Heart of a Bachelor: A Cowboys of the Flint Hills Novel

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

No. Way.

No f*****g way. Suzannah froze, unable to believe what her eyes were telling her. This was head-of-the-board Gunnar? She’d expected someone in their fifties, not him. Not the man who stole her heart, then broke her.

And good lord… somehow, in the time that had passed, he looked better than ever. His face was more chiseled, more defined. The last of his boyish softness had disappeared, now replaced with hard man. His hair was shorter now, no longer the long ponytail he’d sported in Vegas that gave him the appearance of being a Viking warrior, especially with his shirt off. She missed the long hair. He was bigger than she remembered, broader, muscles more defined, stretching the fabric of both his shirt and his jeans. Her pulse tripped, and her body betrayed her. This was the man who abandoned her at the altar. She should be cool, indifferent, not unable to tear her eyes away, mouth watering over the thought of him n***d.

Why hadn’t she thought to ask more about him in her interview? The name had set off a warning bell when she’d applied, but she’d also been a finalist for a similar program in North Dakota, where she’d met three Gunnars – all wizened old men descended from Swedish pioneers. In the end, she’d accepted the offer in Prairie so she could be closer to Kansas City, and her best friends. Her only support system for the last four-and-a-half years. The idea of being more than a few hours away had been unbearable. And not just for her. Lulah adored her aunties.

Gunnar dropped his hand, blue eyes like a glacier. “Hello, Dr. Winslow.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Beside her, Gloria McPherson gasped quietly. Fine. She deserved that. She’d planned to explain a few things at the altar, but she hadn’t gotten the chance. They’d been too starry-eyed, high on hormones, champagne, and willing to throw caution to the wind. They’d bared their souls to each other, the names of their first pets, the foods they hated growing up, even the names they imagined for their children. Yet, she’d been too scared to disclose her last name – her father’s persona had a way of scaring people off.

Her mouth went dry. She needed to say something. The women were looking at her, aghast. Digging deep for a small smile, she extended her hand. “Hello, Gunnar. Nice to see you again.” She could barely hear her voice over the pounding in her ears.

He glared, refusing to accept her hand. A flash of anger whipped through Suzannah. Why did he look so furious? He was the one who ditched her. Refused to answer her frantic phone calls and texts, and was long gone when she finally made it to the little chapel where they’d planned to take the plunge. He was the one who’d smashed her heart to smithereens and left her to deal with the fallout.

“Gunnar Hansen,” Dottie boomed. “Where in tarnation are your manners? The least you can do is offer Dr. Winslow a chair and a piece of pie. Your mama raised you better than that.”

Suzannah bit back a smile. She liked Dottie Grace more and more. Gunnar’s eyes narrowed, but she held his gaze, unflinching. She’d been through hell and back since they’d kissed goodbye on the Strip, and it was going to take a lot more than an ice-cold glare to make her squirm. She’d dealt with doctors who were far worse. Heck, her father was far worse.

“I’ll grab the pie,” Gloria said in a rush, clearly ill at ease.

It would be rude to leave without a piece of pie, but she refused to be the target of Gunnar’s ire a second longer. Flashing him a bland smile, the kind she’d been taught from day one in sixth-grade cotillion, she pulled out the chair closest to her and offered it with a sweep of her hand. “Have a chair?”

He nodded curtly and moved toward her. As he sat, Suzannah caught a whiff of his cologne, a heady combination of bergamot and cedar. Her chest clutched in recognition, the force of it snatching her breath. Once upon a time, she’d wrapped herself in that scent, luxuriated in it. And in moments of weakness in the dark days that followed after their last kiss, she’d haunted the cologne counter at Hall’s, letting the scent and the memories wash over her.

She circled the table and dropped into a chair across from him. Better to keep a little distance. Her chest pinched, questions and hurt rising unbidden, ready to tumble out of her mouth the second she let down her guard. But her guard wouldn’t come down so easily. Not this time. Not when she had more than herself to worry about.

Gunnar held her gaze, glare gone, but definitely assessing. Suzannah stared right back, heat curling up her chest. Let him look all he liked. Let him realize what he gave up by throwing her away like a piece of trash.

His jaw remained tight, mouth firm. That mouth had done sinful things to her body, the memory of it permanently imprinted on her soul. His fingers, long, strong fingers that had brought her to c****x so often she couldn’t remember her name, drummed casually on the table, the only outward sign that he might be agitated. He’d been the consummate poker player. At least he had been. Could he still bluff a table with nothing but a pair of threes and walk away with the winnings?

Gloria bustled back with thick slices of chocolate cream pie, and paused, eyes darting back and forth between them. “You’ve met before.”

Here it was. The first moment of truth. There was no use denying what was patently obvious. Her mind whirled. More was at stake than just her job. She should resign tonight. Go back to Kansas City and try to find a job in a family practice, resign herself to a lifetime of medical school debt. Her girlfriends would be thrilled to have her back in town. Or maybe there was another rural community far, far away from Prairie that had a similar program for paying off student-loan debt in exchange for years of service. Either way, it was clear coming to Prairie had been a huge mistake.

She arched a brow at Gunnar, daring him to speak. Her heart gave a curious little jump when the muscle at his temple twitched. Her mouth turned up as she nodded once, slowly. “Yes. Yes, we have.”

Gloria clucked, shaking her head. “I’m gonna help Dottie shut things down. Holler if you need a refill.” She scurried back to the kitchen.

Any other day, the cream pie would have tasted heavenly. Today? The crust felt like sandpaper, and only the barest recognition of chocolate hit her brain. The longer they sat, the more the silence ate at her. Four-and-a-half years and the best he could do was give her the silent treatment?

Anger sparked to life deep in her belly. If that was how he wanted to play it, fine. Let him sit there, all big and broad, blue plaid shirt pulling tight across his chest, showing the faintest hint of the chiseled muscles beneath. She’d already explained herself, repeatedly. In frantic, teary voicemails and texts. He’d never responded, not once. Better she learned before she’d said I Do, that he couldn’t handle even the slightest emergency. Contrary to his silver-tongued promises, he wasn’t cut out to be a doctor’s husband.

Suzannah forced herself to chew slowly, to keep a lid on the anger that threatened to spill out like a volcano. She’d learned a few things from her crazy family, the first being that she who revealed feelings first, lost. The second, she who spoke first, lost. If Gunnar wanted to make this a battle of wills, game on. But this was about more than her, her conscience pricked, and whatever battles she fought, needed to be fought with that in mind.

For now, her questions would have to remain unanswered. Her hurt, buried and re-examined at a later date. She didn’t need to reveal her feelings to Gunnar at all. She owed him nothing. Drawing up her courage, she laid down her fork, then dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. Then she placed both hands on the table, pushed back her chair and stood, resolve straightening her spine to an iron rod. Once again, gratitude for her height washed over her. There was power in her stature, and she needed every scrap she could get right now.

“My full name is Suzannah Marie Harper Winslow.”

Gunnar’s eyes widened a fraction.

“You’ve probably heard of my father, Orrin Winslow, one of the biggest real estate developers and business investors in the Midwest?” She rarely disclosed that bit of information, preferring to live a more anonymous life, far away from the media attention he enjoyed nearly as much as the money he seemed to create out of thin air. Gunnar started to speak, but she held up her hand. He didn’t deserve any other explanation. “There’s nothing more to discuss. The board will have my resignation in the morning.” Squaring her shoulders, she spun on her heel and marched out of the diner.