its spots.

Why am I worrying about this?

Quinn was no longer her concern. She didn’t care what he thought about her chosen career path and, frankly, if he was going to let her assist in a once-in-a-lifetime surgery, she was going to take it.

Even if it was because Quinn had no other option.

“I think I’m going to have a shower and peel myself out of these oh so charming scrubs.” Quinn rubbed his hand, wincing momentarily, and then stood up. “Where am I staying and where can I call a cab?”

Guilt assuaged her. She wasn’t heartless. He was exhausted and here she was thrusting him straight into the exam room the moment the plane had touched down. Although it hadn’t been intentional, it had just happened that way.

“There are no cabs and there’s no hotel.” Charlotte stood and walked over to the door. She needed an escape route for what she was about to tell him. Even though she hated having to share a clinic space with him for the next twenty-and-some-odd weeks while they monitored Mentlana, it was even worse having to share accommodations with him.

Already it was proving hard to keep her attraction for him under wraps, but there was nothing to be done. Cape Recluse had no hotels, motels or anything of the kind. The people in this town opened up their homes to strangers. Quinn would be more comfortable at her home, which was connected to the clinic, than at the home of someone he didn’t know.

“No hotel?” Quinn’s eyes widened. “Am I supposed to crash here?” He glanced down at the old brown sofa that had once adorned their college apartment. “I think I’m too old to curl up on the ‘Couch of Gibraltar,’ here.”

“I have a guest bedroom at my place.” Heat began to crawl up her neck and she prayed the blush wouldn’t reach her face.

“Are you asking me to spend the night?”

“N-no,” she stammered.

Quinn grinned and crossed his arms. Even though he thought the lavender emasculated him, that was far from the truth. He was still as sexy as ever and she wanted to tear those scrubs from his body to get to what was underneath.

Whoa, slow down.

Where had that thought come from? True, it’d been a long time since she’d been with a man … the last time having been with Quinn. Her heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. Maybe that was the cure. To have one last night and get him out of her system. Warmth spread through her at the thought of that foolish notion.

Get a grip on yourself.

Sleeping with Quinn Devlyn was the last thing she needed to do.

“So let me get this straight. You’re inviting me over to your place to spend the night?” He was teasing. He wasn’t going to let it go. Quinn was annoying that way. He moved closer and Charlotte raised her hands and took a step back.

“It’s not like it’s in my bed. You’ll be in the guest bedroom with its own bed. Same general house, two separate beds.”

Quinn’s brown eyes gleamed with devilment. “You’re mentioning the word bed quite a lot, whereas I haven’t even once.”

Charlotte snapped her fingers. “Ha, you just did.”

“Someone has bed on the brain,” Quinn teased again.

“You’re welcome to find your own lodgings, but unless you want to bunk with strangers or build an igloo you’re better off staying with me. Trust me, I don’t like it, either.”

“Igloo? You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really, and, trust me, you don’t want to. The bears have been bad this year.”

“Bears? You mean as in polar bears?” he asked, startled.

“Yes, what other kind of bear do you think I mean? This is the North, my friend.” She chuckled at the expression of horror plastered across his face as she left the room. At least it got her out of that conversation with him.

She walked out of her office to retrieve his luggage from Rosie. It was almost time for the clinic to close, but the residents knew she was only next door. She didn’t even have to leave the clinic to go home as the door at the far side of the clinic led straight into her humble but comfortable abode.

“I’m here for Dr. Devlyn’s luggage.”

“Ah.” Rosie got up and lifted the luggage, handing it to her. “He packs light.”

“Always has.”

“I find it strange he didn’t bring his own scrubs,” Rosie remarked, as she began to collect up her belongings.

Charlotte grinned, thinking about Quinn in his scrubs again. “Do you think we can get some blue or green ones?”

Rosie frowned over the bridge of her rhinestone-studded glasses. “What does he think this is, the local store?”

“I know. But please try for me, Rosie. He’s used to the big city where everything is provided to physicians on a silver platter.”

“In Canada?” Rosie asked in disbelief.

“Well, no. He had a private practice in New York for a while.”

Rosie nodded. “That makes sense. I’ll see what I can do.”

She zipped up her parka. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc Charley.”

“Good night, Rosie.”

No sooner had Charlotte uttered the words than the doors of the clinic were flung open. George came rushing in with a stretcher. On it was Wavell Agluclark, a ten-year-old boy who was being taught the ways of his people in traditional hunting. George had his hand clamped over Wavell’s thigh, which was bleeding heavily.

Rosie instantly peeled off her parka and quickly went about preparing a room while Charlotte jumped into action.

“What’ve we got here, George?”

“Deep laceration to the thigh, possibly a nick to the femoral artery,” George answered.

“Exam room one is ready for you, Doc Charley,” Rosie called out.

“Bring him in.” Charlotte began to scrub while Wavell’s dad, Sam, and George lifted him from the stretcher onto the exam bed. Wavell’s face was pale with blood loss, pain and fear. A twinge of sympathy raced through her. She hated seeing a child in pain, but this wasn’t Wavell’s first accident. The boy seemed prone to mishaps.

“So what happened this time, Wavell?” she asked, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, as Wavell was allergic to latex.

“I was cleaning fish after ice fishing, and the knife slipped,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Well, let’s take a look.”

George removed the gauze he’d been using to compress the wound. Gingerly inspecting the site, Charlotte could tell it was deep, but because the blood was being controlled and not gushing, the femoral artery was probably all right.

Rosie came back into the room.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “I need ten ccs of lidocaine.”

“Yes. Right away.” Rosie skittered away to the locked medicine cabinet to prepare the local anesthesia.

“I don’t like needles,” Wavell murmured grumpily.

“I know, buddy, but this needle will numb your wound and I’ll be able to stitch it up without you feeling a thing.”

“Okay.” Wavell pursed his lips. “I can handle it.”

Charlotte smiled and ruffled his hair. “You’re being very brave.” She took the syringe from Rosie and injected around the laceration. “Tell me when you can’t feel it and I’ll stitch it up.”

“Okay.” Wavell nodded.

“He’s okay, then?” Sam Agluclark asked warily.

“He’ll be fine. He didn’t cut the artery. Once we sew up his wound he’ll need to rest for a couple of days.”

“Can’t feel it.” Wavell slurred slightly.

“Good stuff.” Sam was obviously relieved as he looked down at his son.

Rosie handed her a tray with everything she’d need for stitches. Charlotte thoroughly irrigated and cleaned out his cut with saline and Betadine, because she didn’t think a knife for gutting fish was exactly clean.

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