A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(29)

“We don’t have cell coverage out here,” Annie told him. “We’d have phoned for help earlier if it was that easy.”

“Do any of you ride?” Willie asked.

“No…afraid not,” Bethanne said, answering for all three.

“Then one of us will need to take you into Wells.”

“Hold on just a minute here,” Ruth said, wagging her index finger at them. She’d dressed, putting her blouse on inside out, although Bethanne wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Before we do any such thing, the three of us need to talk.” Ruth steered Bethanne and Annie away from the bikers. They stood several feet away, forming a tight circle. Ruth glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I don’t like the idea of one of us leaving with a biker.”

“But, Grandma, what else are we going to do?” Annie asked.

“Do you honestly think we can trust these men?” Ruth pinched her mouth into a thin line and frowned. “They’re…riffraff.”

In normal circumstances Bethanne wouldn’t have considered riding with any of them, but at the moment their options were few. “Do we have a choice?” she asked.

“We could always stay right here and stick to our original plan,” Annie suggested. “Only…”

“Only what?” Ruth whispered.

“Well, I heard them talking at the café yesterday…and I’m afraid this might be a biker hangout. At least we’ve met these guys before, and even though they might look a bit intimidating, they seem decent enough.”

Ruth shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”

“I’ll go,” Bethanne said.

“No, you won’t,” Ruth insisted. “If anyone goes, it’ll be me.”

“You’ll have to ride on the back of a motorcycle,” Bethanne reminded her.

Ruth paled. “I…I can do it.”

“Mom, it makes far more sense for me to go,” Annie said, as if it meant nothing.

“No.” Bethanne refused to even discuss it. She wasn’t about to put her daughter in any additional danger.

Cutting off further argument, Bethanne broke away from the others and approached the bikers. They stood with their arms crossed, waiting. “Okay,” she said, walking toward them, hands held out. “If one of you would take me into Wells, we’d deeply appreciate it.”

“That’s real big of you.” Willie’s voice was sharp with sarcasm.

“I’ll take her.” This came from Max.

His offer appeared to surprise Rooster, who shrugged and stepped back. “Your call.”

Max started toward his Harley and Bethanne followed. “You ever ridden in the—” he hesitated “—buddy seat?”

Willie and the other two bikers broke into hoots of laughter.

Bethanne turned back, not understanding what they considered so humorous.

Max silenced them with a single look. He was an intense man who rarely spoke, she’d noticed, and never seemed to smile. He wasn’t especially big. About six feet, with broad shoulders. He seemed to be her age, possibly older.

Rooster handed Bethanne his helmet.

“Mom, are you sure about this?” Annie asked anxiously.

Bethanne nodded, although she wasn’t sure of anything. She set the helmet on her head and draped her purse crossways over one shoulder. Max climbed onto the bike. Apparently, it was up to her to find her own way onto the Harley. She managed, but it wasn’t pretty.

“Oh, Bethanne,” Ruth cried, covering her mouth with her hand. “Be careful.”

“I will,” she promised. She didn’t like this any better than Annie and Ruth did, but someone had to ride into town and she was the logical choice.

The only instruction Max gave her was to hold on. It wasn’t like there was an extra pair of handlebars for her to grab. Her one option was Max and, not knowing what else to do, she slipped her arms around his middle—and clung for dear life.

The first turn nearly unseated her. She cried out in alarm, but if Max heard, he gave no indication. Even with the helmet, the noise was deafening; the roar sounded as if she were next to a jet engine. It seemed to take forever to reach the town of Wells. By then she was so tense and stiff she found it difficult to breathe. Thankfully, Max knew where he was going. He pulled into a garage and turned off the engine, then braced his feet on the pavement and set the kickstand in place.

Bethanne didn’t dare move. She pried her fingers loose, one by one. It occurred to her that her stranglehold might have been uncomfortable for him.

Max took off his helmet and climbed down; she did, too, with a lot less grace. “Were you able to breathe?” she asked.

The merest hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Barely. I think I might have a couple of cracked ribs.”

Bethanne didn’t know if this was a joke or if he was serious. “Sorry.”

He entered the garage and she trailed after him. The mechanic brightened the instant he saw Max, came forward and thrust out his hand. “Max! Good to see you again. I got that widow’s car running and—”

“Hey, Marv, I need a favor,” Max said, cutting him off.

“You got it,” the other man said without hesitation. “I owe you. I didn’t need even half the money you gave me to fix that old Ford.”