Safe in His Hands. Amy Ruttan
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