Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
***
Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Kinsley
Driving to Noel's farm is stressful. Torturous.
Noel's driving in the only saving grace. The only thing that eases some of the steel-like tension in my shoulders. He never goes over the speed limit. Never runs a stop sign or red light. He's smart and cautious.
I'm grateful for Noel's driving skills. My gratefulness doesn't overpower the trauma. Every corner we take jolts me. Every abrupt brake movement turns my knuckles white. My mind is a mess of thoughts. Travelling in a vehicle is a rarity. Every time, I'm reminded of my family and Aaron. Of the lives that were lost and the one that survived.
With each minute that passes, trauma's grip becomes tighter. Breathing is difficult. Staying calm exhausts me. At one point, Noel pulls over and asks if I'm okay.
I lie. I tell him the lack of fresh air is getting to me. That I prefer the windows open as opposed to AC. Without questioning me, Noel shuts off the AC and opens the windows. Within minutes, we're back on the road.
Fresh air doesn't help. It worsens my anxiety. Wheat, heated asphalt, and cut grass are beautiful scents. In another world, my head would hang out the window. My hand would be riding the air like waves. My hair tangling while wind whips through it.
But this is no fairy-tale. The noise of the highway terrifies me. I'm sick with negative emotions. I experience flashbacks of the accident, despite the highway being void of any snow or ice. Every time Noel hits the brakes, I dig my nails into my thighs. It prevents me from screaming.
My anxiety is why, when we stop for gas, I excuse myself to the washroom. In there, I down two of my anti-anxiety pills. My anxiety is why I can't enjoy the country tunes filling the silence between us as he drives.
It's debilitating.
I feel no sense of calm until we arrive at the farm. Until the engine is off. Until my feet are on the ground. I'm so relieved that I could kiss the dirt driveway, hug the small pebbles that line it, marry the two large barrels of flowers that rest upon the front porch.
"So," Noel says. He stands beside me, planting his feet in the dirt. His shoulder is close enough it's brushing mine. I shuffle to the left. If it hurts him, he doesn't show it. He's still smiling. "What do you think?"
My brow furrows as I survey my surroundings. I'm convinced we're no longer in Alberta. There are snow-capped mountains. The rancher is painted red with white trim around the windows. Tall willow trees dance in the breeze. The barrels of flowers are filled with petunias, bidens, potato vines, and bacopa. Beyond the side view of the porch, I see the barn out back, as well as acres of pasture. The cows are little dots on the horizon. It's all encompassed by mountains and blue sky.
The view has rendered me speechless.
Now I understand why Noel loves returning home.
I can't help but smile when I glance at him. "It's beautiful here."
