Читать книгу The Bachelor Doctor's Bride - Caro Carson - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Quinn kept one eye on Diana as she led the quiet girl into the ballroom’s far corner. The other woman with Patricia had been introduced as Karen Weaver, the new director of the Austin-area’s branch of Texas Rescue and Relief. Quinn kept Diana in his peripheral vision while he greeted Karen and said all the appropriate things about Texas Rescue’s importance in times of crisis. He almost wished Diana could hear him, so she’d know he wasn’t always as curt as he’d been when she’d first spoken to him. He had the requisite social graces. His mother had raised him right.

Karen Weaver said all the right things in return, complimenting Patricia on the quality of volunteers she recruited for Texas Rescue, physicians like Quinn.

Quinn had long volunteered with Texas Rescue and Relief, a home state organization that stood ready to offer medical help should natural disaster strike anywhere in Texas. Last summer, they’d sweltered in makeshift tents near the border of Oklahoma in order to provide medical care after tornados had torn through a small town.

“Yes, of course I’m committed to another year of service,” Quinn assured the new director. “Let’s hope the summer is hot, dry and boring.”

He made a toasting gesture with his champagne flute, and Patricia tugged at his sleeve. “Do get me some champagne, would you?”

Quinn flagged a passing waiter to stop. Patricia took a flute as Karen declined, their momentary fuss giving Quinn the opportunity to focus on Diana. She was practically hiding behind a potted palm with the new girl.

“Who is the young lady you’re dragging along?” he asked Patricia.

“My father’s second wife’s stepdaughter, or some such nonsense. I refuse to introduce her as a Cargill. She goes by the ironically perky name Becky.” She hadn’t taken a sip of her glass, but instead dumped the sparkling wine into the empty flute that sat on the table. Diana’s empty flute.

“I thought your father was on his third wife now,” Quinn said, sliding Diana’s now-full flute closer to himself. “And this glass was in use, by the way.”

Patricia shrugged. “I sincerely doubt your real estate agent will care what it was refilled with. And wife number three is exactly why I had no idea I’d be forced to babysit number two’s offspring.” She held her glass in front of Quinn. “Do pour a girl something halfway decent.”

Quinn could hardly refuse her, although he’d planned on putting that bottle to better use. He filled her glass. “You make a terrible wingman.”

“Do I?” Patricia laughed. “Don’t tell me Dr. Quinn MacDowell of the West Central MacDowells needs help landing a real estate agent for the evening, especially one dressed so... Or are you Cowboy Quinn of the River Mack Ranch tonight?”

Quinn hadn’t tried to flaunt either side of himself, actually. Diana had talked to him as a complete stranger, without introduction. It was, he realized, unusual. Refreshing. Perfect strangers were perfect equals.

“Either way, she’s not your type.” Patricia slipped her arm through his.

“I’m in a better position than you to know my type.” Quinn said it mildly. He included Karen in their conversation. “Don’t worry. Your recruiter and I are not having a lover’s spat. Patricia is merely the annoying sister I never had.”

Still, being told Diana wasn’t his type didn’t sit well with him. Having an identifiable type seemed uninspiring. Monotonous. Was he required to stay within this restricted social circle of the hospital, Texas Rescue, and the ranch owner associations?

Haven’t I dated all the available women in that pool?

They were all starting to blur together in his memory. It hadn’t been hard to stay unattached this past year.

Tonight, he was suddenly obsessing about his own love life. It was ludicrous, when the only reason he’d attended this ball was specifically to fulfill his duties to the hospital as a board member. Meeting the new director of Texas Rescue was an efficient use of the evening, as well. Worrying about female companionship? Not on the radar. Not an issue. Not important.

He resisted the urge to look toward Diana’s corner of the ballroom.

“Have you seen Marcel around?” Patricia asked, referring to her current escort. “He’s so easy to lose. Oh, Lord—your redhead and my ex-step-in-law are on their way back. I can’t take it. Quick, top off my glass.”

Quinn only raised an eyebrow at her. To refill her glass would imply that he agreed that Patricia’s gloomy girl and the bubbly Diana were burdens best borne with the help of alcohol. Quinn didn’t know the girl, of course, but Diana’s company didn’t require a dose of alcohol. She was not a part of their usual circle, but being with her was no burden.

Diana emerged from the corner, talking and laughing, looking colorful and alive and wonderfully modern against her Victorian surroundings. The solemn girl she’d dragged off with her was laughing, as well. Quinn had to look twice to be sure she was Patricia’s step-whatever. Becky, who had all but disappeared in Patricia’s shadow, was now walking confidently, eagerly answering a question Diana asked, and generally looking happy.

Had being around Diana done as much for him tonight? He suspected it had. Being around Diana lifted people’s spirits. And he, for all his medical training and his business acumen, had no idea how she did it.

She fascinated him.

Quinn wished he’d had a chance to dance with her, but she’d clearly moved on to a new protégée for the evening.

“We’re back,” Diana said brightly.

Patricia cast a critical eye in her step-whatever’s direction, then took a dramatically deep drink from her flute.

Quinn watched the young lady deflate a little, as if Patricia were the kryptonite to Diana’s superpower. It was hardly young Becky’s fault that Patricia’s father’s second wife had dumped her into Patricia’s hands.

He smiled sympathetically at Diana’s protégée. Becky would be all right. Diana had clearly taken her under her wing, and she’d have her dancing in no time.

The new Texas Rescue director was speaking. Her plans for the coming year were important, and her need for financial and facility support from the hospital were legitimate. Quinn could only lend her half an ear, however. The rest of him was distracted by details from his earlier conversations with Diana.

This would be much harder if you were a woman...you’d have to hope he asked you to dance.

It wasn’t always good to have a mind that held details, endless details like Diana’s description of the challenges faced by a woman who wanted to be asked to dance. When piecing together a medical puzzle, Quinn was grateful for his memory. Right now, it tugged at his conscience.

Patricia set her flute down and turned to him. “Now, would you dance with me?” she asked in her prettiest voice. She could be delightful company when she chose, but Quinn had known her too long and too well to be interested in more than friendship.

“Since your date is heading this way, I think he’ll want this dance.” It was a complete lie, of course, since Quinn hadn’t caught sight of the missing Marcel, but damn it, Patricia had caused her ex-stepsister’s spirits to droop, undoing Diana’s good deed.

Quinn held out his hand toward the timid Becky. “Would you care to dance?”

The young lady brightened up once more and placed her hand in his. It wasn’t the hand he wanted to be holding, and she wasn’t the woman he wanted to dance with. But he’d made her happy by asking her to dance, which had in turn made Diana beam at him in approval. She even bounced on her toes, the tiniest of motions, reminding him of a kid at Christmas.

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.

Diana. Quinn pictured her green dress and her shapely legs. For once, it was good to be able to recall the details: the way she’d bounced on toes that were polished in red and peeking through silver sandal straps. Impractical. Feminine. Sexy.

Diana—lively, lovely Diana. Quinn wanted to be with her. He wanted to hold her.

“Damn it, we were supposed to dance.” He said the words under his breath as he turned back to the room, angry at himself for letting anything dissuade him from his earlier goal of dancing with Diana. With an intensity he could feel over and above the punch of losing a patient, Quinn wanted his hands on Diana. He wanted to feel that fringe in his fingers. He wanted to know the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. He wanted that dance.

He looked toward the table where he’d left her standing with Patricia and the director of Texas Rescue. Only the champagne bottle remained.

She was gone. Again.