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!
Dear Reader,
Sometimes life throws us a curveball of epic proportions and we’re forced to take stock of ourselves and our surroundings. Often, we then have no choice but to accept that we will never be quite the same again, and that our view of the world is forever altered.
In this book, a traumatic experience has left Andrea Caputo desperate to regain some semblance of her past self. She hopes that spending the summer in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, far away from where the trauma took place, will help her find the tranquility she so requires. She doesn’t expect to meet a man whose very presence fills her with peace, along with so much more.
Ryan Bradshaw takes one look at Andrea and sees her for who she is, beneath her defenses and her scars. More than that, he sees the woman who just might be meant for him. Convincing her of this, though, will take a Herculean effort and a lot of patience. That’s fine. He decides quickly that whatever Andrea needs...he will supply.
Ryan wants it all. But for Andrea to take that leap of blind faith and follow her heart, she has to be sure that Ryan will be there...ready to catch her.
I hope you enjoy From Good Guy to Groom!
Happy reading!
Tracy Madison
From Good Guy to Groom
Tracy Madison
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 [email protected].
Books by Tracy Madison
Harlequin Special Edition
The Colorado Fosters
Rock-a-Bye Bride
Dylan’s Daddy Dilemma
Reid’s Runaway Bride
Haley’s Mountain Man
Cole’s Christmas Wish
The Foster Brothers
An Officer, a Baby and a Bride
A Match Made by Cupid
Miracle Under the Mistletoe
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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To the many good guys I am fortunate enough to have in my life. You fill my world with light.
Contents
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
Excerpt from The Firefighter’s Family Secret by Shirley Jump
Prologue
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 phy
sician’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
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 sa
id, “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.
From Good Guy To Groom (The Colorado Fosters #6) Page 1
