by Cindy Kirk
“Absolutely.” His eyebrows drew together. “Did you think I didn’t?”
“I wasn’t sure,” she said honestly. “My work isn’t exactly mainstream.”
“I’m a very nontraditional guy.”
Sylvie snorted. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t know anyone more mainstream than Andrew Dalton O’Shea.
“I’m not,” he decreed in an imperious manner. “Unlike many of my friends, I’m open to new ideas and new experiences.”
Sylvie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Seriously? You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s not the truth.” Sylvie didn’t intend to be mean, but she couldn’t let Andrew spout such falsehoods without challenging the assertions. “You live in your own little world, a world composed of symphonies and operas and polo matches.”
“I knew I’d regret showing you my polo mounts.”
“Your polo ponies were very sweet and quite pretty.”
Andrew winced. “I didn’t purchase them because they were pretty. I got them because not only did they exhibit speed and stamina, but they showed good balance and an unexcitable temperament.”
“I still think they’re pretty.”
Andrew cocked his head as a thought occurred to him. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“Me?” Amusement bubbled up inside Sylvie. “The closest I came to riding was being hauled around Central Park in one of those carriages when I was in culinary school.”
“I’ll teach you to ride.”
For a second she thought he was joking, but those beautiful gray eyes were serious.
“You’re not going to be here that long.”
“We’ll fit it in.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Though Sylvie kept her tone light, she meant every word. “It’s enough that we’ve agreed to spend these next three weeks together.”
His chin lifted in that rarely seen stubborn tilt. “I am going to teach you to ride.”
“If it works out, that’d be wonderful,” Sylvie conceded, but wasn’t holding her breath. She’d learned long ago not to count on promises. Even ones made with the best of intentions.
“You don’t trust me.”
She blinked. “Where did that come from?”
“You don’t trust that I’ll take you riding, even though I said I would.”
“I just know that these next few weeks are going to be very bus—”
“You didn’t believe I liked your work, even though I always told you how much I liked and admired what you do.”
She waved an airy hand. “We were sleeping together. What else were you going to say?”
His only reply was a stony stare.
Realizing this was getting awkward, Sylvie sought to defuse the situation. “C’mon, Andrew. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” His jaw lifted in a stubborn tilt. “You don’t trust that what I say is true, even though I’ve given you no reason to distrust me.”
“People disappoint,” she blurted out. “People lie. They say what you want to hear. My foster parents were always telling me that my mother loved me. But she didn’t. You don’t run away from someone you love. You don’t leave them alone.”
“You ran away from me,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “Does that mean you didn’t love me?”
“You weren’t alone. You have your family. They love you and you love them.” She clamped her lips together, realizing she’d only made the situation worse in trying to explain.
“Sometimes, Sylvie, you have to trust. Or you’re never going to be close to anybody.”
* * *
After another thirty minutes of civilized conversation, Sylvie went off to bed. Andrew knew he’d never be able to sleep, so he added another log to the fire, poured himself a glass of wine and retrieved his laptop.
The house was quiet when he settled himself on the sofa in front of the fire with his laptop. As he read through his messages, he admitted leaving his patients had been more difficult than he thought. While he knew his associate had been taking good care of them, he was the one who knew them and their medical history inside and out.
Like eighty-nine-year-old Fern Whitaker. He’d been her physician ever since he began his concierge practice. Her husband had died twenty years ago. Her children were all in other states and she now lived alone in the grand home on Beacon Hill where she and her husband had raised those five children.
The children worried she was depressed, but he knew much of what ailed her was loneliness. Especially during the long winter months. She wasn’t a complainer. When she told him during one of his weekly visits that she’d been short of breath lately, he’d taken the complaint seriously.
Right before he left Boston, he’d diagnosed her with a pulmonary embolism. The blood clot in her lung had been a large one. Since she’d experienced problems on anticoagulants before, Andrew had hooked her up with a top-notch surgeon who’d removed the clot during a surgery.
His associate, Dr. Seth Carstairs, had been keeping Andrew updated on her recovery, but it wasn’t the same as being there.
Andrew frowned at the email from Seth. Fern had been refusing to wear the compression stockings ordered post-surgery. He wondered what was going on. Normally Fern was compliant with medical orders. He shot off a quick email to Seth, asking him to call tomorrow with details.
There were several emails from his father, updating him on recent activities of the company. While Andrew had worked for O’Shea Sports during college, the business world had never held much interest. Still, he forced himself through the attached reports and graphs before shifting to an email from his sister.
Hers contained business news, too, as well as family updates. If only their father could see that Corinne was the perfect person to take the company to new heights in the twenty-first century.
The rest of the emails he skimmed, then set aside the laptop, leaned back against the plush leather and sipped his wine.
The evening, prior to the return home, had gone better than he’d anticipated. In fact, he’d had high hopes that the night would end with her sharing his bed. Instead all the talking they’d been doing had yielded an unexpected result.
She didn’t trust him. In fact, had never trusted him.
The realization was like a knife to the heart. He’d never given her any reason to distrust his word or his feelings for her, yet there was no denying the fact.
He was almost positive that the distrust was part of the reason she left. Despite the ring on her finger, the promises they’d made to each other, she hadn’t trusted he loved her. Likely she thought he’d get tired of her and move on. Just as her mother and father had done all those years ago.
There was probably more to her leaving than that, although this lack of trust seemed more than enough reason. When he found himself attempting to figure out a way to build that trust, he reined in the impulse by reminding himself that he’d come to Jackson Hole to get to know Sylvie. The purpose in getting to know her was so he could accept he hadn’t known the woman he thought he loved.
That fact had been shoved in his face tonight. He should be able to go home knowing she’d never trusted him.
But knowing wasn’t enough to give him peace. He needed more. And he would get more. From where he sat, there was still a lot for him to know about Sylvie Thorne.
* * *
Though sorely tempted to tell Sylvie he was going to sleep in, Andrew dragged himself up and went with her to the bakery, then rode with her while they delivered baked goods to all of her clients.
“Instead of hanging around here, I’m going to the health clinic and see how the grand opening is going. If they’re swamped I may stick around and lend a hand.” Andrew kept
his tone polite.
They’d been very polite all morning.
“That’s fine.” Sylvie pulled the van into its parking spot. “I have a lot of prep work to do before tomorrow.”
He must have looked blank, because she smiled. “The Taste of the Tetons.”
“That’s right.” For some reason he’d forgotten all about the open-air tasting fair on Sunday. “Text when you get done and we can find a time to meet.”
The smile she flashed him didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”
Andrew got in his car, but instead of heading to the clinic, he stopped by the gallery and picked up his purchase. Only after safely storing it in the spare bedroom at home did he turn the car in the direction of the clinic.
As the parking lot was full, he was forced to find a space down the road. He discovered part of the reason for the congested lot was Cole’s coffee cart and a bouncy house for kids.
If the purpose of the grand opening was to draw out the citizens of Jackson Hole, it appeared the efforts had been a success. Even as Andrew strolled to the beverage cart, the physician in him wondered how things were progressing on the inside.
Before he got close to the cart, Keenan appeared out of the crowd. “Mitzi will be happy to see you.”
Immediately Andrew went on alert. “What’s the problem?”
“Too many patients.” Keenan flashed a grin. “Too few doctors. Did you mean what you said about wanting to help?”
“Absolutely.” Even as he spoke, Andrew turned toward the front door.
“Not that way.” Keenan steered him around back to an unmarked door. He unlocked it and motioned Andrew inside.
The entrance opened into the back office area.
Andrew stepped into a beehive, a well-organized beehive to be sure, but one alive with activity. Doctors in lab coats and nurses in brightly colored uniforms wove in and out of exam and treatment rooms with quick steps.
“Dr. McGregor,” Keenan called out to his wife when she stepped from a room. “Look what I brought you. Fresh meat and he’s ready and willing to help.”
“I owe you.” Her gaze locked with her husband’s.
“I’ll figure out a way you can repay me.” The suggestive edge to his voice wasn’t lost on any of them.
“Looking forward to it.” She turned to Andrew. “I really appreciate this. We knew it would be busy and thought we were staffed for it, but we’ve been slammed ever since the doors opened.”
“Put me where you need me.” Andrew experienced a surge of excitement. He hadn’t even been gone from medicine a week and he was already champing at the bit.
“Room five.” Mitzi gestured to a pretty redheaded nurse. “Leila will be the RN assisting you. You’ll find a clean lab coat in the closet in the room.”
With Leila at his side, Andrew was off to the races. The afternoon flew by. Each time an exam room emptied out, the competent RN retrieved another patient from the overcrowded waiting room. He found himself enjoying the variety of ages and conditions.
He treated everyone from a four-year-old with foot and mouth disease to an octogenarian with a sprained ankle. Though there wasn’t much time for conversation, Andrew gave each patient his full attention.
By the time the doors were closed, he was tired but surprisingly energized.
Mitzi placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you again. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Her gaze searched his face. “I believe you mean it.”
“I do.” His tone was unapologetic. “Some people love to draw or paint or write. Or bake, like Sylvie. From the time I was small, I liked taking something broken and making it whole.”
“That’s sweet.”
Andrew turned and found Sylvie standing there. “Did you get all your prep done?”
“I did.” She turned toward Mitzi. “Appears the grand opening was a huge success.”
“Extremely well received. And this guy—” Mitzi patted his shoulder “—was a lifesaver.”
“She exaggerates,” Andrew told Sylvie.
“I’m not exaggerating and I do owe you.” Mitzi paused. “Do you and Sylvie have plans for dinner?”
You and Sylvie. After only a week, they were already being seen as a couple.
Andrew exchanged a glance with Sylvie. She shrugged.
“Keenan and I are going to Perfect Pizza once we get out of here,” Mitzi said. “We’d love to have you join us.”
“Pizza sounds good to me.” Andrew glanced at Sylvie. After last night, he wasn’t sure what she wanted.
Sylvie’s gaze shifted to Keenan when he walked up. “Your wife invited us to join you for pizza. But I don’t want to crash your romantic evening.”
“That’s later.” Keenan flashed a grin. “Pizza first. Romance later.”
When Mitzi rolled her shoulders, Keenan stepped close and began to rub.
“How about we meet you at the restaurant in thirty minutes?” Mitzi closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure when her husband found a knot.
“We can take my car,” Andrew said casually to Sylvie. “No need trying to find two parking spots downtown.”
On the way downtown she told him all about the preparation she’d done for tomorrow’s event.
“It sounds like it’s big.”
“I haven’t been here for one,” she said as he pulled onto the highway leading into Jackson, “but these kinds of events seem to draw in both the locals and the tourists.”
“How does it work, this Taste of Jackson Hole?”
“Taste of the Tetons,” she corrected. “From what I understand, each taste ticket costs you a buck. In this huge open-air tasting area, there will be alley chefs, restaurants and caterers putting their culinary work on display for sampling.”
“Let me get this straight.” Andrew felt himself relaxing as they continued to chat amiably. “I buy a ticket for a dollar and I can taste one of your little cakes?”
“That’s basically it, but not quite.” Sylvie shifted slightly in her seat to angle toward him. “Again, from what I’ve been told, tastes range from two to four tickets.”
“That makes sense.” Andrew felt a surge of triumph when he snagged a parking spot only a couple of blocks from Perfect Pizza. When he shut off the engine, he turned to Sylvie. “Have you ever eaten at this place?”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard it’s really good pizza.”
“Mitzi and Keenan must think so.”
“This will be another first.”
Andrew puzzled over the comment on their walk to the restaurant. Later, on their way home after an enjoyable dinner, he finally realized what Sylvie had meant.
They’d never gone out with another couple when they were together in Boston. He had several friends who were married he could have called up and made arrangements for the four of them to go out. Likewise, Sylvie had several friends from the bakery where she worked who were in relationships. But she’d never suggested they get together.
The reasons didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he was getting to know her here, in a way that perhaps had not been possible in Boston.
What he was realizing was that the more he got to know, the more he wanted to know. Which meant he wasn’t going anywhere, at least not anytime soon.
Chapter Fourteen
As was quickly becoming their custom, if you could count a couple of days in a row a custom, once Andrew and Sylvie returned home they gravitated to the great room. Andrew built a fire while Sylvie poured them each a glass of wine.
Though they needed to get up early, it was only eight o’clock and Sylvie was too wired by the cola she’d drunk with her pizza to even think about sleep.
“Did you really used
to put splints on birds when you were a boy?” she asked once they’d exhausted the clinic and pizza subjects.
His lips quirked up. “Splints on birds, dressings on cats and dogs. If I could have gotten my parents to agree, I’d have treated my family’s injuries.”
Sylvie chuckled and took a sip of wine. “It sounds as if your passion became apparent from an early age.”
“My favorite gift when I was five was a doctor set.”
“I don’t think I got any gifts that year.” Sylvie thought back to that year after her dad had left and shook her head. “No. Once my dad left, money was pretty tight.”
Not wanting to spend even one more second discussing those times in her life, Sylvie turned the subject back to Andrew. “I hope you plan on continuing your practice even after you take over that position at O’Shea Sports.”
The silence that cast a pall over the room gave her the answer even before he spoke.
“I’d like to continue to practice medicine,” he said slowly, “but being COO is a huge commitment of both time and energy. I don’t know that there’ll be any of me left over for medicine.”
Something told her he was expecting her to argue the point, to insist that if you wanted something enough you made time for it. Sylvie knew that wasn’t always true, just as he did.
“When I lived in Boston, I had to work to pay my bills. I’d received some grants to attend school, but I’d also had to take out some loans. I wanted to be free of them, so for two years before I met you, I made that my mission.” She brought the glass of wine to her lips but didn’t take a drink. “I worked both as a waitress and at the bakery. I had some opportunities at the bakery to be creative, but only within their specified—and rather rigid—parameters.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that you still found time for your own creations.”
“No.” Her gaze met his. “By the time I got home from my waitress job, I was exhausted. I’d fall into bed, then had to be at the bakery at four a.m. for my shift. If any free time existed, I was too tired to search for it.”
Andrew’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “I don’t recall you working at a restaurant.”
