The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée (5 page)

Chapter Five

A
llow Andrew to immerse himself in
her
life? The thought terrified Sylvie. The months since she'd left Boston had been difficult ones. There had been days when she'd been sorely tempted to pull the covers over her head and simply remain in bed.

Though walking away from him had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, Sylvie believed her decision to leave had been the right one. A life with the wrong person never ended well. She only had to look to her parents' marriage to validate that point. According to her mother, her relationship with Sylvie's dad had turned rocky shortly after they'd married. She'd never been able to make her husband happy, because they were just too different.

Given time, Sylvie believed it would have been like that with her and Andrew. Despite the explosive chemistry between them, he'd have come to his senses one day and realized they were simply too different. Unfortunately, by that time his relationship with his own parents might have been damaged beyond repair.

We might have been happy.

It was her heart whispering the words, not her head. Her head recalled the conversation she'd overheard between him and his father. Recalled the harsh words spoken between father and son.

From the shadows Sylvie had found herself silently siding with his father. Agreeing with him that she and Andrew
were
an unlikely pair. Nodding silently at his pronouncements that it
would
be a miracle if their marriage lasted more than a year or two. Like Franklin O'Shea, Sylvie believed that if she hadn't shown up Andrew would have fallen in love with someone of his own...well, kind.

When Andrew had insisted his father accept Sylvie or else, Sylvie realized she couldn't—she
wouldn't
—come between Andrew and his father.

Sylvie sensed Andrew's gaze on her face, still waiting for her reaction.

He was good at waiting.

She'd discovered that early on when he'd come into the bakery for eight days straight.

He'd been patient then. She sensed he'd be patient now.

“Okay.” She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “A couple of days—”

“As long as it takes.”

As she caught the determined glint in his eyes, she felt the need to clarify. “Not forever.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I have to be back in Boston by October 1. No, not forever. I blocked out three weeks. I doubt it will take that long.”

Three weeks with Andrew. She considered. “What would I need to do?”

“Be yourself.”

That sounded simple enough. Three weeks. Twenty-one days of her life. Given their history, it seemed little enough to ask.

The fact that they'd hopped into bed almost immediately made her wonder if he was expecting sex to be part of the deal. “I think it is best we keep any physical intimacy to a minimum.”

His gaze never wavered, though for a second she swore his lips twitched. “If that's the way you want it to be.”

“I think it'd be best, don't you?”

The second the question left her lips, Sylvie wished she could smother it under a stack of pillows. Why was she asking for buy-in? This was her decision.

“If you're asking if I think it'd be a good idea for us to spend the next three weeks in bed.” He paused and tapped a finger against his lips. “However much fun that might be, I'd say no. But I am open to considering anything up to that point.”

Sylvie's voice deserted her. Her quickening pulse was completely illogical. The level of sexual interaction wasn't a big issue, she told herself, because sex was a nonissue. It took two to tango and she wasn't doing any more dancing with Andrew.

“I'll have work to do while you're here.” She stepped into the kitchen. Normally she found comfort in the spotlessly clean room that already held so many pleasant memories.

But right now, Sylvie felt as if she'd just chased a Red Bull with a Java Monster.

Andrew had followed her into the room and she crossed the room to put some space between them.

Resting his back against the counter, he surveyed her with hooded eyes. “I'll help you pack.”

Her eyebrows slammed together. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm staying at a friend's home in Spring Gulch. He only uses it during ski season. You'll stay with me.”

Not asked, she noted. Told. She crossed her arms across her chest. “Not necessary and unworkable.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Not necessary because we can spend time together during the day.” Sylvie blew out a breath. “Unworkable, because, well, just because it is.”

He smiled. “If you recall, we didn't live together in Boston.”

There were good reasons for that. Sylvie had been living with a friend in an efficiency unit not far from the bakery. He'd been staying at his parents' home until renovations were completed on his high-priced condo in Millennium Towers.

Though Andrew had invited her to stay with him at his parents' home—and his suite of rooms was certainly large enough for two—she hadn't been able to bring herself to agree.

“Perhaps if we
had
spent more time together, we wouldn't find ourselves in this position now,” he mused.

“Hard to know for certain,” Sylvie said equitably. “But I can't live in Spring Gulch. It's too far out.”

“You can tell me why you feel that way outside.” Without waiting for agreement, he opened the exterior door and held it open. “It's too nice a day to spend cooped up in here.”

“You're not getting your way on this point,” she muttered, brushing past him.

The sidewalks around her shop teemed with tourists. Women in capris and men in cargo shorts wandered in and out of the shops.

Andrew began to walk. “Let's check out the Town Square.”

“It'll be even busier there,” she warned, even as she fell into step beside him.

Up ahead four antler arches stood at the corners of the George Washington Memorial Park, commonly referred to as the Town Square.

Sylvie heard herself babbling about the arches, instead of articulating all the reasons she couldn't move in with him. “The Antler Arches are a huge tourist draw. Did you know each arch is made up of two thousand antlers? Many of the elk antlers were harvested by the Boy Scouts after winter sheds.”

If he found it odd she was such a wealth of information about a community she'd only recently begun to call her own, it didn't show. As they covered the last block, she added a little more history about the arches gleaned from a trip to the Jackson Hole Historical Society one rainy afternoon.

Sylvie had been surprised by how quickly this place—so far from where she'd grown up—had begun to feel like home. Perhaps it was because the people here seemed to appreciate individuals who forged their own path. Or maybe it was because Jackson Hole residents embraced the arts. Sylvie had been amazed by the number of painters, sculptors and writers who made their home here.

Jackson Hole was also an athletic community where residents skied, biked and jogged as much as the weather would allow. Even Sylvie, who'd never considered herself particularly athletic, had recently begun hiking the trails and doing a little cycling.

Yes, Jackson Hole was her home now, in ways Boston had never been, never could be.

Sylvie cast a questioning glance in Andrew's direction. “Want me to take a picture of you under the arch? You could send it to your family.”

He didn't even crack a smile at her teasing tone. “Tell me what you have against Spring Gulch.”

She expelled a heavy breath.

“I don't have anything against the area.” The subdivision outside the town of Jackson was one of the nicest in the Hole. “It's lovely. I'm sure your friend's home is lovely.”

She still found it hard to swallow that someone would purchase a home in such a pricey area and not live in it year-round.

A muscle in Andrew's jaw jumped. “You agreed to spend time with me.”

“I start baking at three a.m.,” she told him. “I don't want to drive all that way in the middle of the night. Right now all I have to do is roll out of bed, open the door and I'm there.”

As they strolled through the crowds, Sylvie could almost see his mind considering, weighing her words, considering his response.

It was just too bad he hadn't used the same restraint before jumping into a relationship with her.

“I see your point.”

Relief surged. “This immersion thing doesn't have to include being in the same house while sleeping. In fact, my not being there at night might be for the best.”

“I agree that having you drive into Jackson alone in the middle of the night isn't smart.”

In the process of rejoicing over the small victory, Sylvie nearly missed his next comment.

“I'll drive you.”

Startled for a moment, Sylvie could only stare. “That's too much to ask.”

“I don't agree.”

They strolled back down Broadway in the direction of her shop.

“That was the issue back in Boston.” His voice was firm, resolute. “We didn't spend enough quality time together.”

Sylvie thought back to their whirlwind courtship and had to admit he was right. “We spent most of our time in bed.”

He grinned suddenly. “Good times.”

Unsmiling, she shook her head. “That intimacy gave us a skewed sense of closeness, of connection.”

“I need to move on, Sylvie.” Those gray eyes were dead serious now. He extended his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

She'd made many mistakes in her life, but Andrew had been her biggest. She hadn't meant to hurt him. If spending time with her these next three weeks would help him, she'd do it.

She shook his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Tomorrow, we'll begin the immersion. Tonight, I have a party to attend.”

Chapter Six

S
ylvie smiled when Josie skidded to a stop and gave the painting of a wild-eyed buffalo hanging on the wall of the Museum of Wildlife Art a second look.

She had to admit there was something creepy—yet compelling—about the bison's intense stare.

Josie's gaze shifted back to Sylvie. “Let me see if I've got this straight. You were once engaged to the delectable Dr. Andrew O'Shea.”

Keeping the animal in her peripheral vision, Sylvie nodded.

“You broke up with him. I don't understand that, but, hey, that's your business. Then you moved here. He's making you spend the next three weeks with him so he can...” Josie's voice trailed off. “This is where you lost me.”

“Andrew is convinced that the more he's around me, the more he'll discover he doesn't like me.” Sylvie tried not to show how much the thought hurt. “I think he's secretly hoping he'll grow to hate me.”

“Ah, the picture is coming into better focus.” Josie spoke in a melodramatic tone worthy of a world-class fortune-teller. All she needed to complete the picture was a crystal ball between her fingers. “The man still has the hots for you.”

“No, he...” Sylvie paused, then reluctantly admitted, “We always had chemistry.”

“Do you still?”

“Uh, we can talk about that later.”

“I want to talk about it now.”

“Later.” Sylvie ignored the pleading look in her friend's eyes. She didn't want to get into all that. Not now. Not here. “We're running low on the baked meringues.”

Josie's hands, which had been clasped together, dropped to her sides. She expelled a resigned sigh and glanced at the table. “I thought you'd brought more than enough for the number they were expecting.”

The linen-clad table held several varieties of petits fours. While these types of desserts didn't particularly refill Sylvie's creative well, they helped pay the bills.

Tonight, the Sweet Adelines organization was hosting an open house for prospective members. They'd rented out the museum to add a little pizzazz to their annual recruitment event.

A baby grand piano had been brought into the main room, and several members stood harmonizing around the glossy black surface. One of them was Kathy Randall, Mayor Tripp Randall's mother.

Kathy was the one who'd contacted Sylvie about catering the event. Sylvie hadn't expected Josie to volunteer to help her. Especially not with the wedding less than a month away. But Josie had insisted and Sylvie had to admit having her friend with her tonight had made the evening more enjoyable.

Josie's hand swept the room. “These women are like a swarm of locusts.”

“Shhh.” Sylvie elbowed her friend, but had to agree. The pastries were being consumed at an alarming rate. “I'm hoping once the singing really gets going, they'll forget chowing down and concentrate on music.”

Josie shot her a pitying glance as they headed into the kitchen, where extra desserts waited. “Now, what I want to know is, since you've agreed to move into the house Andrew is renting in Spring Gulch, does that mean you're going to sleep with him?”

“Josie.”

“I believe it's a valid question.”

Sylvie knew she couldn't put Josie off for long, but she bought herself a little more time by filling a silver tray with several dozen baked meringues in various colors. “He's not renting the house. It belongs to a friend.”

Josie followed her back into the main room. “If you think you can sidetrack me that easily, you must have had more than club soda tonight. The question on the table is, are you going to sleep with him?”

Sylvie carefully arranged the tiny bits of meringue. “Not in the plans.”

“It never is.” Josie's eyes took on a distant look and a little smile lifted her lips. “The last person in this whole town I planned to sleep with was Noah Anson. You see where that ended up. I can't keep my hands off him.”

“And I can't keep mine off you.”

The deep voice had both of them turning.

Josie giggled like a teenager surprised by her boyfriend.

Sylvie's heart dipped to her toes when she saw the man beside Noah.

For a second a nervous giggle rose in her own throat.

“What are you doing here?” Pleasure spilled from Josie's voice. “I didn't think I'd see you tonight.”

Noah, looking handsome in dark pants and a muted plaid shirt, looped an arm around Josie's shoulders and tugged her to him. It was as if he couldn't bear to be so near and not touch. It had been like that for her and Andrew once, Sylvie thought wistfully.

“I ran into this guy downtown.” Noah jerked a thumb in Andrew's direction. “We got to talking and decided to stop by and see if you needed help.”

“Looks like a wild party.” Andrew spoke for the first time since walking up.

Bits of harmony mingled with the sounds of muted laughter and conversation.

“It's a gathering of the local Sweet Adelines group,” Sylvie explained. “They're wooing prospective members.”

“And eating everything in sight,” Josie confided.

Sylvie couldn't figure out why Andrew was here. They'd agreed to terms, one of them being they'd wait to begin the “immersion” tomorrow.

“How much longer until you're sprung?” Noah asked.

Sylvie didn't have a chance to say Josie could leave anytime when Kathy Randall rushed up. Worry furrowed the older woman's brow. “Do either of you ladies happen to play the piano?”

Josie shook her head. “Sorry. ‘Chopsticks' is it for me.”

“That's more than I can do.” Sylvie touched Kathy's arm. “Is there a problem?”

“We always have a sing-along with the piano at events like these.” Kathy gestured to the baby grand. “But Suzanne Duggan came down with a nasty cold today. Knowing we were counting on her, she came tonight, but we sent her home.”

“There isn't anyone in your group who plays?” Sylvie found it difficult to believe there wasn't at least one person in this group of singers who could bang out a few tunes.

“We have several.” Kathy's cheeks pinked. “But Suzanne has been doing this for years. She can play anything the crowd wants, so we didn't bring any sheet music.”

“I can help.” Andrew stepped forward, extended a hand. “I don't believe we've met. I'm Andrew O'Shea, a friend of Sylvie's.”

“You play the piano, Mr. O'Shea?”

“Please call me Andrew.” He flashed her the smile that had always made Sylvie go weak in the knees. “I haven't played much in recent years, but I'm proficient. I also have a good ear for music and pick up most tunes easily.” Sylvie could see Kathy react to the self-assured tone. Not bragging, that wasn't Andrew's style, just confident.

Kathy surprised them all by flinging her arms around Andrew and giving him a hug. “You're a lifesaver.”

“Glad to help out,” Andrew said.

“Everyone,” Kathy called out at the same time she motioned for him to follow her to the piano. “We've got our pianist.”

Applause echoed off the walls graced by portraits of elk, bison and majestic mountains.

Josie leaned close to Sylvie. “Is he any good?”

Sylvie just smiled, not about to admit that she'd never heard him play.

Andrew sat at the piano, played a few scales with nimble fingers, then smiled up at Kathy. “What would you like me to play first?”

“Hold that thought.” Kathy flashed him a smile, then whirled and clapped her hands sharply.

Several women in the back of the room immediately ceased their conversation.

“Ladies, this part of the program is a chance for us to warm up our voices and have a bit of fun doing it.”

“I'll toss out the first song. The rest of you be thinking what you'd like to request next.” Kathy turned to Andrew and surprised them all by requesting “Friends in Low Places.”

Sylvie was shocked when Andrew's fingers settled on the keys and he began to play the country classic.

Sylvie hadn't expected to sing. She was here only to do the catering. But when Kathy looped an arm through hers and smiled, she sang along to the Garth Brooks hit.

Instead of simply following the melody, Sylvie found herself harmonizing with Kathy. The older woman's smile of pleasure encouraged her to continue.

The moment the song ended, someone in the audience requested “Country Roads.” Sylvie considered stepping away to check the desserts, but decided what would be the point? Everyone at this party had forgotten all about food, except for Noah and Josie, who appeared to be doing more sampling than singing.

After a half dozen, Kathy clapped her hands once again and announced the sing-along portion of the evening had come to an end.

Andrew rose from the piano bench to a rousing chorus of applause.

When Sylvie turned, intending to check on how many desserts Josie and Noah had left, Kathy restrained her.

“You have a lovely alto, my dear. Have you thought about joining our group?”

Sylvie cocked her head. Was the woman joking?

“I believe she's serious.” Andrew stepped to her side. “I heard you harmonizing. You've got a nice voice.”

“I'm flattered.” Sylvie shifted from one foot to the other. “But growing my business has to be my priority.”

“Of course it does.” Kathy nodded understandingly. “But I believe you'll discover the more involved you become in the community, the more referrals you'll receive. In Jackson Hole, who is picked to cater events is often as much a result of personal connections as it is the person's talent with food. Just think about it. You don't need to decide tonight. I'll be in touch.”

“She's right, you know,” Andrew said as Kathy walked away.

“I don't have time to sing.” Sylvie wondered why she sounded so cross when she'd actually enjoyed the interlude. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

She'd counted on having this evening to get her head on straight. Seeing Andrew, making love with him, had thrown her off balance. Dear God, what had she been thinking?

She hadn't been thinking—that was the problem.

For the past three months she'd convinced herself she was over him. Her reaction to him yesterday said that had been only wishful thinking. Getting over him was obviously still very much a work in progress.

When he'd played several love songs with those clever fingers that had played across her body less than twenty-four hours ago, her heart ached with longing for the life with him she'd once envisioned.

It wasn't fair for him to come here, all handsome and talented, and remind her of what she'd lost. But then, hadn't she learned long ago that life was seldom fair?

“This is better.”

She blinked and realized he'd maneuvered her into a tiny room filled with Native American artifacts. Andrew, by his mere presence, stood so close she could smell the subtle spicy scent of his cologne and see the tiny gold flecks in his gray eyes.

“We can talk here.” His gaze remained on her. “I ran into Noah downtown.”

The area was so small, and for a second, Sylvie was confused. Why had he brought up Josie's fiancé? Then she realized he was explaining why he was here tonight. Or attempting to explain.

“Just because he was coming here to see Josie didn't mean you had to accompany him. Men aren't wolves. They don't run in packs.”

He flashed a quick grin, seemingly not disturbed by her petulant tone. “Noah mentioned his fiancée was helping you with your catering duties this evening. He told me he planned to stop over and see if he could lend any assistance.”

“Still doesn't explain your presence.”

“He knew I wasn't busy. Since you and I will be seen together in the next few weeks, I decided it might look odd if I didn't offer to come along.”

As far as logical arguments went, it was a sound one.

“I didn't know you played the piano so well,” she said abruptly.

“I didn't know you sang so well.”

Sylvie's lips quirked. “That was a surprise, even to me.”

He chuckled.

Suddenly that blasted electrical pull reared up and zapped her silly. Though she'd made it clear this “immersion” thing wouldn't include sexual contact, in a matter of hours she was tempted to break her own rule.

Andrew stepped forward. Or had she moved closer? He certainly hadn't lifted her hands to his shoulders.

“Sylvie, we're getting short of—”

Josie came to an abrupt stop. She smiled.

Behind her, Noah grinned. He surveyed the small, private alcove with an appreciative eye. “I'll have to remember this space.”

Josie studied them both, a sly smile topping her lips. “If you're busy—”

Sylvie dropped her hands and stepped from Andrew, hoping the fact that her face burned didn't mean she was blushing. Why did they keep these places so blasted hot? “We're done here.”

Andrew shot her a bland smile. “If there's anything I can do to help...”

“Thanks. I've got this under control.” As she brushed past him and the electricity crackled, she only wished it were true.