A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(62)

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.