The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée. Cindy Kirk

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      While those two words were rarely tossed in her direction, Sylvie cocked her head and opened her mind. “I like it.”

      The waves had been straightened and the blunt cut hair now barely reached her shoulders. The muted copper strands, while still the predominant color, had been replaced at the ends by several inches of soft honey blond.

      “Are you sure?” Cassidy asked, apparently troubled by her less-than-enthusiastic response. “If you don’t like it, I can—”

      “Exactly what I wanted.” Sylvie spoke more decisively this time. “And the change I was looking for.”

      “I didn’t want to go too crazy.” Cassidy tapped a finger against her bright red lips. “If you get home and decide this isn’t enough of a change, we could try some cerulean blue. I think the color would make those violet eyes of yours really pop.”

      “No blue needed.” Sylvie spoke quickly. “This is perfect.”

      Because of the nontraditional bakery products produced in her Mad Batter kitchen and the boho-chic styles she preferred to wear, Sylvie was aware many saw her as “quirky.”

      Now, at least according to Daffodil, she looked sleek and sophisticated. Who’d have thought that was even possible?

      “Stellar job,” Sylvie assured Cassidy. She rose from the salon chair and gave the stylist a hug.

      While Cassidy ran her credit card, Sylvie chatted with Daffodil. After adding a generous tip, she stepped out into the bright summer day and let the sunshine warm her face.

      She ran her fingers through her hair, gave her head a toss, feeling suddenly light and carefree. It was as if she’d shed the weight of the past along with her hair.

      As early September was still too early for skiers to begin their descent on Jackson Hole, the downtown foot traffic was relatively light. Sylvie found herself glancing down the walkway, looking for someone she knew, eager to show off her new do.

      Hair and friends were quickly forgotten when her gaze settled on a dark-haired man at the end of the block. She studied his profile as he read the menu posted in the window of the Coffee Pot Café.

      Sylvie’s breath froze. She brought a hand to her throat. Andrew.

      Her heart slammed against her rib cage, then began to thud heavily. A roaring filled her ears. She told herself it couldn’t be him. Andrew O’Shea lived in Boston, two thousand miles away. Yet something about this man was all too familiar.

      In their months together she’d often told Andrew that he wore wealth and privilege like most men wore a favorite coat. He’d laugh as if she’d made a joke.

      While it was true he came from money and never had to do without, as a physician he’d been passionate about improving the lives of others. Working as a concierge doctor allowed him to practice medicine while still having time to dabble in the family business.

      As she stared unblinking at the man, a wave of yearning washed over her. The sensation was so strong it brought tears to her eyes.

      “Sylvie?”

      Stifling a groan, she blinked back the tears before turning.

      Josie Campbell, her closest friend and bride-to-be, touched Sylvie’s arm. “Is something wrong? You had the strangest expression on your face.”

      Sylvie glanced down the street and discovered Andrew’s doppelgänger had vanished. She offered an easy smile. “For a second I thought I saw someone I knew.”

      Josie followed the direction of her gaze. She was a pretty woman with honey-blond hair, clear green eyes and a diamond the size of Grand Teton on her left hand. “What does she look like?”

      “He.” Sylvie waved a dismissive hand. “Tall with dark hair. I’m sure it wasn’t him.”

      “Tall and dark, huh?” Josie brought a finger to her lips. “Would it be accurate to add handsome to that description?”

      Andrew was indeed handsome. But he was in Massachusetts, not strolling the streets of Jackson.

      “Handsome would be accurate. If we’re talking about your fiancé.” As a tall, broad-shouldered man headed straight for them, Sylvie’s words slid into a smile.

      With Josie’s back to her fiancé, she didn’t see his approach.

      “Noah is very handsome.” Josie’s lips curved. “I’m supposed to meet him at the church. We’re—”

      Dr. Noah Anson stopped his future wife’s words by spinning her around. When her mouth opened in a surprised shriek, he kissed her soundly.

      Josie’s arms wrapped around his neck and he gently stroked her back as the kiss ended. The look of love in Noah’s eyes took Sylvie’s breath away.

      The yearning she’d experienced moments earlier returned with the force of a tsunami.

      Expelling a happy sigh, Josie slanted a teasing glance at her future husband. “Before we were so rudely interrupted, I was saying Noah and I have an appointment with Pastor Johnson at the church. With the wedding less than a month away, there’s still a few loose ends we need to tie up.”

      Noah kept an arm around Josie’s waist, gave Sylvie a nod. Then he inclined his head, two lines forming between his dark brows. His gaze narrowed. “There’s something different about you today.”

      “It’s the hair.” Josie smiled her approval. “With all our talk about hot guys, I forgot to say how much I love, love, love the cut. And the color is simply fabulous. Cassidy, I presume?”

      Sylvie fingered one of the short silky strands. “Who else?”

      The Clippety Do Dah Salon might have a cutesy name, but Cassidy Duggan produced sophisticated results.

      “Looks good on you.” Noah paused, the words Josie had uttered moments earlier appearing to finally register. “What hot guys?”

      “Why, you, of course, darling.” Josie rose on tiptoes to brush a light kiss across his lips. “And some guy Sylvie spotted that she knew.”

      “On first glance he looked familiar,” Sylvie clarified. She waved a dismissive hand. “It wasn’t him.”

      It couldn’t be Andrew. There was no reason for him to be here.

      Still, an uneasy feeling settled over her shoulders and Sylvie found herself scanning for the once-familiar face all the way to her shop.

      * * *

      Later that day, Dr. Andrew O’Shea wandered into Hill of Beans in downtown Jackson and ordered a coffee. He took the cup of the Ethiopian blend to a table by the window.

      It felt strange to be dressed in blue jeans and a polo on a weekday. Back in Boston, Andrew rarely wore jeans. But as he packed for his trip to the land of cowboys and rodeos, he’d tossed in a pair.

      The last thing he wanted was to stand out. His plan was to remain inconspicuous until he figured out СКАЧАТЬ