From Good Guy To Groom
Tracy Madison
FALLING IN LOVE IS THE BEST MEDICINE!A summer in Steamboat Springs could be just what the doctor ordered for injured trauma nurse Andrea Caputo . . . especially when she meets her sexy, deeply caring physical therapist. Ryan Bradshaw has a unique, hands’ on approach to healing–inside and out.Ryan was looking for a fresh start in this scenic Colorado town. Now he has a new mission possible. It’s an undeniable thrill taking Andi horseback riding and slow dancing together. Doesn’t this beautiful, independent woman who has never relied on anyone but herself know that no matter what happens, he’ll always be there to catch her? All Andi has to do is trust in their growing feelings and take that leap of faith with him. Then the sky’s the limit!
Doubt flooded her features. “If I even can dance, that is.”
“Baby, you definitely can. Let me show you.”
Still, Andi hesitated, but not for long. A few seconds at most passed before that stubborn gleam hit her eyes, and she nodded again. Carefully, she pushed out of her chair and stood, reached for his hand and, ignoring her cane, allowed him to lead her to the center of the enclosed area. To the dance floor, where there were already several people dancing. “I’m nervous,” she admitted in a low, barely audible voice. “I don’t want to fall.”
“I won’t let you fall.” Whether it was fate or coincidence or something else entirely, he couldn’t say, but the band finished their upbeat song and moved on to a slower one. A song meant for couples. And finally, Ryan pulled this woman he worried about, thought about, wondered about … dreamed of, into his arms. “Trust me on that, if nothing else.”
The Colorado Fosters:
They’d do anything for each other … and for love!
From Good Guy to Groom
Tracy Madison
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TRACY MADISON is an award-winning author who makes her home in northwestern Ohio. As a wife and a mother, her days are filled with love, laughter and many cups of coffee. She often spends her nights awake and at the keyboard, bringing her characters to life and leading them toward their well-deserved happily-ever-after, one word at a time. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at tracy@tracymadison.com (mailto:tracy@tracymadison.com).
To the many good guys I am fortunate enough to have in my life. You fill my world with light.
Contents
Cover (#u7f81e17a-6dae-5949-ab48-a1f94f646531)
Introduction (#ud5ff9b3d-c726-5fbf-a8c9-c94d4c667122)
Title Page (#uba54443d-f238-5b23-84a8-4d790cc2a55a)
About the Author (#ub1a78d39-a600-5fc1-aa18-b96fb3c550ea)
Dedication (#uc6416fdf-1cf4-5585-b612-d57c654c994f)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u8defbf07-613e-5b4c-8c1e-4a57809cda7b)
Chaos. Panic. Screams of terror.
Huffing short, heavy breaths, Andrea Caputo used her hands as leverage to push herself across the hard, cold floor, trying to get out of the line of fire. How many others had been shot? She didn’t know, could barely see—let alone think—due to the pain exploding throughout her entire right leg. One bullet to the femur, she guessed, and one to the tibia.
Both bones were likely shattered, and, due to the amount of blood, one of those bullets had hit an artery. Which meant she was in even more trouble.
If she made it through this moment of pure hell, her future would include several surgeries, a long recovery and months, if not years, of physical therapy. And Lord, she’d take it all. Happily. If only she survived long enough to get there. Please let me survive.
Okay. Okay. In order to survive, she had to get out of the damn hallway and into the closest trauma room, where she’d call 911. Chances were high that someone had already made the call, but what if everyone else thought the same and help wasn’t on the way?
The madman with the gun would continue to shoot his way through the trauma center until doctors and nurses and patients alike were dead. Unfair, maybe, to characterize an out-of-his-mind bereaved husband who blamed the hospital for his wife’s death and was now hell-bent on retribution as a madman, but with the blood, bedlam and horror engulfing the ER, the title fit.
Another booming shot. Another scream.
Not right. This wasn’t right. Juliana Memorial Hospital was, at its happiest, a place for healing and miracles, and, at its saddest, where people said goodbye to their loved ones. As a trauma nurse, Andi had experienced hectic shifts, slow shifts, heartbreaking moments and peaceful ones. After five years, she’d thought she’d seen it all. But this...this was a battlefield.
Why couldn’t she move faster? Focusing on the trauma room to her right, Andi fought against the dizziness and the fear that consumed her, and pulled together every ounce of strength she could to breach the few feet that lay between her and what she hoped would prove to be safe ground.
Please, please let this stop.
Now in the otherwise empty room, Andi reached for the bottom of the privacy curtain and yanked hard, sliding it about halfway across the bar before her strength evaporated. Good enough. It would have to be good enough. She didn’t have much left in her.
She fumbled for her phone, hit 911 and Send, and tried not to think of all the people around her who were hurt—possibly worse than she was—or dead. Tried not to remember the look on the attending physician’s face in the seconds before a bullet tore into his stomach.
Andi had not been able to help.
She’d tried. Her training and instinct had overtaken her shock and her fear, and she’d rushed toward the fallen doctor—her friend—but she’d gone down just as fast as he had, when the gunman turned on her and fired twice in quick succession. Andi didn’t know if he’d been aiming for her leg or if she’d simply been moving too fast for a direct hit to her chest or, like Hugh, her stomach. Didn’t matter. What did was that she hadn’t been able to get to Hugh, hadn’t even had the slimmest opportunity to try to save him.
In that group of minutes following her collapse, she didn’t remember anything except the seemingly endless screaming, the blast of gunfire, the excruciating pain that enveloped her leg and, within seconds, had magnified and was pulsating throughout her entire body. Pain like she’d never experienced before. Dizziness, blurred vision and then, for a blessed minute, numbness took over. Believe it or not, that was what got her moving again.
Numb was bad. Numb meant she was losing too much blood.
She’d looked at Hugh, whose prone body was several feet from where she’d been shot, and had made a decision. But what if she’d been wrong in her assessment? What if...? No. Surely, she’d been correct, that his pallor, unmoving chest and closed eyes meant that Hugh had bled out. Fast. Surely, he was already gone. She hadn’t left a dying man alone, had she?
No. She couldn’t think about that possibility now. Couldn’t.
Unreal. No. Surreal. Impossible that Hugh was dead. Impossible that such violence was happening in her hospital. Impossible that she’d been shot, and that others were hurt and dying around her. Impossible that she couldn’t do her job, what she was born to do, and try to help the injured. The most impossible of all, though, were the loud cracks of gunfire that continued to blast through Juliana Memorial Hospital’s trauma center. When would he stop?
When would someone stop him?
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” The voice, solid and sure and offering hope, slipped into the dense fog of Andi’s fear, her panic and disbelief.
“My name is Andrea Caputo and I’m a nurse at Juliana Memorial Hospital,” she said in as crisp and clear a manner as possible. “There is a gunman in the emergency room. He’s—” she cringed and gasped when the sound of another shot pierced her eardrums “—the widower of a patient we lost yesterday, and...and...people are hurt. People are dying. Send help.”
“Help is already there,” the female voice said. “Are you hurt?”
“I am. I think an artery was hit by...by the bullet, but if I can stanch the bleeding, I should be... I...I need to...to—” Words, thoughts...everything trailed off as black edged into Andi’s vision. She blinked, tried to force her brain to function, tried to stay conscious against the promise of painless oblivion. But the pull was just too appealing, and she started to sink.
“Andrea! Talk to me,” the operator said. “What do you need to do to stanch the bleeding? You’re a nurse, right? Walk me through the steps.”
The sharp command served to momentarily bring her to her senses. “I need to... A tourniquet would do it,” she mumbled. “There are supplies here. I just need to...find the strength to get to them. So tired. Just want to close my eyes for a second.”
“I have good news,” the operator said, her voice calm and collected. “The police have everything under control. You’re safe. Where are you in the emergency room, Andrea?”
“Trauma room four. I’m in number four, behind the...um—” what was the word? “—curtain. I’m behind the curtain, on the...um...floor.”
“Stay awake just a little longer, Andrea. Can you do that for me?”
She tried. She really did. But the force of keeping her eyes open and her mind alert proved impossible against the weight of her exhaustion. Soothing warmth surrounded her—a pool of tranquility promising relief—and Andi sighed in surrender and closed her eyes.
Chapter One (#u8defbf07-613e-5b4c-8c1e-4a57809cda7b)
Afternoon sunlight, bright and bold, saturated the cerulean sky and cast a golden glow on Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Snuggled in a valley, with the majestic Rocky Mountains standing sentry, the pure beauty of the picturesque city should have, if nothing else, brought a smile to Andi’s lips. It didn’t. Traveling had left her far too exhausted to care.
She craved peace, though, and maybe...just maybe she’d be able to find a grain of that here, miles away from Warwick, Rhode Island, and Juliana Memorial Hospital. Here, in her aunt Margaret and uncle Paul Foster’s home, she hoped to regain everything she’d lost. Mobility in her leg, serenity in her heart, a full night’s sleep without being awakened by nightmares that echoed with the blast of a shotgun and screams of terror. Pleas for help.
Six months had elapsed since the tragedy that had taken four lives—including Hugh’s and the bereaved-husband-turned-crazy-gunman’s—and injured twelve others. One-hundred-and-eighty-odd days had passed since Andi had slipped into unconsciousness in trauma room four, mere minutes before help arrived. Due to the 911 operator, she’d been found quickly.
Surgeries were required to put her shattered bones back together, and an infection had set in, causing muscle damage. If she’d been a tad unluckier, she could have lost her leg. Reports to the police and hospital board were given when she could barely think let alone form the appropriate words. Newspaper, magazine and television reporters had called, asking—almost begging—for interviews. Add in the well-meaning but nonstop flood of family and friends and coworkers offering their love, shock and support...well, getting from one minute to the next had proved a herculean effort. So, yes, she was exhausted. To her very soul, even.
She needed to be somewhere she could heal, inside and out.
Oh, her parents and sister were terrific. Ken and Colleen Caputo were loving, devoted parents, and Andrea’s younger sister, Audrey, was just as wonderful. The Caputo family enjoyed a close relationship, but Andi had needed...space. They were all just trying too hard.
When Aunt Margaret—Andi’s mother’s sister—had called and offered respite in Steamboat Springs, the idea had soothed like a salve on a burn. Andi had accepted instantly, and after an early start this morning and two layovers, she’d finally arrived. Yet, she couldn’t summon the energy to enjoy the beauty of her surroundings. Tomorrow, maybe.
Her aunt had picked her up from the airport, hugged her close and kissed her cheek, and other than asking how she felt, how her flights were, she had stayed mercifully quiet during their drive. The radio, turned to an easy-listening station, played softly in the background. For the first portion of the drive, Andi had closed her eyes, breathed and tried to ignore the throbbing in her leg. The remaining portion, she’d just stared out the window.
Now, as they turned into the long, tree-lined driveway of the large mountain-cabin-style home that Andi had wonderful memories of from a childhood visit, her aunt said, “Here we are, safe and sound. I’ll have Paul get your luggage and take it to your room. Are you hungry?”
“I...guess I’m more tired than hungry,” Andi said, pressing her fingers against her temples. “But a headache seems to be building fast, so maybe—”
“What you need,” Margaret said, releasing the key from the ignition, “is a little food, a big glass of lemonade and a room with no one else in it. Maybe a nap. Don’t worry—” she reached over to pat Andi’s knee “—I’ve warned the rest of the family to stay away until Saturday to give you time to settle in and find your bearings. We’re having a cookout in your honor.”
Bless her aunt for the foresight of holding everyone off. That gave Andi four full days to get used to being here instead of at home. “Thank you. I’m excited, of course, to see my cousins and meet their families, but I’m... Yes, Saturday should be good.” And if it wasn’t, she’d have to make do. Recalling the email she’d received yesterday, she said, “Oh. The physical therapist I’ll be working with here, Ryan Bradshaw, wants to meet tomorrow. Can you give me a ride or...?”
Important, she knew, to get right back on the healing path, but she wouldn’t have minded twenty-four hours of just existing here before jumping back into rehabilitation. Hopefully, tomorrow’s meeting would be more of a question-and-answer session about her treatment up until now. Even though she’d made sure Ryan had received copies of her medical records, he’d have questions. They always did. Sometimes things were missed in the record keeping.
Before Margaret could answer, Paul stepped from the house, his smile wide and welcoming as he almost sprinted toward the car. More greetings. More hugs. More pretending she was normal before she could escape into the solitude she so, so needed right now. Inhaling a large breath, she reached into the backseat for her cane and opened the passenger-side door, forced herself from the car and plastered on her I’m-okay smile.
“Darling! It’s so good to see you!” Paul, a tall, lithe man said as he approached her, arms wide open. Ten seconds later, she was embraced in a tight hug. “Been far too long.”
“Yes,” she said faintly. “Too long. When you visited us in Rhode Island for my parents’ anniversary party, I was what...sixteen?”
“Something along those lines.” Retreating, he gave her a long look. Nodded. “Go on in. We gave you the guest bedroom on the first floor. Just follow the hallway to the end. Second door on the right. I’ll bring in your luggage and leave it outside the door for you to get when you’re ready to deal with unpacking. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect,” she said, again so grateful for the simple yet powerful understanding and acceptance of her aunt and uncle. “Absolutely perfect. I just need a few hours, I think, to—”
“You take as long as you need,” Paul said. “Go. Rest. We have all summer to catch up.”
Yes, yes they did. Three blissful months to finish repairing all of the damage dealt to her on that cold winter afternoon. Three months to wake up, smell the flowers, see the sun and feel the wind on her face. Three months to...start living again. To feel real again.
* * *
Steaming hot coffee, toasted everything bagel with butter and cream cheese and the breathtaking—often gut-kicking—view of the Rocky Mountains made for an excellent start to the day. Ryan Bradshaw stretched his legs and sipped his coffee, savored his bagel and congratulated himself on the wisdom of buying this particular property close to three years ago.
The decision to move to Steamboat Springs, Colorado, from Denver had been a surprisingly quick and firm one. His folks had already lived here for some time, and his visits to them had made him realize how he longed for a less hectic daily existence in a place exactly like Steamboat Springs. His thoughts then had been that he’d eventually relocate once he and Leah were married. Unfortunately, their engagement had come to an abrupt end.
The right choice for both of them, but without the glue of their relationship keeping Ryan in Denver, he felt the need to start over somewhere new. And thank God he had, because he had never loved life more. Everything about Steamboat Springs—the views, the people, the lifestyle, the skiing—fit him like a well-worn pair of jeans.
Even his zeal for his career had been revitalized, after too many years of fighting burnout. In Denver, he’d worked endless hours for the hospital, with a few private clients on the side when the opportunity presented itself. Here, he’d jumped into the deep end immediately by starting a private practice clinic in this gorgeous house he’d bought.
Due to some fortunate investing over the years, he had the funds to do so, and it hadn’t taken long to turn the lower level of the A-frame into a clean, functional therapy clinic. The upstairs of the house—including the deck he now sat at—was his personal living space, and he’d managed to successfully keep the two areas completely separate.
While he still worked more than he probably should, the struggle with becoming overextended had long since faded. A combination of the environment and being his own boss. Oh, he still put in ten to fifteen hours per week at the hospital’s rehabilitation unit, but that only made good sense. Doing so allowed him to be a larger part of the community that was now his, and his relationship there gave him access to services and equipment he couldn’t easily obtain on his own. A win-win, every way Ryan looked at it. Another plus? He loved what he did.
The mix of his clientele here was much the same as in Denver. Although he did have a greater percentage of folks rehabilitating from sports injuries—skiing, snowboarding, white-water rafting, you name it—he still had those coming out of one surgery or another, fighting illness or disease that had weakened their muscles, or had had an accident that wasn’t sports related. Back in Denver, though, his clients had also frequently included trauma survivors.
People who’d survived any type of a vicious, purposeful trauma—Ryan refused to call them victims—tended to require a different type of focus on his part. Sure, every person he worked with demanded his complete attention on their full selves—not just their bodies—but, on the other side of being hurt or almost killed by another’s hand, a certain type of shutting down often occurred. In the heart and soul. In the way the world is viewed.
In feeling safe.
Today—in just about an hour now—his first trauma-survivor client in Steamboat Springs would arrive. Andrea Caputo, from Warwick, Rhode Island. A trauma nurse, which could prove challenging on its own, as medical professionals tended to trust their experiences and training over Ryan’s, at least in the beginning stages of the relationship. She had witnessed a coworker being shot and killed, and had sustained two gunshot wounds to her upper and lower right leg.
Ryan had thoroughly studied her file. He understood her medical history, as well as her current status, as much as he possibly could from her records. What he didn’t know, what he wouldn’t know until she arrived and they spent some time together, was her mental and emotional state. This woman had already trekked an arduous road, but she had a hell of a long way to go. She’d need some fortitude, courage and a kick-ass positive attitude to get herself all the way back.
With every one of Ryan’s clients, that was always his end goal: to bring them completely back or, when that couldn’t happen for physical reasons, as close to complete as was within reach. He hoped, genuinely, this Andrea Caputo was prepared and had already found all the strength she would need. But if not, he’d get her there.
Because that was what he did.
* * *
Andi stared at her feet, unwilling to meet the direct gaze of her new physical therapist. Ryan Bradshaw’s dark brown eyes seemed able to see right through her skull and into her brain. She disliked the sensation immediately, even though she knew the feeling bordered on ludicrous. No one could read her thoughts. No one knew what really went on inside her head.
Even a man with penetrating eyes and a demeanor to match.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It seems I’m more tired than I realized from yesterday’s travel. My...ah...mind isn’t functioning properly. Could you please repeat your question?”
“Sure can. I asked about your sleep,” Ryan said, his voice low and smooth. “Specifically, how many hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep you’re getting each night. Doesn’t have to be exact...just give me a ballpark figure.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Shrugging, Andi lifted her chin and looked straight past the man, to the fluffy white clouds outside the window. “Maybe five? Six?”
The truth hovered closer to the three-hour mark, but her white lie should stop the “What’s keeping you awake?” question she preferred not to answer. Her nightmares were hers to battle with and had zilch to do with the physical recovery of her leg.
“Five to six, huh?” Again, that look. He didn’t argue, though, just scrawled something into her file. Probably that she wasn’t that great a liar. He went on to ask her a few questions about her diet, which she answered honestly, and then a more in-depth interview regarding her pain level, where she was at in her daily exercises and how she felt about both.
“How do you think I feel about almost constant throbbing pain and pushing myself to the point of exhaustion every day?” she snapped. She hadn’t meant to—not really, anyway—but she was tired of being asked how she felt. Not only in regards to her leg, but with everything.
What did it matter how she felt? What had happened, happened. She had two choices: push through and hope to find some semblance of her prior self, her prior life, or...what? Give up, stop fighting, accept this new, frightened version of herself? Never. Never.
“I don’t know,” he said patiently. Calmly. “That’s why I asked.”
Unshed tears burned behind her eyes. They wouldn’t fall, she knew. She hadn’t cried once since last December. But the weight, the fire and the ache of those tears remained. “I’m fine,” she said, going for brisk. “I have and will continue to do whatever needs to be done. I think that’s what counts, what you should be focused on, and not my feelings.”
Standing, Ryan closed her file. “That’s good to know, Andrea. But my focus is on anything that will help me help you regain strength and mobility. And, yes, in addition to your physical state, that focus includes your mental and emotional well-being. How you feel, what you think. How you’re sleeping, and if you’re not sleeping well...why?”
Of course. Attitude was a part of the deal. That whole-body-health idea, which Andi had always bought into. Still did, truth be told. But...her attitude wasn’t Ryan Bradshaw’s business. Or her family’s, or her friends’ or...anyone outside of her. She’d stuck to that line from day one, mostly because she found burdening others, leaning on others, challenging in the best of circumstances. And this did not fall into the “best of” in any category.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, using her hated cane for stability in order to stand. “I’ll discuss my physical rehabilitation with you, be here for our scheduled appointments on time and work my ass off. I’ll do whatever you ask as far as exercises and strength training go, and, if deemed necessary, will consult with additional physicians about my future prognosis.” Here, she stopped and dragged in a breath, straightened her shoulders and lifted her gaze to his. “But I won’t, now or ever, discuss my personal and private emotions or thoughts.”
Or her nightmares. Or how a loud noise—any loud noise—almost brought her to her knees. Or how she blamed herself for Hugh’s death. She should’ve gotten to him. Should’ve kept trying to get to him instead of scurrying her own hide to safety. Nicked artery or not.
“That’s totally your call, but I won’t stop asking.”
Obviously, this man had a stubborn streak. Good thing, she supposed, for the type of work he’d chosen. Some remorse crept in for the line she’d drawn so abruptly in the sand. Hell, they’d barely met. Smarter, though, to make sure Ryan understood her barriers from the get-go. They’d be working together twice a week for the entire summer.
“Sure. Ask away, but I won’t start answering.”
“Hmm. Again, whatever you choose to share is your call. I won’t push. But you should know that I’m a very patient man. I’m also very persistent. Especially,” he said as he walked toward his office door, “when I have a client’s best interest at heart.”
A thousand-and-one rebuttals flew to the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them all. Patient and persistent and stubborn. Well, she’d meet them with her own brand of stubbornness, no problem. Because frankly, the only thing that kept her standing, kept her feeling even a modicum of safety, was keeping her demons to herself. Letting them out seemed dangerous.
Too dangerous. As if her nightmares, fears, inner panic would somehow morph into a two-headed, scaly, ready-to-eat-her-alive monster if she spoke so much as a syllable of them to another soul.
“I suppose we know where each other is coming from,” she said, following the path his long, muscular, functioning legs had just taken. “When should I be here tomorrow?”
“Same time, but we’re not done yet. Need to put those muscles to work before they forget what they’re there for.” A grin teased at the corners of his mouth, softening the firm line of his jaw and the steady, determined set of his eyes. “You missed yesterday and the day before. As I’m sure you know, forward motion is incredibly important.”
“Yes, but I assumed today would be limited to talking and going over a plan. I didn’t bring...wear...appropriate clothes and...tomorrow is good enough. One more day won’t make that much of a difference. I’m tired and...no. I can’t stay any longer today.”
She could. She just didn’t want to. Not when merely standing so close to this man—a stranger, for crying out loud—had her heart pumping in overdrive and sweat beading down the back of her neck. And a strange fluttering deep in her stomach. All uncomfortable. All unnecessary. By tomorrow, she’d have these reactions tucked away and under control. Hidden beneath the surface, where he wouldn’t notice.
“I have clothes you can use, and really, another day makes a huge difference.” Angling his arms across his chest, he waited for her to argue or agree. She did neither, just waited right along with him. “I can’t force you, Andrea. You have to want to get better.”
Damn it. She did want to get better.
She just wanted to start the process here in Steamboat Springs tomorrow. After a day of peace and quiet. She yearned to sit on her aunt and uncle’s porch and soak up the sun, read a book, get lost in something other than her thoughts, herself. Today, she didn’t want to spend another minute thinking about her leg or the long, long road that still lay ahead.
Today, she just wanted to...be normal. Even if she had to pretend.
So, she stuck out her chin and shook her head. “I have every intention of getting better, Mr. Bradshaw. The want is there, don’t you worry. But I can’t stay any longer this morning. I’m sorry.”
He stared at her, and she stared right back. Finally, he nodded and sharp disappointment crossed his features. Why did she hate that? She didn’t even know this man. “Okay, Andrea,” he said. “I’ll let you win this one, but not another. No more skipped days.”
“Call me Andi, please. Only my mother refers to me as Andrea, and, sure,” she said, hobbling past him, her goal the exit, “no more skipped days. See you tomorrow.”
He didn’t respond, which was for the better, so she kept at her slow and steady pace until she’d pushed through the door into the outside. Late-morning sun warmed the top of her head and her shoulders. She breathed in the bordering-on-cool air and tried to release the tension in her muscles, the slight ball of nausea circulating in her stomach, tried desperately to locate that seed of peace that would, once found, grow into a sturdy, towering oak.
No luck. Not yet, anyhow, but maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Or, hell, in a month or two. She’d get there. She had to.
Sighing, Andi eased herself onto one of the high-seated wooden benches scattered along the smooth stone porch surrounding the lower level of the house and called her aunt, who had dropped her off a little over an hour ago. Margaret had decided to run some errands while Andi did her thing here. She’d offered her the use of her car, but, while Andi had driven once since being given the go-ahead to do so, she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea. Her weakened leg worried her, especially here, in a location where she hadn’t spent her entire life and did not know the roads, the landmarks or...anything, really.
Yet another goal, one more activity she used to take for granted. Add that to her past ability to sleep fully and soundly pretty much every night, her confidence in herself and, yes, even her place in the world.
Closing her eyes, she sighed again. Truth was, she now knew to never, ever again, take anything in life—from the simple to the complex—for granted.
Chapter Two (#u8defbf07-613e-5b4c-8c1e-4a57809cda7b)
“That was excellent work today,” Ryan said to Andi the next morning. She’d arrived on time, prepared and—seemingly, anyway—focused. Her refusal yesterday had surprised him. Concerned him some, too, but today proved that on the physical rehabilitation front, her determination was as solid as she’d claimed. He’d put her through the ropes, pushed her a mite harder than he’d even planned, and she hadn’t complained once. “I’m impressed.”
As to the rest of her rehabilitation, well...he had gained enough experience over the years to know that once they’d worked together for a while, she’d let certain truths slip. Maybe on purpose, maybe by accident, but eventually, he’d learn more about her sleeping habits, her thoughts, how she generally coped in her everyday world. And once he had some idea of those facts, he’d have a much stronger sense of the complete picture. Of how to help, what she needed.
Of what he could do to strengthen more than just her leg.
Shoving a long chunk of damp auburn hair to the side, she fixed her brown-eyed gaze on him and a small, tentative smile appeared. “Thank you. I think. Tonight, I might be cursing you.”
“That’s normal. I’d be...shocked if you didn’t. We’ll take it a little easier next time. Today,” he said with a wink, “I wanted to see what you were made of.”
She winked back, which came as a nice surprise. It also served as a glimpse—a tiny one, without doubt—of the woman beneath the trauma. The woman she’d once been. Her lips twitched into just about the cutest damn grin Ryan had ever seen before she said, “That’s an easy question to answer. I’m made of steel. And now, some plates and screws, not to mention a few intramedullary nails. I think I’m still more human than robot, though!”
In this moment, in addition to the exhaustion, she appeared soft and female, warm and lovely, and a hot wash of attraction suddenly kicked him straight in his gut. Hard and fast and...unexpected. He just hadn’t felt that for anyone since Leah. Hadn’t wanted to, either.
The fact that he had, out of the blue, for this woman he’d just met—one of his clients, no less—seemed dangerous. Interest lurked there, too. Curiosity. A desire to know more, to investigate and see if his body already knew something his brain hadn’t yet locked into.
“Definitely more human than robot,” he said, holding his hands out toward her. “Come on now, let’s get you up and over to the table so I can massage out the kinks.”
Grasping her hands, he helped her stand, making sure he supported her weight until she’d found stability. With his arm around her waist so she wouldn’t require her cane, they walked across the room to the massage table. And every step of the way, that buzz in his gut grew stronger and more persistent. More insistent that he needed to pay close attention to this woman.
Ryan shook off the sensation and, once Andrea was situated properly, rolled the loose band of her shorts up so he could start at her thigh. “Talk to me,” he said as he gently kneaded his fingers into the damaged muscle, knowing even this would cause some discomfort, if not outright pain. “Tell me anything you want. Trivial or important. Just talk, makes this go faster.”
Silence enveloped the room, and for a minute Ryan doubted she’d play along. But then, she said, “My aunt is having a barbecue get-together thing on Saturday to welcome me. My cousins and their spouses, kids, will all be there. And all told, there’s a lot of them. I don’t know my cousins very well. I mean, we’re Facebook friends. But...a lot of people. A lot of talking. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.” A small, whispery sigh emerged. “Seems pointless.”
“What does? The food? Spending time with family?” Ryan had a strong idea of what she meant, but he wanted to see if she’d explain, if she’d let him in that much. “Or maybe you just have a problem with delicious grilled meats and vegetables?”
She laughed and, oh, what a sound. Joyful and spontaneous and...real. Or so Ryan thought, anyway. “I’m actually quite the fan of grilled anything. It’s the...questions, I guess. The constant well-meaning questions about what happened, how I’m feeling, and with so many people there, I’ll likely have to repeat the same answers a dozen times.”
“Make it simple,” he said, moving his hands down her leg, applying pressure in gentle yet firm increments as he did. If she winced or showed any sign of too much discomfort, he lightened the pressure. “Just say you’d rather not talk about the incident, but you’re feeling stronger every day. Or whatever word you’d prefer. Better. Healthier. Happier. Take your pick. I doubt your family will insist on more explanation than you’re willing to give.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know them well enough to say.”
“Invite me, then,” Ryan said. Hmm. Where had that come from? He didn’t know, hadn’t pre-thought the idea out, but it settled nice enough. “I also happen to be a fan of grilled anything and better yet, I can act as your buffer. Folks will be too curious about me to ask questions.”
“Really? You’d do that?” As she spoke, she pulled herself to a sitting position. That was fine, he’d done enough for the moment. Her muscles needed to rest some now. “Must be for the food, because I can’t imagine this is a service you offer all of your clients.”
“No,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel, “acting as a buffer is not a service I typically offer. And it isn’t about the food, as good as it will be, I’m sure.”
“Then...why?”
“Why ask why?” he said, not sure of the answer himself. Other than he wanted to be there, at Andi’s side. Pay attention to his instincts. “Just accept and...invite me to the darn barbecue already. I have Saturday free, surprisingly, which is somewhat unusual as of late.”
“You need to tell me why,” she said, her voice and shoulders firm. “Because I’m not a...a charity case, and while having a buffer sounds appealing, it certainly isn’t necessary.”
“I like barbecues. I like meeting new people. Most of all,” he said, while looking her straight in the eyes, “I think we’ll have a stronger working relationship if we get to know each other a little better. We’ll be at this all summer, Andi. Why not become friends in the process?”
One blink, then another. A slight, somewhat dubious shake of her head. “I know what you’re up to. You’re still angling to get inside my head. Friends or not, that won’t happen. But as long as you can accept that, then why not? You’re welcome to come on Saturday.”
“Sure thing,” he said as he walked over to where they’d left her cane. When he returned with cane in hand, he grinned. “But why don’t we set that concern aside for now? Even if I ask you more questions about what goes on inside your head—and I’m likely to at some point—don’t forget that you are in control. You never have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” She slid to the edge of the table and tentatively stood, reached for the cane. “So. Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”
Hmm. For her to forget their appointment on Friday meant she was rattled on some level, even if her demeanor and voice didn’t state so. “Friday first,” he reminded her. “Same time, same place. Basically the same regimen, though I plan on making a few alterations.”
Light pink coated her cheeks. “Right. Friday first, of course. I...I’ll be here.” Then, with as much swiftness as she could manage, she made for the exit. Much as she had yesterday.
Sighing, Ryan wiped down the table and, for the moment, put his curiosity and attraction toward Andrea Caputo on the back burner. He had a full day in front of him. His next client, Robert Alvarez, was set to arrive in fifteen minutes. Every bit of his focus had to be centered on work, on his clients’ needs and not on a lovely auburn-haired woman who had—in very short order—breathed life into a part of him that he hadn’t even realized was asleep.
Interesting. Compelling and curious and, perhaps, somewhat exciting. Descriptions that pretty much summed up the woman herself, at least from Ryan’s perspective. Later, when the day was done, he’d give more thought to Andi, to his reaction toward her, and decide what he wanted to do about both. Until then, he had plenty to keep him busy.
* * *
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, with barely a cloud in the sky. Andrea had hoped for rain. A booming thunderstorm, complete with golf-ball-sized hail. Anything, really, to postpone the barbecue or, better yet, cancel it altogether. Of course, canceling would require a hell of a lot more than your basic thunderstorm.
Armageddon might do the trick.
She’d never been one for socializing with large groups of people, even before last December. Oh, she used to be able to summon the proper amount of energy to appear comfortable, even extroverted, when attending parties, weddings and the like. But she would then require a good chunk of the next day to be by herself to recharge her batteries. Now, though, the very thought of the amount of energy she would need to get through this day flattened her.
Mostly, she just wanted to be left alone in this bedroom with its fluttery white curtains and pretty eyelet bedcover, the walls painted a relaxing, barely blue and the dark, wood furnishings. She wanted to sit in the chair by the window and read a book, listen to some music or maybe doze off. If she could be so lucky.
But that would have to wait for tomorrow.
Sighing, Andi stared in the closet and tried to decide what to wear. Shorts would make the most sense, as the day ahead promised to be a warm one, but between the scars and the loss of muscle tone in her right leg, she would just feel self-conscious. And if she wanted to avoid too many questions, showing off her injuries seemed foolhardy at best.
One of her sundresses, then. Flipping through the half dozen or so she’d brought, she selected the turquoise-and-white tie-dyed dress her mother had bought her last week. The skirt was long—the hem hovering right above her ankles—and the color suited her pale skin and auburn hair. After getting dressed, she slipped on a pair of white sandals, brushed through her hair one last time and touched up her makeup. There. Done.
The slam of a car door outside, followed quickly by another, told her that her family was arriving. Nervous tension turned her stomach upside down, and her palms grew sweaty. Andi closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and reminded herself that these people were here to welcome her, not give her the third degree. They weren’t her enemies.
Right. Somewhat sturdier, she grasped her cane and exited the bedroom, hoping that the day would pass quickly and with ease. That some unknown something—a sound, a question, a memory—wouldn’t send her into a panic attack in front of her cousins, their spouses and their kids. In front of Ryan, mostly. She should’ve told him no when he’d invited himself. Had meant to, right on the spot, and again yesterday before their session was over.
Instead, she’d agreed and given him the address. Why, exactly, she wasn’t sure, other than his offer had given her a small amount of comfort. Maybe because he was more a known entity at this point in time than any of her cousins and, therefore, increased her overall sense of security. Or maybe it was as simple as he’d said—his presence would decrease the number of questions she’d have to answer—and really, that wasn’t nothing. It was a huge something.
Voices from the kitchen emanated down the hallway as Andi slowly made her way. She heard Margaret and Paul talking to another male and female—likely one of their sons and his wife—along with the chatter of a little boy asking about...root beer? She’d made it almost to the threshold when another pair of voices were added to the mix, but this time she recognized her cousin Haley as being one of them. They’d actually spoken on the phone several times recently.
Andi liked Haley. Her comfort level increased tenfold just knowing her female cousin was already here. Even so, she still had to fight the urge to run back to her room and lock the door and burrow herself under the bedcovers. She could do this. It was a barbecue, for crying out loud. Not an execution. If she could remember that, she’d be fine.
Straightening her shoulders, she entered the sunny white-and-yellow kitchen with her trademark, fake-as-margarine smile in place, and said, “Hi, everyone! I think I heard something about root beer? Hoping I did, as I love root beer. It might be my most favorite soda.”
“It’s mine, too!” said a sandy-haired boy, probably around five or six years of age. He grinned. “Daddy said that today, since it’s a special day, I can drink lots and lots of root beer.” Stepping forward, he held out his hand toward Andi. “My name is Henry. I’m almost six!”
“Hi, Henry. My name is Andrea, but most everyone calls me Andi,” she said, shaking his hand. This kid amused her in all the best ways. “And really? Almost six? I would’ve thought you were thirteen, at least. Later, let’s have a root beer and talk. You can tell me your secret to staying so young. We can become millionaires together and buy a root beer company!”
“I don’t have any secrets! I really am almost six! Sort of. I’m closer to my next birthday than my last birthday, so that counts.” Henry scrunched up his mouth and then laughed. “You’re teasing, that’s all. You didn’t really think I was thirteen.”
“Maybe not, but I have a feeling you’re a lot smarter than the average five-year-old.”
“Oh, he is,” said a thin-as-a-reed brunette woman, smiling widely at Henry. “Too smart for our own good, most days. It’s so nice to meet you, Andi. I’m Chelsea, this little tyke’s mom—” she tousled the top of Henry’s head “—and Dylan’s wife. We’ve all been looking forward to today.”
“Really? That’s...nice, and, of course, I’m happy to—”
That was all she got out of her mouth before she was pulled into a tight hug from Dylan, followed by Haley. She barely regained her balance when Reid and Cole, two women and two toddlers swarmed in the back door. And then...well, bedlam.
Talking and laughing, more hugs and more introductions. Through it all, one fact became clear: the Foster siblings weren’t only a gregarious group, they were very good-looking specimens of the human race, which naturally, Andi had already known. But seeing them up close and personal for the first time in so many years brought that reality home.
Reid, the eldest, and Cole, the youngest son, greatly resembled their father, with their almost-black hair and eyes, while Dylan, the middle son, and Haley, the youngest of the Foster siblings, took after their mother, with hair very similar in color to Andi’s and green eyes. They were a gorgeous crew, no doubt about it.
And she tried—oh, did she ever—to keep up with the jokes, the roughhousing, the mash of chatter that came from every direction, but soon found that impossible. Too many people. Too much noise. It was all just...too much. Easing backward, she leaned against the wall and slowed her breathing, stared at the refrigerator and silently counted to ten. Far too early in the day to allow her anxiety free rein. She wouldn’t make it another hour if she did.
Her aunt walked over, stopping in front of her, and placed her hand on her arm, saying, “Honey? Are you okay? You seem a tad overwhelmed.”
“A little, maybe, but I’m okay.”
“Maybe I should’ve put this off another week, to give you more time to find your bearings,” Margaret said, watching her closely. “If you need to sneak away to be by yourself for a while, do so. No one will think anything of it if you do.”
“I will. Right now, I’m just trying to remember everyone’s names.” She hadn’t been, but doing so might be enough to halt her nervous energy.
Moving her gaze around the room, she stopped at Reid’s wife, the pixieish redhead. Daisy? Yes. And their children were the adorable toddler twins, Alexander and Charlotte. Cole was married to the slender blonde with cover-girl beauty. Her name was Rachel. They didn’t have any children yet, the same as Haley, who was married to the very tall, very muscular Gavin. Rounding out the group, of course, was Dylan and Chelsea and their son, Henry.
“How’d you do?” Margaret asked. “Need any reminders?”
“Nope. I actually remember all the names.” Andi exhaled a breath and some of her tension eased. Of course she could get through the day. So long as she remembered to breathe. “Crazy, huh?”
“Not really. Even as a child, you had an excellent memory. So did your sister.”
True enough, Andi supposed, but some things she wished she could forget. “Well,” she said, “I’m just glad to have the names down.”
Margaret reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Andi’s cheek. “You’re safe here, my darling. Everyone in this house only wants the best for you. Try to keep that in mind when you start to feel uncomfortable.”
“I know. I will.”
A sharp whistle cut through the chatter, forcing everyone to turn toward the source—Paul—as he started assigning tasks related to the grill, setting up the outdoor tables and extracurricular activities. Basketball was mentioned, as was horseshoes. It seemed that the barbecue, and everything that went with, was getting started.
Within a matter of seconds, the kitchen emptied of the adult males, and Margaret, stepping away from Andi, exhaled a whoosh of air. “Finally,” she said with a chuckle. “Now, I have room to navigate. Haley, can you finish the potato salad? Potatoes are in the fridge, along with everything else you’ll need. And Chelsea...if you don’t mind, could you and Henry fill the cooler with ice? The cases of soda, water and juice are already out back.”
“What else needs done?” asked Rachel, stepping forward.
“Um, let me think.” Margaret tapped her finger on her lips. “Oh, the tomatoes, onions and so forth...can you slice those for the burgers? And the barbecue sauce, for the ribs. I need to—”
The doorbell pealed, interrupting Margaret’s speech and sending Andi’s pulse into overdrive. Ryan had arrived. Suddenly, Andi wished she’d taken a bit more time with her hair, her makeup. Maybe worn some jewelry, and had she sprayed on any perfume?
Oh, Lord. This wasn’t a date.
Doing her utmost best to shake off the resurgence of her nerves, she said to the room at large, “That’s Ryan. I’ll let him in. And then, whatever I can do to help, I’ll be more than happy to. Anything at all. Whatever you need!”
“Nope. For one, you’re the guest of honor, which mean you won’t lift a finger.” Margaret’s eyes narrowed as if challenging Andi to present an argument. “Also, Ryan hasn’t met any of us before and, as a group, we can be a little overwhelming to newcomers. And, sweetheart, he’s your guest. Pay attention to him, introduce him to everyone. Mostly, though, just relax and have fun. That is one of the reasons you’re here, is it not?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean—” She broke off as her aunt’s eyes narrowed another degree. “You win. I’ll rest on my lazy behind all day while everyone else does all the work.”
“Perfect. That’s exactly what I want for you.” Margaret beamed a smile before pointing toward the front of the house. “Now, go greet your guest before he thinks we’re rude and ignoring him.”
Nodding, Andi inched her way toward the door and flat out disregarded the zealous pounding in her chest, her once-again damp palms and the swirling excitement permeating her blood. None of that meant anything. Other than that she was nervous, as she had been all week about the barbecue in general. These were symptoms of anxiety, not...attraction or genuine affection.
Couldn’t be. She knew almost nothing about Ryan Bradshaw. Besides, for the next three months, he was her physical therapist. The last thing she needed was to mistake his intense focus on her and her well-being as anything other than professional interest and care.
Logical. Rational. Sensible.
Unfortunately, the second she opened the door and laid on eyes on him, her brain stopped thinking. Because, Lord, the man looked good. Dark hair ruffled from the wind, equally dark eyes that seemed to see right through her—filled with warmth and compassion and a type of concentration that Andi felt to her core—and a beaming, bright smile. His jeans fit his long, lean form in such a way that seemed to state they were made for his body alone, and his pale yellow short-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, showing the white T-shirt he wore beneath.
Yeah, he looked good. Enough so that Andi realized she just might be in trouble.
* * *
Prickly. Nervous. Uncomfortable. All words Ryan could use to describe Andi’s behavior since the second he’d arrived. Whether it was his presence or the gathering in general that had raised her anxiety level, or, he supposed, the combination of both, he couldn’t say. But she held her body tense, almost rigid, and while she’d kept up on her end of the conversation with him and various family members, her voice held a forced quality.
She also hadn’t truly, freely smiled even once. He liked her smile—her real smile—and wanted to see it again. So, he decided his mission for the rest of the day was to get her to relax enough that she’d be able to smile. Even just once. If he could pull a true-blue laugh from her, as well? Better yet. It seemed of utmost importance to give her a happy, carefree moment.
Several years ago now, his only sibling, his sister Nicole, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. As the disease and the treatment for the disease took its awful, awful toll, one of Ryan’s daily goals was to find something—anything—that would make his sister forget what she was going through for enough consecutive seconds to elicit a smile. Or a laugh. Or both.
He did not succeed every day, but he did on most.
Of course, with Nicole, he knew her well enough to have an idea of which tack to take. He did not know Andi well enough, so he’d have to feel his way through and hope he could figure out what might lighten the burden she was presently carrying. He did not have an arsenal of jokes at the ready, so he didn’t bother going that route. Rather, he decided to trust his instincts and start with an unconventional approach. Something that might just surprise her enough that she’d let down her guard and start to relax. He wanted her to relax.
Around her family, yes, but mostly around him. He wanted her to eventually learn that she could trust him as her physical therapist and also, hopefully, as her friend. He already knew he liked this woman. Already knew he wanted to learn more about her. And, yeah, he absolutely wanted to see that beautiful smile of hers stretch across her equally beautiful face.
At the moment, they were sitting side by side in lawn chairs under the leafy canopy of a massive tree. Some of the Fosters were playing a game of horseshoes while others were engaged with the kids, and Paul and Margaret were bustling about, starting the meal preparation in earnest. He might as well take his first swing now, see if he could manage a grand slam.
“So,” he said, in the most casual voice he could muster, “I have a proposition. Or maybe you’d call it a dare. Either one works, I guess. But if you agree without knowing all of the details, and then follow through, I’ll take you out for a night of dancing.”
“I don’t think you can call that a proposition or a dare if the details of what you want me to do aren’t made clear from the beginning.” Curiosity and caution lit her gaze, her tone. “Unless you want to play a game of Truth or Dare, but that isn’t what you said.”
Interesting idea. But...nah. “No, I’m not playing a game. Just want you to step out of your shell a little. Nothing wrong with that, and don’t worry, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that I thought you’d find impossible or alarming.” He winked. “I’m not going to ask you to streak naked across the backyard or break into song at the top of your lungs. Promise.”
Had the corners of her lips wiggled? Maybe. If so, too small a wiggle to say for sure. “That’s good, because I wouldn’t do either. I might be willing to play along if the reward was something I wanted. But dancing? No. I don’t dance. Not anymore. Or not again, anyway.”
“Why not? You’re certainly capable. I mean, I wouldn’t suggest anything too strenuous yet, but so long as you put most of your weight on your left leg, you’d be fine.”
“I’d rather not test that supposition,” she said. “Therefore, I must decline your offer.”
“You know,” he said, angling his body toward hers, “I should’ve explained more. The point of taking you dancing isn’t so you can dance. It’s so you can see me make a fool out of myself. Because if there is one thing I cannot do, it’s dance.” He winced. “In fact, my sister says I look like a drunken elephant on ice. And that’s one of the kinder descriptions I’ve heard.”
The tiniest fraction of amusement glittered in her eyes. “Is that so? A drunken elephant on ice, huh? Kind of hard to believe, as I’ve never seen anyone dance that badly.”
“Aha! But you can. The sight of such a lack of grace is totally within your power. All you have to do is say, ‘Okay, Ryan, I agree. What is it you want me to do?’ and then actually follow through on what I ask of you. What do you think?”
“No streaking or singing involved, right?”
He crossed his heart. “That’s correct.”
Another twitch of her lips, but not a complete smile. Not yet. “Okay, sure. Why not? But remember, I haven’t given up the right to decline. Whether I do or don’t is totally my choice once I hear what you have in mind. Just so we’re absolutely clear on that front.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. This, along with everything else that occurs between us, is one hundred percent in your control. You call the shots, Andi.”
She straightened her shoulders, tossed her mane of auburn hair behind one shoulder and jutted her chin. “I’m ready. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to walk up to any one person here...except for me...and say ‘Bugaboo!’ three times in a row. Really fast. And in a high-pitched voice. That’s it. Easy peasy.”
One blink, then another, followed by a third. “Are you insane? Or do you just want my family to think I’m insane? Or—”
“A single word, three times in a row. That’s all it is, and you get to choose who you say it to. Come on, Andi, have a little fun. I know you can. Besides which, you really don’t want to miss the opportunity of getting me on the dance floor.”
“Anyone I want, huh?” She scraped her bottom lip with her teeth as she glanced around the yard. He saw when the obvious answer clicked into place, just as he knew it would. “You have a deal,” she said as she stood. “I hope your dancing shoes are polished and ready to go.”
“Oh, they are. Go on, do your thing.”
She took her time walking across the grassy yard, her cane slowing her movements more than necessary. Truthfully, he doubted she really needed the cane for short walks, but he didn’t think she was prepared to give up that security. Soon, though, he’d bring up the possibility.
As he’d guessed, she headed straight for the two toddlers who were presently playing with their mother on a spread-out blanket. Carefully, Andi lowered herself to the ground and held out her arms to Charlotte, who toddled right over. He couldn’t hear her from where he sat, so he just watched as she tickled the little girl. Then she leaned in close, assumingly saying “bugaboo” three times, in quick succession and in a high-pitched voice, before tickling her again. Charlotte burst out laughing and then...oh, yes, Andi did, as well.
She turned toward him, her smile spread across her face, and he’d bet money that if he was closer, he’d see that her eyes were filled with joy. She laughed again, the sound easily carrying to his ears, and he heard her happiness, her few seconds of freedom from whatever thoughts and fears swirled in her brain. He was relieved for her. Pleased, too, that he’d found a way to bring her to this moment.
What really got him, though, was how beautiful this woman was. And how very much he wanted to get to know her. Really know her. That, he had no doubt, would be a much steeper hill to climb than simply eliciting a laugh. But he’d figure it out. He’d figure her out, and as he did, he’d let her get to know him. Let her figure him out.
After all, that was only fair.
Chapter Three (#u8defbf07-613e-5b4c-8c1e-4a57809cda7b)
Her heart in her mouth, sweat all but pouring down the back of her neck, Andi woke with a gasp, sat straight up in bed and waited for the worst of the tremors shaking her body to dissipate. Another nightmare. Another return to Juliana Memorial Hospital, seeing Hugh get shot again, her dream forcing her to view the scene over and over and over.
The sound of the gun, the potent smell of desperation and fear, the cries and screams of shock and panic and, yes, the look on Hugh’s face as he went down, the magnifying pain when two bullets tore into her leg, and then, when she came around, the belief that her dear friend and mentor was gone and her resulting decision to run. Hide. Save herself. Call for help.
As fresh in her brain as if the incident had occurred within the past five minutes and not six full months ago. When would she move past this? Why hadn’t she yet? It frustrated her, this seeming inability to push through to the other side and leave the past where it belonged. What had happened was awful and terrifying, but it was over. Over. She’d survived.
But, damn it, part of her heart, her soul, remained stuck. And that needed to change.
Stifling a yawn, Andi carefully swung her legs to the edge of the bed and glanced at the clock, knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep anytime soon. Three in the morning. Two more hours and she would’ve actually made the five-hour mark. The first night she did that, she might just throw herself a party to celebrate.
She decided to brew a cup of tea and settle herself in the living room, see if she could find something distracting to watch on the television. Preferably a comedy. Light and silly enough to drag her mind from the darkness of her nightmare. A rerun of Seinfeld or Friends would be perfect, as one or the other would take her back to worlds and people she knew well.
She didn’t find either, but a movie she’d seen before caught her eye, so she paused her search and set the remote down. Why, exactly, she wasn’t sure, as Duplicity was a romantic thriller. Neither genre suited her current mood. But she kept watching, anyway. Until, that is, it clicked why this particular movie snagged her interest. The male lead, Clive Owen.
Ryan was younger and, naturally, did not have a British accent, but the actor reminded her of him, nonetheless. Some of the resemblance was physical. Their height and their coloring, sure, the cut of the jaw...yes, but it was more than a base likeness in appearance. The two men moved their bodies in a similar fashion, and their smiles...they were close, if not exact duplicates.
And watching Clive on-screen made her think of Ryan. Of the day they’d spent together, of how she’d relaxed in his presence and even laughed a few times. How those damn butterflies in her stomach had come to life when he’d grasped her hand right before he left, before he’d given her that straight-through-her-skull look and told her good-night, that he hoped she slept well. As if he knew, without doubt, that she faced nightmares and insomnia and truly wanted her to rest easy.
Concern and care. Real or imagined? The attraction she felt toward him already...real or imagined? And why, just why, did she just happen across a movie with a deliciously handsome actor who reminded Andi of the man she was trying not to think about? Bam, just like that, the flutters were back in force. Oh, hell, no. This would not do at all.
Grabbing the remote again, Andi flipped through the channels until she found a safe, non-butterfly-inducing episode of The Golden Girls. She knew plenty about patients developing a—for lack of a better word—crush on a caregiver, whether that be doctor, nurse, counselor or, yes, a physical therapist. It happened frequently.
Had happened to her several times, in fact, in her role as a nurse. Anything that could weaken the body—illness, disease, broken bones, surgeries—also weakened the spirit. When enough time was spent with a person who was taking care of you professionally in one way or the other, the spirit naturally became bolstered when in their presence.
In such a situation, feeling attraction—even thinking that love might be waiting in the wings—was a fairly common, if temporary, occurrence.
And while Ryan wasn’t her doctor or her nurse, he was still her caregiver. Of a sort, anyhow. Well...maybe the proper description for his role would come in closer to “care helper” than caregiver, but even so, the explanation fit well enough to relax Andi’s worries. She didn’t know the real man. The real Ryan. She knew the professional who had asked her questions out of compassion and concern the first day they’d met and then had gone out of his way to help her through a tough day. In the long run, her reaction toward him meant nothing.
It was temporary.
Thank goodness she’d recognized this so quickly. Now she’d be able to squash her meaningless crush into nonexistence without too much trouble. Heck, she’d recovered from Greg—the guy she’d dated for just shy of a year before being shot at the hospital—breaking her heart in less than twenty-four hours. Easy, really. If he hadn’t loved her enough to stick through her recovery, then he obviously was not the man for her. In any way at all.
Different scenarios, yes, but the process? Exactly the same.
But why, oh, why, did her physical therapist have to be sexy, handsome, intelligent, compassionate and charming? Really, where was the justice in that?
* * *
Sunday afternoon, Ryan drove toward his parents’ house, his thoughts on the day before and...of course, Andrea Caputo. Why or how this woman had gotten clean under his skin so fast he didn’t have a clue, but he found her in his head more often than not.
Truth be told, the whys didn’t concern him nearly as much as what he should do about it. Nothing, for the moment, other than his job and—if he was very lucky—a friendship. A place to build from if there was a reason to, when the timing was better. Didn’t he already know the dangers of becoming attached too fast? Yup, he absolutely did.
Leah, the woman he’d planned on marrying, had been his client for close to a year before their relationship began. And in the end—two years and one diamond ring later—she’d walked. She’d been wrong in her feelings toward him, she’d said. A horrible mistake. She loved him, yes, but she wasn’t “in” love with him, and while she hoped they could be lifelong friends, she did not want to be his wife. That had smarted some. Like a knife to the eye would.
He understood, though, and appreciated her honesty. Just wished she’d told him of her doubts when they’d first appeared rather than waiting close to another year. He’d had his concerns early on in their relationship, but she’d been so sure of her feelings...and he of his, that he’d stopped worrying and just let himself love her, and her him. Until that stopped, too.
His heart had long since mended, and the two of them had formed a fairly strong friendship that included a phone call every now and again, as well as contact via various social media sites. But that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how much he’d once loved her or the pain that had followed.
Shaking off the bittersweet memories, he pulled into his parents’ driveway and shut off the ignition. Jerry and Brenda Bradshaw lived in the center of Steamboat Springs, close to just about everything they’d want to be close to, in a one-level Craftsman-style house that they’d spent a considerable amount of time renovating. The prior owners hadn’t had the money or skill to keep up on the maintenance, let alone the necessary updates. His parents, skilled in just about everything to do with home renovation, had done the bulk of the work themselves.
Naturally, they hired professionals for the wiring, plumbing and heating needs, along with repainting the house’s exterior cornflower blue—his mother’s favorite color—but within a year of moving in, their home was in tip-top shape inside and out.
And every Sunday, except when his parents were camping for the weekend or were out of town, was family day. Games. Dinner. Catching up. Nicole still lived in Denver, though she was also hoping to relocate to Steamboat Springs, but she visited about once a month. The Bradshaws had always been close. His sister’s illness had made them even closer.
Nicole wasn’t here this Sunday, but she would be next month for their mother’s birthday. Thank the good Lord his sister was healthy and strong today, that she’d beaten the disease that everyone had been so afraid would take her life. And hell, yes, he’d been scared. But he also knew his sister, and he’d never stopped believing that she was strong enough to win her fight.
And she had.
Ryan pocketed his keys and stepped from the car, barely reaching the front porch when his mother swung open the front door with a huge, happy smile. You couldn’t look at a smile like that and not feel good. Happy. But that was his mom. She had that way about her.
Her sunny attitude was as much a part of her as her blond hair and blue eyes, infectious laugh and generous heart. Nicole looked like her, while Ryan had his father’s dark hair and eyes. But the positive outlook on life? Brenda had bestowed that precious gift on both of her children. Oh, he and his sister had also gained a fair share of their father’s determination, his goal-oriented focus and, yes, his stubbornness. Good, solid traits that had helped more often than hurt. Yes, he and his sister had been blessed.
Another quality his mother possessed was the ability to never disappear in a crowded room, despite being barely five feet. Her presence was vivid and strong, much like his sister’s. Hell. Much like Andi’s, as far as that went. And he couldn’t help but wonder if that quality was part of what drew his interest, which then led to more curiosity about the woman she had been before witnessing what she had, before being shot.
The woman he had no doubt still existed.
Damn. He yearned to know her, then and now. Since he couldn’t slip into the past to introduce himself to an earlier version of Andi, he had to let that one go. Easy enough. Mostly, he just felt damn fortunate to have met her at all, to have her in his world today.
Whatever that might mean in the short term or the long term.
“Ryan!” Brenda said, meeting him at the bottom of the front porch steps and instantly wrapping him in a tight hug that smelled like herbs and spices, with a little something sweet tossed in. Meaning, she’d just left the kitchen. “I’m so glad to see you, honey.”
He squeezed her back and kissed the top of her head before releasing her. “Glad to see you, as always. Though, it’s only been a week,” he teased. “You can’t have missed me too much.”
“Always miss my kids when they’re not here, but I’m fortunate that you’re close by. I just hope...” She trailed off and shrugged. “I look forward to our Sundays.”
“I miss seeing Nicole, too,” Ryan said, aware of the bond his mother and sister shared. “She’s waiting on the right job opening. It will happen eventually. Gotta have faith, Mom.”
“Of course I have faith! It’s more about her being there by herself. I worry, but that’s what parents do.” She smiled again just as brightly. “Someday, you’ll understand that the want to shield your children from pain never goes away. Doesn’t matter how old you get, either.”
“I don’t have to wait for someday, I understand that now.”
Reaching up, she patted his cheek. “You understand the concept, not the reality. Until you have a child, it is impossible to fully grasp.”
Ah. Recognizing how easily this could lead them into the “I want grandbabies” conversation they’d had more than once over the past year, Ryan switched topics by asking, “Where is Dad, by the way? In the kitchen, sneaking bites of whatever you made for dessert?”
“Nope. He knows better.” Laughing, Brenda started toward the front door. “He’s out back, once again trying to perfect one of his golf swings before Wednesday’s game. Don’t ask me which swing, because I don’t know. But he says that once he does, he’ll be unbeatable.”
Golf. His dad’s fourth, sometimes fifth—depending on how active his sweet tooth was at any given moment—reason for living, after his wife and kids.
“I’m not sure what he thinks he’s going to perfect. He already plays a damn solid game.” Not a surprise, though, when Jerry’s focus, determination and stubbornness were taken into account. If his dad thought he could do better, he wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved that goal. “Honestly, Mom, I don’t know why you don’t play. I think you’d be really good.”
“I might be,” she agreed, leading him into the wood-floored entryway, “but your dad needs something of his own. This is it. Playing golf with his buddies. We share plenty of other hobbies, and I have more than enough on my own. I certainly don’t need to add another.”
That was one of the many reasons his parents got along so damn well. They understood each other’s needs. Ryan could only hope he found the same someday. A companion. Someone who understood him and whom he understood. A friend. A partner. A lover. A confidante. A woman who challenged him to always be the best he could.
Andrea Caputo? Possibly. But...probably not. That did not stop Ryan from wishing that they’d already established a friendship. If they had, he might give in to the sudden instinct to call her, invite her here for dinner. But they’d barely broken ground. Doing so would cause her to question his motives, might even jeopardize any forward momentum.
Perhaps next month, when Nicole visited, they’d have a stronger base and he could invite her to his mother’s birthday. Perhaps.
For the moment, he’d enjoy the afternoon with his parents, the meal—lasagna and tomato bread, he’d wager, based on the scents emanating from the kitchen—and relax. Tomorrow, the next day and every day following would take care of itself. One way or another.
That was a lesson he had learned.
And tomorrow already held the promise of being an excellent day, simply due to the fact that he would see Andi again. Maybe he’d even find another way to make her laugh.
* * *
Thick, fat clouds stretched across a sky that was more gray than blue, promising rain at some point in the next several hours. There might even be a thunderstorm, complete with lightning. Andi hoped not. The loud cracks of thunder would send her adrenaline pumping and her heart racing. A lovely, light downpour, however, might just help her take a long afternoon nap, something she was in dire need of.
In the past few weeks, she hadn’t beaten her three-hour record of continuous sleep, and last night, she hadn’t managed even that. This needed to change soon, because she knew that without the proper amount of rest, everything she had come to Steamboat Springs to accomplish wouldn’t occur. So, yes, the sound of rain drumming against her bedroom windows—minus the ricocheting bursts of thunder from an actual storm—might have a soothing effect, which might lead into a long, delicious, nightmare-free nap.
Carefully stretching out her legs in front of her, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the wash of weakness that had overtaken her. Oh, today’s session with Ryan hadn’t been any worse than last week’s, but maybe she’d pushed herself too hard. Or maybe not hard enough. Who knew? For the moment, though, for whatever reason, she was in pain.
Her aunt had texted her, letting her know that she was running late. Paul and Margaret owned a restaurant, Foster’s Pub and Grill, as well as a sporting goods shop here in town, where all of Andi’s cousins were also part owners and worked. There was a meeting this morning that had apparently gone longer than expected. Margaret had promised in her text that she’d get there as soon as she could, but figured she’d be at least another hour.
And that was fine. Andi understood. If she’d felt comfortable enough driving herself, she’d already be back at the house, sequestered in her bedroom. Hoping for rain. Hoping for sleep. Hoping for...amnesia, really.
Or a round of immense good luck, that would propel her out of this stuck place. Close to three weeks since arriving in Steamboat Springs and nothing had really changed.
“Andi? You okay?” Ryan’s voice, deep and reassuring, came through the fog. She forced her eyes open and saw him standing in front of her with an expression of concern. “I didn’t expect to see you out here still. Your aunt is usually waiting when we’re done.”
“She’s running late, is all, by an hour or so. But I’m fine and she’s fine. Nothing here for you to worry about.”
“Good.” Glancing at his watch, he smiled that smile. The one that brought the butterflies to life. “I’m free for another forty-five minutes, was about to take a short walk, stretch the legs a little before my next client. Feel like joining me? We don’t even have to talk. Promise.”
Lord. She wanted to say yes. Desperately so, even. Which was why she ignored that want and said, “Thank you, but no. Think I’ll just sit here and wait for my aunt. Have fun, though, and if you see a four-leaf clover, save it for me.”
“What do you need a four-leaf clover for? Seems you have plenty of luck on your side,” he said, sitting next to her instead of taking his damn walk. Lovely. Now she could smell him—a strangely intoxicating mix of soap and shampoo and something else, something a tad spicy she couldn’t identify—and their thighs were touching. “You seem tired, Andi. Did I work you too hard? Or still having problems sleeping?”
She ignored the luck comment and the query about her sleep, but answered his other question. “A little fatigued, but that’s normal. Nothing to worry about, Ryan.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Thankfully, he stood then, so she could breathe again. “Come on, up and at ’em. Let’s take that walk. I promise you’ll feel better for it, and besides, there’s something I want to show you. Something I think, hope, you’ll appreciate.”
When asked like that, how could she say no? And, yeah, he’d raised her curiosity. “You never learned how to take no for an answer, did you, Mr. Bradshaw? But okay, you win.”
“I typically do,” he said in a good-old-boy sort of way.
He held out his hand to help her up, but she stood on her own. As she always had, as she always would. The muscles in her leg complained viciously, which she ignored. She could handle a walk, and in the long run she’d probably be better off for it. If nothing else, the exercise would tire her even more, making it easier to take that nap later she so yearned for.
“You can quit looking at me as if I’m about to keel over,” she said, holding her chin high. “I’m fine, as I said. And I’ve agreed to your walk, so let’s get started before my aunt shows.”
“Oh, I’m not looking at you as if you’re about to keel over,” he said, gesturing toward the driveway. “I’m also not looking at the dark circles beneath your eyes, or how your entire body just trembled as you stood. I’ve noticed those, yes, but what I’m looking at...what I’m seeing right now is fire. In your hair. In your eyes. In your demeanor. And, now, in your cheeks.”
“Better be careful then.” She followed his purposefully slow and even pace down the driveway, and tried not to be annoyed by her appreciation of his awareness and her discomposure by the very same. “Fire tends to burn. Wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Is that a warning?”
“No, not really. Let’s call it an observation.” Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned to lighten her words. “Fire is hot. Hot things burn. Burns cause pain. Therefore, one would be intelligent to remain cautious around fire.”
“Fair enough.”
They continued their easy stride, not talking at all, as they left Ryan’s property and took a right from his driveway. Since he did not live in a neighborhood, there wasn’t a sidewalk, so they hugged the street near the curb. After a few minutes had passed, Andi was forced to admit that the calm, rhythmic movement seemed to be doing her some good. The throbbing in her leg decreased, the tension in her shoulders eased and a good deal of the smog in her brain cleared.
Damn him for being right, anyway.
She felt so much better than she had just a few minutes ago, but she kept that thought to herself. What was it about this guy that got to her so keenly? How was he able to look at her and see so much truth so freaking easily? Others couldn’t. She’d made sure of that.
This man could, though. He’d proved that several times already.
Suddenly, Ryan came to a stop and pointed toward a narrow path that jutted into the woods on that side of the road. “What I want to show you is in there. The path is a little rocky, but I think you can manage it just fine, as it’s a fairly straight shot. Feel up to it?”
No. “Of course I do. Lead on.”
“Actually, I want you to go first. That way I can catch you if you trip or lose your balance. And don’t take that the wrong way, Miss Independent. I brought you here. It’s my job to ascertain your safety, that’s all this is.”
Shrugging, she stepped onto the path, using her cane for balance, and said, “Why would I think anything else? You’ll have to guide me, though, since I have no idea where we’re headed.”
“Nah. We’re not going that far in, and you’ll know when to stop.”
With those words, she trudged forward, her entire focus on not falling or losing her balance, because the idea of Ryan’s arms closing in around her was a little too appealing. Oh, hell, who did she think she was fooling? A lot too appealing.
“Keep going, we’re almost there,” Ryan said from behind her, his voice encouraging. Confident. “You’re doing great and, once there—if we have a few extra minutes—we can sit and relax a bit before heading back.”
Good. While the pain had receded to a much more manageable level, her muscles were shaky, still too weak for her comfort—from the workout earlier, the walk now and a definite lack of healing, restorative sleep.
Maybe it was time to consider the sleeping pills her doctor had prescribed months ago...the same ones she’d refused to take thus far. That was partially due to a groundless fear that they’d keep her locked in one of her nightmares, unable to rouse herself, and partially due to old-fashioned stubbornness. Pills might supply a temporary solution, but they weren’t the answer. They wouldn’t fix anything over the long term.
Lost in thought as she was, and not paying nearly enough attention to the path, her shoe hit a rock and she came close to losing her footing. Before she did, before so much as a speck of panic set in, a pair of strong and able arms pulled her backward into an equally strong and able hold. For a few brief—too brief?—seconds, Andi’s body was pressed firmly against Ryan’s, and in that minuscule period, she did not feel discomfort or uneasy.
Rather, a sense of utmost safety existed...which made sense, but something else lurked there, too. Recognition? Maybe. As strange as that possibility was, maybe that.
“You’re fine,” Ryan whispered into her ear, his tenor reassuring and his breath warm against her skin. Both of which elicited a series of tingles that began at her neck and wove their way down all the way to her freaking ankles. Crazy, to feel that way. Absurd, too. “I got you, Andi. I’m not about to let you fall, darlin’. Not today, anyway.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And you’re right. I am fine. You can let me go now.”
He did, without delay. “We’re almost there,” he said, once he seemed certain of her ability to stand on her own. “See that bend in the path up ahead? Our destination is just beyond.”
“Then let’s get to it,” she said, more under her breath than not. Damn it. The phantom pressure of his arms remained, as did the sensation of their bodies plastered against one another. “Unless we hurry, I’ll pretty much have to turn around as soon as we get there, anyway. My aunt is likely to worry if I’m not waiting outside your place when she arrives.”
“Of course. That isn’t a problem.” The tone of his voice told her, without doubt, that she’d made him smile. Why? How? Jeez, what could she possibly have said or done to amuse him enough to bring forth a smile? “If I know you at all,” he continued, sounding annoyingly confident, “you’ll appreciate what you’re about to see. And whether you like the idea or not, I’m beginning to know who you are.”
“Lies,” she said, going for light and easy. “All lies.”
They started the trek around the bend, but she kept her mouth shut against the remaining slew of rebuttals bopping to and fro in her brain. She was not his darling, that was number one. In fact, she wasn’t anyone’s darling. Number two? Ryan only knew what she’d let him see, which hadn’t been a hell of a lot. Because no matter what he thought and despite that way of his, he could not read her mind. He did not know her. And...and...she probably wouldn’t have tripped, even without his help.
Probably, she’d have caught herself in time. She did not need Ryan Bradshaw, or anyone for that matter, swooping in and lifting her backward in his arms as if she were a bird with a wounded wing. She was not. Oh, and why—
Her body and her thought processes came to an abrupt halt at the exact same instant. She blinked and stared at the view that had morphed into being. She closed her eyes, opened them and stared again. Certainly, she’d somehow crossed a mystical barrier and now stood in a completely different world, because she had never before seen anything quite so beautiful.
As she stood and stared, the hard, jagged edges of her nerves softened, the pain in her leg disappeared, and the weight—that damn, one-thousand-pound weight that had snuffed out all joy—became much more manageable. Simply by the sight in front of her.
Multicolored rocks and stones lined the edges of a small body of water—no more than twelve to fifteen feet in diameter—that sat beneath a glossy umbrella of leaves. Wildflowers in a variety of shades, from the purest white to the boldest blue to the deepest violet, grew in scattered bunches outside of and in between the so-smooth-they-gleamed rocky boundaries. The effect was a tranquil type of loveliness, straight from one of Andi’s childhood fairy tales, that brought a smile to her lips and peace to her heart.
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