Читать книгу Safe in His Hands - Amy Ruttan - Страница 11

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.”