The Adventurous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Read online

  The Adventurous One

  A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance

  Jeanette Lewis

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Bonus Chapter: The Protective One

  Copyright © 2016 by Janet K. Halling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my family

  Introduction

  By Lucy McConnell

  I've heard it said that some people come into your life and quickly leave – others leave footprints on your heart. Jeanette and Cami are two wonderful authors and women who have left their mark on my heart. Their overwhelming support, knowledge, and general goodness have pushed me forward as a writer and nurtured me as a friend. That's why, I'm pleased to introduce you to their new and innovative series: The Billionaire Bride Pact Romances.

  In each story, you'll find romance and character growth. I almost wrote personal growth – forgetting these are works of fiction – because the books we read become a part of us, their words stamped into our souls. As with any good book, I disappeared into the pages for a while and was able to walk sandy beaches, visit a glass blowing shop, and spend time with a group of women who had made a pact – a pact that influenced their lives, their loves, and their dreams.

  I encourage you to put your feet up, grab a cup of something wonderful, and fall in love with a billionaire today.

  Wishing you all the best,

  Lucy McConnell

  Author of The Professional Bride

  “I, Taylor Diana Medlin, do solemnly swear, that someday I’ll marry a billionaire … OR I will have to sing the Camp Wallakee song (with the bird calls) at my wedding.”

  Chapter 1

  Taylor Medlin pulled open the door to the hospital chapel and stepped inside. She paused while her eyes adjusted to dimness, such a change from the corridor beyond with its sterile fluorescent lighting. The door clicked behind her, shutting out the noise and busyness of the nurse’s station just across the hall.

  A man sat in the back row of pews, his head bowed, so Taylor made her way to the front and took a seat on the opposite side of the room, putting as much distance between herself and the stranger as possible. She needed some peace and solitude.

  The chapel was nondenominational and a small engraved sign on the wall reminded visitors to speak in whispers and maintain the quiet reverence of the room. At the front of the pews, a stained glass window depicted a field of wildflowers with the sun breaking over the horizon, casting long, goldenrod rays. A piano sat in one corner and a lectern stood in the other.

  Taylor closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the slightly musty air, allowing her brain to adjust to the sudden shift in time and space. Eighteen hours ago, she’d been climbing the pyramids in Coba, Mexico, the rocky ledges reaching far above the jungle. The green of the trees interspersed with the gray of dead limbs, like splotches of mold spreading over a wall. The sun beat down and the air was hot and damp and tinged with the scent of salt water.

  Now she was here—Rapid City Regional Medical Center in South Dakota, hoping desperately Grandma would be okay. She’d had a nasty fall, but the surgery to fix her broken hip had gone well. The doctors were optimistic; but Taylor had been shocked by her appearance—the IV poking into the blue vein under her fragile skin, one side of her face bruised to a brilliant purple where she’d hit the concrete. She looked so frail. So ... old.

  Taylor’s eyes stung with tears and she quickly brushed them away. Grandma had always said losing her independence was one of her biggest fears. Hopefully the fall hadn’t started a domino effect of health problems. Grandma was spunky, but ... this felt like the beginning of something bad.

  She sat quietly for several minutes, working to force her thoughts onto more hopeful paths. Grandma would be okay, she had to be okay. It’d only been three years since Grandpa died; they weren’t ready to lose Grandma too.

  Finally, with a small sigh, Taylor rose from the hard bench and turned toward the back of the chapel just as the man in the rear pew raised his head. Their eyes locked and she stopped with a jolt as she took in his dark blond hair, worn quite short, sharp cheekbones, clean jaw, and dark hazel eyes that danced when he laughed. She knew that face.

  “Lane?”

  He flashed her a crooked grin. “Taylor! I thought that was you.”

  She crossed the room in a few steps and slid into the pew beside him, letting him wrap her into a hug. Beneath the thin material of his plaid dress shirt, her fingertips brushed well-defined muscles, much bigger than she remembered. He’d always been ropy and lean, built for endurance over brute strength. Maybe he’d changed his workout routine, or maybe she just didn’t remember.

  Lane Carter. They’d been in the outdoors club together at Black Hills State University, spending weekends taking advantage of the surrounding countryside—Wind Cave, Spearfish, Badlands, and long road trips across the state to Mt. Rushmore. It was a small club and the members quickly got to know each other on long hikes and around campfires.

  “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you. How’s it going?” Taylor asked, pulling back from the hug.

  “Can’t complain,” Lane replied. “What are you doing in a hospital? Is everything okay?” His forehead wrinkled in concern.

  Quickly she filled him in on her grandma and accepted his sympathy. “It’s just surreal, you know? I was actually standing on top of the Ixmoja pyramid when my mother called to tell me Grandma had fallen. I hadn’t had cell service for three days, but for some reason, at that exact moment, I did.”

  “I’ll bet your mom was relieved to get ahold of you,” he said.

  Taylor nodded and rubbed her eyes wearily. “I took the next available flight out of Cancun; I think I’m still jetlagged.” Her eyes felt gritty and she grimaced, knowing how rough she probably looked. She’d come straight from the airport and hadn’t had time to change. “What are you doing here?” she asked, casting around for a change of subject.

  He let his gaze wander over the dimly lit room. “I like to come here, it’s so peaceful. Kind of helps you get re-centered, you know?”

  “I didn’t know you were religious,” Taylor said.

  He gave her a small smile. “Aren’t we all religious in hospitals?”

  “I guess,” Taylor shrugged. “But why are you at the hospital at all?”

  Even in the dim light, she caught the color rising in his checks and a memory struck. She’d heard something about him, something terrible. Her mind hummed, but whether from jet lag or shock or maybe she couldn’t remember, nothing came to mind. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” she said quickly.

  “You’re not prying,” Lane shrugged. “I assumed you knew. I was in a motorcycle accident a few years ago. It was ... pretty bad. I ended up losing my legs.” He tipped his head toward his shoes, planted flat on the floor.

  Taylor
caught her breath as shame washed through her. Why hadn’t she known? “I’m so sorry,” she finally said.

  “It’s okay,” he replied quickly. “It was pretty rough at first, but I’m used to it now. I had to come in this morning for an adjustment with my prosthetist. Just ducked in here for a few minutes afterward.”

  “Is there ... can I do something?” she offered, then felt her face growing hot. What exactly could she do?

  Lane gave her a gentle smile. “I’m okay, thanks. Things are going better now.”

  Taylor glanced toward the door leading to the hospital. “I guess that means you’ve spent a lot of time here,” she said.

  “Quite a bit,” his eyes lit up. “Enough to tell you that the guy who comes to play the piano in the lobby on Thursday afternoons is amazing, the fountain out front breaks down at least once a week, and the spaghetti in the cafeteria is astonishingly bad.”

  Taylor giggled. He’d always been able to make her laugh. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Do you think your grandma will be here long?” Lane asked, growing serious again.

  “I’m not sure. They’re going to try and get her up tomorrow to walk. From what I hear, a lot depends on that.” Her throat felt tight and she took several deep breaths. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Speaking of that, I’d better get back.” For some crazy reason, she almost leaned against his chest, wanting to feel his arms around her again. “It’s really great to see you.”

  “Yeah, you too,” Lane replied. “I hope things go okay. Would you ... will you text me and keep me updated?”

  A small flutter tickled her stomach. Was it just brotherly concern or did he want her number for another reason as well? “Sure.”

  Their eyes met and held for a moment too long, then Taylor forced her gaze away. “I’d better go,” she mumbled.

  They exchanged numbers and Taylor left him to the solace of the chapel.

  Lane sat alone in the pew, staring at the stained glass window without really seeing it. If he’d been asked to make a list of all the people he might encounter at the hospital, Taylor Medlin would be at the bottom. He hadn’t seen her in over three years, not since she dropped out of college and out of his life.

  When she’d come into the chapel, the light above the door had shone on her face, glancing off her graceful cheekbones and illuminating her skin, bronzed golden from the Mexican sun. Her honey-colored hair was longer than he remembered and tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, the ends dangling to her shoulder blades. She wore traveling clothes—cargo pants slung low on her hips and a simple tank top that showed off her delicate shoulders and well defined arms.

  Lane rested his head against the back of the pew and closed his eyes as a torrent of memories flooded over him. He and Taylor had clicked early on in the outdoor club and when the group went out, they’d usually pair up. They were good partners, encouraging, praising, pushing when necessary, accepting no excuses and prodding the last ounce of effort from one another. He’d thought things were moving in the right direction, but hadn’t pushed it. They were young, there was plenty of time.

  Then Taylor met Brent.

  It wasn’t a betrayal, or even a breakup. They weren’t going out, had never even kissed. But Lane would have liked to have kissed Taylor. He wanted to kiss her now ... well, not now, now. Not when she was worried sick about her grandmother. But eventually, kissing Taylor would be fantastic. Why hadn’t he tried to contact her when he’d learned of her divorce? He reconstructed the timeline in his head and instantly knew why.

  Lane gazed at his legs in the dim light, where his navy dress pants covered what he knew was there. Both legs ended at mid-thigh, though the right was slightly longer than the left, as if the surgeons had sought to preserve as much of his natural flesh as they possible could ... which was probably exactly what happened. He appreciated their efforts, but the uneven length had always bothered him, made him seem even more of an oddity. Not only was he missing much of his legs, whatever was left was uneven, making him feel ragged and ugly.

  His prosthetics were a wonder of science and engineering. Carbon fiber sockets molded specifically for him, encased both stumps and were attached to jointed mechanical knees. The knees transitioned to the thin steel rods that functioned as his lower legs and ended in feet made from a combination of plastic and more carbon fiber. The whole setup was more complicated than it appeared, with pressure valves, hinges, and locking pins to allow him as much flexibility and movement as possible.

  But they could never replace what he’d lost. Sometimes he could almost forget about the accident and imagine he had his legs back. He was strong and whole and could do all the things he used to do—rock climbing, marathons, high endurance hikes. It was always a shock, like a face full of ice water, when he looked down and remembered it was only a daydream. His legs were gone, and no matter how comfortable or lifelike the prosthetics, they were still pieces of plastic and metal, foreign invaders taking over his body.

  His phone beeped and he felt a surge of excitement, irrationally hoping it would be Taylor. But when he hit the button, it was a text from his mother.

  I’m outside when you’re ready.

  His appointment with the prosthetist had gone well, but he didn’t like to drive right after an adjustment. Even slight changes affected the way his legs worked and there were too many unknowns to confidently operate a car. His parents had had to take on the burden of caring for him and the knowledge grated. He’d prided himself on his independence before the accident. Now he was ... what?

  Sighing, Lane got to his feet, clutching the back of the pew to get his balance. He left the chapel and made his way down the long hall to the elevators, walking a bit stiffly, still getting used to the adjustments. He pressed the button and stood waiting, eyeing the three stainless steel elevator doors. Taylor would have gone back to the fifth floor. Which elevator did she take? Would it still hold the whisper of her perfume?

  “How’d it go?” Lane’s mother asked when he reached the car, idling in the pickup lane at the front of the hospital.

  “Good,” he replied. “The usual.”

  “You look tired, sweetie,” she gave him a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest. Can you take the afternoon off?”

  He shook his head. “I already had to ask a coworker to cover for me this morning. I can’t ask him to stay even longer.”

  His mother steered the car into traffic. She was a petite woman with her hair cut in a short bob and tucked behind her ears. Lately Lane had noticed gray mixing with the blond strands.

  “People don’t mind helping, you know,” she said.

  “I don’t want help,” he said, drumming his fingers along his thigh, feeling the rigid carbon fiber sheath through his pants. “I can do things on my own.”

  She pressed her lips together and concentrated on driving. They’d had this discussion many times, always with the same results.

  “What time shall I pick you up?” she asked when she pulled to a stop in front of the low, brick building that held the Centrics call center.

  “Probably seven,” he replied. “I’ll have to stay late to catch up on what I missed.”

  She gave him a tight nod as he gathered his things. It was another old argument. His mother didn’t think he should be working, and definitely not trying to hold down a full-time job. He had plenty of cause to apply for disability, but if he quit working, what then? The idea of long, empty days with nothing to do was almost as terrifying as the thought of spending the rest of his life in a call center. Even finishing college seemed like a distant dream.

  “Thanks for the ride. I’ll text you if I need to stay longer than seven.” Lane leaned over to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek and climbed out of the car, trying to forget the worry etched on her face.

  Chapter 2

  Taylor got off the elevator on the fifth floor and moved in a daze to the lobby. She slumped into a red and brown patterne
d chair and put her head in her hands, staring at the beige carpet between her sturdy sport sandals. Tears sprang to her eyes and her heart twisted as images rose unbidden to her mind of Lane’s accident, the unimaginable agony he must have endured. What had it cost him just to survive, not to mention recovery and learning to walk again? And what about the emotional scars, would they ever completely heal?

  She couldn’t think of this, her focus needed to be on her family. But now she and Lane had reopened a connection, she couldn’t just ignore it. And maybe ... maybe there was another reason she’d felt such a strong urge to rush home to be with Grandma. Maybe she was here because she could help Lane too. She hadn’t been here for him when it happened, the least she could do was be here for him now.

  But right now it needed to be one thing at a time. Taylor took a deep, shuddering breath and got to her feet.

  Grandma’s room felt depressing with its perpetual dimness and stale air. Grandma loved light and sunshine, fresh flowers and cool spring breezes; Taylor wanted to throw open the blinds and crank the window open, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it.

  Taylor’s mother sat by Grandma’s bed, her head buried in a Philippa Gregory book, she’d always been obsessed with Tudor England. Aunt Sylvia dozed on the tiny loveseat in the corner.

  “Any change?” Taylor asked softly closing the door behind her.

  Her mother looked up from the book. She was three years older than Aunt Sylvia, but the sisters were often mistaken for twins with their identical builds, the same sky blue eyes, and their brown hair styled in similar shoulder-length cuts.

  “No change, but she’s sleeping peacefully.”

  “Isn’t that kind of worrisome?” Taylor asked. “She’s been out of surgery for six hours, don’t you think she’d be more alert?”