“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-margarin
e 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 th
ey 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.
From Good Guy To Groom (The Colorado Fosters #6) Page 3
