Читать книгу From Good Guy To Groom - Tracy Madison - Страница 10

Chapter Three

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.