The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée Page 11

  They walked for a couple of minutes in silence.

  “What was hardest...” Sylvie paused and swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in her throat. “...was when she told me it made her sick to look at me.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvie saw Andrew’s jaw clench. “Because you were his child?”

  “That was probably part of it,” Sylvie admitted. “I also looked like him. My hair wasn’t as red as his, but our facial features... Well, it was easy to tell I was his daughter.”

  “The sins of the father...” he murmured.

  “Exactly.” Sylvie heaved a sigh. “For the next five years, I heard more times than I could count that my father was a coward who didn’t even have the guts to tell her to her face he was leaving.”

  “Then she did the same thing to you nine years later.”

  “She did,” Sylvie confirmed in a matter-of-fact tone as she climbed a small incline, Andrew still beside her. She tried not to think that she’d done virtually the same thing to Andrew three months ago.

  “Tell me about when she left.” Though uttered in a conversational tone, it was more of a demand than a request.

  Thinking back to that horrible day, Sylvie felt her heart twist, but for only a moment. She reminded herself it had been a long, long time ago. She’d moved past the hurt and anger that had permeated her life for so many years of her childhood.

  Once again Andrew appeared content to wait.

  Sylvie paused at the top of a mound of dirt too small to be called a hill. For a second she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She loved the scent of pine. “I came home from school and she wasn’t there. That wasn’t all that unusual. But the apartment appeared less...cluttered. It took me a while to realize that was because her stuff was gone.”

  “She’d moved out.” His voice was soft, dangerously so.

  “Yes.” It was amazing to Sylvie that she could still choke up over something that had happened so many years ago.

  “What did you do?”

  “I waited for her to come back.” A humorless smile lifted Sylvie’s lips. “I may have only been an eighth grader, but I was pretty good at taking care of myself. Even when my mother was around, she’d get involved with the latest boyfriend and I’d be on my own until that relationship fell apart.”

  Andrew cursed under his breath.

  “I made myself peanut butter sandwiches for dinner. There wasn’t much food in the apartment, but if I was careful, I could make it last. Look.” She pointed off in the distance where several deer grazed. “I suppose it’s silly, but seeing wildlife up close still gives me a thrill.”

  His gaze settled on the animals. “It is pretty cool.”

  They remained where they stood for a few seconds, until the deer, obviously having caught their scent, bounded off toward the mountains.

  “How long did you manage on your own?” he asked in the same conversational tone as she once again began to walk.

  “Nearly two weeks.” She couldn’t keep the pride from her voice. “I washed my own clothes, made the meals—again, mostly peanut butter sandwiches—and got myself ready for school each morning.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  The admiration in his tone made her smile, though what she’d done had been simple survival, certainly not anything praiseworthy.

  “I did what I had to do.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “Any other kid in that situation would have done the same thing.”

  “I doubt that,” he said. “You must have been frightened.”

  “Mostly at night,” Sylvie admitted. “We didn’t live in a great neighborhood and the apartment building... Well, let’s just say many of the residents weren’t pillars of the community.”

  “Who discovered your mother had left?”

  “The landlord. He stopped by, demanding the rent. I got rid of him several times by telling him my mother wasn’t at home, but that only worked for a couple of days. The man was a real bulldog.” She gazed off into the distance, wondered if the chill she’d feel if she stepped onto those snowcapped slopes would equal the chill that had her now shivering in the bright sunshine. “They looked for her and eventually found her, but she told them she’d ‘moved on.’ I spent the next five years in a variety of foster homes, some good, others not so great. That’s the story. Aren’t you glad you asked?”

  Sylvie didn’t look at Andrew, didn’t want to see the pity she knew she’d find in his eyes.

  “That’s quite a story.”

  “There are many who have it worse.”

  “You’re a strong woman, Sylvie Thorne.” The admiration, however misguided, warmed away some of the chill.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t speak with you before I left.” The apology was spoken so softly that she wondered if he’d even hear. She’d cleared her throat, ready to repeat the words, when he spoke.

  “I was surprised.”

  Three simple words that said so much by what they didn’t say. I expected better of you.

  “I still believe leaving was best, but—” she gave a bitter-sounding laugh “—that’s probably what my mom and dad thought when they walked out on me. I handled it poorly. You deserved better.”

  “We both deserved better.”

  She nodded, the tightness in her chest making speech difficult at that moment.

  “You obviously didn’t know me well enough, didn’t trust me enough, to feel as if you could share whatever concerns you had with me.” His gaze searched hers. “There’s still more you’re not telling me. Like the reason you picked that night to walk.”

  While Sylvie wanted to be completely honest, what would be the point in bringing up the conversation with his father? No point, she told herself. “I—”

  Andrew pressed a finger against her lips. “No lies.”

  She stiffened.

  “Let me say simply that I hope when I’m ready to leave, you’ll trust me enough, you’ll have enough respect for what we’ve shared, to tell me everything.” The smile that lifted his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “If that happens, I’ll consider this trip a success.”

  * * *

  “Tell me again about this event.” Andrew held open the car door for Sylvie, despite the fact that he knew she didn’t expect it.

  She slipped into the car he’d rented, a new SUV with leather seats and a moonroof that she was going to request he open on their drive into Jackson.

  “What do you want to know?” She waited to speak until he was behind the wheel and the garage door had silently lifted.

  “The name Jackson Hole Fall Arts Festival tells me some of what to expect, but not all.”

  “You want the entire scoop,” she said with an easy smile tossed in his direction, “not just a spoonful of information.”

  “Exactly.” Andrew wasn’t sure why she appeared so relaxed, but he was grateful.

  After their conversation this afternoon, a part of him had expected her to pull back. Instead she seemed more relaxed than she’d been since he first arrived. It was as if some kind of weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  The story she’d relayed troubled him, made him want to hit something, and he wasn’t a violent guy. The thought of leaving a little girl alone...

  “My sister’s daughter, Anne Elizabeth, is nine,” he heard himself say.

  If Sylvie was surprised by the abrupt change in topic, it didn’t show. “I never met her.”

  “Corinne and her family had been living in London. They’d only been back in the States for a couple of weeks before I left to come here.”

  “She was doing something with your European division, right?”

  Sylvie had obviously listened the times he’d discussed O’Shea Sports.

  “Corinne runs the company’s European division.” Andr
ew pulled into a space nearly a mile from the downtown area. Though he didn’t know everything involved in this arts festival, he’d heard enough to know that the Palates and Palettes Gallery Walk going on this evening was very popular and he was unlikely to find a closer spot. “She’s a dynamo.”

  “Is she back to visit?” Sylvie met him on the sidewalk as he rounded the front of the SUV.

  “For now. She and her husband want to move back to the States.” Andrew took Sylvie’s arm as they started down the sidewalk toward the downtown district. It was automatic. While he’d never been into handholding before, in the time that he and Sylvie had been together it had become second nature. “She’d like to be the next COO of O’Shea Sports. She came to try to convince my father to change his mind.”

  “Change his mind?”

  “I’m assuming the position as of October 1.”

  Sylvie stopped, just stopped in the center of the sidewalk, her face a study in confusion. “I knew your father was hoping to convince you to take that job, but you already have one. You’re a doctor.”

  “My father is adamant that an O’Shea male succeeds him.” Andrew made no excuses for his father’s antiquated ideas. God knew, he’d tried his best to get his dad to change his mind on this matter.

  “Do you want to do it?”

  “It’s expected.”

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  “I owe it to my father, to the family.” Andrew pressed his lips together. If not for him, Thomas would be at the helm and everyone would be happy.

  As he’d expected, the traffic on the sidewalk began to increase exponentially the closer they came to the downtown shopping area.

  “I’d say I can’t believe we never talked about this.” Sylvie’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Except we didn’t do a lot of talking back in Boston.”

  “It wasn’t all about sex,” he said, a bit indignant over the accusation.

  “I’m not blaming you.” Her eyes sparkled. “I was as hot to hop into the sack as you were.”

  An older woman with silver-gray hair and a black cane with a shiny silver handle turned an assessing gaze in their direction. After only a second she smiled and turned back to her companion, an older gentleman with a neatly trimmed goatee wearing a beret.

  “Back to the topic at hand.” Sylvie slowed her steps to put some distance between them and the older couple. “Was taking over the company always in your plans?”

  This would be the time to bring up Thomas. Andrew had always felt guilty for not speaking more of his brother. Though what had happened wasn’t a secret, the accident wasn’t something often brought up in his family. It was just too painful.

  Andrew didn’t want to go back down that road, not tonight. The evening was off to a good start. And Sylvie was in an upbeat mood. Later, they could discuss it.

  “Is that one of the galleries we should check out?” Andrew gestured with one hand, hoping she’d let it go for now. “Judging by all the people streaming inside, it appears to be a popular place.”

  “It’s very popular.” Sylvie pulled a brochure from her purse. She read for a second, then glanced back at him. “They’re featuring the works of a big-time Montana wildlife painter.”

  Andrew couldn’t help it—his lips twitched. He rubbed his chin as they stopped and stepped to the side. “Big-time, eh? Is that what it says in the brochure?”

  She swatted him with the rolled-up piece of paper. For a second it was as if the past three months away from each other had never been. “If you want the exact words, Mr. High Society, I’ll read them to you.”

  Somehow Andrew managed to keep a straight face. “I’d appreciate that courtesy.”

  Sylvie rolled her eyes and began to read. “‘Presenting new works by acclaimed Montana wildlife artist Kyle Sims.’”

  Andrew experienced a flash of recognition. “I know his works. Or rather of them. The artist is well-known for the natural realism of his works. One of my father’s friends owns several paintings.”

  “Well, then you should enjoy the show. It says these are new studio paintings.”

  When they walked into the large gallery, Andrew realized somehow her hand was back in his. He tucked it through his arm, drawing her even closer to him as they began to stroll.

  The air seemed to buzz with electricity, or maybe it was that familiar charge that hit him whenever Sylvie was close. Just as it was difficult to tell if the intoxicating floral scent came from her shampoo or from the cylindrical silver urns filled with towering gladioli, hydrangeas and palms placed strategically around the gallery.

  A waiter dressed in black tie, holding a tray of champagne flutes, paused to ask if they’d like a glass.

  Andrew lifted two glasses from the tray and handed one to Sylvie.

  “Trying to get me drunk?” Sylvie teased, raising the glass to her lips.

  “I’d prefer you be fully conscious for what I have in mind for later,” he shot back, enjoying the easy repartee.

  It had been like this from the beginning, Andrew realized, an easy give-and-take coupled with lighthearted teasing always underscored by a punch of lust.

  They moved to inspect a painting that depicted a red fox standing on a rock formation looking over his shoulder.

  “I love this.” Sylvie’s eyes widened with admiration. “It’s so real I feel as if I’m there. It’s like he’s taunting me, saying, ‘Are you going to follow me or not?’”

  Andrew could tell her admiration was sincere. “You really like it?”

  She nodded. “Don’t you?”

  He simply nodded and then put his palm against the small of her back and guided her to the next painting. By the time they’d made it through the gallery, Sylvie had found plenty of paintings she liked but none as much as the red fox.

  “Would you mind waiting for me while I check out the restroom?”

  Andrew smiled. “I can amuse myself.”

  While she was away, he strode over to one of the gallery employees and conducted some business. Once that was concluded, he followed up on several of his clients back in Boston. While he felt confident in the ability of the doctor he’d left in charge, these were his patients and one of them, Mrs. Whitaker, had been struggling with some recent health setbacks.

  He’d just pocketed his phone when he saw Sylvie crossing the gallery floor. For tonight’s event, she wore a simple skirt and top in a blue that made her eyes look like violets. Though he’d always liked her hair with its riot of curls, this new sleek version was also attractive.

  Judging from the admiring glances sent her way, he wasn’t the only man who’d noticed.

  Mine.

  The thought came swift and hard. Though it wouldn’t be that way forever, for now, for as long as he remained in Jackson Hole, they were a couple.

  Andrew didn’t wait for her to come to him. He crossed the room with long strides. When he reached her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Not the kind of kiss a friend would give a friend, but one a man would give a woman he desired.

  “What was that for?” Sylvie’s laugh was breathless as the kiss ended and she stepped back.

  “Consider it—” he couldn’t stop the quick flash of a grin “—an appetizer.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  An appetizer?

  Sylvie didn’t press Andrew for an explanation. The thought of what might be on the agenda when they got home had her heart doing flip-flops the entire way back to Spring Gulch. She kept the conversation light. It had been a wonderful day and she knew much of the reason had to do with being with Andrew.

  Though she knew she’d be heartbroken when he left Jackson Hole, she’d made the decision when she walked out of that gallery tonight that she was going to enjoy these next few weeks. And if he left, when he
left, she would hold the memories of these days together tight to her heart.

  “I’m surprised you weren’t asked to do any of the desserts featured at various galleries tonight.” There was more than a hint of righteous indignation in his tone. “Yours are every bit as good as the ones we sampled.”

  Sylvie slipped off her shoes and sank into the soft buttery leather of the living room sofa, wiggling her toes.

  Andrew turned once flames danced cheerily in the hearth. Though the temperature outside was a balmy forty-five degrees, he’d insisted on starting a fire.

  Sylvie hadn’t argued. It wasn’t her home. Besides, she rather liked having a fire.

  Without asking permission, Andrew dropped down beside her, lifting his arm to rest around her shoulders.

  What the heck? Sylvie thought and rested her head comfortably against his shoulder.

  “I could get us some wine,” he said, making no move to get up.

  “I’m fine.” She breathed in the scent of him that had once been so familiar, so dear, then found herself blinking back unexpected tears.

  “Why didn’t even one place have your cakes?” Andrew pressed. “If this event is supposed to showcase the best Jackson Hole has in terms of art and wine and fine cuisine, you should have been featured.”

  The irritation had returned to his voice. Sylvie had no doubt that if this was his community and he was familiar with the event organizers, he’d have had them on the phone right now.

  “I’ll be involved in Taste of the Tetons on Sunday,” she told him, stroking his arm with her hand, simply because she felt the need to touch. “I didn’t move here in time to line up contracts to provide hors d’oeuvres for tonight’s festivities.”

  Andrew took a moment and appeared to consider her explanation. “Some of those other cakes were nice,” he said finally, “but none were in your league, not in taste or in creativity.”

  “You like my designs?” Sylvie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. For some reason, she’d gotten the impression back in Boston that he found her designs a bit too avant-garde for his tastes.