From Good Guy To Groom

“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

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.