“Are you worried, Dad?”
Grant frowned. His son sounded pleased, almost gleeful, that Grant was concerned. “Yes, I guess I am,” he said honestly. “I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I’m hoping to get back with your mother.” He paused, hoping his son would offer him a word of encouragement.
“Mom said something about that.”
“Any advice you’d care to give me?” Grant asked.
“Not really. Mom’s done well for herself.”
As if he didn’t know. “I’m proud of what she’s accomplished,” he said.
Andrew didn’t appear to have anything to add.
“Is there some way I can help with the wedding?” His son hadn’t asked a single thing of him from the moment Grant walked out of the house. Andrew hadn’t even invited him to attend his high school graduation. Bethanne was the one who’d let Grant know the time of the ceremony. His son’s graduation from college hadn’t been much different. Annie had hand-delivered the invitation; Grant suspected that had she not done so, he wouldn’t have been included. Bethanne was kind enough to invite Grant to the party she threw afterward. He felt out of place and miserable in the home he’d once shared with his family. Former friends seemed to avoid him. He did his best to socialize, but the situation was painfully awkward. Rather than ruin the day for Andrew or Bethanne, Grant had quietly slipped away.
That afternoon had been pivotal for Grant. It was then that he’d realized how badly he missed being part of the family. His family. He felt like an outsider and, with his son, an outcast.
“I don’t need anything, Dad, but thanks for offering.”
“What about money?” He’d never known a kid to turn down financial help.
“Thanks, no. Courtney and I have it covered.”
“I’m happy to do what I can,” Grant rushed to say, feeling the pain of his son’s rejection. “Anything you ask.”
“Actually, Dad, I think you’ve done enough.”
The words stung and Grant was forced to swallow a retort.
They chatted a bit longer and then Grant disconnected. If anything, he felt worse than he did before he’d phoned.
Disheartened, Grant returned to his recliner and the TV. He had a lot of ground to recover with Andrew. His son wanted vindication, and the sad part was, Grant knew he was entitled to feel that way. Like his mother, Andrew was intensely loyal.
Leaning forward, Grant pressed his head into his hands. He wanted his family back and he wasn’t sure how he was going to make that happen. All he could do, he figured, was show them, by whatever means possible, that he loved them and longed to be with them again.
If only Bethanne…
…Bethanne. Max couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind. It used to be that he’d close his eyes and Kate’s face would flash before him. For three years she’d been foremost in his thoughts.
The police had never determined whether the car accident was suicide or simply an error in judgment. Max knew. Kate, distraught over the death of their daughter, had fallen into a deep, lingering depression. She’d chosen to take her own life. He didn’t know if he could ever accept that. He’d lost so much—his daughter, his wife…his reason for living.
The shock of her death had numbed him for the first few weeks. Then came the anger. Didn’t she understand what her death would do to him? She’d deserted him, left him desolate and alone. The anger had been all-consuming. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. More than once he’d driven to the cemetery and raged at her.
Then his anger had been joined by guilt. A guilt so intense he couldn’t function anymore. For days he’d stayed home, staring at the wall, unable to cope with even the most mundane tasks. He should’ve known Kate would do something like this. The signs had been there. Because he’d buried his own grief over the loss of their daughter in his work, he hadn’t recognized those signs until it was too late. He should’ve gotten Kate the help she needed. He should have demanded she see a counselor, that they both see one. Nightmares had plagued him. He’d ignored what should have been obvious, convinced everything would get better with time.
But it hadn’t. It’d gotten worse. Much worse.
After months of being unable to function, of drinking too much and taking stupid risks, Max talked to his brother and asked for some time away. Originally, he’d thought all he’d need was three months, six at the most. But once he was on the road he found peace. Rooster, his lifelong friend, had come with him. They’d ridden bikes since Max was in his teens. Rooster had provided companionship when he’d needed it most. He hadn’t tried to tell Max how he should feel but was there to listen when he wanted to talk. Best of all, life on the road was simple. Even though he moved from place to place, there was a predictability that calmed him and, surprisingly, friendships that gave him purpose. This solace was still shaky but at least he was able to sleep. At least the nightmares had stopped. Everything was going smoothly until this summer.
When he met Bethanne.
Now she was all he could think about. An hour after he’d returned to his room he still couldn’t sleep. He’d ridden more than twenty hours with only short breaks for the opportunity to be with her again. It was a testament to Rooster’s friendship that he’d traveled with him. Both Willie and Skunk had taken off, which was fine with him. Max had met them along the way. They’d traveled together for a week or so and they might meet up again sometime. If not, it wouldn’t bother him.
Rooster seemed to enjoy watching him make a fool of himself over a woman. Max closed his eyes. Some nights he talked to Kate, relaying details of where he was and the people he’d met on the road. The people he’d helped or tried to help. He did that whenever he could. It was a penance of sorts, he supposed, for having failed his wife. These friendships, most of them brief, allowed him to make up for what he hadn’t done. They silenced the accusations inside his head.
Instinctively, he knew Kate would have approved of Bethanne. He liked to think she’d approve of the fact that he was getting involved with life again.
Max didn’t know what it was about Bethanne that appealed to him so strongly. He’d met other attractive women, but none had stirred him the way she did.
He’d been faithful to Kate from the moment they’d met and he’d been faithful since her death, too. Like Bethanne, he wasn’t the type to fall in and out of bed, driven by hormones and the need for sexual satisfaction.
He’d sensed Bethanne was someone worth knowing the first time he’d laid eyes on her in that café near Pendleton, Oregon. They’d looked at each other when he placed his order and he’d experienced a strong physical reaction. Almost a feeling of recognition. He wasn’t sure what else to call it. There was attraction, of course, but it was more than that.
She must’ve felt it, too, because when they met again at the lake, she told him she’d thought about him that night. The way she’d touched his hand… It was as if she’d identified the pain he carried inside and somehow known how to ease it. He usually tried to avoid being touched but with Bethanne it was different.
Yes, this woman belonged in his arms. In his life. He knew it then. He knew it now.
Apparently, he fell asleep soon after he’d decided that. What seemed like minutes later, Rooster was knocking at his door, waking him. Max had no idea how it could be morning already, but the clock radio in his room confirmed that it was. He staggered to the door and unlatched it to let him in.
Rooster had showered, shaved around his neatly trimmed white beard and changed clothes. “You look like hell,” he said with a grin.
Max grumbled some meaningless reply and went into the bathroom. By the time he’d finished, Rooster had coffee brewing in the small pot provided by the hotel.
“What are you and Bethanne up to today?” he asked, making himself at home in the room’s only chair.
“I don’t know yet.” They hadn’t made plans to meet in the morning, although it was understood that they would. Maybe he’d take her to Al and Susie’s place, which wasn’t far away. When he’d learned Bethanne was in Branson, he’d called them.
“You mean you traveled all this way and you’re not even going to see her again?”
Of course he was, but he didn’t answer. He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Rooster, then poured his own.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Max sipped the hot liquid and hoped it would restore his composure.
“You’ve got it bad,” Rooster commented.
No sense denying it. Max hadn’t spent twenty hours on his bike for the fun of it. He’d come for Bethanne.
“What have you told her?”
“She knows about Kate, just not the suicide.”
“She knows about the wine business, doesn’t she?”
Max nodded. “Yeah.”
Rooster braced his elbows on his knees. “You’ve told her more than I figured you would.”
“Bethanne might go back to her husband,” Max murmured. His stomach tensed at the thought. The possibility was real, and he needed to prepare himself for whatever she decided.
Rooster immediately shrugged off Max’s concern. “You didn’t see the way her face lit up the second she saw you. The girl’s got it as bad as you.” He drank his coffee. “It’s a good thing she sent you that text message.”
“Why?”
Rooster shook his head. “Honestly, Max, you moped around like a lost puppy dog from the moment she left Vegas. Her phone call didn’t help, either.”
“She called to say she didn’t want to see me again.”
“Obviously, you talked her out of that.”
He hadn’t even tried. “No.”
“Listen, are you getting dressed or not? I’m hungry.”
“Give me a few minutes.”
“You got it.” Rooster sat back, balancing his ankle on the opposite knee.
Max changed into jeans, the shirt he’d bought in Vegas and his leather vest. He didn’t own much of anything else outside of his biking gear. Back at the house, he had a closet full of business suits. It’d been so long since he’d worn one, he wondered what it would feel like.
They headed for the elevator. “You going to call Bethanne?” Rooster asked.
“Later…” He couldn’t forget that Grant was still a factor. Her ex wasn’t going to simply remove himself from the picture.
The elevator finally came and they stepped inside, Rooster pushing the button for the lobby. The car stopped on the ninth floor. Bethanne’s floor.
Annie’s grandma was waiting in the hallway.
She hesitated when she saw them, then stiffened her shoulders and walked into the elevator, probably wishing there was someone else inside. Someone besides the two of them.
“Good morning, Grandma,” Rooster said.
“I am not your grandmother,” she snapped. Her back was as straight as a poker. “In fact, I’d venture to say you’re older than I am.”
