her head.
Even a man with penetrating eyes and a demeanor to match.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It seems I’m more tired than I realized from yesterday’s travel. My...ah...mind isn’t functioning properly. Could you please repeat your question?”
“Sure can. I asked about your sleep,” Ryan said, his voice low and smooth. “Specifically, how many hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep you’re getting each night. Doesn’t have to be exact...just give me a ballpark figure.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Shrugging, Andi lifted her chin and looked straight past the man, to the fluffy white clouds outside the window. “Maybe five? Six?”
The truth hovered closer to the three-hour mark, but her white lie should stop the “What’s keeping you awake?” question she preferred not to answer. Her nightmares were hers to battle with and had zilch to do with the physical recovery of her leg.
“Five to six, huh?” Again, that look. He didn’t argue, though, just scrawled something into her file. Probably that she wasn’t that great a liar. He went on to ask her a few questions about her diet, which she answered honestly, and then a more in-depth interview regarding her pain level, where she was at in her daily exercises and how she felt about both.
“How do you think I feel about almost constant throbbing pain and pushing myself to the point of exhaustion every day?” she snapped. She hadn’t meant to—not really, anyway—but she was tired of being asked how she felt. Not only in regards to her leg, but with everything.
What did it matter how she felt? What had happened, happened. She had two choices: push through and hope to find some semblance of her prior self, her prior life, or...what? Give up, stop fighting, accept this new, frightened version of herself? Never. Never.
“I don’t know,” he said patiently. Calmly. “That’s why I asked.”
Unshed tears burned behind her eyes. They wouldn’t fall, she knew. She hadn’t cried once since last December. But the weight, the fire and the ache of those tears remained. “I’m fine,” she said, going for brisk. “I have and will continue to do whatever needs to be done. I think that’s what counts, what you should be focused on, and not my feelings.”
Standing, Ryan closed her file. “That’s good to know, Andrea. But my focus is on anything that will help me help you regain strength and mobility. And, yes, in addition to your physical state, that focus includes your mental and emotional well-being. How you feel, what you think. How you’re sleeping, and if you’re not sleeping well...why?”
Of course. Attitude was a part of the deal. That whole-body-health idea, which Andi had always bought into. Still did, truth be told. But...her attitude wasn’t Ryan Bradshaw’s business. Or her family’s, or her friends’ or...anyone outside of her. She’d stuck to that line from day one, mostly because she found burdening others, leaning on others, challenging in the best of circumstances. And this did not fall into the “best of” in any category.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, using her hated cane for stability in order to stand. “I’ll discuss my physical rehabilitation with you, be here for our scheduled appointments on time and work my ass off. I’ll do whatever you ask as far as exercises and strength training go, and, if deemed necessary, will consult with additional physicians about my future prognosis.” Here, she stopped and dragged in a breath, straightened her shoulders and lifted her gaze to his. “But I won’t, now or ever, discuss my personal and private emotions or thoughts.”
Or her nightmares. Or how a loud noise—any loud noise—almost brought her to her knees. Or how she blamed herself for Hugh’s death. She should’ve gotten to him. Should’ve kept trying to get to him instead of scurrying her own hide to safety. Nicked artery or not.
“That’s totally your call, but I won’t stop asking.”
Obviously, this man had a stubborn streak. Good thing, she supposed, for the type of work he’d chosen. Some remorse crept in for the line she’d drawn so abruptly in the sand. Hell, they’d barely met. Smarter, though, to make sure Ryan understood her barriers from the get-go. They’d be working together twice a week for the entire summer.
“Sure. Ask away, but I won’t start answering.”
“Hmm. Again, whatever you choose to share is your call. I won’t push. But you should know that I’m a very patient man. I’m also very persistent. Especially,” he said as he walked toward his office door, “when I have a client’s best interest at heart.”
A thousand-and-one rebuttals flew to the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them all. Patient and persistent and stubborn. Well, she’d meet them with her own brand of stubbornness, no problem. Because frankly, the only thing that kept her standing, kept her feeling even a modicum of safety, was keeping her demons to herself. Letting them out seemed dangerous.
Too dangerous. As if her nightmares, fears, inner panic would somehow morph into a two-headed, scaly, ready-to-eat-her-alive monster if she spoke so much as a syllable of them to another soul.
“I suppose we know where each other is coming from,” she said, following the path his long, muscular, functioning legs had just taken. “When should I be here tomorrow?”
“Same time, but we’re not done yet. Need to put those muscles to work before they forget what they’re there for.” A grin teased at the corners of his mouth, softening the firm line of his jaw and the steady, determined set of his eyes. “You missed yesterday and the day before. As I’m sure you know, forward motion is incredibly important.”
“Yes, but I assumed today would be limited to talking and going over a plan. I didn’t bring...wear...appropriate clothes and...tomorrow is good enough. One more day won’t make that much of a difference. I’m tired and...no. I can’t stay any longer today.”
She could. She just didn’t want to. Not when merely standing so close to this man—a stranger, for crying out loud—had her heart pumping in overdrive and sweat beading down the back of her neck. And a strange fluttering deep in her stomach. All uncomfortable. All unnecessary. By tomorrow, she’d have these reactions tucked away and under control. Hidden beneath the surface, where he wouldn’t notice.
“I have clothes you can use, and really, another day makes a huge difference.” Angling his arms across his chest, he waited for her to argue or agree. She did neither, just waited right along with him. “I can’t force you, Andrea. You have to want to get better.”
Damn it. She did want to get better.
She just wanted to start the process here in Steamboat Springs tomorrow. After a day of peace and quiet. She yearned to sit on her aunt and uncle’s porch and soak up the sun, read a book, get lost in something other than her thoughts, herself. Today, she didn’t want to spend another minute thinking about her leg or the long, long road that still lay ahead.
Today, she just wanted to...be normal. Even if she had to pretend.
So, she stuck out her chin and shook her head. “I have every intention of getting better, Mr. Bradshaw. The want is there, don’t you worry. But I can’t stay any longer this morning. I’m sorry.”
He stared at her, and she stared right back. Finally, he nodded and sharp disappointment crossed his features. Why did she hate that? She didn’t even know this man. “Okay, Andrea,” he said. “I’ll let you win this one, but not another.
