She could get around almost as well as any other student—able to use her strong and steady arms to lift herself from bed to chair to toilet to bath. She could dress and dress well. She favored long flowy skirts that were easy to get on and off, excruciatingly cute tops with no shortage of bling and a little cleavage, and UGG boots. She could also shop, cook, study, work on animals, hang with friends, and be an excellent graduate student obtaining a DVM.
So, basically, she was living her best life. Which, on dark nights alone in her bed, really meant the “best life for a girl who’d never walk, dance, ski, or run into the arms of a loving husband.”
On her lap, her phone buzzed and lit with a text.
Wade Reynolds: I’m outside :)
“Here we go,” she muttered. “Pop goes the truth bubble the minute I roll out there.”
Would she see the surprise and disappointment in his eyes, or would he hide it? Would he joke about it or suddenly go sympathetic and serious, asking how it had happened? Or wouldhe do what so many people tried—and usually failed—to do? To pretend that a wheelchair made no difference.
Time to find out what the Alabama hottie was made of.
Pulling on her poncho, she took a steadying breath, rolled toward the door and left the apartment, her wheels whispering softly against the polished hallway floor. The residence hall of the vet institute smelled like cinnamon rolls from someone’s toaster oven and the faint disinfectant of freshly cleaned tile.
When she reached the glass double doors at the front, she spotted him right away.
Wade Reynolds stood in the crisp winter sunlight, hands in his pockets, looking around the campus like he belonged there. Under a puffer vest, his flannel shirt was rolled to the elbows, faded jeans over scuffed boots.
He had a square jaw, dark hair just long enough to curl above his collar, and that same easy smile she’d tried not to replay in her mind since meeting him. No cowboy hat this time, but somehow that made him even more attractive.
In fact, he was so good-looking it almost hurt. Well, it would hurt when those pretty green eyes slid over the chair that confined her and clouded in disappointment.
She waved her hand over the auto open button and rolled out into the sunshine to the pavilion where he stood. He turned, angled his head, and held out his arms like…well, like she could run into them.
“There’s the cowgirl.”
His eyes flicked down, just for a heartbeat, taking in the chair. But there was no disappointment, surprise, or curiosity. Just a smile.
Not a pity smile. Not a startled,oh-gosh-I-don’t-know-what-to-saysmile. Just a warm and genuine smile that took him from a solid nine to an eleven. And a half.
“Hey, there, Elise,” he said, walking toward her. “Nice to see you again.”
She blinked, thrown.
“Hi,” she managed, laughing more out of relief than any bubble of joy. Okay. Maybe a little bubble of joy. “Welcome to Great Basin Veterinary Institute.”
He crouched so they were eye level—unconsciously respectful and close enough that she could see his crystalline green eyes were fringed with dark lashes that came together as he squinted at her. “I can’t believe this is real.”
Her heart dropped. Of course it was real. Did he think she used a wheelchair as a fashion accessory, like lashes or nails or a high-end purse?
“It’s…real,” she said, not surprised that her throat was tight.
“It’s nuts!” He made a sweeping gesture. “The mountains, the view, this incredible campus. Please don’t tell me you get so used to the beauty of this place that you don’t notice it anymore.”
She took in a slow breath and recalibrated her initial reaction. Then she looked around at the quaint brick and stone buildings, the open, snow-dusted quad with a few students meandering with backpacks and serious “finals week” expressions. Rugged mountains on either side tucked the campus into a thriving community that included homes, businesses, and plenty of ranches and farmland.
“Sometimes you just need to see something through someone else’s eyes,” she said, her gaze landing on him—a sight as attractive as the setting. “So, thanks for that perspective.”
“Hey, I live in Alabama, where it’s flat and hot and…nice.” He shrugged. “But it’s not this. I think I’ve spent every minute since my plane landed just staring at those mountains and that sky. I love Utah!”
She giggled at his enthusiasm, agreeing with him.
When were they going to talk about it? Maybe she had to break the ice.
“I count my blessings every day,” she added, squeezing the armrests secretly as she chose humor to do the job. “I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Although, south of my hips, I don’t feel it.”
His brows lifted, maybe a little amused, maybe surprised. But still no comment, no pity, no sigh, or the inevitable questions that usually started with, “Were you born this way?”
