The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée (7 page)

“I remember.” Andrew was a smart guy. He recalled that post-sex conversation.

He'd been in full agreement with the plan to keep sex out of this immersion. Not because he didn't want to have sex with her again, but because he wondered if that had been what had caused him to fall so desperately for her back in Boston.

While he thought he'd been thinking clearly when he proposed to her, when he'd planned a life with her, the strong sexual attraction between them might have affected him more than he realized.

Andrew lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “I can't seem to keep my hands off you.”

He knew what his father would say to such a statement. Franklin O'Shea was a businessman who ruled his personal and professional life strictly on logic. Andrew couldn't see his dad losing control over anything—or anyone—and that included Andrew's mother, his wife of forty years.

“I know.” Sylvie exhaled a heavy sigh, before her lips tipped in a wry smile. “I appear to have the same problem.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Keep working on our self-control?”

Her matter-of-fact tone made him laugh. “Sounds like a good plan.”

That settled, Sylvie began walking to the park's gates. Beside her, Andrew fell into step.

“What's on tap for the rest of the day?” Back in Boston, he'd been the one with the crazy schedule. Here, the situation was reversed.

“I need to start preparations for a wedding cake next weekend, but that doesn't have to be done today.” When they reached the sidewalk, she turned in the direction of downtown and her shop.

“Good.” Andrew couldn't recall the last time he had nothing that needed to be done. “If I wasn't here, tell me how you'd be spending your day off.”

Had he ever asked her that before? It wasn't that he hadn't been interested in her life. He had been, Andrew reassured himself. It was simply that, between the business he handled for O'Shea Sports and tending to patients, most of the conversations he recalled had revolved around
his
activities.

Sylvie's eyes brightened. A sudden chill settled over him. If she said “shopping” he'd stab his eye out.

“There's a nice trail in Yellowstone.” Her expression gave nothing away. Yet he could feel her tension. “I like to bike. A couple of times I've even brought along some sandwiches with me and had a picnic by Jenny Lake.”

In Andrew's mind, those weren't the kind of activities usually done alone. Was this her way of telling him she'd been seeing someone here in Jackson Hole? He doubted it had gone beyond casual, or the guy would be calling or texting.

“Who do you go with on these picnics?” He kept his tone as offhand as hers.

She flushed. “There's nothing wrong with spending time alone.”

Her chin jutted out, daring him to say differently.

Andrew felt a surge of relief. Only because, he told himself, he didn't need to worry about some other guy wanting her attention during the next three weeks. Once Andrew returned to Boston, another guy was free to move in on her, but not before.

A tightness clenched his belly at the thought of another man doing
anything
with Sylvie, whether he was around to witness it or not.

“No,” he said, “there isn't.”

Her jaw relaxed.

“That's settled. We'll pick up a couple of bikes and have a picnic.” Andrew glanced up at the sky. Bright blue and not a cloud in sight.

Her eyebrows pulled together. “What are you saying?”

He thought that would be evident, but he didn't mind clarifying. “I'm going with you. That's the whole point of immersion. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I'll be with you.”

She hesitated for only a second, then shrugged.

Twenty-one days, he thought. By the time those weeks were over, he'd know her inside and out. Then he could move on with his life, understanding that the two of them were too different to have ever stood a chance at lifelong happiness.

But as they continued down the sidewalk, he had to stop from whistling.

Chapter Eight

I
n the parking lot of the Jackson Hole and Greater Yellowstone Visitor Center, Sylvie helped Andrew unload the bikes. Hers was a beat-up Trek destined for the trash heap when it had been donated to the local Goodwill store.

The employees at Goodwill had done basic servicing of the bike and gotten it roadworthy. She hadn't needed a brand-new shiny one; this one would do just fine. The bike had been an impulsive purchase, bought on a day when no one was putting in orders and thoughts of Andrew had been bringing tears to her eyes.

She hadn't needed a bike, at that point couldn't really even afford one from Goodwill. Yet she'd bought it anyway. Just because her childhood hadn't been filled with bike rides and picnics didn't mean she couldn't enjoy those activities now.

From his position in the van, Andrew wheeled his bike to the back edge and she maneuvered it down to the asphalt. Like hers, his was a Trek, but this shiny black beauty was brand-new, purchased from a local bike shop the second they opened.

They'd walked in. Andrew had scanned the inventory, pointed to the top-of-the-line model and announced, “I'll take that one.”

The salesclerk, a young man in his early twenties, had been eager to comply.

And now, Sylvie thought, they stood with the beauty of the Tetons surrounding.

“You could have rented a bike,” she reminded him.

He shrugged, adjusted his helmet. “I'll donate it to one of the youth programs before I return to Boston.”

She nodded, then reached for her own helmet. His comment was a good reminder that their time together was limited.

“Tell me again why you recommended this route?”

“It'll give us a good workout and we'll see a lot of beautiful scenery on the way.” She gave her scarred and battered bike an encouraging pat, then settled on the seat. Though the day was in the sixties, she wore biker shorts and a tank under the windbreaker she planned to take off once they got started. “This trail, it's got a big fancy name, but most around here just call it the Pathway—ends at Jenny Lake. I thought we could eat our sandwiches at the lake, take a little walk and then head back.”

“Why don't we just bike in Yellowstone?”

“Not a good idea. We'd have to share the roadway with cars and tourists more interested in watching out for bears than bicycles.”

Andrew swung a leg over his bike, looking sexy as sin in all black.

Sylvie could tell her physical stamina had improved in the last few months when she had no difficulty keeping up with Andrew.

“I'm glad you recommended this trail,” Andrew said when they paused at the bridge that passed over the scenic Gros Ventre River. “Amazing views.”

“You haven't seen anything yet,” she assured him as they continued on through Grand Teton National Park.

They encountered other cyclists. But for such a beautiful day, the trail was surprisingly light in traffic. They'd nearly reached Jenny Lake when they saw a man sprawled on the side of the trail, his wife bent over him, crying.

Bikes were on the ground nearby.

Andrew, Sylvie noticed, increased his speed, just as she did, to reach the couple more quickly. He hopped off his bike, reaching the couple in several long strides.

Sylvie was only several steps behind him.

“I'm a physician. What seems to be the problem?” Andrew crouched down beside the woman, who appeared to be in her late fifties.

“George was complaining that his chest hurt.” The middle-aged woman looked up, her lined cheeks streaked with tears. “Are you better now, honey?” Sylvie saw horror blanket the woman's face as her fingers curved into his shirtfront. “George. George.” Her head jerked up. “He's not breathing.”

Andrew gently pushed her aside, checking for a pulse. His gaze met Sylvie's. “Call 9-1-1.”

He began CPR. “I tried when he said his chest hurt.” The woman bent over Andrew's shoulder. “But I couldn't get a signal.”

“She's right,” Sylvie told Andrew. “No signal. I can ride to the visitor center and—”

Another cyclist rode up just then, a young athletic man. “Problem?”

“Heart problems. CPR started,” Sylvie told the guy. “We need the rescue squad but can't get a signal. The visitor center—”

“I know where it is. I'll send help.” Without another word, the man jumped back on his bike and sped off.

Sylvie watched him disappear from sight before she turned to the woman, still staring wide-eyed at Andrew, as he continued to perform CPR on her unresponsive husband.

“My name is Sylvie.” She moved to the woman, using what she hoped was a soothing tone. “That's Dr. O'Shea.”

The woman reached out and clasped Sylvie's hands, hope in her eyes. “A medical doctor?”

“An internist.” Sylvie gave the ice-cold fingers a squeeze. “Your husband couldn't be in better hands.”

“I'm Barbara Williams.” The woman's lips trembled. “I'm so glad you stopped. I didn't know what to do when I couldn't get a signal. I couldn't leave George, but I knew he needed help.”

“If I was hurt or injured, Dr. O'Shea is the one I'd want tending to me.” Sylvie maneuvered the woman over to a bench at the side of the trail. The two women sat, their hands still clasped.

Wondering where in the heck the EMTs were, Sylvie continued to speak to the woman, finding out they were tourists from Wisconsin and that George had a family history of heart disease.

She relayed the information to Andrew.

“He's breathing. His heartbeat is strong.” Andrew sat back on his haunches, then restrained George as he attempted to sit up. “Easy now.”

“What—what happened?” George asked in a raspy voice.

Barbara pushed to her feet and stumbled to his side, the tears beginning anew. “Oh, honey, I was so worried.”

There wasn't time to say more as the EMTs were suddenly coming down the trail in a vehicle that reminded Sylvie of a toy ambulance. Andrew gave his report as two others transferred the man to a gurney. In a matter of minutes they were gone.

“Good work,” Sylvie said to Andrew when they disappeared from sight.

“I heard you comforting his wife. You did good work, too.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I'd say we made a good team.”

Sylvie only smiled and turned to retrieve her bike. When she'd seen Andrew stop to come to the aid of a stranger, when she'd watched him continue to do CPR even after the minutes dragged on, his face a study in determination, she realized she'd been fooling herself all these months.

Sylvie had convinced herself she was over him, what she'd felt for him had been merely lust mixed with infatuation. Now she had to admit she'd been only fooling herself.

When she looked back at him, she didn't see the rich scion of a sporting-goods empire that spanned the world, or doctor who tended to the rich; she saw a caring, compassionate man.

She saw the man she'd never stopped loving.

* * *

Andrew left it up to Sylvie whether they continued to Jenny Lake or returned to Jackson. She'd been unusually quiet since the techs took George away. The entire episode had been surreal, but he was glad he'd been here. Without intervention, the man would not have survived.

“Let's head back,” Sylvie said. “I feel this urge to work off some of this tension. I'm not sure a walk around a lake and a picnic are going to do it for me.”

He understood. The adrenaline high he was experiencing would eventually dissipate, but for now he, too, was revved.

They rode fast and hard, covering the distance back to town in half the time of their earlier, more leisurely ride. By the time they hit the parking lot at the visitor center, the high had dissipated.

“Let's go to the house,” Andrew said. “We can put our feet up, eat the sandwiches and plan our next adventure.”

“Today was quite the adventure. It'll be difficult to top.” Sylvie hopped off the bicycle to do a couple of stretches. “That was a fast ride back.”

Concern filled his eyes. “You should have told me if you needed to slow the pace.”

“I didn't want slow. I wanted hard and fast.” She paused, then grinned. “Riding, that is.”

He laughed. A sudden surge of wind slapped his face. It was refreshingly cool. The air here was different, with a clean freshness that was impossible to describe.

Just like the sky. He knew Montana was billed as the “big sky” state, but he swore the sky in Wyoming went on forever. Andrew knew, even if he tried to explain the difference to his friends back home, they'd never understand. He'd been the same way. After all, how could a sky be “bigger”?

But the endless sky was no longer a vivid blue. It was gray, and based on the clouds rolling in, a storm was headed their way.

By the time they got the bikes loaded, splatters of rain slapped the van's windshield. As Andrew had left his car near Sylvie's shop, they stopped there. She changed her clothes and they then drove in separate vehicles to Spring Gulch.

His friend's house was a mammoth ranch with a stone front and a three-stall garage. Andrew pushed the remote for two of the doors and they pulled inside. When the garage door lowered, the rain began in earnest.

Andrew hopped out of his car to open Sylvie's door, but she'd already stepped out. Her eyes scanned the interior of the garage, which was empty.

“It looks as if no one lives here.”

“Unless it's ski season, no one does,” Andrew said over his shoulder as he unlocked the door leading into the house. He stepped back and gestured her inside.

Sylvie walked down the hall, past the laundry room and a bathroom, then stopped and stared. This place was bigger than the Teton Village condo where they'd stayed when they came to Jackson to ski. Lots bigger.

Andrew paused beside her. In front of them was the great room with soaring ceilings and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an amazing view of the Tetons. The house had an open floor plan with a well-stocked country kitchen with both a breakfast bar and a small eating area. The great room was his favorite in the house, with its stacked stone fireplace and rugged wooden mantel.

As rain continued to pelt the windows, Andrew decided that despite the earlier sixty-degree temperature, tonight he was going to enjoy a glass of wine in front of a fire.

He was contemplating the pleasure of it when he realized Sylvie still hadn't spoken. “Is something wrong?”

“It's so, so big.”

For a second he thought she was joking. Then he saw the awed look in those violet eyes.

If she thought this place was big, what must she have thought of his parents' home with its suites of rooms and formal gardens? He recalled how she'd never seemed to fully relax when they were together there.

At the time, he'd attributed her unease to the fact that she hadn't known his parents well and possibly sensed their silent disapproval. But now he realized it had been more.

The house had been too big, too different from her normal world, for her to be able to relax. Because he'd been caught up with his practice and his father's attempts to involve him even more deeply in the business, he hadn't done enough to make her feel at home.

But they were alone in this house. He could make her comfortable here. Sylvie had to feel safe to let down her guard. Only then would he be able to truly get to know her.

She appeared ready to relax. When they'd stopped at her place, she changed into leggings with boots and a top with jagged edges around the hem that brought to mind Robin Hood and his merry men.

The color was an eye-popping purple that brought out the violet in her eyes. She blinked those big, beautiful eyes and cocked her head. Lifting the sack with the sandwiches they'd picked up at Hill of Beans and planned to eat at Lake Jenny, she smiled. “I don't know about you, but I'm starved. Are you ready to eat?”

“Right after I get a fire going.”

“It was sixty degrees this morning.” The wind punctuated her words by slapping a wall of water against the windows with the force of a hurricane blast. Sylvie appeared to reconsider. “On second thought, a fire sounds fabulous.”

“There's a bottle of wine on the counter.” He gestured to the bottle sitting on the granite countertop. “I'll pour us a glass after I get this fire going.”

With the help of a gas starter, a fire soon blazed in the hearth. When Andrew turned, he found Sylvie standing there, a glass of wine in each hand.

Behind her, on the coffee table, were two plates holding sandwiches, cut-up fruit and chips.

Taking the glass of wine she extended, Andrew surprised himself—and her—by leaning forward and brushing her cheek with his lips. “Thanks.”

He wasn't sure what made him do it, other than he and Sylvie had always been affectionate with each other.

Bright pink flared in her cheeks, but she said nothing, only took a seat on the overstuffed leather sofa facing the fire. Tucking a foot beneath her, she peered at him over her glass.

Though there was lots of space on the large sofa, Andrew sat beside her.

“What?” he asked, seeing a question in her eyes.

Sylvie cocked her head. “I have a question for you.”

He sipped his wine, waited.

“What are we going to do now?”