Safe in His Hands. Amy Ruttan

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.