The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée

by Cindy Kirk

  Without thinking, she held out the appetizer. “Want a bite?”

  He shook his head.

  Neither did Sylvie, not anymore. Since she’d taken it, other than tossing it into the trash, the only other option was to eat it. She popped it into her mouth, chewed and quickly swallowed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when they began to walk.

  He still hadn’t said a word. The muscle in his jaw worked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “That kind of ridiculous answer never works with you, and it doesn’t with me, either. I know something isn’t right.”

  The remark earned a nod.

  “Fern, Mrs. Whitaker... She died.” His voice wavered for a second, then steadied. “Seth called to tell me.”

  Seth Carstairs, his associate back in Boston.

  Slipping her arm through his, Sylvie gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.”

  “She was eighty-nine.”

  “Yes, and she was your first patient. She was special.”

  “I prefer not to discuss her right now.”

  Sylvie didn’t press. She knew how hard it could be to have emotions near the surface that you needed to keep under control. But tonight, when they were home, she’d comfort him.

  Because he’d taught her that was what you did when someone you loved was hurting.

  * * *

  “Tell me about Mrs. Whitaker.” Sylvie waited until the valet had pulled the car around to ask.

  “What do you want to know?” Andrew handed the young man a couple of bills and in less than a minute they were gliding down the highway.

  It was a dark night, with only a sliver of a moon. The highway was surprisingly deserted and the headlight beams were the only light slicing the blackness.

  Though Sylvie couldn’t see Andrew’s expression clearly, the tight set of his jaw and the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel told her emotion simmered just below the surface.

  “What was special about her?” Sylvie cocked her head. “It wasn’t simply that she was your first patient when you opened your concierge practice.”

  That might have been part of it, but Sylvie didn’t believe for a minute that was the whole of it.

  “She lived down the street from my parents’ home.”

  “You knew her when you were a little boy.”

  His fingers on the steering wheel relaxed. “Her children were older and they’d all moved away. Her backyard had this huge oak tree with a wooden playhouse. You had to climb a ladder and then part of the tree to get to it.”

  “Sounds dangerous and incredibly fun.” Sylvie couldn’t keep the smile from her voice.

  “Tommy and I loved that tree.”

  Tommy. Thomas. The brother who’d died several years earlier. Sylvie tried to piece together the few things that Andrew had said about him. He’d been older and involved with the family business. He’d died in a car accident on the way to a Red Sox game. Never married and no children. It wasn’t much, she realized.

  “Did the Whitakers mind you were climbing their tree?”

  He chuckled. “You’d think, because of liability and all that, but they didn’t. In the summer, Mrs. Whitaker—her given name was Fern—would bring out a silver tray of cookies and lemonade for us. Climbing, she’d say, was hard work.”

  Impulsively Sylvie reached over and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She hoped the touch comforted him as much as it comforted her. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

  “She was.” Affection filled his voice. “Tommy used to call her Granny Whitaker. I never had the guts.”

  “I think I’d have liked Thomas.”

  The hand she held tightened.

  “You probably would have. Everyone did.”

  “What was he like?” She kept her tone easy, conversational as the darkness enveloped them in a warm cocoon.

  “I’d say like my father, but knowing how you feel about him, that might give you the wrong impression.” Andrew chuckled. “But it’s true. Thomas was my father.”

  “I can’t see your father climbing trees.”

  “People grow up.” Andrew’s tone gave nothing away. “Sometimes, often, they lose that adventurous spirit.”

  “Is that what happened to your brother?”

  “Maybe. Probably,” Andrew added after a moment. “He loved the company, had been groomed to be my father’s successor. It was a perfect fit. Like my dad, he was a workaholic.”

  “At least he took time out for baseball.”

  Sylvie was unprepared for the oath that Andrew expelled and for the strained silence that followed.

  Andrew turned off the highway toward Spring Gulch. It might have been wise to simply let the topic drop. Sylvie had never thought of herself as particularly wise.

  “Does his death have something to do with baseball?” she asked. “I mean, I know he was on his way to a game when he died, but—”

  “He was on his way to the game because I hounded him into going.” Andrew’s voice, low and guttural and filled with pain, tore at Sylvie’s heartstrings. “I was concerned about all the hours he’d been working. I pushed and prodded until he agreed to meet me at Fenway. If I hadn’t, he’d have been safe at the office, working.”

  “You don’t know that. What happened to him was an accident. He could have been in an accident on the way home, or another day when he was going to the office.” The hand he’d released now gripped his arm. “Inviting him to go to a game with you, hounding him to go to the game with you, doesn’t make you responsible.”

  “Maybe not,” he said after a long moment, “but I wish things had been different.”

  They’d reached the house that Sylvie had started to regard as “home” and pulled into the garage. A thought occurred to her as they stepped inside the house.

  “Is taking the COO position some kind of penance?”

  He didn’t answer, just tossed his keys on the side table by the door and continued on into his bedroom. Several minutes later she heard the shower spray.

  Sylvie stared down the hallway, unsure what to do. She didn’t have any experience with families. She wasn’t particularly good at interpersonal relationships. Her MO in the past had been to pull back or to run when things got sticky.

  But she sensed that even if he didn’t realize it, Andrew needed her tonight.

  Returning to her own room, she got ready for bed. By the time she finished, the room next door was silent and dark.

  Maybe he was asleep, she thought for a second, but knew in her heart that was only wishful thinking.

  Hoping she wasn’t going to make the situation worse, Sylvie reached for the doorknob and gave it a turn. It opened, which meant he hadn’t locked her out.

  She moved carefully through the room to the large king-size bed. Sylvie knew he preferred to sleep on the right side of the bed.

  Pulling the sheet and light spread back, she crawled beneath the covers.

  “Sylvie, I’m not in the mood—”

  “Shhh.” She snuggled close, wrapping her arms around his tense frame. “Go to sleep. Morning will be here all too soon.”

  * * *

  After that night, Sylvie slept with him. Andrew had to admit that he liked falling asleep beside her and waking up with her every morning. He’d considered flying back to Boston for Mrs. Whitaker’s funeral but then learned she’d been cremated and a memorial service was being planned closer to what had always been her favorite holiday, Thanksgiving.

  The next week brought a change to their routine as Sylvie was busy preparing for Josie and Noah’s wedding at the end of the week. He’d already been put on notice that she expected him to attend the pig-roast prenuptial dinner at the Campbells’ home and
the wedding on Saturday.

  The one thing they hadn’t discussed was that the end of the month was swiftly approaching, which meant his time to return to Boston was near.

  Andrew knew it was cowardly, but he did his best to put that fact out of his mind. It was relatively easy to do, considering that the clinic remained short-staffed and he’d agreed to fill in while he was in town.

  This meant he’d spend the early-morning hours with Sylvie and then head over to the clinic to see patients. Because they were both tired at the end of the day, they ate at home, sharing meals at the small table in the kitchen and then making love in the big bed.

  Andrew had never been happier.

  The night of the pig roast, he pulled on the blue jeans that no longer felt strange and the pair of cowboy boots Mitzi had surprised him with as a special thank-you for helping out at the clinic.

  “I love your boots.” Sylvie looked like a cowgirl herself in ankle-high boots, a light blue skirt and an oversize white shirt with a belt studded with multicolored stones cinched tight.

  “You look nice.” He moved to her and was pleased when she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her face for a kiss.

  He tightened his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her that reminded him of cinnamon, sugar and everything delicious. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her neck. When he felt her breath quicken, he sensed victory. “No one is going to mind if we’re a few minutes late.”

  “I’m bringing the cake, remember?”

  Sensing he wasn’t going to win this one, no matter how promising the path had appeared only moments earlier, Andrew reluctantly released her. “I’m still not sure why they wanted a cake tonight when they’re going to have one at the wedding.”

  “A traditional one.” Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Josie’s father is very conservative, as are most of Noah’s family. The cake I’m bringing tonight is just for them.”

  She’d shown him her masterpiece earlier, once she’d put on the finishing touches. It was what Sylvie called a “Lucky in Love” cake. Apparently Valentine’s Day held special meaning to the couple, so the cake with its four layers tilted askew, containing hearts and stripes and checkerboard designs in black and white and red, was a tribute to their love.

  “Are you ready to load it up?”

  “I am.”

  They were driving Ethel to the party. Andrew had never arrived at any kind of social event in a van. But neither had he ever worn cowboy boots and jeans to a party.

  They slid the cake box into the back of the vehicle. Because Josie’s parents didn’t live far, it would be a quick trip.

  The talk remained on cakes on the drive over. “Our cook used to make us these wonderful birthday cakes. They weren’t nearly as intricate and creative as the ones you do, but Carmen had a knack.”

  He smiled. “One year I asked for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on my cake. She was horrified, but Donatello wielding a bo staff was on my cake.”

  “Sounds cute.” Sylvie gave a chuckle.

  “What was your favorite birthday cake?” Andrew wished he could withdraw the question the second it left his lips.

  “I never had one,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Unless you count the ones I made myself.”

  “Did you go all out or keep them simple?”

  “Some years simple. Other times I experimented.” Her lips curved. “The only thing they had in common was they were always chocolate. I love chocolate cake.”

  He made a mental note, thinking that was something he should have already known. But then, they’d never celebrated her birthday together. Because hers wasn’t until the fall...

  “Your birthday is next week.”

  “A week from tomorrow, to be exact.” She leaned back in the seat. “October 1.”

  The significance wasn’t lost on him.

  That was the day he planned to be back in Boston.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sylvie lost track of Andrew halfway through the party. After dining on pork and an assortment of fancy salad, they’d dug into the cake. Then it was time to do some serious mingling.

  While the term “pig roast” might have conjured up a more casual image, this prenuptial dinner was no more a backyard barbecue than Sylvie was a blue blood.

  The large open area behind John and Dori Campbell’s massive ranch home opened onto federal land and provided a stunning view of the mountains. The rich green of the perfectly manicured lawn was interrupted at strategic locations by bright patches of colors, the fall flowers adding their fragrance to the scent of pine.

  As the nights were turning dark earlier, the backyard had been draped in hundreds—probably thousands—of lights strung from large poles wrapped in silver and gold ribbon, interspersed with flowers.

  Linen tablecloths in a rich platinum shade covered the long tables where the guests dined off fine china with sterling silver utensils and sipped the finest wine out of crystal glasses.

  Sylvie had expected the wedding party and their “plus ones” to be in attendance, as well as Josie and Noah’s family. She hadn’t expected half the population of Jackson Hole. Even the mayor, Tripp Randall, was there with his wife, as well as his parents, who were friends of John and Dori.

  Kathy Randall cornered her when she was getting a “Crazy Coyote” margarita. “Have you thought any more about joining us?”

  “I’ve thought about it.” Sylvie took the frosty drink that reminded her of a morning sunrise and considered. She could continue as she had been, focusing primarily on her business. Or she could continue her recent forays into becoming part of the fabric of Jackson Hole. “I’d love to be part of your group.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” Kathy turned to the young man in the black pants and white shirt working the drink machine and smiled brightly. “I’ll take one of those, too, please.”

  She slid a companionable arm around Sylvie’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you moved here.”

  * * *

  “That was nice of her to say,” Andrew commented when Sylvie told him of her conversation with Kathy.

  “She meant it, too.” Sylvie expelled a satisfied sigh.

  He was glad she was enjoying herself. They’d become separated after eating. Once Andrew had found her again, he’d taken her hand and guided her to the far end of the yard where a weathered fence separated the lawn from the wildlife area.

  He knew this was her friend’s party, but Josie was busy with her groom-to-be and Andrew wanted some alone time with her. Probably because of their earlier conversation, he felt unsure and apprehensive.

  The knowledge that October 1 was next week had blown him away. He’d begun to feel as if he’d been in Jackson Hole forever, and having the real world intrude had been a rude awakening.

  “Are you having fun?”

  He hooked his boot on the bottom rail and slanted a glance in her direction. She sounded worried. She looked worried. He thought about teasing her but decided to be honest. “These are nice people.”

  “I saw you speaking with Tripp. He’s Kathy Randall’s son.”

  “He’s an interesting guy. Did you know he used to manage a large health system back East before he moved back to Jackson Hole?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “He’s very progressive when it comes to the health needs of those who live in Jackson Hole.” Andrew turned to face Sylvie. “Talking to Tripp made me realize how isolated I’d become from the medical community in Boston.”

  “Well, that won’t be a problem for much longer.” Though her tone was light, something in her eyes warned of an approaching storm.

  He inclined his head. “What do you mean?”

  “When you return you won’t be practicing medicine anymore, will you?”

  He reached out for her, i
ntending to what? Reassure her that he wouldn’t be leaving? As much as he wished that didn’t have to happen, he knew he’d be returning to Boston. But if he had his way, she’d be coming with him.

  It was odd how it had all worked out. He’d come to Wyoming in order to get to know her better so that he could purge her from his system. Instead he was more deeply in love with her than ever.

  The thought of spending the rest of his life without her was intolerable. He’d convince her to come with—there was no alternative.

  Now, however, wasn’t the time to push that request. Tonight they would enjoy the evening. Then they would go back to Boston, together.

  * * *

  Sylvie put the thought of Andrew’s upcoming departure from her mind. Or tried.

  It was Josie’s wedding day. The twenty-fourth of September had dawned sunny and without a cloud in the sky.

  Happy the bride the sun shines on.

  She smiled as she watched Poppy, Josie’s sister-in-law and matron of honor, adjust the bride’s veil.

  There had been a time when Sylvie imagined herself walking down the aisle to Andrew. She’d planned on making a life with him in Boston.

  Though she’d been wrong to run off in the way she had, she believed that if she hadn’t, she’d have withered and died away. In her heart she’d known what she wanted but hadn’t been willing to demand it.

  She hadn’t let Andrew see her, not really. She hadn’t had the courage to share her true self with him. For some reason, that had been easier to do here in Wyoming.

  Maybe because she’d begun to change in the three months she’d been here. Or maybe because she felt a part of the world here, in a way that would never have been possible in Boston. The acceptance she’d found here had allowed her to grow.

  In Boston she could have been married to Andrew for twenty years and still be an outsider. Pursuing a business would have been difficult given the social expectations for a member of the O’Shea family.

  The heavy sigh was as out of place in the happy dressing area as a stick of margarine would be in her kitchen. Relieved that no one appeared to have noticed, Sylvie glanced into the mirror in front of her and fussed with her hair.