Chapter 6
The best thing about living alone, Elise had decided, was the freedom to talk to herself without anyone thinking she was crazy.
She leaned close to her bathroom mirror, applying the faintest shimmer of rose-gold eyeshadow and saying to her reflection, “You are calm, confident, and absolutely fine.”
The mirror, of course, didn’t argue.
Her one-bedroom apartment—the ground-floor, wheelchair-accessible unit in the student housing building of Great Basin Veterinary Institute—was flooded with late-morning light.
She’d lived here nearly a year, long enough to create a space that reflected the joy of finally being an independent adult woman spreading her wings—or wheels—and experiencing life.
Family photos filled one wall. A shelf near her desk overflowed with succulents and orchids. The window ledge held a vase of bright fake daisies because daisies made her happy.
A fuzzy pink blanket was tossed over the bottom of the bed, and the faint scent of coffee and lavender floated through the air.
It wasn’t much, but it was hers. Her home, her world, her freedom. Yes, there were some grab bars, wide doorways, and low kitchen counters, but to the untrained eye, this was a girlie-girl’s beautiful living space.
And she was the girlie-girl living in it.
With a smile, she added another coat of mascara, tilted her head, and gazed at the reflection.
Her blond hair tumbled in waves around her face, her makeup on point from shadow to lips, and the creamy soft sweater she’d chosen to wear with jeans flattered her coloring.
Jewelry jingled as she adjusted her earrings—colorful hoops shaped like tiny horseshoes.
She was ready.
And she was absolutely, one hundred percent certain that Wade Reynolds would see her and think…Yikes. She’s in a wheelchair.
Then that brief flicker of interest he’d shown when she was on horseback a few days ago—when he’d laughed at her jokes and looked her right in the eyes with an easy, confident grin—would vanish.
Elise Hale had conquered a lot of difficult challenges in her life and she’d faced her share of adversity. But she’d never—not once, not ever—attracted a man. At least not one who would be up to her excruciating standards, set by her one-in-a-million brother, Cam.
A man, Elise knew, would have no interest in a paraplegic, no matter how pretty she was, how effervescent and funny, or how great a vet she would be. Once Wade Reynolds, handsome Southern oncology vet with eyes so green they looked bedazzled, realized she was crippled, it would be all over.
He’d politely tour the campus, make friendly convo, and zip back to Park City with a “see ya around, Elise” on the way out.
She knew that, but did it stop her from letting fantasy-level hopes build with each minute that the clock ticked closer to his arrival? No, it did not. Because Elise was normal in every way except for the severed nerve that said her legs would never move or feel anything.
And that just wasn’t normal.
She capped her lip gloss, straightened, and rolled into the living room, reminding herself how far she’d come.
A year ago, she’d applied to GBVI on a lark, certain she wouldn’t get in.
She’d nearly had to bail on the final interview with the dean, but darling Nicole had brought her here and that sealed the deal.
Now, a year later, Elise was a thriving, happy, popular twenty-five-year-old. She took classes, had “patients” in the animal hospital, and had been given the opportunity to manage the Live Nativity project.
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 would he 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-say smile. 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?”
Nothing. He just grinned and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his Levi’s. “And it’s so sunny, you don’t even notice the cold,” he continued, like he worked for the Eagle Mountain tourist commission. “Although I like that cape thing you’re wearing.”
Finally, she let out a soft laugh. “Are we going to address the elephant in the room?” She gave a quick gesture toward the chair. “The rolling elephant.”
“You treat elephants at this school? Because I have to admit that in my years of training, I’ve yet to work on an elephant.”
She angled her head, not sure where to go with this. “Wade.”
He eyed her for a moment. “Did you think I didn’t know?”
“I…well, yeah. I was on a horse when we met.”
“I’m Southern, not dumb,” he joked. When she didn’t laugh, he tipped his head. “I saw the harness and sensed Nicole was as much an escort as a friend. After you left, I noticed a ramp in the stables. Bein’ the math genius I am, I put two and two together and came up with…”
“Girl in a wheelchair,” she finished when he didn’t.
“I was thinking more along the lines of smokeshow who obviously doesn’t let life beat her down, is probably stronger than I ever will be, and has the same heart for animals that I do.”
She felt her jaw loosen at the litany of compliments. Did he say…smokeshow?
“Wow. No one ever…” She couldn’t even finish, so she just closed her eyes. “Sometimes I hate that harness, but not today.”
“Why would you hate it?” he asked.