Cindy Kirk - The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée

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 how best to approach Sylvie.

Andrew had thought about simply popping into her shop. He’d already scouted out her location, so that remained an option. But interrupting her during a business day didn’t feel right, and he was a big believer in going with his gut.

Still, he wouldn’t wait much longer. He’d flown in yesterday. This morning he’d eaten at a local café, the Coffee Pot, and planned his strategy. He was past ready to put to bed the tangled emotions he’d carried with him the last few months. Once he got the answers he sought, he’d return to Boston and move on with his life.

When Sylvie had run off shortly before their wedding, he was stunned. He’d called around, but no one seemed to know where she was, but neither were they surprised. Apparently Sylvie had a reputation for being capricious.

Andrew had decided to give her a few days to come back on her own. Before twenty-four hours had passed, his legs were knocked out from under him a second time. He learned a close childhood friend was dying. All the pain of Sylvie’s leaving had been pushed aside while he dealt with a more immediate crisis.

Shortly after his friend passed away, he’d read an article about the Jackson Hole Wine Auction and Food Festival. A local cake artist, Sylvie Thorne, had been featured.

Andrew had discovered she’d relocated to Jackson Hole. He just hadn’t realized how much seeing her smiling face in that magazine would affect him. His world, which had been off its axis since Sylvie’s leaving, had tipped even further. It still hadn’t fully righted itself.

Even if Sylvie’s name hadn’t been mentioned, Andrew liked to think he’d have recognized her work in the full color photograph of the multilayered wedding cake with the fondant skull. Even when they’d been together and she was still developing as a cake artist, she’d had a recognizable style.

He recalled the cake she’d made for his birthday shortly before she left. It had been a three-layer castle—a Spamalot version—with crooked turrets and gargoyles with big toothy grins.

Cradling the mug in his hands, Andrew stared out the window. He now sat only blocks from the place where she created her masterpieces.

He had to admit he wasn’t sure how it was going to feel to finally be face-to-face with his runaway fiancée.

Andrew lifted the strong brew to his lips and took a long sip. One thing was certain—he’d come for answers.

He wasn’t leaving Wyoming without them.

* * *

Sylvie eased the ancient minivan to the curb a block down from Benedict and Poppy Campbell’s home in Spring Gulch. Instead of hopping out, she remained in the vehicle and tried to recall just why she’d accepted an invitation to the backyard barbecue.

She rarely attended dinner parties or barbecues as a guest. But then, she didn’t meet friends at the Coffee Pot Café after church on Sundays, either. Heck, she didn’t even go to book club, though reading was a favorite pastime.

Part of the reason for her reticence had to do with not growing up in a world where people had dinner parties or barbecues. She hadn’t known book clubs even existed. As a child, she hadn’t known anyone who read for pleasure.

Sylvie and her mom had been too busy trying to survive to think about books. Subsisting on groceries bought with food stamps, their “home” had been a run-down apartment courtesy of public housing.