“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.
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