by Cindy Kirk
“It may be difficult.” Andrew dropped his head forward so his chin rested on the top of her head. “Still, in the end, when the three weeks is up, we’ll know we made a grand effort.”
Chapter Ten
Sylvie moved into the large house that evening. Andrew wanted to come with her to pick up her things, but she told him it’d be easier for her to go through her stuff alone. When he received another call about his patient in Boston, she slipped out of the house, his car keys in hand.
Her van was back in Jackson and, for now, that was where it would remain. She would pick up a few personal items that she’d need, along with some clothes, and call it good.
The trip into town took less time than she anticipated. It would probably be super quick at 3:00 a.m. when she left to do her baking. Perhaps living in Spring Gulch for the next few weeks wouldn’t be that bad.
The home was beautiful and she enjoyed the warmth of the fireplace this evening. Still, it wouldn’t do to get too comfortable. Once Andrew left she’d be back in her “Spartan” digs. It’d be a long time before she could afford anything better.
The rain was coming down in a steady stream and she was grateful when the garage door slid open and she could pull her vehicle inside. She was still slightly damp from her dash into her shop when the rain was at its worst.
Andrew looked up from his laptop when she walked into the kitchen. In the time that she’d been gone, he’d changed into jeans and a charcoal shirt. “Sounds like the rain is coming down at a good clip.”
“Forget rain. Think typhoon.” Sylvie dropped the single battered suitcase on the floor. “Did you get your patient on the road to recovery?”
Gentleman that he was, Andrew pushed back his chair and stood. He glanced at the scarred suitcase and crossed the room. “I’ll get the other bags out of the car.”
“There are no other bags.”
He whirled, obviously trying to control his surprise. “Seriously?”
“That’s all I have.” She chuckled. “And all I need.”
His gaze dropped to the case, the size of an airline carry-on, before refocusing on her. “You believe in traveling light.”
“Something like that.” Sylvie meandered across the shiny floor to the cupboards. “Do you mind if I get myself something to drink?”
“Mi casa su casa.”
She’d just opened the refrigerator when the doorbell rang. Sylvie cocked her head. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No. You?” Andrew tossed the words over his shoulder on his way to the front door.
“No one but Josie knows I’m here,” she called after him.
Curious, Sylvie decided to check it out for herself.
Andrew shook his head, his body between her and the unexpected visitor.
Sylvie saw by the look on his face that he didn’t recognize the man at the door. Instead of using an umbrella to ward off the rain, the tall, broad-shouldered man had simply pulled up the hood of his jacket.
“I know we haven’t met. I’m—” The visitor paused, catching sight of Sylvie. “Now, there’s someone familiar. Hi, Sylvie.”
“Hi, Keenan.” Sylvie smiled and motioned him inside. “Don’t just stand there. Come in out of the rain.”
Andrew stepped aside to let Keenan inside, then closed the door behind him.
Keenan pushed back his hood. For a second Sylvie thought he was going to shake off like a wet dog. He paused and appeared to think better of it. Still, he wiped a hand against his jeans before extending his hand to Andrew. “I’m Keenan McGregor, your neighbor.”
“Andrew O’Shea.” Andrew took his hand, offered a smile. “My friend Jack owns this home. I’m staying here for a couple of weeks.”
“It appears you’ve already met the best baker in the Hole.” Keenan winked at Sylvie.
“That’s very sweet. Thanks, Keenan.”
Andrew’s gaze shifted between the two of them. Whatever he saw must have reassured him because he smiled. “Can I offer you a beer? Or a soft drink?”
“Actually, I came over to issue a last-minute invitation to a small neighborhood party Mitzi and I are hosting this evening.”
“Mitzi?”
“My wife.”
A thoughtful look blanketed Andrew’s face. “Dr. Mitzi McGregor?”
Keenan’s smile remained on his lips, but his gaze had turned watchful. “You know my wife?”
Keenan reminded Sylvie of a coiled viper ready to strike. Though he’d always been perfectly nice to her, in that moment Sylvie could believe the rumors that he’d spent time in prison were true.
“I heard your wife is the force behind the People’s Health Center.”
The tension seemed to leave Keenan’s shoulders and he rocked back on his heels. “It’s a project that has been close to her heart—and to mine—for a number of years. We can’t wait for it to open.”
“Andrew is also a physician.” Sylvie tossed that comment out there, though she wasn’t sure why.
Keenan didn’t appear impressed.
“They’re everywhere in Jackson Hole.” Keenan’s expression looked pained. “Can’t put your foot down without stepping on one.”
To Sylvie’s surprise, Andrew laughed. “What time is the party?”
“Seven. Wear what you have on.” Their visitor gestured with one hand to his jeans and boots. “I’m not changing.”
Sylvie stepped forward. “Can I bring something?”
“Just yourself.” The smile Keenan bestowed on her was warm before he turned back to Andrew. “Good to meet you, O’Shea.”
Without ceremony, Keenan flipped up his hood and headed back into the rain.
“I didn’t get his address.” Andrew’s hand moved to the doorknob, but Sylvie grabbed his arm.
“I know where they live. Mitzi had me bake a cake for Keenan’s birthday last month. You should have seen it.”
“What did it look like?”
“Let’s just say it involved a propeller-driven plane made out of fondant and a Mad Max theme.” Her lips curved as she recalled the three-layer cake. “The plane took the most time.”
“Plane?” Andrew inclined his head. “Is Keenan a pilot?”
Sylvie nodded, even as she wondered if what she had on really was adequate or if she should change.
“You made me a Spamalot cake for my birthday,” he said.
“I remember.” Her smile faded as she also remembered the look of horror on Andrew’s mother’s face when she’d caught sight of the cake. Pushing the image aside, Sylvie slid the phone from her pocket and looked at the time. “It’s already six. I’m going to unpack and then freshen up.”
“If you need to know where anything is, just ask. I can’t guarantee I’ll know where it’s at, but we can search together.”
“Sounds good.” She waved him away when he reached for her bag. “Seriously, I’ve got it.”
As Sylvie made her way down the hall to where she assumed the bedrooms were located, she realized for the next three weeks she’d know exactly where Andrew was and he’d know the same about her.
She only wondered why the thought didn’t bother her.
* * *
It wasn’t until the evening was winding down that Andrew had the opportunity to speak privately with Mitzi McGregor. She was a pretty woman with hair the color of peanut butter and bright blue eyes.
Instead of jeans, she wore a long flowing skirt in an odd patchwork pattern with a formfitting top the color of buttermilk. Dangly earrings of the sun and moon hung from her ears and cowboy boots with a turquoise pattern completed the image.
She didn’t look like an orthopedic surgeon, and he’d known plenty. But there was an intelligence in her eyes that belied the boho-chic appearance. Sylvie appeared to like her,
if the big hug the two women had exchanged when they arrived was any indication.
Andrew supposed he and Sylvie should head home. But Sylvie seemed so relaxed and happy this evening he’d decided why rush off? It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to go.
Other than getting up at 3:00 a.m. to drive into Jackson... He shoved the thought aside. If she wasn’t worried about the lack of sleep, he wouldn’t worry, either.
“How are you enjoying your vacation?” Benedict Campbell dropped into a nearby chair that also faced the flickering flames of the fireplace.
Andrew looked up and took the bottle of beer his friend held out. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. “I’m not used to being idle.”
“It would drive me crazy.” Benedict grinned. “It would drive my father even crazier.”
Andrew smiled. He recalled Ben talking about his father, John, and thinking he and Franklin O’Shea had a lot in common. “My father can’t understand why I’m here and not spending these last few weeks in Tahiti.”
Ben inclined his head. “Last few weeks before what?”
“I’m going to be taking more of an active role in the company business.”
“Why?”
“Good question.”
“What about medicine?”
“It’ll go on the back burner.”
Before Andrew could say more, Mitzi sashayed over—that really was the only way to describe how she walked—and took a seat on the arm of Andrew’s chair.
“What’s this I hear about you offering to help out at People’s?”
“If you need another doctor to fill in occasionally, I’m available.” Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Sylvie wander over to stand by the hearth, a drink in her hand. “I know how crazy those first couple of weeks can be. It’s as if the floodgates have opened. The patient volume is difficult to predict, but it’s usually way over what you anticipate. If that occurs, don’t hesitate to call me.”
A speculative gleam filled Mitzi’s eyes. “Sounds as if you’ve been involved in something like this before.”
“Similar, but ours were what we called ‘pop-up’ clinics. The location of the clinics would vary. Most often we’d use church basements.” Andrew took a long drink from his beer. “We enlisted a lot of medical students to help out. Working the clinic gave them some good experience as well as showed the need that is out there.”
Andrew sensed Sylvie’s gaze on him but stayed focused on Mitzi.
“We had some of those kinds of clinics in the neighborhood where I grew up,” Mitzi said.
“I wished we’d had some of those around here when I was young.” Keenan, who’d just stridden over with Poppy Campbell, positioned himself behind his wife. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and she leaned her head against his well-muscled, tanned arm.
Andrew had thought the couple was so different, but he now questioned his assessment. It appeared Mitzi and Keenan had more in common than he’d first thought, at least in terms of early-life experiences.
He wondered if Sylvie was looking at them, and thinking it only confirmed she’d made the right decision to leave. After all, her early background and his couldn’t be more different.
“There is definitely a need here.” Poppy’s expression grew pensive. “Just like there was in New York City, when I lived there. Poverty is everywhere, although often those with money and power like to pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“You’re a social worker.” Andrew hoped he’d gotten that correct. He’d met so many people since his arrival in Jackson Hole that who they were and their occupations had become somewhat of a jumbled mess in his head.
Poppy smiled. “That’s right. I work part-time for Teton County now. Once our baby is born—she’ll be our second—I’ll use my skills to help those who visit the People’s Health Center on a volunteer basis.”
“My wife, the radical.” The teasing note in Ben’s voice surprised Andrew. He remembered Benedict Campbell well from prep-school days. Andrew wasn’t certain if it was maturity or if Poppy deserved the credit for the change, but his old friend was definitely mellower.
“Helping people in need shouldn’t be considered a radical concept.” Sylvie had wandered over to catch the last of Ben’s comment. She flushed when every eye turned in her direction. “It’s just the thing to do.”
Just the thing to do.
By the time they left the McGregor home, the rain had stopped and the air held that clean, fresh scent of flowers and earth.
When Sylvie slipped, he grabbed her arm and then tucked it through his for the rest of the walk home.
“I realized something tonight,” he said as they stood on the front porch and pulled out the key.
She stifled a yawn with her hand. “What is that?”
He stepped aside to let her enter first, then reached around her to flip the switch and flood the entryway with light. “We’d never been at a party together where we both had a good time.”
“What makes you think I had a good time?”
“Did you?”
She smiled. “I did. I like Keenan and Mitzi and most of the people there.”
“I enjoyed their company, too.” And yours, he thought, but didn’t say.
A clock somewhere in the house began to chime. Sylvie pulled out her phone and glanced at the time, then back at Andrew. Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I have to be up in three hours.”
He’d have to be up as well. After all, a promise was a promise.
Except when it wasn’t, he thought, recalling how she’d left him. Still, he gave in to the impulse. Without considering the wisdom of what he was about to do, he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet, gentle kiss. “Good night, Sylvie. See you in three.”
Andrew sensed her eyes on him as he headed down the hall to the room he’d commandeered as his. He’d surprised her. That was good. But the victory was a hollow one. Because he was headed to his bedroom to sleep...alone.
* * *
While Sylvie added ingredients, put sheets of pastry items in the ovens and set trays to the side to cool, Andrew remained at the small table, eyes focused on his laptop.
He’d offered to help and actually had been rather persistent about it, but she’d told him she had a routine, and having a helper, even a handsome one, would disrupt her rhythm.
She wasn’t sure why she’d added the handsome part, except maybe because she sensed he really had wanted to help. The comment had brought a smile to his lips.
While she’d turned on the ovens, he’d powered up his laptop. Fifteen minutes ago, he’d risen from the rickety chair and moved to the ancient Mr. Coffee machine she’d picked up for a song at the big-box store out on the highway. The delicious aroma of coffee soon mingled pleasantly with the sugar and cinnamon scents.
He brought her a cup once it was brewed, black, just the way she liked it.
After sliding a tray of scones into the oven, she accepted the chipped mug, curving her fingers around the warmth. A long sip jolted the last of the fatigue straight out of her system.
Sylvie smiled at him. Despite almost no sleep, he looked rested and alert. “I could get used to having you around.”
The instant the words left her lips, Sylvie wished she could pull them back. “I mean—”
His hand closed over her shoulder, gently kneading the knots he found there. “Don’t apologize. I understand what you meant.”
He wandered around the small windowless room. “Sometimes it’s nice to have someone around.”
Sylvie set down her cup and added some sugar to a huge mixing bowl. She considered his response and her own.
“I admit I was worried how these next three weeks would go.” She opened the huge refrigerator to retrieve some butter. “I’ve gone solo for a long time.”
“When you were free and when I was. We spent time together, sure.” She sighed. “Often it felt as if we were two ships passing in the night. At least to me.”
“I had my practice.” Though his voice remained easy, there was also a defensive edge.
“Understood.” She kept her tone equally offhand. “I had my work. When we were together, everything was fast-paced because it was shiny and new.”
“I don’t—”
“Just like when you flew me to Jackson Hole on your family’s corporate jet for a weekend.” The mixer creamed the butter soft as velvet before she added it to the bowl. “That trip was like something out of a fairy tale.”
They’d stayed at a lodge right by the slopes. March had been snowy and there had been a lot of fresh powder. Andrew had taught her to ski during the day, while the evenings had been spent making love in front of a roaring fire.
“But the sheen didn’t last.”
When she blinked and refocused, Andrew was standing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, studying her.
“I cared for you.”
“Not enough.”
Saved by the oven ding. Grateful for the distraction, Sylvie grabbed oven mitts and opened the mammoth door, noting with approval the golden brown of the scones. With quick, expert movements, she removed the trays and set them aside to cool, then slid several pans of brownies inside and shut the door.
It wasn’t until she’d reset the oven timer that she shifted her attention back to Andrew. His gray eyes had gone cool, his expression implacable.
She resisted the urge to cross her own arms across her chest. The promise she’d given, to be honest about her feelings, chafed, but she would hold herself to it. “It was just so difficult to believe.”
“What?” he asked when she refocused on the mixing bowl, instead of finishing the thought. “What was so difficult to believe?”
There was frustration simmering in the tone, and when she heard his footsteps cross the room, Sylvie wasn’t surprised.