From Good Guy To Groom

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.”