From Good Guy To Groom (The Colorado Fosters #6)

by Tracy Madison

  Between work, spending every available minute he could with Andi and fighting a recent bout of insomnia—a rather rare occurrence for Ryan, but hey, it happened to everyone—he wasn’t at his best. Had even considered postponing today’s game but hated disappointing his dad. Missing out on spending time with him wasn’t high on his agenda, either.

  Ryan took his swing and grimaced as the ball barely made it onto the green. He probably should’ve selected the five-iron, with the way he was playing today. Oh well.

  “Yup. Your mind is definitely elsewhere,” his dad said. “My question is where?”

  “Told you. Just a busy week. Nothing to...” Ryan sighed and returned his club to the golf bag. There was something—or, okay, someone—taking up brain space. Might as well see what his dad had to say on the topic. “It’s... Well, there’s this woman. Her name is Andrea, and she... I think she might be the one. My one. I’m guessing in the same way you knew with Mom.”

  Jerry paused mid-stride to look at his son. “I see,” he said. “What’s the status of your relationship? Acquaintances, friends, dating or an actual couple?”

  “Two out of the four. We’re friends and we’re dating,” Ryan said, already doubting his wisdom in uttering so much as a syllable. “Andrea isn’t local. She’s visiting family here for the summer. We met shortly after she arrived.”

  “Got it. Where’s home?”

  “Rhode Island. She’s planning on returning at the end of August, in about four weeks.”

  “And you want her to stay.” A statement, not a question. “Have you told her that?”

  “Nope,” Ryan said. “She needs to make that choice. On her own. And I need to give her whatever time she might require. Like you did with Mom.”

  Lines crinkled around Jerry’s eyes, not in frustration but contemplation. “Every situation is different, and with your mother, we lived in the same city. I didn’t have to worry about her leaving and never coming back,” he said. “But let me ask you this. How is Andrea to know you want her to stay if you don’t tell her?”

  “Sure, that’s a point. But...” Ryan shook his head. “Such a declaration could potentially scare her enough that she’ll...bolt. There are other issues at play here, and—”

  “Is she as opposed to falling in love as your mother was?”

  “Nah. That isn’t the problem. I don’t think it is, anyway.” It was a damn good question, though. Another alternative to mull over, along with the rest of Andi’s concerns. “I guess I can’t say for sure. It’s possible.”

  She’d also mentioned, briefly, a man she’d dated in Rhode Island at the time of the shooting. What had happened there? How long ago had that relationship ended? Why had it ended and who had formed that decision? Too many questions and not enough answers.

  “Well, son, for what it’s worth, my advice is fairly basic—don’t keep anything off the table. Speak your mind and your heart, back both up with your actions, and hope for the damn best.” Jerry patted Ryan’s arm in a show of solidarity. “Love isn’t easy, but when it’s right...when you know deep in your gut that you’ve found the right woman, leaving words unsaid will haunt you. Every damn minute of every damn day.”

  Good advice. “I’ve tried to show her, but yeah, I could be...clearer, I suppose.”

  “Do that. Only way to be positive that she knows where you’re at, what you’re seeing,” Jerry said matter-of-factly. “And if she doesn’t see the same, you’ll know right quick. Would be tough, I’ll grant you that, but will cause you less grief in the long run.”

  Ryan nodded toward his dad’s golf ball. “Let’s finish up here. I’m ready for that beer.”

  Another slap on his arm, and Jerry went to take his swing. While Ryan didn’t agree with his father’s final statement—he’d feel a hell of a lot of grief, for a hell of a long time to come if Andi broke off their relationship because he spoke too soon—the clock was ticking.

  And nope, he hadn’t changed his mind about risk versus reward. He’d rather throw every last thing out there and lose than continuously wonder about the what-ifs. So, okay. Ryan knew what he had to do, now he just had to decide the how, the when and the where. The words he used and the picture he conveyed ranked up there in importance, as well.

  Despite the number of hours he and Andi had spent together, her growing confidence in herself, her health, the heat that existed between them and her delightful boldness when she wanted a kiss, Ryan could not rid himself of the nagging concern that she was closer to running for cover than she was in sticking. Staying. Accepting his heart and giving him hers.

  Ah, hell. This could prove to be a mistake, but he had to try. Before it was too late. Before she left him anyway, to return to her life in Rhode Island. If that happened, his chance at securing the future he believed was within their grasp would disappear.

  Possibly forever.

  * * *

  “Thank you so much for inviting me over,” Andrea said to Dylan, Chelsea and the too-cute-for-words Henry. “Dinner was fantastic, but—and please don’t take this the wrong way, Chelsea—dessert?” She winked at Henry before swallowing the last gulp of her root beer float. “Amazingly delicious. Probably the best part of the entire meal.”

  “See, Mommy? I told you she would love it better than apple pie.” Henry noisily slurped his float from an oversize straw. “I knew I was right!”

  Laughing, Chelsea gave her son an indulgent look. “Yes, kiddo, you were.”

  “So, you should listen to me all the time! Like with the—”

  “We do listen to you all the time,” Dylan interjected with a teasing grin. “Morning, noon and night.” He tossed a balled-up napkin in Henry’s direction. The boy caught it easily and, with a flick, returned the toss. A game they played often, Andi guessed. “Why, I think your voice is in my head more often than my own!”

  “That’s silly, Daddy.”

  “Might sound silly, but it’s the truth!”

  Feeling as if some unknown topic of conversation hovered below the surface—a conversation not meant for Andi’s ears—she repeated her earlier sentiment by saying, “Seriously, thank you for everything. I’ve had a wonderful time tonight.”

  “So have we. And the night isn’t over yet,” Dylan said. “We’ve been meaning to have you over for a while, and here it is, almost August. Time flew.” He shot a glance of pure love and happiness toward his wife. And that look? It was beautiful in its simplicity. Giving his head a quick shake, Dylan returned his focus to Andi. “Poor excuse, but we’ve been busy.”

  “Not poor at all,” Andi said, trying to ignore the yearning that had somehow slipped into being, smack dab in the middle of her heart. “I should’ve stopped in earlier on my own accord, but I’ve been busier than expected. For whatever reason, when I accepted your mom’s invite, I envisioned hours of sunbathing and napping. It...ah, hasn’t turned out quite that way.”

  Standing, Chelsea started to scrape and stack dishes. Dylan immediately followed suit and began carrying glasses and serving dishes to the small, connected kitchen. To Andi’s delight, Henry continued to slurp his root beer float, trying to get every drop. God, he was a great kid. Someday, if the powers that be blessed her with children, she’d hope for the grace and wisdom to raise her son or daughter with the same qualities that Henry possessed.

  Sweet. Funny. Outspoken. And...secure. In himself and his place in his family.

  It was, she decided, the perfect reminder of what she’d been raised with, of what she wanted for herself. Someday. With the right man by her side.

  A man who stood in the sunlight, whether he chose to admit so or not.

  Oh, she was close. So close to giving up the fight and just trusting all she felt for this man, everything her heart insisted to be true. But damn it. What if her heart was wrong? Had she made enough progress with her personal demon
s to make such a call? She did not know.

  “Sit down, honey,” Dylan was saying to Chelsea, who had just yawned. “Visit with Andi and relax. You did most of the cooking. Let me take care of cleanup.”

  “And you worked all day,” Chelsea said softly. “This is a team. We’ll both clear the table, and then we’ll get done quicker. And, my dear, sweet husband—” she grinned conspiratorially at Andi “—don’t bother with your mule-headed routine. Just give in now and accept that I’m right, rather than in two hours or tomorrow or—”

  “Me? Stubborn?” Dylan dropped a kiss on Chelsea’s lips. “You must be thinking of a different guy, because I’m about as laid-back as they get. Help me out here, Andi!”

  “Hmm, I don’t know if I can,” Andi said, remembering a specific incident from her childhood visit so many years ago. “Let’s see if this rings a bell—camping with our families. Reid’s desire to prove he could catch a bigger fish than you and Cole. And a certain someone who refused to give up on proving Reid wrong...all day. Into the evening, missing lunch and dinner, until Uncle Paul decided enough was enough, and—”

  “I remember that!” Dylan said. “But you have the wrong person. We’re not talking about how stubborn Cole is, and I’m almost positive he is the certain someone you’re referring to.”

  “Oh, no. You don’t get to do that,” Andi said, laughing. “It was, without a doubt, you. Because the very next day, you were right back at it, trying to catch a fish bigger than Reid’s. Want to know how I remember this so clearly?”

  “Sure,” Dylan said, “though, you were fairly young. Your memories could be off.”

  “They’re not,” Andi said, bringing that day to the forefront. “Haley and Audrey had taken off somewhere with Reid and Cole and your dad, and I was...lonely, I guess. You—as in Dylan Foster—said I could sit with you while you fished. I went with you. It’s a nice memory. Don’t muddy it up by being...oh, obstinate!”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right,” Dylan said, relenting. “I tried to teach you to fish, but you had no interest. We talked, though. You told me, that long ago, that you were going to be a nurse someday. I believed you...and look, you never changed your mind.”

  She had told him that. She remembered that conversation. “Well. My point is this. If you were that stubborn then, you’re likely ten times more mule-headed now, as an adult.”

  Chelsea snickered. “Try twenty times.”

  “Or thirty!” Henry piped in. “Forty!”

  “Okay, you two, enough from the peanut gallery.” Dylan shook his head in a poor-me, imploring sort of way. “See what I have to put up with? In my own home, even?”

  “I don’t know,” Andi said with a shrug. “Seems sort of wonderful to me. Not sure you should be complaining, with such a beautiful wife and handsome son.”

  “And a baby, too!” Henry said. “Well, not yet. Not for lots of months, and only one baby, not two babies. That would be a lot of noisy crying and I know that for fact!”

  Oh. Oh! Andrea glanced from Dylan to Chelsea, both of whom were staring at Henry with stunned but amused expressions. Obviously, this was information not meant to be shared just yet. “I didn’t hear anything,” she said, pretending to zip her lips. “Nothing. At all.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “That was spose to be a secret. About the baby.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Chelsea said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “We understand you’re excited about becoming a big brother and that it’s hard to not tell everyone.”

  “Yup,” Dylan said. “Don’t be upset. We’re not. We planned on telling everyone soon, anyway. You will be such a terrific big brother, Henry. Without doubt, your little sister or brother is so lucky to have you.”

  “I know that, Daddy.” Henry looked up to Dylan, his natural grin firmly in place. “But she’s a girl, not a boy. I already know. And I’ll love her lots and make sure she’s safe and stuff, ’cause that’s what big brothers do.” Scowling now and with a quick shake of his head, he said, “I’m not playing with any dolls, though. Ever!”

  “She...er, the baby might be a boy, kiddo,” Chelsea said. “And yes, we’re probably only having one baby, but we don’t know that yet, either. It’s better if we just wait and see.”

  Shaking his head more vehemently, Henry said, “I’m having a sister, and there isn’t a second baby. And I’ve been thinking lots about what to name her, since I’ll have to talk to her and stuff, and I decided her name should start with an H. Like my name does.”

  “Hmm. Not a bad idea,” Dylan said. “Maybe Henrietta?”

  “No,” Henry said. “Too much like my name.”

  “Hermione?”

  Henry scrunched his face in thought. “Um. No to that, too.”

  “Hazel?”

  When Henry didn’t immediately answer, Chelsea said, “Let’s round off the noes with a third, but I like the H idea. Keep thinking. Boy and girl names, though.” She disappeared into the kitchen with an armful of dishes, returning a few minutes later. “No other thoughts?”

  “I’ve always liked the name Hannah,” Andrea said, joining the fray. “But to be completely honest, I’m a huge fan of old-fashioned names. I think Hazel is lovely.”

  “Yeah! Hazel, Mommy,” Henry said. “Hazel Foster. That’s her name!”

  Sighing, Chelsea said, “What am I going to do with you, huh? Can we please hold off on finalizing a name until January, at least? Since she...the baby, that is...isn’t due until March?”

  “I want to know what to call her now,” Henry said, tilting his jaw.

  “Henry, sweetie, maybe when we know for sure—” Breaking off, Chelsea shrugged. “It’s just too soon.”

  Wanting to help distract Henry, Andrea said, “Oh, no! I just realized I haven’t seen your bedroom, Henry, and I can’t leave until I do. Feel like giving me a tour? But don’t tell me what color your walls are painted. I’m going to guess...blue!”

  “Nope! But I’ll show you!” All but leaping from his chair, and the baby-name discussion apparently shoved to the back burner for now, Henry grabbed Andi’s hand and tugged. “Daddy let me choose what color I liked best, and blue is okay. But it isn’t my favorite. Come on! You can see my race-car track, too. And my cars!”

  Chelsea mouthed the words thank you to Andi. Smiling in response—she figured Dylan and Chelsea likely needed a few minutes to themselves—she let Henry tug her from the kitchen, through the hallway and into an orange-and-charcoal-gray-painted room.

  “See! Not blue.” Henry spread his arms wide, as if showcasing the entire area. “I wanted orange, and Daddy said gray goes good with orange, so he painted two walls orange and two gray. And he was right. I like it!”

  “Definitely better than blue,” Andi said, taking stock of the space. The remainder of the room was definitely furnished with a little boy’s likes in mind. Shelves filled with cars and books and action figures lined the walls, a large toy box sat in one of the corners, and right in the center of the room, a racetrack with two cars at the ready. “Let’s play,” she said to Henry, plopping down on the floor. “Can I have the green car? Please?”

  He bent his head to the side, as if considering her request, and then nodded. “You can have the green car for the first race, then we’ll trade. It wins the most. And it isn’t fair if you always win just ’cause of the car. Daddy says it’s good to learn how to lose, too.”

  Yes. Someday, she wanted a Henry all of her own. “Deal.”

  She could almost see this boy that didn’t yet, and probably never would, exist. Dark hair, ruffled from the wind, and gorgeous chocolate-brown eyes that warmed in humor and happiness.

  Oh. And he would walk in the sunlight. Just like his daddy.

  Chapter Ten

  Well, hell.

  Could he screw up anything else in th
e remaining fifteen minutes before Andi arrived? Based on how the past two hours had progressed, then yup, he most certainly could.

  And probably would.

  It figured that a meal Ryan had prepared—at a minimum—a dozen times over the past two years to near perfection would fall apart on what might prove to be one of the most important nights of his life. Thus far, anyhow.

  But okay. He couldn’t alter what was, so what could he do to salvage this mess of epic proportions? Other than tossing the entirety of the ruined meal into the garbage and ordering in, he didn’t have a clue. And settling for takeout pizza or Chinese? No. Not an option.

  He needed a backup plan. Why didn’t he have a damn backup plan?

  Because of his absolute, self-centered certainty that his menu of chile rellenos, Mexican rice and baked corn pudding would proceed without a hitch. That was why. If he’d only allowed for the possibility of error, he’d have considered a secondary menu. A couple of steaks for the grill, a loaf of crusty garlic bread and a fresh salad...hell, he could put that meal together in his sleep. What had he been thinking? The answer, he supposed, was that he hadn’t been.

  Worse, the signs of disaster were there from the get-go. First, he’d set the produce bag the poblano peppers were in too close to the stove top, and yup, the damn bag had smoldered and melted, filling the air with the not-so-pleasant scent of burned plastic. Then, he’d overcharred the peppers, but rather than undertaking the intelligent action of admitting defeat, he’d decided to roll with the mishap and tell Andi they were blackened chile rellenos.

  Because sure, everyone wanted a little Cajun tossed in with their Mexican fiesta.

  While the peppers were sweating off their skins, he’d started on the corn pudding. This? About the easiest, no-fuss, no-muss portion of the entire meal, yet he’d managed to overprocess the corn kernels to...mush. Mushier than mush. What he’d ended up with was more like corn gravy but thinner. While finishing prepping the peppers, he forgot about the rice. Which he’d left on the stove, simmering away, which...yup, also became mush.