The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée. Cindy Kirk

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СКАЧАТЬ His eyes met hers. “You changed yours.”

      Sylvie lifted one thin shoulder but offered no excuse. When he cocked his head expectantly, she recited her new number while he keyed it in and then read it back to her.

      While the tightness around her eyes revealed her stress, when she spoke, her voice was casual and offhand. “Appears you and I are reconnected.”

      They’d been very connected once until she’d abruptly severed the tie he’d been convinced would last forever. She’d done it with a single text. A handful of typed words that said she didn’t love him, couldn’t marry him and didn’t want to see him again.

      Yes, they’d once been connected. Not anymore.

      * * *

      Sylvie wrapped her mouth around a juicy hamburger with avocado relish and peppered bacon and wondered if she could possibly be dreaming. She’d had vivid dreams in the past, all involving Andrew.

      Not a single dream had concerned food or a barbecue. Most slipped in during the night hours and were of a sexual nature.

      In those dreams, she felt Andrew’s smooth lips against her mouth, her throat and her breast, and his touch heated her body to a boiling point. When she awakened, usually right before full consummation, she was filled with an ache that brought tears to her eyes.

      The ache was never simply physical. That Sylvie could easily have handled. The intense longing for the man she’d loved—that was not so easily put aside. Those vivid dreams would drag her down and wreak havoc on her emotions for several days until she became strong enough to put her focus back on the here and now.

      If she’d learned one thing from thirteen years with an addict mother and subsequent years in foster care, it was that sometimes just getting through each day was a victory.

      “Your friend is really hot.” Josie sidled up beside Sylvie and slipped her arm through hers. She took a sip of her margarita and slanted a sideways glance. “Why is it you never told me about him?”

      Seeing the speculative gleam in her friend’s eyes, Sylvie dropped the burger to her plate and waved away the question with a careless hand. “The only hot man we should be discussing tonight is your fiancé.”

      A softness filled Josie’s eyes as her gaze strayed to linger on the lean dark-haired man currently speaking with Josie’s father. She gave a little laugh. “Did you ever imagine me with a neurosurgeon?”

      “I recall you saying once that I should slap you silly if you ever so much as gave any doctor a second glance.” That conversation had taken place shortly after she and Josie became friends. “Then all of a sudden you’re dating Noah. Now you’re going to marry the guy.”

      “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.” Josie’s tone waxed philosophical. “I can’t imagine my life without him, Syl. I just overlook that he’s a doctor.”

      Sylvie chuckled, even as an ache filled her heart. When she was with Andrew, she’d done her best to ignore that her boyfriend was not only a doctor but a zillionaire heir to O’Shea Sports.

      She’d been fooling herself, thinking a mutt from the wrong side of the tracks could be a good match with a Boston purebred.

      “What’s the matter?” Josie’s hand settled on Sylvie’s shoulder, the touch as gentle as her voice. “Tell me.”

      Almost immediately, Sylvie lifted her lips in a well-practiced smile. “I’m thinking of everything I need to get done this week. I have a last-minute party for the Sweet Adelines I snagged when their previous caterer poofed. An upsurge in business is a good thing, but when you’re a one-woman show, it can feel a bit overwhelming.”

      “If there is anything I can do to help...” Josie’s eyes were dark with concern.

      “It’ll be fine.” Or it would, Sylvie thought, once Andrew O’Shea went back to Boston. Back to his world, back where he belonged.

      * * *

      After a restless night, Sylvie rose early and immediately pulled out her phone. She stared down at it. She didn’t want to call Andrew. She’d moved on. Why dredge up the past? If she opened that door, she feared all the feelings she’d worked so hard to submerge these past months would rush to the surface.

      Still, she couldn’t dis him. She couldn’t be that cold. Not to someone she loved—er, had once loved.

      Even if fairness and compassion weren’t issues, there was the matter of the ring. It didn’t belong to her. When Andrew had proposed, she accepted the diamond as a symbol of the pledge they’d made.

      Today, they would make their peace. She would return the diamond and close the door on that piece of her past.

      The truth was, she’d felt like a coward running off in the middle of the night. Fleeing under cover of darkness was too reminiscent of what her father had done when she was four, and what her mother had done nine years later. Except with them there had been no note or texts.

      They’d simply disappeared from her life and she’d never heard from either of them again. When she’d left Boston, she told herself what she was doing was different, that it was for Andrew’s own good. She still believed her leaving was best for him.

      But thinking it over now made her wonder if that was what her father, and her mother, had believed.

      After placing the call, Sylvie spent the remainder of the morning deciding what to wear. Five clothing changes later, she pushed open the door of the Coffee Pot Café. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as she glanced around the crowded restaurant. She spotted Andrew at a small table by the window.

      The moment he saw her, he pushed back his chair and stood.

      Always the gentleman, she thought with a bitterness that made no sense.

      After lifting a hand in acknowledgment, she zigzagged between the tables to him. Though Sylvie had met many people in the months she’d been in Jackson Hole, she was grateful none of them were in the main dining room. The last thing she felt like doing was making small talk.

      As she drew close Sylvie realized that, as always, Andrew looked perfectly put together. While he might have left his suit and tie back in the hotel room, he still managed to look elegant in dark pants and a gray button-down cotton shirt, open at the collar.

      Suddenly conscious of the casualness of her simple peasant skirt and ribboned lace top, Sylvie lifted her chin and reminded herself this was Jackson Hole, not Boston. They were having lunch at the Coffee Pot, not one of his private clubs.

      He pulled out her chair as she drew close. “You look lovely.”

      Sylvie took a seat and glanced around. A baby wearing a pink crocheted hat several tables over met her gaze and began to cry.

      Andrew didn’t appear to notice the wails. His entire focus remained on her.

      “I may have miscalculated.”

      He resumed his seat, his brow furrowed slightly. “How so?”

      “I didn’t realize the place would be so busy.” Or that the seating was so tight. The table СКАЧАТЬ