The Adventurous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance

by Jeanette Lewis

  “She’s on some pretty heavy duty painkillers,” her mother replied.

  Taylor nodded and took the chair on the other side of the bed across from her mother. “I guess that would make her pretty sleepy,” she allowed.

  “Yes. And it’s probably better she sleeps. It’s easier on her anyway.”

  The nurses had come in earlier to check the bandages over the surgery site, but Taylor hadn’t been able to look. Just seeing the bruising on her grandmother’s face made her heart wrench, she didn’t want to see long rows of stitches too.

  Lane had had a long row of stitches too, no rows of stitches.

  Sorrow clogged her chest. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, needing something to cling to.

  “No one is really sure yet,” her mother sighed. “But things are looking good.”

  Taylor cast a quick look at Aunt Sylvia’s sleeping figure. “What about Jaxon and Cece?” she asked about her cousins. Cece lived with Grandma, ostensibly to be closer to the beauty school she attended, but if her posts on social media were to be believed, she spent much more time surfing the internet or hanging out with friends than she did going to classes.

  “Cece’s the one who found her and called the ambulance. She rode with her and stayed for the surgery, but I haven’t seen her since. It was pretty hard on her. Jaxon is in California working at some software company. He couldn’t get time off.”

  Taylor nodded and they sat for a few minutes in silence. “Have you talked to Brent?” her mother finally asked.

  A chill shot through Taylor, tightening her throat and making her hands clammy. “Brent? No, why should I?”

  “Don’t you think he’d want to know?”

  “I don’t really concern myself with what Brent wants or doesn’t want anymore,” Taylor said, keeping her eyes glued to the olive green blanket on the bed. She’d been expecting her mother to ask questions about Brent, but not this soon.

  “Taylor,” her mother began in a wheedling tone, but Taylor shook her head.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now, Mom. Please?”

  “Okay, fine,” her mother said defensively. “But I think Grandma would want him to know.”

  Then you don’t know him like she did.

  All her parents ever saw was the money, but Grandma saw through Brent Garnett from the beginning. How many times had Taylor rued her impulsiveness, her unwillingness to listen to her grandmother’s concerns? Grandma tried to warn her, begged her to slow down, but Taylor was too much in love ... or more accurately, in infatuation. Was it ever really love? She doubted it.

  She’d met Brent at Garnett Used Motors, one of his family’s many car dealerships throughout the state of South Dakota. Taylor was walking around the lot looking for a reliable car when he’d materialized from nowhere. He was a few inches taller and powerfully built, with thick muscles and broad shoulders. At twenty-eight, his hairline was already receding, but he disguised it well by keeping his head shaved. The look fit him and when matched with the expensive clothes and his confident swagger, he was a force to be reckoned with.

  Taylor hadn’t known who he was at first. To her, he was only some guy who’d struck up a conversation on the sales lot. But later, as she sat with the loan officer hashing out the paperwork to buy a 2009 Hyundai, Brent stopped by again.

  “Take good care of this one for me, will you?” He’d asked, giving the loan officer a broad smile.

  “Of course, sir,” the man agreed as Brent winked at Taylor and walked away.

  His intervention resulted in a significant drop in the cost of the car and Taylor left feeling extremely lucky. A few days later, he’d called and she’d been so flustered she hadn’t even thought to ask how he’d gotten her number.

  A whirlwind romance later, they were married.

  Now the car he’d given her such a great deal on was long gone; she’d sold it the day after the divorce was finalized. She’d sold everything she got as part of the divorce settlement, anything Brent’s money paid for—the car, her wedding ring, the closet full of fancy clothes.

  But even two years later, her parents still only saw the money she’d given up.

  “I know you’re tired, sweetie.” Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Why don’t you go to Grandma’s house and get some rest? Cece should be there.”

  Grandma’s condo was only a few blocks from the hospital. A hot shower and a good night’s sleep sounded wonderful, but Taylor shook her head. “You’ve been here longer than me, why don’t you go?”

  “I haven’t been traveling all night and besides, I want to be here when she wakes up. Go get some sleep and come back in the morning,” her mother prodded.

  Taylor didn’t need much convincing; she was entering the zone of exhaustion where her head ached and everything took on a hazy outline. She brought coffee and muffins from the hospital cafeteria for her mother and Aunt Sylvia, then found her mom’s car in the hospital parking lot. Her cell battery hovered in the red and her charger was buried somewhere in her duffel. She was too tired to dig for it but she dialed anyway and hoped she’d have enough power left for the phone call.

  “Finally!” Summer answered in a rush. “How is everything? Did you make it okay?”

  “Yes, I’m here and things are okay, but not great,” Taylor sighed. “I think I’m going to have to stay a while.”

  “But what about the rest of the trip?” Summer asked, her voice sounding faint over the line. Summer was a friend from Camp Wallakee, a camp they’d attended several times as teenagers. Of all the girls assigned to Cabin Twelve over the years, Taylor had the most in common with Summer. They shared a wandering spirit and a taste for adventure. Summer was the one would follow Taylor off the highest diving platform into the lake or sneak off to explore the nearby caves even though it was expressly forbidden. They’d developed a bit of a reputation over the years, but none of the camp counselors ever thought to put them in separate cabins. Or maybe they had, but were overruled by the administration, who was willing to overlook a few hijinks in exchange for the expensive tuition every summer.

  Now they were older, Summer often accompanied Taylor on her travels, usually bringing along a different boyfriend for each trip. For the trip to Mexico, she’d brought Josh.

  As Taylor sat in the dim parking garage, she imagined Summer how she’d left her—barefoot, wearing a tank top and a flowy peasant skirt as she sat in the girls’ shared bungalow in Tulum, Mexico. The bungalow was a small, circular room with thick, rock walls and a thatched roof that smelled like warm straw. The twin beds each had their own canopy of thick white mosquito netting, gathered behind the tall green painted wood headboards during the day. Through the open door came the sound of the ocean, a short walk through a small grove of palm trees. Josh stayed in an identical bungalow next door.

  “Taylor?” Summer prodded, pulling her out of her thoughts. “We still have a week, can you come back?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll see how she is and if things are okay, I’ll try,” Taylor fiddled with the mass of keychains attached to her mother’s car keys, souvenirs from vacations over the years.

  “Do you want us to come there?” Summer offered.

  “Of course not. Why should this interrupt your plans?”

  “Uh ... because we care about you, dipwad,” Summer said. “If you need us to come help you, we will.”

  “Thanks, that’s very thoughtful, but I think she’ll be okay,” Taylor said. “I’ll be in touch and hopefully meet back up with you. Sound good?”

  “Okay,” Summer replied after a pause. “You should also know I saw Anton today at the cafe and he asked me where you were.”

  Anton had been on the tour bus to the pyramid and they’d struck up a conversation. At the time, Taylor had been intrigued by his charming manner and sensual, dark eyed glances. But now it didn’t matter. Now what mattered was Grandma lying in a hospital bed.

  And Lane, as he’d looked today—eyes shadowed by the dim lig
hting, his crooked grin when she’d recognized him. The smell of his cologne when he’d hugged her. His legs. Her heart wrenched.

  “Tell Anton I went home,” she told Summer.

  Chapter 3

  The rope swing had been Lane’s idea. He’d been twenty-three, camping with a group of friends at Angostura Reservoir. Lane had taken one look at the tall trees along the steeply slanting bank and knew exactly what they needed.

  His friend, Jeremy, climbed the tree, dragging the rope up with him and soon they had a swing dangling above the rocky ledge. They took turns pulling the rope up the hill, stretching it to the limit, then jumping on the knot and letting it fly, whooping with excitement as the swing carried them over the water. The key was to hang on until they hit the apex when the rope grew taut, and then let go, to plunge thirty feet into the water.

  They practiced throughout the day and soon were able to do two or even three flips before the dive. Lane would never forget the adrenaline rush that came at the perfect moment, hanging in midair, catching a glimpse of his friends’ watching faces, that space between two heartbeats when the universe seemed to hold its breath. Then came the rough texture of the rope sliding between his fingers and his stomach jumping to his throat as the sparkling water rushed up to meet him.

  “Mr. Carter?”

  Evelyn’s voice brought Lane out of the memory and he was once again in his dingy little office, anchored to the floor by his fake feet, heavy as tree stumps.

  “Sorry.” He blinked and tried to focus on the young woman who stood before him. She’d been on his team for only a few months and was doing well. Smart, energetic, and pleasant with a bit of a punk vibe with her bright green hair and piercings all the way up both earlobes. “What did you say?”

  Evelyn gave him a look of exasperation. “My friends are going to Angostura Reservoir this weekend and I know it’s short notice, but can I have it off so I can go with them?”

  Angostura—that’s what had triggered the memory. Lane reached for the putty colored binder on the corner of his desk and flipped it open. Beyond the open door, the call center stretched in row after row of gray cubicles, half-filled at this hour with employees making sales calls.

  He scanned the scheduling sheet for his team. “This weekend?” he clarified with Evelyn and when she nodded, he grabbed a pen and crossed her name off the list. “Go have fun; I’ll get it covered.”

  “Thanks!” She gave him a double thumbs up to match her wide grin and slipped out of the room.

  Lane scribbled “cover Evelyn’s shift” on a clipboard with his daily to do list. The list was already depressingly long and the chances of finding someone to cover a last minute weekend shift were slim. He’d feel safe betting he’d be here, on the phones in her place.

  Well, Evelyn was young and had energy and health; she should be allowed to go have fun once in a while. It was what he would have done at her age—what he did do at her age.

  His office mate, Roger sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Is it just me or is this day dragging?” He said around a huge yawn. “Want to go get lunch?”

  Lane shook his head. He’d come in late because of the doctor’s appointment. “Sorry. Too much work to catch up on.”

  Roger reached for his phone and put it in his pocket as he stood. “Okay. Want me to bring you anything back?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Lane replied.

  There were no windows in the call center, nothing to distract the employees from their phones. But Lane knew that outside, puffy marshmallow clouds were scudding across a cerulean sky and a gentle breeze wafted through the treetops. Before the accident, he’d have been out there, enjoying the sunshine at his old job as a trail guide for Portland Outfitters, taking clients on hikes, overnight camping trips, and ATV tours.

  He slammed the scheduling binder shut in frustration. Self-pity was tiresome, especially when he knew how lucky he was to be alive at all. He’d worked hard and made a lot of progress in the last year and a half; some days were simply harder than others.

  Maybe it was because he’d seen Taylor. The time he’d spent with the outdoor club had been some of the best of his life and seeing her brought it all back, reminding him of how limited he was now.

  No, not limited ... changed. The sing-song voice of Lane’s physical therapist filled his ears, the mantra she’d hammered into him in the months following the accident when he was learning to walk again.

  Lane rubbed his temples, thinking of Taylor. She’d changed too, but in a better way than he had. She’d filled out, replacing her gangly limbs with womanly curves. And there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before—experience, maturity, and a shade of sadness. He wanted to hear her stories, share her past, to put his arm around her and draw her head onto his shoulder. Would she give him a chance?

  The condo was on the second floor of a three story building in the middle of a large development. Taylor pulled into a visitor’s spot and turned off the engine. She leaned forward to look out the windshield at the balcony and the sliding glass door leading to Grandma’s condo. The door was open and she’d be willing to bet Cece had the air conditioning going full blast as well, it’s not like she paid the electric bill anyway.

  Taylor dragged her bag up the concrete stairs, remembering there was no elevator in the building. How would Grandma manage the stairs? How did Lane manage stairs? She felt emotionally drained and hadn’t had the time or the energy to think too much about his accident, but the shock of it was wearing off, replaced by aching sorrow at what he must have been through ... was probably still going through.

  She knocked, but got no response, so she pushed the doorbell. A tinny, computerized rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” started playing and Taylor rolled her eyes. The doorbell had probably been a gift from Jaxon, Cece’s brother. He loved gadgets and weird stuff like that.

  The door flew open a second later. Cece was six years younger than Taylor, shorter by several inches, and much curvier. Her dark blond hair was in a messy knot on top of her head and she wore designer sweatpants and a t-shirt from a Lorde concert.

  “Taylor! How are you? Mom texted me you were coming.” After a fierce hug, Cece stepped back from the door so Taylor could enter, all the while keeping up a rapid-fire string of questions. “Have you been at the hospital? Is there any change? Are you hungry?”

  Taylor stepped inside and closed the door. “Yes, no, and yes,” she said, trying to keep up with Cece. “And I’m filthy and need a shower.”

  The condo was relatively new, Grandma had moved three years ago, after Grandpa’s death, after realizing the big house in the suburbs was too much upkeep for her. The furniture that had been so comfortable in the old house looked strange in the condo, out of place. The china hutch was much too big for the dining room and the floral print couches made a strange, old fashioned contrast to the modern, sleek look of the room’s architecture. But Taylor wouldn’t have had it any other way. The furniture felt comforting, a reminder of happier days when they’d gather around the big oak table at the old house for board games and popcorn. Her grandpa was a terrible tease and he’d pester Taylor and Cece relentlessly about boys, his gray eyes twinkling under his heavy brows when they’d protest loudly.

  Grandpa died from a stroke during Taylor’s marriage to Brent. Unlike Grandma, he’d never said anything to Taylor about her marriage, but she had the impression he was as disappointed in her choice as Grandma. If only Taylor had confided in them and not stubbornly tried to handle it on her own; maybe things would have been different.

  Cece’s phone rarely left her hand. “Why don’t you shower while I order a pizza,” she suggested, tapping on the screen.

  The shower was heavenly and when Taylor emerged, she felt almost human again. She dressed in comfy pajama pants and an oversize t-shirt she’d picked up in Mexico. The pizza arrived shortly after and while they ate, Cece told her about Grandma’s fall.

  “S
he went to get the mail and slipped on the top step,” Cece said, tears filling her large blue eyes. “I heard her scream and found her at the bottom on the sidewalk. She was pretty messed up. I called emergency and they got here really fast and took us to the hospital. She was in a lot of pain; I didn’t know what to do.”

  “It sounds to me like you did the right thing,” Taylor took a bite of the Caprese pizza, the balsamic vinegar tingling on her tongue.

  “I guess,” Cece sighed. “I never want to have to go through anything like that again though. It was so scary.”

  Taylor gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know. She’s in good hands now though.” It was the same line she’d used the whole trip home to try and make herself feel better but from her cousin’s frown, it didn’t appear to be working with Cece any better than it had worked with her. “Are you going to visit her today?”

  “Probably tomorrow,” Cece said. “I’ve already missed a lot of classes this semester though, so I can’t stay long.” She launched into stories about cosmetology school and her recent class on eyebrow threading. “Maybe I can practice on you,” she suggested.

  “Maybe,” Taylor agreed. Her limbs were growing heavy and her brain felt sluggish. She glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized she’d been awake almost twenty-three hours. “I’m beat,” she admitted, stifling a yawn.

  Cece nodded and reached for another slice of pizza. “You go take a nap, I’ll clean up. Do you want the extra bed in the guest room? Or I guess you could sleep in Grandma’s room.”

  “Grandma’s room,” Taylor decided. She’d poked her head into the guest room on her way to her shower and both twin beds, the desk, and the floor were all covered with Cece’s clothes, blankets, books, and empty dishes. The thought of having to move it all out of the way so she could reach the bed was exhausting.

  Taylor brushed her teeth and sank gratefully into the softness of the queen sized bed. The pillows held the familiar scent of Grandma’s lilac perfume and Taylor inhaled deeply, forcing back tears. The air conditioner was turned low enough that she shivered and pulled the quilt up. It was thick and fluffy, handmade by Grandma when Taylor was a little girl. She remembered playing under it many years ago as it stood stretched on a quilt frame in the basement of the old house. She’d lie on her back, watching as Grandma’s hands drew the needle through the colorful fabric, patiently making the thousands of tiny, precise stitches. No one made quilts that way anymore, not even Grandma. Now she had them quilted on a big machine at the fabric store.