The Adventurous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance

by Jeanette Lewis

  Too tired to get out of bed and kneel, Taylor closed her eyes and offered up a quick prayer for Grandma, for her family, for Summer and Josh, still in Mexico, and finally, for Lane.

  She forced back a wave of guilt. Even if she had known about his accident, what could she have done? She’d been going through her own drama at that time and would hardly have been in a position to offer him help or comfort. But she could offer them now. Maybe they could find some time to hang out and rekindle their friendship.

  But was friendship all she wanted to rekindle? In the outdoor club, there’d been something between them, something more, and she’d felt it again at the hospital. Something burned in the depths of his eyes, an intensity she instantly responded to, a craving she suddenly desperately wanted to fulfill. But she’d come home only here temporarily and she couldn’t want, didn’t want, the entanglements of a romance.

  She’d forgotten to pack her sleep mask and so despite her exhaustion, she lay awake for some time, watching the late afternoon sun filter through the blinds and listening to the birds in the sycamore tree outside Grandma’s window.

  Chapter 4

  Lane pulled himself out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.” His father hit the button on the visor to close the garage door. “Do you need some help with your bag?”

  “I’ve got it,” Lane pulled his heavy bag from the car and adjusted on his shoulder to keep it from banging against his hip and throwing him off balance.

  His mother waited in the kitchen. “Grilled salmon for dinner; it should be ready in about an hour,” she said. “Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

  “No thanks, I’m good.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  He knew they would watch him until he’d walked all the way down the hall to his bedroom and worked to keep his gait natural, portraying none of the soreness he felt. Once he reached the bedroom, he shut the door and collapsed onto the bed. He knew his parents were only trying to help, but he was tired of being treated like a child. What choice did he have though? He’d had no health insurance at the time of the accident and the money from his motorcycle insurance and his job never seemed to be enough for the never-ending medical bills, let alone any other expenses.

  Who needed health insurance? He’d been twenty-seven and invincible.

  Stupid is a better word.

  Lane bent to unlace his shoes and, after some shifting, got the shoes and his pants off so he could access his prosthetics. After releasing the suction valve, he slid the carbon fiber sleeves off, then the cotton sheaths he wore for padding, and finally the gel liners, damp and sweaty and disgusting. He’d need to wash them out later tonight, or his mother would.

  He had a wheelchair to use when he wasn’t wearing his prosthetics, but at home it was usually easier to simply scoot around on his backside, using his arms to pull himself along. He’d spent countless hours in the gym, lifting weights and strength training in ways he never had before. He used to have the long, ropy biceps of a climber, but now they were hard and rounded, suited more to a weightlifter than the person he’d always been.

  Lane hauled himself into the master bathroom, stripped down, and pulled his body onto the sturdy shower stool. Since this bathroom was the only one with a walk in shower, his parents gave him their room and moved to one of the large bedrooms in the basement. They never complained about giving up their space, just like they never complained about the endless hours they spent waiting for him at hospitals and doctor’s offices or the days they had to chauffeur him around following an adjustment or the money he’d cost them or the disruption to their lives he’d caused. It all added up to a debt he’d never be able to repay.

  He finished the shower, toweled off, and pulled himself back to the bed. Everything used to be so much easier, amazing how much of a difference ten minutes could make in someone’s life.

  As long as he lived he’d never forget that day on Iron Mountain Road—the pines standing like emerald green spears against the sharp blue of the sky, the exhilaration that came with riding his motorcycle, his heart racing along with the engine as he pushed it to go faster, faster, faster. He took a hairpin turn too wide and didn’t see the truck until it was too late. The next few seconds were blazed in his brain forever, the screech of the tires on the road, his hands cramping as he struggled to regain control, then the terror when he realized the bike was going down.

  And the pain. In the blink of an eye, his life had become a never-ending succession of pain. There’d been a brief period of shock, but the pain kicked in long before medical help arrived. He’d never forget the anguish of being pinned under the truck for more than an hour, his agony making everything else blur. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion, even though he knew they were working frantically to save him. He didn’t remember the actual surgery to amputate what was left of his legs, but would never forget the weeks of agony afterward as his severed nerves throbbed and burned. And now he had phantom pains, poorly fitting prosthetics that caused wounds that wept and bled, back aches, joint aches, and a whole host of other problems.

  But as bad as the physical pains were, they were easier to bear than the emotional pain, the knowledge that because of one moment of stupidity, his life was forever changed.

  Lane sighed and reached for his phone. He propped a pillow behind his head and pulled up Taylor’s number. Was it too soon to text her? Would she think he was too eager? So what? He was eager to see her again. Before he could overthink it, he sent her a text.

  Hi, it’s Lane. It was great seeing you again! If you have time, want to get together and catch up?

  He pressed the send button and waited, heart pounding. But when his mother called him to dinner half an hour later, there’d been no reply.

  Because of the legs.

  It was always his first thought since the accident. No matter what happened, his brain seemed determined to blame anything bad on his missing leg. Didn’t get the promotion at work? Haircut didn’t turn out right? Apple was mealy? All had to be because of the legs, right?

  But this was different. His love life, or more accurately, his lack of a love life, actually could be blamed on the accident. Maybe. No matter how well things seemed to go at first, his relationships never progressed past the acquaintance level. They always followed the same pattern—they’d chat a few times over text or on the phone and the woman always seemed nice, sympathetic even. He never tried to hide what had happened to him and by the time they actually met, she would already know about his legs.

  They’d meet somewhere and he’d try to get there first, already situated and waiting. Seated at a table in a restaurant, things felt normal, he was more like the old Lane and could forget his anxieties and enjoy the moment. They’d chat and eat, tell jokes, and swap stories, but at the end of the meal came the part he always dreaded the most—the awkward walk to the parking lot.

  Lane had become pretty good at walking without much of a limp, but the woman’s eyes would automatically go to his legs and under her scrutiny, he’d lose a little bit of his coordination. No matter how hard he tried, the small lurch that was always part of his gait became ten times worse until he felt as if he was stumbling along like the last drunk to leave the party. Great way to make a good impression.

  There could have been other issues, probably were. But it was hard not to automatically blame himself. Who wanted to date a guy with no legs? Not to mention ... marry a guy with no legs and have children with him? Over two years in and he still sometimes had a hard time looking at himself without his prosthesis. He worked hard to stay in shape, but nothing could ever fix his residual limbs, his thighs dangling uselessly and now shrunk to half their original size.

  Who would ever find that attractive?

  Lane scratched angrily at his right thigh as anxiety pulsed through him. Maybe he shouldn’t have texted Taylor; maybe he should leave the past in the past. What would she do when she saw him walk? Sh
e’d acted pretty normal in the chapel though and hadn’t responded with the frozen politeness or overbearing sympathy he usually got when someone found out about his legs.

  He thought again of how she’d looked today, obviously travel weary and disheveled, but still unbelievably beautiful, her smile still bright, her eyes lit with some sort of internal glow. Her slim body had curved into him during their too brief hug, bringing him a small measure of peace and maybe ... hope? He wanted to, needed to see her. No matter what, he couldn’t let her slip away again.

  Chapter 5

  What was meant to be a semi-long nap turned into a full-blown sleep and Taylor woke to the early morning sun streaming in the windows. For a few minutes she lay still, disoriented and trying to remember where she was and why. Then it all came back and she groaned, massaging a kink in her neck as she hauled herself out of bed. The door to Cece’s room was closed and Taylor didn’t knock. Her cousin had always been a night owl, she’d probably only been in bed a few hours. Besides, she relished the peace and quiet.

  She poured a bowl of Cheerios, took a seat on a spindly barstool at the counter, and opened her laptop, already dreading what she knew she’d find. She entered Lane’s name and Google quickly returned a list of stories about his accident. She scrolled through the pages of headlines, her Cheerios turning to glue on her mouth.

  “Local Man Loses Legs in Motorcycle Accident”

  “Motorcyclist from Iron Mountain Road Accident Undergoes Double Amputation”

  “Fundraiser Planned for Man Injured in Motorcycle Accident”

  Tears filled Taylor’s eyes as she read through the stories, accompanied by photos of a horribly mutilated black motorcycle wedged under a large yellow truck, the surrounding asphalt strewn with broken glass and twisted metal. It was a miracle Lane survived at all.

  Speaking of Lane ... Taylor grabbed her phone and her heart jumped when she saw the text from him. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she replied.

  Sorry, I was exhausted last night. Great to see you too. Yes! I’d love to catch up.

  There were also two texts from her mother with updates on Grandma. She’d woken up and had had some juice, but felt too dizzy to get up yet. They were hoping she could try again tomorrow. Taylor’s heart filled with gratitude as her fingers flew over the keyboard, letting her mother know she’d be by as soon as she finished updating her blog.

  The sunshine coming in the sliding glass door seemed brighter, bubbling over with sudden happiness as Taylor carried her laptop to Grandma’s green recliner and settled in. She’d already been offline for far too long, her readers would be wondering.

  The travel blog was born after the divorce, when Taylor drifted on a sea of loneliness and self-recrimination. Three months after the divorce was finalized the shock was starting to wear off and the money she’d made selling everything Brent had given her was running out. She’d filled up her car at a gas station, then climbed behind the wheel and burst into tears, dreading going back to her parent’s house. Had she made the right choice leaving Brent? Most of her family and friends didn’t seem to think so. Selfish, they called her. Or stupid. Brent was handsome, wealthy, and well-connected, why would she ever give that up?

  But they’d only ever seen the happy face she put on in public, the darker stuff was buried deep. They’d never seen the way he belittled her, making snide comments about everything from her cooking to her sleeping habits to her weight. They’d never seen how he used his money to control her and wielded affection as a weapon.

  Another vehicle pulled into the pump ahead of hers and Taylor looked up, wiping the tears from her cheeks. It was an old muddy pickup truck with a camper on the back. The driver jumped out, a girl wearing denim shorts showing off lean, tanned legs, a fitted t-shirt, and rugged hiking boots. A flannel shirt was tied loosely around her hips. She swiped her card and left the truck filling with gas while she hurried into the store and came back a few minutes later with a cardboard cup of coffee. She finished filling the truck and as she put the gas nozzle back on the pump, she glanced over at Taylor. For a moment their eyes met, then the girl flashed her a quick smile, jumped behind the wheel of her truck, and was gone.

  There wasn’t anything remarkable about the exchange, but for Taylor, it was life changing. In that girl, she saw glimpses of who she used to be. Young, fearless, eager for adventure, and above all ... happy. How long had it been since she’d felt true, sincere happiness? Still sitting in her car, Taylor pulled up her Amazon app and bought a pair of hiking boots. And that was the beginning.

  She’d started the blog as a way to keep her family and friends updated on her travels and no one had been more surprised than she was when WorldTrek.com, a popular travel website, offered to sponsor her and host her blog on their front page. The little bit of freedom she gave up was worth it for the steady income.

  Taylor’s last post had been from Mexico and her readers were expecting a play by play of the pyramid climb but instead, she wrote about Grandma’s fall and her last minute flight home, ending with a promise to be back out there as soon as she could. She clicked the publish button and sat back with a grim sigh. Not her finest work, but hopefully they’d understand. She’d texted Kaycee, her boss at WorldTrek before she’d left Mexico and had received an instant reply, assuring her not to worry about anything and go take care of her family.

  She put her laptop away and rinsed her cereal bowl, noticing Cece’s version of “cleaning up” had been to stick the leftover pizza in the fridge, box and all, and toss their used napkins in the garbage. The plates were stacked by the sink, still dirty.

  That was Cece. Taylor sighed and went to work, washing the plates and wiping down the countertops and the inside of the microwave, where popcorn butter spattered. Her hands were wet with dishwater when her text alert dinged. She hurried to dry them and grabbed the phone. A wave of anticipation shot through her when she saw the text was from Lane.

  Awesome. Anything particular you’d like to do? How’s your grandma?

  Her damp fingers stuck to the screen as she typed her reply.

  Doing better, thanks for asking. I’ll probably be at the hospital most of the day. How about tomorrow? I’d love to visit some of the old hangouts again. How about a hike?

  While Taylor waited for him to respond, she finished the kitchen and went to get dressed in a pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Her long, wavy hair did whatever it wanted anyway, so she pulled it up into a messy bun at the back of her head.

  Lane still hadn’t responded when she was done and she fought back a wave of disappointment, reminding herself it had only been an hour. But with texting, an hour was an eternity.

  Determined not to overreact, she called her mother.

  “Hi sweetheart.”

  A dart of guilt ran through Taylor at the exhaustion in her mother’s voice. “Did you get any sleep?” She asked.

  “Some. A few hours on the couch.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes and you can go rest,” Taylor assured her. She scribbled a note for Cece on the notepad Grandma kept by the fridge. “Do you want me to bring breakfast?”

  Taylor’s text alert dinged in her ear. Without thinking, she yanked the phone away from her face to see Lane’s latest message. It started with a frowny yellow emotion face.

  I’m sorry, I can’t do much hiking anymore. Would you like to get ice cream instead? I’ll understand if not.

  Her face flamed. She didn’t know much about prosthetic legs, but she should have at least considered it. Now she’d probably embarrassed him.

  “Taylor?” Her mother’s voice came through the phone. She’d almost forgotten she was on a phone call.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “What did you say?”

  “We don’t need any food,” her mother replied. “See you soon.”

  After they hung up, Taylor turned her attention back to Lane’s text. Yesterday she’d sensed his loneliness, a vulnerability he’d tried hard to conceal that hovere
d at his shoulder like a shadow.

  Ice cream sounds great. How about Nan’s tomorrow at one?

  She hit the send button, her mind already sorting through her options to decide what to wear tomorrow. Maybe if she had time, she could go shopping for something new. Taylor tore her message to Cece from the notepad and placed it on the counter where her cousin would see it. Already anticipating seeing Lane again, a smile sprang to her lips as she shoved her phone into her purse and hurried out the door.

  Taylor entered the hospital room and felt a surge of relief at the sight of Grandma, sitting up in bed.

  “Grandma!” Taylor dropped her bag on the loveseat and wrapped her in a careful hug. After she pulled back, she stayed close, her eyes anxiously searching her grandmother’s bruised face. “Are you okay? How do you feel? How’s your hip?”

  “I’m feeling fine, sweetheart,” Grandma gave her a gentle smile. “You didn’t need to come all the way from Mexico just for a silly accident.”

  “Not silly at all,” Taylor shook her head. “I was so worried about you.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have worried! I’m tough,” Grandma insisted. But her non-bruised skin was pale and her hands shook.

  “Mom, if you’re okay here, we’re going to go for a little while,” Aunt Sylvia spoke up. She looked as tired as Taylor’s mother with straggly hair and large circles under her eyes.