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 with 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.
“Either way, she’s not your type.” Patricia slipped her arm through his.
“I’m in a better position than you to know my type.” Quinn said it mildly. He included Karen in their conversation. “Don’t worry. Your recruiter and I are not having a lover’s spat. Patricia is merely the annoying sister I never had.”
Still, being told Diana wasn’t his type didn’t sit well with him. Having an identifiable type seemed uninspiring. Monotonous. Was he required to stay within this restricted social circle of the hospital, Texas Rescue, and the ranch owner associations?
Haven’t I dated all the available women in that pool?
They were all starting to blur together in his memory. It hadn’t been hard to stay unattached this past year.
Tonight, he was suddenly obsessing about his own love life. It was ludicrous, when the only reason he’d attended this ball was specifically to fulfill his duties to the hospital as a board member. Meeting the new director of Texas Rescue was an efficient use of the evening, as well. Worrying about female companionship? Not on the radar. Not an issue. Not important.
He resisted the urge to look toward Diana’s corner of the ballroom.
“Have you seen Marcel around?” Patricia asked, referring to her current escort. “He’s so easy to lose. Oh, Lord—your redhead and my ex-step-in-law are on their way back. I can’t take it. Quick, top off my glass.”
Quinn only raised an eyebrow at her. To refill her glass would imply