The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée. Cindy KirkЧитать онлайн книгу.
couldn’t force a smile and this time she didn’t even bother to try. “It was a mistake.”
She wasn’t sure what “it” she meant. Not exactly.
“You’re getting real good at running. Better be careful or it might become a habit.”
She met Andrew’s gray eyes and released the ring back into the inside pocket of her bag. “I simply don’t see the purpose to this.”
“You owe me an explanation.” Before Andrew could say more, someone called out her name. Then his.
Sylvie turned to see Ben and Poppy Campbell making their way to the table.
“What are you two doing?” Poppy asked.
“Uh, eating,” Sylvie said, though she couldn’t have downed another bite of salad if her life depended on it.
Poppy’s laugh was low and husky, as perfect as her simple red sheath and boxy jacket. Here was a woman who would have fit perfectly into Andrew’s world. Classy with a capital C.
When Josie had told her Poppy was a social worker, Sylvie was disbelieving. Fashion model? Absolutely. Social worker? No way.
Sylvie could easily believe that Benedict, in his dark brown pants, ivory shirt and Italian loafers, had been Andrew’s schoolmate. Right now Ben’s shrewd gray eyes were as curious as his wife’s.
Apparently deciding the best response was a strong offense, Andrew smiled. “Sylvie and I were acquainted when she lived in Boston. We thought it’d be nice to renew our...friendship.”
Blast him for that tiny hesitation that gave an extra punch to the last word. The implication that there had once been more between them was there. That was obvious when her two friends exchanged knowing glances.
Ben looked amused but not particularly surprised. “How fortunate, then, that I ran into you and invited you to the barbecue.”
“I’d planned on looking up Sylvie anyway.” Andrew spoke smoothly. “But it was a surprise to learn we had a common friend.”
Sylvie wasn’t sure Dr. Benedict Campbell, one of Jackson Hole’s leading orthopedic surgeons, considered her a friend, but she wasn’t about to protest.
“A bunch of us meet here each week when the kids are in Sunday school. We have a large table toward the back.” Poppy stepped back to let the waitress slip around her to top off Andrew’s coffee cup.
Sylvie saw Andrew’s gaze follow the gesture to an alcove at the very back of the dining area where a large rectangular table sat, three-quarters full.
“We’ve asked Sylvie to join us many times,” Poppy said pointedly. “She always turns us down. At least now we’re in the building at the same time, so I’d say we’re making progress.”
Sylvie smiled. She liked this social worker. The ones she’d dealt with growing up had always seemed more concerned with their rules and regulations. Poppy seemed to genuinely care about everyone.
“Join us?” Poppy pressed.
“We appreciate the offer,” Andrew said, before Sylvie could politely refuse again, “but we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
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