Safe in His Hands. Amy Ruttan

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      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.”

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