The Bachelor Doctor's Bride
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Caro Carson
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Chapter One
A black-tie gala on a summer night ought to be the perfect setting for happiness. Glamour, romance, excitement—everything Diana Connor thought a person’s life should have. So far, she was having a ball at this particular ball.
Downtown Austin’s historic hotel, the Driskill, had pulled out all the stops, making the most out of its Victorian gilding by adding a crystal candelabra to the center of every table. Each one added prisms of real candlelight to the night. Diana couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen real flames reflected through real crystal. Parties usually got their sparkle from plastic sequins and tiny LED lights—not that there was anything wrong with that. Diana enjoyed festive settings of any kind, but there was something extra special about tonight’s real flames. Their movement echoed the dancing of the human glitterati on the dance floor.
The gala had attracted everyone who was anyone in central Texas, and the ballroom, the smaller parlor rooms, and the grand mezzanine were all part of the flow as everyone made their rounds, dancing and dining, seeing and being seen. All this glittering happiness benefited West Central Texas Hospital’s new pediatric research project, making the evening a perfectly delightful way to raise money for a good cause.
Diana’s boss hadn’t thought so. The single thousand-dollar ticket he’d bought was the minimum he could donate to make his real estate company look marginally philanthropic. One after another, the top agents at the office had declined the use of the lone ticket to the hospital gala. When the ticket had made its way down to Diana, the ninth-best agent out of ten, she’d jumped at the chance to use it. Being solo was no problem; parties were meant for making new friends.
Her boss had given her gruff instructions with the ticket: Give your business card to every doctor you meet, and tell them you sold that house to the MacDowells. Diana had nodded politely, but she didn’t waste precious space in her adorably tiny purse on business cards. If Lana and Braden MacDowell wanted to pass her name on to their friends, they would.
As it turned out, the MacDowells were here tonight—hardly a surprise, since they were both doctors at West Central. The surprise was that Diana knew them at all. Fate must have played a role when she’d first met Lana at a flower shop. Diana had spotted Lana, an eye-catching woman with jet-black hair, looking as harried as only a physician moving to Austin from out of state while starting a new job and planning a wedding could look.
Pretty darn harried.
Diana had offered to give Lana a second opinion on the bridal bouquets that seemed to be overwhelming her. When Lana had asked her if she knew a good DJ, too, Diana had been able to help, since dancing was her favorite thing to do on a Friday night. Lana had laughingly asked her if she could magically produce a dream home for her. Diana had been carrying her business cards that day. Fate was a wonderful thing.
Amazingly enough, helping a woman choose wedding flowers gave a person a good idea of what she might like in a house. Diana had found Lana and her husband their perfect home.
The MacDowells danced under the permanently blue sky painted on the ballroom’s domed ceiling, a light and smiling couple in love. Later tonight, country-Western stars were going to entertain this high-paying crowd, but for now, the big band orchestra seemed like the right music for the MacDowells, a perfect match for them.
All around the chandeliered space, Diana saw good things. Laughing faces, liveliness, shimmer and shine. Everyone looked happy and satisfied. Everyone except...
Her gaze was drawn again to the one man who seemed utterly still in a room full of motion. His matte black tux drew the light in and kept it. He was supposed to reflect the light, didn’t he know?
Champagne sips provided some discreet cover as Diana kept an eye on him, waiting for his date or his wife to return. The song ended, the dance floor cleared, and still, he brooded alone, sitting at an empty table near the dance floor while everyone else was mingling.
Diana frowned into her bubbly. She didn’t like to see this man so unhappy. Then again, she didn’t like to see anyone unhappy, and she was pretty good at cheering people up, so she and her champagne headed over.
It’s going to be like cheering up James Bond.
Not a hardship, really. Handsome man in a tux?
I choose to accept this mission.
While she was grinning at her own silly thought, James Bond cut his gaze to her. Just, bam. One second he’d been brooding at the dance floor, the next, she’d been caught in a green-eyed, intense stare.
Oh, my.
She hadn’t expected such sea-green eyes from a man with such richly brown hair. Handsome? Holy cow, handsome.
Those sea-green eyes stayed on her, but otherwise, the man didn’t move a muscle. Handsome as all get-out, yes, but not happy at a happy party. She had a job to do.
“Hi,” she said, while she was still a few feet away. The faintest lift of his brow revealed his surprise that she was headed for him. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”
She gave the hem of her bright green dress a tug to be sure it wouldn’t ride up and expose her derriere, then sat in the chair next to his. The dress was a little too short, but she’d fallen in love with its layers of fringe. Even when she moved only the tiniest bit, the fringe looked like she was dancing. Still, she was showing a lot more skin than usual. In an effort to look less like a ’60s go-go girl and more like a flapper from the ’20s, Diana had twisted her brownish—well, mostly red—hair into something resembling a short bob, secured with a jeweled brooch on the side. That had been another great reason to use her stingy boss’s single ticket: the chance to play dress-up.
Oh, yes, it was a great ball. Time for James Bond to enjoy it, too.
First things first. She angled her chair toward his with a little scoot. She stuck her hand practically into his torso, so he had little choice but to shake it. “My name is Diana.”
“Quinn,” he said, then released her hand. His voice was somber. The poor man was serious from the inside out.
He glanced away from her, but she kept her gaze on him and saw muscles bunch a little as he clenched his jaw, quite a tense reaction to something. She followed his gaze. He was unhappy about...Lana MacDowell.
Uh-oh.
“I’m sorry to tell you,” Diana said, “but she’s married. Happily.”
“Pardon?”
He said it like a cowboy, with just a touch of Texas twang, but the way he looked at her was purely upper-class offended dignity. He wore polished black cowboy boots with his tuxedo, as did probably half the men at this Austin ball, but he had “exclusive club” written all over him. Ivy League education, for certain.
Diana had to raise her voice as the music resumed. Who’d have guessed that a dozen people making up an orchestra could be as loud as any DJ with massive speakers? “She’s married. Don’t give her another thought.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, without taking his eyes off Lana.
“Sure, you weren’t.”
Mr. Bond brooded on.
Diana sighed and sipped her champagne. “I hate to dash anyone’s hopes, but that’s one marriage that is going to last.”
That got his attention. Those sea-green eyes looked directly at her again. Better at her than a married woman, she supposed.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Lana and I are friends.” For some reason, she added, “And business associates.”
Business associates? It sounded like she was trying to say she was as accomplished as Dr. Lana MacDowell, but Diana was most definitely not med school material. Not Ivy League. Not even community college. Why did she want James Bond to think she was?
She wasn’t his type. It was a simple fact. She could tell, at a glance, that this man would squarely put her in the buddy category. Maybe little sister—annoying little sister.
I’m not annoying, I’m friendly. Her heart was in the right place, so she wasn’t worried if his initial impression was “annoying.” She was going to be his buddy before the party was over, the gal pal who encouraged a guy to get out there and live. It was a role she fell into all the time. People liked her that way.
The poor man continued glowering as he watched Braden and Lana dance. “You’re being a little too obvious,” she said. “What is your name again?”
“Quinn.” From his tone, she guessed he didn’t like having to repeat himself.
Diana snapped her fingers. “Now I know who you are. I saw you on the hospital’s bachelor calendar, didn’t I?” She laughed out loud. “I didn’t recognize you tonight with your clothes on.”
“What?” He sounded baffled—or annoyed. Baffled was nicer, so she went with baffled.
“It’s a joke. I’ve only seen you in your doctor duds, the green scrubs. Didn’t recognize you tonight with your real clothes on, get it?”
He didn’t laugh, just sent a faint, polite smile in the direction of the dance floor. He probably preferred to get his humor from The New Yorker. Intellectual humor, not party joke humor.
Well, she was here to change all that. “Look, I’m good at matchmaking, so let’s find someone else for you to think about. We need to salvage your evening.”
That green gaze returned to her. “Do we? I wasn’t aware I was so dangerously near rock bottom.”
“You need to find the right woman for you. Lana isn’t it.”
He dropped his gaze, which meant he looked at her bare thighs being tickled by green fringe. Then he looked away, frowning faintly.
She tugged at her hem, relieved that he wasn’t ogling her. She hated when guys mistook her friendliness as a sign that she wanted to party horizontally.
It was hard to imagine that anyone had persuaded this man to pose for a fund-raising man-candy calendar. Diana remembered the photo, though. He’d been glowering in that one, too, as if daring the camera to make him take his surgeon’s garb off. She’d thought it was a shame the photographer hadn’t succeeded.
“Lana and I are only friends,” he said. “I’m well aware that she isn’t available.”
“And she never will be.”
“The divorce rate among doctors is astronomical.”
“The MacDowells are rock solid. Just put Lana out of your mind while we find you someone super special.”
Despite the loud music, Diana could almost hear his snort of derision.
She pretended not to notice. Men often acted tough and grouchy when they were really sad and lonely. She’d rescued enough homeless dogs to recognize the gruff defense. “The good news is, you’re far from a hopeless case. For starters, you’re a man, so we don’t have to work too hard to get you on the dance floor.”
“I don’t understand, Miss...?”
“Just call me Diana, please. ‘Miss Connor’ would be ridiculously stuffy.”
“Miss Connor. What makes you think I’m in need of your matchmaking assistance?”
“Because you’re sitting here sulking. Like a child.”
Being blunt had the desired effect. The look on his face made her want to laugh. He couldn’t even frown at her, she’d shocked him so greatly.
She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Don’t take yourself so seriously—or me, either, for that matter. I’m friends with Lana, you’re friends with Lana, so that makes us friends, too. As your friend, I’m here to help you get your party on.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. At least she had his attention—totally, this time—and he looked like he was actually close to smiling. “How fortunate for me. I thought I’d never manage to get my party on. It was worrying me considerably.”
“Glad to hear we agree. Now, I was saying that you are at a big advantage because you’re a man.”
“Is that right?”
“You can ask a girl to dance. You have no idea what a luxury that is. This would be much harder if you were a woman. If you saw a likely candidate, you’d have to strategically stand where he could see you, make a little eye contact, flirt a little, and hope he asked you to dance.”
“I doubt you are saying this from experience. You don’t strike me as a wallflower.”
“I never ask the man to dance. I only approached you because you were so obviously in need of a little coaching.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll thank me later, trust me,” she said, answering his sarcasm with sauciness. “Now, what kind of woman do you think you want?”
He looked toward the dance floor, but Lana and Braden weren’t there. They’d probably gotten a hotel room—they were practically on their honeymoon.
Diana sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. You think Lana is the perfect woman. Then let’s find you a woman like Lana.” Diana scanned the crowd. “Gosh, everyone is so beautiful. The whole ballroom is beautiful. Isn’t it great?”
When he made no comment, she turned to him. “Don’t you think it’s a great night?”
He shrugged, an uncaring movement of masculine shoulders under fine black wool.
“Well, it is. Everyone’s so sparkly. And happy.” She poked his lapel, earning herself another raised eyebrow. “And you’re going to be happy tonight, too.”
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
Diana started to laugh, but she had the sudden intuition he was asking a sincere question. The man needed to take a good look in the mirror.
Diana decided to be that mirror. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, hard. Dropping her voice to the lowest bass she could manage, she said, “What makes you think I’m not happy?”
Quinn scowled back at her for a good, long while. Then he uncrossed his arms and looked away with a little shake of his head. “That bad?”
“That bad, but not for long. Let me just find you the perfect partner.”
“Do you often perform your matchmaking services for total strangers?”
“All the time.” Every weekend, in fact, but she wasn’t going to tell James Bond that. Every weekend, she volunteered at an animal shelter where she matched total strangers with the perfect pets.
This Quinn-in-a-tuxedo wouldn’t appreciate that her skills had been honed on dogs, but people weren’t much different. It was all a matter of finding complementing temperaments, something Diana had found success at by relying less on talking and more on facial expressions and body language.
Diana trusted her mad matchmaking skills. Lana would never have been right for Quinn, even if she’d been available, but Quinn would never believe Diana. Perhaps she should let him figure it out for himself. “Look—there’s a Lana look-alike for you. Go ask her to dance.”
When he didn’t budge, she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed.
Quinn shook his head as he stood. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
But he did. The woman was petite and slender, with shiny, straight black hair and an air of confidence about her. Diana watched her graciously present her hand to Quinn, so he could lead her to the dance floor. Like so many men in Texas, men who grew up leading women in the Texas two-step and country waltzes, Quinn was obviously a confident dancer. He and his partner looked elegant together, dancing to a Frank Sinatra standard.
Still, Diana wasn’t surprised when Quinn returned after only one dance. The Lana-type wasn’t what he needed.
“Well?” she prompted him as he sat next to her once more.
“She was the perfect woman—just ask her. She’s chairing the board at whichever museum she said, and she’s running a gardening gig, all out of the kindness of her heart.”
“Charity work sounds like something Lana would do.”
“She wouldn’t brag about it.”
“True, true. Your Lana look-alike was too old for you, anyway.” Diana had a feeling this man would too easily retire into a sedate, settled lifestyle if she let him. Well, not if she herself let him, but if he were matched with the wrong woman, he’d find himself talking politics with gray-haired gentleman at a prestigious club in no time. Quinn was probably only thirty or so. He ought to be surfing or mountain-climbing, not serving on museum boards with a society wife.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my dear matchmaker,” he said. “Lana’s only two years older than I.”
“She’s taken. Get over it.” Really, some cases needed a little tough love. Diana patted his arm, though, to soften her direct words. “Okay, at your three o’clock. Blonde in the sheath dress. A knock-out and still in her twenties. She might enjoy bungee jumping.”
Suave Mr. Bond was apparently caught off guard by that. He gave away his surprise with a discreet cough, a polite clearing of the throat. “Is bungee jumping the criteria now?”
“Go.”
Humoring her, which Diana took to be a sign of progress already, Quinn walked over and struck up a conversation. Diana watched his nod toward the dance floor, watched the woman light up and say yes. Who wouldn’t?
It only lasted one dance. After a polite thank-you nod to the woman, Quinn returned to Diana.
“No?” she asked.
“No.”
“Give me something to go on.”
“She still lives at home with Daddy. Rich Daddy. She wanted to know if I thought a trip to Europe would really be more educational than a trip to the Caribbean. Daddy thinks it would be.”
“Not Lana-like at all, you’re right. You want someone more educated, then?”
“I want someone who is less into money. Lana’s no gold digger.”
Diana felt her first little zip of irritation toward him. She doubted he’d meant to insult her, but there it was. “I would never have matched you with a gold digger.”
“I assure you, Daddy’s Girl would be one very expensive entanglement.”
From their side-by-side chairs, they could easily see the woman with her group of friends. She’d just dropped her gem-studded clutch. She made absolutely no move to pick it up, but pouted down at it, as if the purse had somehow misbehaved. Diana watched with amusement as another woman in her circle picked up the clutch and handed it back.
“That’s not a gold digger, Quinn. She expects expensive things and an easy life, but only because she’s always been given them. Always, from day one, and most definitely by Daddy. She just assumes everyone around her is rich, like she is. That’s not the same thing as a gold digger. Those women calculate which man in the room has the most money and then go after him.”
Quinn had started to take a breath to argue with her before she’d even finished her point, but to his credit, he stopped. Diana enjoyed one lovely, long moment of staring into his green, green eyes before they crinkled just a bit in what was precariously close to a smile.
“You’re right. There is a difference. I stand corrected.” He leaned close to Diana’s ear and said, “But I’m still not interested.”
His voice was warm. His tone was very assured, very in charge, but she could hear that touch of humor that lay just under the surface.
Diana felt...well, she felt antsy. There was something about Quinn that made her feel restless. The prospect of spending more time watching him dance with other women was not appealing. She needed to find a suitable partner for serious Quinn, and then she needed to get back to her mixing and her mingling.
That was all she’d come for tonight. Just a lovely, fun evening. She hadn’t come to pass out business cards, and she certainly hadn’t come to start brooding over a man who wouldn’t stop brooding over Lana MacDowell.
The band struck up a song with a livelier beat. Diana stood, and when Quinn didn’t follow, she grabbed his hand and practically hauled him out of his chair.
“Don’t worry, Quinn, we’re getting closer.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Two o’clock, white dress. Guaranteed not to live at home with Daddy. Looks like she’s terribly educated, but still young enough to go bungee jumping with you.”
“Haven’t I danced with enough women?”
“Third time’s the charm. She looks perfect for you.”
Quinn looked toward the woman Diana had picked out. Diana studied his face, feeling some smug satisfaction as Quinn raised that eyebrow in reluctant approval. “Very well,” he said, and he walked away.
Diana watched. Of course, the woman said hello graciously. Of course, the woman was soon smiling. Of course, the woman walked onto the dance floor and into Quinn’s arms.
This time, Quinn looked like he was enjoying the conversation. His partner looked self-possessed and confident, which was excellent, because she wasn’t going to be Quinn’s girlfriend for long. Diana had just found him his rebound girl, the one who would help him get past this Lana phase.
The lady in white looked like she’d be able to handle it. She and Quinn would share some lovely evenings and mutual interests in the meantime, and then...
And then, when that phase was over and Lana was firmly out of Quinn’s system, would he be open to a different kind of woman? One, say, with a love of parties and a passion for homeless pups?
Diana gave herself a mental shake. She was not a plotter and planner. She was the spontaneous girl who trusted her senses, and she’d sensed right away that this man needed a little fun in his life. That was what had drawn her to him, the desire to help a fellow human being enjoy life. Nothing more.
The woman he was dancing with was the one. Diana could see it in everything about their body language. They looked right together.
Mission accomplished.
Diana toasted herself with a sip of her champagne. It still looked pretty in the glass, but it had grown warm and kind of flat.
She looked around the room, hoping to see someone with whom to strike up a conversation. It would be nice to enjoy herself with a man the way the woman in the white dress was enjoying herself with Quinn.
I’m the gal pal. Again.
Diana knew her role. There was always a character like her in movies and TV shows. Once the gal pal helped the guy decide to go for it, she exited, stage left.
Diana tapped her tiny purse against her thigh as she took one more look around at the crystal and the flames. They were pretty, but they didn’t need her to continue brightening the night. Neither did Quinn.
Diana headed for the grand mezzanine. Maybe someone there was just waiting for a push in the right direction.
