by Cindy Kirk
Ignoring the benches, Sylvie headed for the swings and took a seat. After a momentary hesitation, Andrew commandeered the swing closest to hers.
Dropping her bag to the ground, she sipped her cappuccino. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“I enjoy the practice of medicine.” He took a sip from the red cup. She could tell he was pleasantly surprised by the taste when he put the cup back to his lips for a long drink. “It’s hard to keep these clinics fully staffed, especially at the beginning.”
“How would you know? You’ve never worked one before.” She might have said it as a statement, assuming he was a guy whose practice catered to the wealthy, but the truth was, she didn’t know if he had or not. Sylvie was beginning to realize there could be a lot about her former fiancé she didn’t know.
“The first time was during a residency rotation.” His gaze lifted to the sky as if he was tempted to swing for the sky. Instead he refocused on her. He said, looking oddly at ease in the swing, “Once I finished my residency and fellowship, I had to cut down to once a month because I was busy launching my concierge practice.”
“Where you only see rich people.”
He winced. “A practice where I’ve agreed to be available to patients who want their doctor available 24/7.”
“What are those people doing while you’re here?”
“I’m still available by phone or email. I have an associate who fills in for me.” He paused, his attention diverted to a tree where a squirrel sat scolding a blue jay.
After a second, his gaze returned to her. “Concierge medicine isn’t for everyone, but I like getting to know my patients. It’s a very personal relationship. It also allows me to help out with the family business.”
The family business, Sylvie knew, was O’Shea Sports, a huge—very profitable—conglomerate. She hadn’t been surprised when she heard Franklin—Andrew’s father—accuse her of being after his money.
Franklin’s arguments had made a lot of sense.
For the moment Andrew’s father remained at the helm of the business, but from that overheard conversation Sylvie also knew Franklin planned to eventually step aside and hand over much of his duties to his son. Despite the fact that Andrew had his own career and his sister, Corinne, had been playing an active role in the business for the past five years. The patriarchal system was alive and well in the O’Shea family.
“I’ll answer calls while I’m here,” he said. “It would be presumptuous to think we’d be together 24/7.”
“Thank God,” Sylvie muttered under her breath, although she’d never found spending time with Andrew to be a hardship. He was an intelligent man with a keen sense of humor surprisingly in sync with her own.
He grinned. “I heard that.”
She merely smiled and took a sip of her drink.
“I heard what you said to Amber.”
Glancing at him, she cocked her head.
“About baking being your passion, about having the urge to create, to run your own business.”
“All true.”
“I can’t believe none of that came up when we were together.” He frowned, stared down at his cup.
She downed the rest of the contents in her cup and tossed it in the trash, then returned to the swing. “We weren’t together all that long. I bet you also didn’t know I love to swing high.”
As if to illustrate, she began to pump her legs until the swing soared so high Sylvie swore she could touch the treetops.
When she was a child, she’d often walk to a local park. It was nowhere near as nice as this one. There was no shiny black gate with gilded leaves, no carefully manicured bushes. But there had been swings and when she soared into the air she left her troubles on the ground. At least for those few minutes.
She saw Andrew toss his cup in the trash. Then he began to swing until he, too, was high in the air.
After a moment, her breath came in short puffs and she laughed with the sheer joy of the moment. When they finally slowed and stopped, it felt as if all was right with the world.
She was laughing when she rose from the swing. When she stumbled slightly, Andrew was there to steady her. She let herself fall against him, her face tilted up.
Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes.
With a gentle hand he brushed a strand of hair back from her face.
Sylvie knew, as sure as she knew her own name, that Andrew was going to kiss her.
And she wasn’t going to stop him.
* * *
Closing his mouth over Sylvie’s sweet lips was sheer madness. That, Andrew knew with every fiber of his being. Yet he could no more stop the action from occurring than he could stop himself from breathing. He folded her into his arms and kissed those glorious lips, losing himself in the taste of her.
But when her palms rose and pushed against his chest, Andrew let his arms fall to his sides and stepped back.
In the brilliant light from the overhead sun, her lips looked as plump and full as a fresh strawberry. Her cheeks had turned a dusty shade of pink and her eyes were large and mysterious. “We agreed not to do this.”
“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
In 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”?