by Caro Carson
“Terribly educated is right. She can’t see why the Nobel committee overlooked the contributions of two scientists I’ve never heard of who discovered some molecular entity I’ve never heard of. And I’m a doctor, mind you.”
Oh, he was most definitely a doctor. She knew this from the calendar, of course, but Quinn’s career explained so much about him. Diana did not envy doctors. They were too often grim, too often facing long odds in their line of work. Someone had to do it, of course. Someone had to pit their skills against illness and injury, but Diana was glad to leave the life-and-death work to others.
Diana was satisfied with her matchmaking calling. To bring in money, she matched people with homes. In her spare time, she matched people with dogs. And tonight, she’d taken it upon herself to match this doctor with a person who could help him lighten up.
“Here’s the bright side, Quinn,” she said, as she snagged a glass of champagne from one of the circulating waiters, “at least she knew how to say ‘molecular entity.’”
That drew another smile from him. Diana was pleased that he’d stopped being stingy with the smiles. She was good at this, helping people enjoy themselves. In any group, Diana was the one who bubbled and chatted and smoothed over any awkwardness.
Sometimes, she wondered what would happen if she stopped. If she let herself have a bad day, if she groused at a neighbor or frowned at a stranger, was there another Diana out there who would try to cheer her up? If she wore a plain black dress and sat alone in a corner, would anyone notice she existed?
Diana never intended to find out. She’d continue making people happy, and they’d continue to include her in their world, the way Quinn was including her in his. One of her mother’s best pieces of advice had been to follow the Scout philosophy of leaving the world a better place than you found it. Diana had taken that to heart, and always tried to leave people happier than she found them.
She returned his smile brightly. “We’ll keep looking until we find the right one for you tonight.”
Diana turned in a slow circle, eyeing the crowd over the rim of her champagne flute, gauging all the eligible women, taking in at a glance how they dressed, how they held themselves, how they smiled—or didn’t. How they might match with Quinn.
“How about the girl in the red dress?”
“She’s not very pretty. If we’re going for someone like Lana, she’d have to be quite attractive.”
“I’d tell you to get over the physical looks, but chemistry is everything. When you take the right woman in your arms tonight, you’ll know. Since she’ll be getting James Bond, it’s only fair that she be a knockout, too.”
“James Bond?”
“Ooh—I see a good one. At your six. Turn around casually.”
“I haven’t experienced this level of espionage since high school.”
In his deadpan way, he was cracking jokes. Really, he was quite charming. Diana found herself laughing with him because she liked his sense of humor, no longer because she wanted him to follow her lead and lighten up. He was more of a serious person than she was, sure, but that gruff demeanor had softened into something more genuine. Maybe her mission had been accomplished despite his lack of a dancing partner.
Diana handed him her champagne flute. “Here, you need a drink after making small talk with strangers for the past three songs.”
He took a sip. “It’s warm.”
“It’s free. It’s all included in this wonderful party. You’ve got to remember to look at the bright side of things.”
The expression on his face changed just a tiny bit. Less critical, more thoughtful. “You’re right, of course. Excuse me for a moment. Don’t disappear.” He left—with her champagne glass.
Diana entertained herself by awarding imaginary scores for the best gowns. When she spotted one young woman nervously tugging up her strapless dress and standing with her shoulders self-consciously stooped, Diana wanted to run over and hug her. It was obvious the young person had no idea just how pretty she was. If only Diana could tell her to throw her shoulders back and smile.
Diana had learned during her school years that she couldn’t hug everyone. For one thing, it alarmed people, sometimes, to have strangers offer advice. She’d learned to approach people the way she approached new dogs, with a positive attitude and a hand outstretched in a nonthreatening way. She had yet to meet a dog that wouldn’t be her friend, and humans were pretty much the same way.
Even people like her James Bond. Quinn seemed independent and self-sufficient, but Diana sensed that he was a lonely man. Subconsciously, he must know it, too. It was why he was accepting her help tonight, wasn’t it?
The shy girl in the strapless gown that didn’t quite fit would have to wait. Quinn was headed her way again, debonair in his black tuxedo, standing an inch taller than most of the men, moving easily through the sea of partygoers.
Look at the bright side. He’s part of the party now, no longer standing alone.
He was part of the festive atmosphere, light reflecting off his dark hair as he nodded at acquaintances. He didn’t stop walking to talk to anyone, however. He was heading directly back to her.
Diana twirled a piece of her fringe around one finger. Too bad they weren’t each other’s type. He was a damned good-looking guy.
“I’m sorry to have left you alone, but it was necessary if you were going to insist that we drink champagne.” Quinn held up a bottle painted with flowers in one hand, then set a pair of empty flutes down on the table nearest them. He grabbed an unused napkin from a place setting and snapped it out of its elegant knot. With a twist, he tucked it around the champagne bottle.
He had good hands.
“Were you a waiter?” she asked.
Quinn glanced up from his pouring.
Diana nodded toward the flutes. “You do this very well.”
And that simple compliment finally, finally, broke through the last of Quinn’s reserve. The suave smile turned into something more.
He laughed.
Diana went still.
This is the man for me.
A man who laughed, a man who enjoyed life, now that was the kind of man who could be a perfect match for her, Ivy League or community college be damned.
If only he weren’t on the rebound...if only he didn’t want a woman like Lana...a woman nothing like Diana.
Diana took the champagne he offered, glad for the excuse to get back in motion, grateful for the sharp bubbles that woke up her taste buds. “It does taste better cold. You were right.”
He lifted his own glass to his lips with a grin, and Diana felt her heart trip a little in the middle of its usually quick rhythm. He was lovesick over Lana MacDowell. She needed to remember that. The next woman he dated would only be a phase, a transition to his next serious relationship.
Being this man’s rebound girl would be crushing for someone like her. It was better to just be friends.
“I agree champagne is better cold,” Quinn was saying, “but it’s also better when it’s actually champagne.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Champagne has to actually come from a part of France called ‘Champagne.’”
The way he said it, all French-sounding with extra syllables, made her want to swoon. Diana had never swooned in her life, over anything. This man was positively dangerous.
“The waiters have been handing out some domestic swill. Sparkling wine, if you want to be kind.”
“Oh.” Diana glanced at the wrapped bottle.
“The effervescence in this champagne has more bite to it, but the fruit is smooth.” He topped off her glass. “Try it again and tell me what you think.”
What she thought? What she thought was that she was not in this man’s league. She could see the beauty in the crystal and flames, but s
he could also enjoy the sequins and the LED lights. Quinn, she realized, was from a strictly crystal lifestyle.
They were not a match, no matter how much she was attracted to him.
For one thing, he was scoffing at the champagne at this beautiful party, something she would never do. It bothered her.
And so, for the first time that night—heck, for the first time in weeks—Diana frowned. She raised an eyebrow at him disapprovingly. “I think you can overdo the biting part. When someone offers you free champagne at a party, you should just relax and enjoy it, not critique it. Life is sweeter that way.”
He raised an eyebrow right back at her—with ten times the withering effect that she could muster.
“Are you criticizing me for being critical?” he asked. Then, once more, he smiled. “I do believe there is a certain amount of irony there.”
“No. Well...yes.” Darn it, his smile was something dazzling. It was probably best if she moved on for the night. Diana looked around for the girl with the stooped shoulders.
“Miss Connor, would it be too critical of me to point out that you were just handed cold and free and genuine champagne?” He clinked his glass with hers, and sabotaged her resolve with another smile. “You are right. We have no choice but to relax and enjoy it.”
Well. The man was obviously relaxed enough to start turning the charm on. If she directed him toward the right woman and he gave her that smile, Diana’s mission would be accomplished. She took another sip. It really did taste special. She surreptitiously moved the napkin away from the bottle’s label with one finger. One never knew when the name of a good champagne might be handy.
She took one more sip, and hoped she could fake some enthusiasm for finding Quinn someone to dance with. “All right, Quinn. Back to business. While we’ve got champagne, real champagne, to cover our movements, this is an easy time to check out the other people in the room. You never gave me your opinion on the knockout in the red dress.”
Quinn took the champagne glass out of her hand and set it down methodically, precisely next to his. He looked rather stern. “I’m not interested.”
“Don’t give up. The night is still young. We’ll find you someone worth dancing with.”
“The bottom line is this, Diana Connor. The only woman I want to dance with, or talk to, or drink champagne with, is you.”
“Me?”
Her heart skipped around in her chest, as crazy and out of sync as the fringe on her dress, shivering with the shaky breath she sucked in.
“You. May I have this dance?”
The orchestra began the opening strains of “Moonlight Serenade.” It was all so perfect. The champagne, the man, the music, the night.
Diana felt a little shiver of fear. Dancing with Quinn seemed dangerous. Risky, somehow. What if life was never this perfect again?
It takes courage to be happy. Her mother’s mantra had become her own. Diana had been doing her best to live a courageous life, seizing happiness when it came her way, just as she’d seized the ticket to this lovely gala. She could dance one perfect dance with a perfect man to a perfect song. It wouldn’t change her life. It would be a happy memory to hold when the dark ones threatened.
“I love this song,” she said to Quinn.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his expression went from serious to something softer. Then a woman’s voice called to him from behind Diana. “There you are, Quinn MacDowell. I thought for sure you would have ducked out by now. Being quite the trouper tonight, are you?”
Quinn’s gaze flicked to someone beyond Diana’s shoulder. Diana turned to see who was speaking. A woman, tall and confident, stepped in to kiss Quinn on the cheek.
Two facts warred for attention in Diana’s mind. One, this woman could be a good match for Quinn. She was only a few inches taller than Diana, but her hair had been professionally and intricately piled on top of her head in a striking style that made her seem positively statuesque—and very confident. She wore a floor-length gown, one spectacular drape of blue cloth with a high, choker-style collar, a design only a woman with an elegant, long neck could wear.
Diana was not that woman.
Her second thought was more upsetting: Quinn’s last name was MacDowell.
MacDowell. He’s a MacDowell. He can’t be in love with Lana. That would be horrible, in love with your relative’s wife. Just horrible for him.
It was nearly enough to make Diana happy that the woman in blue would be a good match.
The woman trailed an entourage behind her, women who seemed lost in her wake. One was much older, dressed in a severe jacket over a floor-length, straight skirt, and one was much younger—the girl with the stooped shoulders. Diana smiled at her and nodded encouragingly.
The woman in blue, done kissing Quinn, set her purse on the table next to Diana’s, and seemed ready to settle in for a chat. Diana took a step to the side to give her room, and felt the brush of the tablecloth against her bare leg.
Bare legs. She was completely underdressed for this event, something she’d noticed as soon as she’d arrived, but something she’d dismissed as being no more than an “oops.” Next to this elegant friend of Quinn’s, however, she wished for just a second that she’d worn a long gown. Too bad she didn’t own a long gown. Formal balls weren’t her usual Friday night.
“Thank God you’re still here,” the woman said to Quinn. “There isn’t anyone worth talking to. Dance with me.”
Quinn did the raised-eyebrow thing to her, but without any real animosity. The pair were obviously old friends. “As charmingly worded as that invitation was, I’ve asked Diana to dance.”
Quinn nodded her way, and suddenly, Diana was the focus of attention. “Diana, this is Patricia Cargill.”
Patricia looked her up and down, once, lingering for a millisecond on Diana’s hemline.
Yes, I know everyone else is in a gown.
Quinn continued his introductions. “And, Patricia, this is Diana Connor. She’s a friend of Lana’s.”
“A friend of Lana’s.” Patricia seemed mildly surprised at this. “From med school?”
Diana fought not to blush. This portion of her evening was rapidly coming to a close. His friends had found him; Quinn no longer needed her. Not even as a dance partner to wile away a song or two.
“I was Lana’s real estate agent.” She dared a quick glance at Quinn, then looked down to the tablecloth and her nearly empty champagne glass. There was nothing wrong with being a real estate agent, of course, but when she’d met Quinn, she’d said she was Lana’s business associate. Had he thought she was a business associate from the world of medicine? Had he assumed she was a doctor or nurse when he’d asked her to dance?
Regardless, he surely had not assumed she paid her bills from the sale of Lana’s house.
“Moonlight Serenade” was in full swing without her.
Diana stifled a sigh and turned to the other two women. She stuck her hand out so the stooped-shoulder girl would have to take it.
“My name is Diana. Isn’t this a great ball?”
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 wit
h 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.
