Cindy Kirk - The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée

We? Sylvie’s head began to spin. Had he really said we? As if they were together beyond this lunch. And why was his hand closing over hers, giving it a proprietary squeeze?

No. No. No.

When she attempted to pull her hand back, those strong fingers merely tightened around hers. His hand remained in place until Ben and Poppy said their goodbyes and wandered off to join their friends.

Once their backs were turned, Sylvie jerked hard and finally freed her hand. “What was that about?”

Instead of answering, Andrew calmly lifted the napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. She noticed he’d barely touched his food. “I’m finished eating. How about you?”

“I’m done.” She stared down at the salad, and a rush of emotion swamped her. While she’d cried buckets of tears after leaving Boston, seeing Andrew reminded her how dear he’d once been to her...and how easily she could once again become attached to him.

She would return the ring. There would be no reason then for her to see him again.

“Andrew.” She swallowed hard. “I kept your ring. That was wrong. I apologize.”

For a second he looked confused, as though he’d forgotten about the three-carat flawless diamond. When he finally did react, he waved the words away as if the ring was of no consequence. “I gave it to you. It’s yours.”

“You gave it to me when we made a promise to each other,” Sylvie insisted. “But—”

“I don’t care about the damn ring.” Abruptly, Andrew pushed back his chair with a clatter and stood, tossing several bills on the table. “I do care why you ran out on me. We’ll discuss that at your place.”

People seated around them stared with a curiosity that had Sylvie scrambling to her feet. While she would never live her life according to others’ expectations, she was a business owner—a new business owner—in Jackson Hole and preferred not to encourage idle gossip.

Sylvie forced a smile and an easy tone. “Sounds like a plan.”

On their way out of the café, she tolerated the palm he placed against the small of her back. But once they were outside and standing in front of a closed insurance agent’s office, she whirled.

“What kind of game are you playing? What do you want from me?”

He raked a hand through his hair, blew out a breath, but didn’t immediately answer.

“I’ll give you back the ring. Then this will be done.” She flipped open the flap of her purse, but once again he stopped her.

“Not here.” He took her arm and began striding down the sidewalk, his jaw set in a hard line. “At your shop.”

Had he always been this dictatorial? She pulled her eyebrows together and struggled to match his long strides. Andrew had always been decisive, no doubt about that. But she saw an arrogance here that she didn’t much care for.

Of course, what did it matter? In short order he’d be out of her life, this time for good.

He stopped abruptly, steadying her when she stumbled. “On second thought, this might be better done at your home. Where do you live?”

Sylvie blinked, her head spinning as if she was seated on an out-of-control Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Your home address.” Impatience sounded in his suddenly gruff voice. “What is it?”

Her heart began to beat wildly. Something in his tone, in the set of his jaw, brought memories from her childhood flooding back. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate.

As if he sensed her distress, his eyes softened. “This is more difficult than I want it to be.”

His deep voice was suddenly as smooth and placid as Lake Jenny on a summer day.

“I live in the back of my shop.” Sylvie began to stride with purposeful steps in the direction of her business. The sooner she gave him the ring and answered his questions, the sooner he would go.

Andrew caught up with her but made no move to touch her. Instead he simply fell into step beside her. “Do you like living and working in the same location?”

“It has its advantages.”

They walked in silence for another minute.

“The cost of housing in Jackson Hole is sky-high,” she said when the silence continued. “I didn’t realize that when I moved here.”

“How’d you pick here?” His tone was conversational, as if he, too, was determined to avoid the uncomfortable silence.

“I’d been here before.” She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “I remembered it as a magical, beautiful place.”

There was the barest flicker in his eyes. Sylvie might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking right at him. He’d made the connection. Remembered that she’d come here with him. They’d taken the trip on a whim, shortly after they started dating. He taught her to ski and how to throw a proper snowball.

It was during that trip to Wyoming that she’d fallen in love with Jackson Hole and with him.

Silence descended again. This time neither of them made the effort to break it.

He stepped to the side when she reached the cobalt blue door of the Mad Batter and pulled out her key. Sylvie still wasn’t certain why she’d brought him here, why she hadn’t simply insisted they conclude their business on the street.

You owe him.

“Spartan digs.”

She turned at the sound of the voice and realized that Andrew had stepped inside what she referred to as “the order room.” Not much larger than a deck of cards, it contained a small round table and two chairs.

“What happens if you have more than one visitor?” Even as he spoke she saw his gaze checking out the gleaming vinyl floor in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern and the cherry-red cushions on the chairs. Bright spots of color in an otherwise unimpressive area.

“Someone has to stand.” Sylvie flashed a quick smile. “Plus, it seems to motivate the customer to decide quickly on what they want.”

“Where are the ovens?”

It appeared Andrew expected a tour. Well, that wouldn’t take long. Not when the entire space she rented was smaller than his walk-in closet.

She stepped inside the kitchen, unable to stop the flush of pride at the sight of the commercial ovens and stainless countertops. Even the air smelled clean. And it was all hers. Hers and the First National Bank of Jackson’s.

“Impressive.” He sounded as if he really meant it. “You mentioned you live here, too. Where’s your apartment?”

“Apartment is much too glamorous a term for where I live.” Sylvie gave a little laugh as he followed her through yet another door.

Inside the postage-stamp-sized room sat a twin bed—sans headboard—pushed against a wall. The only other furniture was a microwave on a stand and a straight-backed chair that had clearly seen better days.

She swept a hand to encompass the small area. “Home, sweet home.”

Though he was obviously trying to hide his shock, he wasn’t pulling it off.

Andrew cleared his throat. “This is...all of it?”

“No, there’s more.”

The tight stiffness in his shoulders eased. He smiled. “I knew this couldn’t be all.”

“There’s a three-quarter bath through there.” She gestured with her head through yet another door. “So you see, it isn’t quite as small as it appears.”

Confusion blanketed his face. He cocked his head and stared. “Why do you live like this?”

“The rent in Jackson Hole is crazy.” He wanted honesty? She’d give him honesty. “Besides, small has its advantages. This spot is warm and dry and...cozy.”

And beats sleeping in the van, she added silently.

His lips quirked up in a reluctant smile. “You always did have an optimistic nature.”

Sylvie blinked. She couldn’t recall anyone ever telling her that before. Was it true? Or was it just one more thing Andrew had seen in her that simply wasn’t there?