He broke off as she stopped dancing and her entire body hardened within his hold, muscle by muscle. She could’ve turned into a solid stone statute, she became so unmoving. Hell, he didn’t even think she was breathing. By this response, Andi’s dark circles and perpetual exhaustion, he knew he’d found the issue: nightmares. The core issue, of course, was whatever caused the nightmares, but knowing this much gave him a starting point.
“Nightmares, huh?” he asked. “Every single night?”
“Like clockwork, yes. I’m...usually awake after about three hours, sometimes less. And when I wake up, I’m panicked,” she said. “Which then makes it difficult to fall back to sleep. I usually just watch television, drink some tea, until the sun rises.”
Three hours. “Ouch. No wonder you’re exhausted.” The question that should be asked, that just about begged to be asked, was in reference to the nightmares themselves. He could guess what they were about—the shooting, what she’d seen and experienced—but did the nightmares alter, or were they always of one specific moment? It was an important question, but not one he thought she would answer. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he said, “I’m so sorry. I wish there was a way I could gift you with a solid eight hours. I’d pay any amount of money.”
“Me, too.”
“Hey,” he said. “I get that you’re not prepared to share everything with me. Just do me a favor and consider talking about the subject of these nightmares with someone. I can recommend some counselors, or if that doesn’t appeal to you, maybe your aunt. Or a friend back home you can call. Haley. Just someone, Andi. Simply talking about it might help.”
“I saw a therapist for a while, but maybe I wasn’t ready. I don’t know, but yes, I’ll think about talking to someone.”
“Do that.” To alleviate Andi’s discomfort, he chose to change the topic. “We’ve danced through two songs now, and you’re holding up just fine. Told you that you could dance.”
“This? You can’t call this dancing, Ry-Ry,” she said, her tone lighter. Slightly sarcastic, too, which he appreciated. “I’m leaning on you and shuffling my feet. Barely, at that.”
“It counts, but...” Trailing off, Ryan waited as the current slow song came to an end, guessing the band would choose a fast, get-on-the-floor-and-dance tune next. And yes, “Footloose” fit the bill. Almost perfectly, to Ryan’s frame of mind. “There we go. Let’s give this a shot.”
“Oh,” she said, stepping out of his embrace. A sad state of affairs, but necessary. “How about if I take a seat and watch you in action? I’ve already done my part and danced, right? I mean, you said so yourself.”
“Whatever you want, Andi,” he said easily, his goal to remind her that she was in control. “If you’d rather just watch, that’s fine by me.”
Indecision flickered, as plain as day, proving that what he guessed to be true was the case. She wanted to dance, was either worried she couldn’t or felt self-conscious. Or a bit of both. But this, like so many other areas, had to be her choice. She had to decide if she was willing to slough off her concerns and her fears for a chance at a little fun. And yeah, he probably could—based on her indecision—talk her into taking the risk. But even if he was right on that, doing so wouldn’t be fair. For Andi. Maybe for him, too.
“I don’t know. Let me think.” Putting more weight on her right leg than her left, as if testing its stability, she breathed in and, a heartbeat later, nodded. “Okay. I guess I would like to try. But only for one song. You can dance like a fool and I’ll work on keeping my balance.”
Proud of her decision, her bravery, he shrugged as if he hadn’t been waiting on tenterhooks. “Great!” he said. “The song is halfway over now, though, so how about we try for one more after this? Then, assuming you still want to and can summon the energy, we’ll scour the entire festival until we find your perfect painting. Or, if not that, something else.”
A rush of emotion roared into existence at Ryan’s words, his quiet way of being there, of offering support without stripping her of her independence. Yet another quality Andi valued. Add that to the rest, and this man was becoming extraordinarily hard to resist. But she did not have to worry about her crush right now, not when he was waiting for her to dance. Not when she wanted to prove to herself that she could.
She closed her eyes and let the music surround her, let it soar into her ears and through her body, until muscle memory kicked in and every part of her itched with the urge to move. Now she was ready. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Ryan—a true, to-her-gut sort of smile—and stopped thinking. Stopped worrying. Stopped being self-conscious and just...danced.
Her body felt freer, more fluid, than it had in close to seven months. Oh, she had to be careful not to put too much pressure on her right leg, but she also found herself stronger, more agile, than she’d believed. She didn’t have to baby her leg, which came as a huge and delightful surprise. And the longer she danced, her joy at being here with Ryan increased in bursting gulps.
It was then, however, that she noticed Ryan had not moved so much as an inch. He looked frozen, his gaze intent and focused on her, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. And, yes, she loved his smile, even enjoyed the directness of his attention, but...he was supposed to be showing off his drunken elephant dance steps. And he was not.
Dancing closer to him, she said, “You don’t resemble an elephant to me, Ry-Ry. Not in any way at all. You’re not even moving! Are you having second thoughts? Because if so, I’ll have you know how unfair that is, since I’m—”
That was all she managed to say before his arms swooped around her and he dragged her to him. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you, Andi?” he said, his mouth at her ear, his breath warm, sending a sheath of shivery goose bumps down the back of her neck. “Or how crazy I am about you. Or how difficult it is to remember I’m your physical therapist. Or how much I no longer care about dancing. All I want is to...kiss you.”
Wait...what? “You’re crazy about me? You want to...”
“Yes, Andi. I’m crazy about you and I want to kiss you.”
Oh, this was bad. In the “trouble is knocking, are you going to answer?” sort of way, and not due to what he’d said. Or even that he wanted to kiss her. Because, okay, that thought—the mere image of Ryan’s lips on hers and hers on his—brought every one of her senses to life. The colors around her became brighter, more vivid. The music, the rumble of people talking and laughing, even the sound of her breathing grew in strength and clarity. And the scents floating in the air—food being the most prevalent, but Andi recognized the smell of suntan lotion, perfume and fresh-cut grass, to name a few, lingering beneath—multiplied in intensity by four.
If those three senses had magnified, what would their lips touching...tasting him for the first time ever...do to her? Oh, yeah, this was bad. But it was also too glorifying a possibility to ignore. To resist or to walk away from.
And there were plenty of other physical therapists in Steamboat Springs. Ryan did not have to be hers.
No doubt about it, regrets were sure to consume her later, but she heard herself saying, “I’m standing right here, Ryan.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and met his direct gaze with her unflinching one. “If you want to kiss me, then I think that is what you should do.”
Heat unfurled in her stomach and the myriad of scents, mash of sounds and vivid colors all around her faded into nonexistence. All she saw, all she felt, was Ryan.
“Are you sure, Andi? This complicates everything,” he said, his voice a rough melody of need and hope. Desire and, yes, longing, too. Everything she felt resonated in his words. “We couldn’t work together, and you should know I’m not playing a game. I don’t randomly kiss women for the sport of it. So, darlin’, as much as I hate to say this, if you’re not ready for anything other than a kiss, we shouldn’t start on this path.”
“I
don’t know what path you’re referring to,” she said, backing out of his arms. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything other than what it is. And...and...”
“And?”
He was being honest with her. She needed to do the same, for both of their sakes. And, yes, the honest truth was, “No. I’m not ready.” Blinking, she dipped her chin so he couldn’t wield his Ryan voodoo and see into her brain, read her thoughts. Her disappointment. “I guess I got carried away in the moment. I’m sorry.”
Fifteen seconds, maybe, passed before he said, “Hey.”
“Is for horses?”
“Yup. But also, there isn’t a thing in the world for you to be sorry for, though you might feel different in...oh, about twenty seconds. Give or take. And,” he said with the faintest spark of humor, “you might want to back up a little more. I need a decent amount of space, you see, in order to really show off my skills.”
What? Those few words, delivered in Ryan’s light and relaxed tempo, dissolved the heat of the moment and the greater amount of Andi’s discomfort. Confused, she lifted her head while taking two large steps backward, and then she almost fell over from the burst of laughter that all but roared from her chest. Oh, dear. No. This man seemingly could not dance.
He moved his entire body in a swaying motion, side to side and then forward and backward, which wouldn’t be bad all on its own. But he kept his head and shoulders angled downward so he stared at the floor, and every few seconds he’d sort of rear his entire upper torso backward and up, stare at the ceiling and then return to his prior position.
She swallowed another gulp of laughter when he shimmied to the side, waved his head to and fro, and shimmied back the other way. Oh, good grief. Yes, his sister was correct. Drunken elephant on ice definitely fit the bill, but...she didn’t buy any of it. Not one little bit.
Nobody—man, woman or child—could naturally dance this poorly. No, what she was seeing was a carefully orchestrated performance, likely one he’d perfected over the years, to—knowing Ryan—make people laugh, so they’d relax and focus on him instead of themselves. It was, she decided, definite Ryan-type behavior. He thought of others far more often than he thought of himself. She’d guessed that early on, but this ridiculous and heartwarming and hilarious and sweet—so freaking sweet—display made her like him even more.
He’d almost kissed her. If she’d been brave enough, strong enough, all she would have had to say was, Yes, I’m ready. Kiss me, Ryan. Except that would’ve been a lie. Or maybe just wishful thinking. Regardless, she wasn’t ready. Not yet, anyhow.
But she had a lot of thinking to do, about the work still in front of her and where Ryan fit. As her partner in recovery or as something different. Something more. Maybe something much more?
It was possible. And if so, she only had a few short months to get herself ready for all that could, likely would, entail.
* * *
Several hours after the crazed elephant dance and one lovely painting of the Rocky Mountains later, which Andi had purchased on the spot, they were walking the outer edge of the festival, lazily looking for their lost family members. Andi had texted Haley a full thirty minutes earlier but had yet to receive a response. The same went for Ryan texting Nicole.
So, they had decided to take another stroll around and through the festival grounds, hoping to catch sight of the rest of their group. No luck so far, but there were a lot of people to scan through. As the afternoon became early evening, it seemed the attendance had doubled. The rest of Steamboat Springs had to feel abandoned, there were so many folks here. And while she was tired, her leg throbbing and a headache brewing at her temples, Andi wasn’t ready to call it day. She should. But doing so would mean saying good-night to Ryan.
And for that reason alone, she wasn’t searching all that hard for Haley, Gavin and Nicole. They’d run across them soon enough without her speeding the process any.
“I’m so on to you,” she said to Ryan, referring to his supposed lack of dancing skill. It had taken her this long to decide to say anything at all. “But you made me laugh, and I stopped feeling self-conscious. So, thank you. Even if you broke my heart with your lies.”
“What lies?” He tossed her a grin. “So far as I know, I’ve never outright lied to you.”
“And that makes lie number two!”
He shrugged in a clueless manner, saying, “I’ve always danced like that. Just ask Nicole. Or, actually, ask my parents. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. You could always join us.”
“For your mother’s birthday? That’s a family celebration.”
“So was the barbecue at your aunt and uncle’s,” he pointed out. “Not a huge difference.”
“Well, yeah, but...oh, no you don’t. Stop trying to change the subject!”
Facing her, he said, “Okay. You’re partially right. A few years back I took a couple of classes, so now, if I put forth the proper amount of effort, I can manage to not look quite so foolish. That being said, without the classes or the effort, what you saw is my...ah...natural style. I wasn’t lying to you. I simply neglected to mention the entire story.”
“Right. You lied by omission,” she said, shaking her head pitifully. “My heart is truly breaking. I never thought you were capable of such deceit!”
“Overplaying your hand a bit, aren’t you?” He gently tugged her hair as if she were his sister, and she tried not to let that bother her. “My entire goal was to see you happy. So you’d smile and have fun. I wanted you to feel alive. Nothing wrong with that, in my book.”
And there he went again, being sweet and charming and melting her heart with his words. “What am I going to do with you, Ryan?” she asked. “I hope you have an answer lurking about in your skull, because I don’t have a clue. I’ve never met another person quite like you.”
“Ditto, Andi,” he said, “to everything you just said.”
“I suppose that means we’ll have to—”
Two loud cracks, followed by a series of short, echoing blasts hit Andi’s ears with sudden force. She forgot, instantly, where she was. Her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe, her vision blurred and her pulse took on the speed of the winning horse at the Kentucky Derby. The ground beneath her feet thinned, became wobbly, and beads of fear-induced sweat gathered at her hairline. She was less than thirty seconds from a complete meltdown, otherwise known as a panic attack.
Okay. Okay. She knew how to handle these, had even found success a few times. The noise...it wasn’t gunfire. She was not in Juliana Memorial Hospital, and she had not been shot. Hugh wasn’t lying on the floor in front of her, dead or dying. She wasn’t there, she was here. She was safe. Safe, damn it! Rational, true words. Unfortunately, despite their accuracy, they did not connect with her emotion. They did not alter the terror running through her blood.
Thoughts in a jumble, she brought to mind the next step that she’d learned while in counseling. Connect with the real world, breathe deeply, find a center...a balance.
Forcing her eyes wide open, she focused on Ryan. His concern was obvious as he watched her carefully and appeared primed and ready to catch her or hold her or...something, if she were to fall or freak out or collapse. “Panic attack,” she mumbled. “I’m trying to get it under control before it takes over. But—”
She gasped when another series of loud blasts went off, ricocheting through the air and tying the rest of her stomach into hard, impenetrable knots.
“Listen to my voice. Look at me.” Ryan’s hands were on her shoulders, guiding her body closer to his. “Fireworks. That’s what you’re hearing, what your body is mistaking for danger. But there isn’t anything to be afraid of. I promise. Just breathe. Look at me and breathe.”
“Fireworks,” she said, doing as Ryan requested. Her eyes found his, and she felt safer. Her courage strengthened. The real world came into true-b
lue focus and Juliana Memorial Hospital, along with the image of Hugh, faded. “Just fireworks. Where are they?”
Carefully, as if she were precious and oh-so-breakable, he turned her around so she faced the opposite direction. “Right up there, Andi. I’d say that’s a beautiful sight, wouldn’t you?”
Bright colors saturated the twilight sky in long, streaky lines that flared outward until they seemingly dropped to the earth, faded and paled in hue before disappearing from view. “Yes,” she said softly, the ground becoming firm, her legs steady again. “Beautiful.”
Leaning backward against Ryan’s chest, she didn’t object when he held her tight or rested his jaw on the top of her head. She just breathed. In and out, in and out, and waited for the pounding beat of her heart to return to normal and for the frayed edges of her nerves to calm.
They stayed that way for a while, locked together, staring at the multicolored sky as firework after firework erupted. And, yes, she felt safe. Cared for by Ryan and important to him, as well. These emotions—as positive as they were—mingled with her attraction toward him, the chemistry that existed between them, and caused some concern, some doubt. About that attraction, the chemistry and if the security she experienced with Ryan—his obvious care, her apparent value to him—had ignited her desire into being.
Based on her history with patients she’d cared for, the possibility remained strong. But, Lord, this desire she had for the man who held her now? It resonated so deeply, so fully, she no longer found any relief in the very same possibility that she had a few short weeks ago. Simply speaking, she did not want to believe that any of what she felt for Ryan was false. Unfortunately, ignoring the likeliest truth would only lead to pain and disillusionment and, naturally, a hell of a lot of disappointment. She didn’t relish the idea of adding another layer of muck to pull herself through, and she hated that her uncertainty might even hurt Ryan.
From Good Guy To Groom (The Colorado Fosters #6) Page 8
