"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 b.u.t.ton 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."

That was patently untrue, but Rooster exchanged a smile with Max. "Are you going to let me buy you breakfast?" he asked, leaning forward and speaking into her ear.

"I should say not." She made it sound as if he'd propositioned her.

"Anyplace in town you want," Rooster said, not easily rejected.

His persistence appeared to fl.u.s.ter her. "Thank you for the invitation," she said formally, "but I'm having breakfast with my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter. They're in the lobby."

"Sleep in, did you?"

"Heavens, no. I forgot my tickets in the room. We're going to see the Twelve Irish Tenors and the Oak Ridge Boys."

"The Oak Ridge Boys are in town?" Rooster asked, not hiding his excitement.

"Annie and I are going to the afternoon show."

The elevator arrived at the lobby and the doors glided open. Max immediately saw Bethanne and Annie standing by the fireplace waiting. His gaze went directly to Bethanne. Without conscious thought, he started walking toward her and she toward him.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked in a low voice.

"Badly," she whispered, avoiding eye contact.

"Me, too."

"Are you going to breakfast or not?" her daughter demanded.

"We're going," Rooster said, and offered Annie and Ruth each an arm, elbows jutting out. going," Rooster said, and offered Annie and Ruth each an arm, elbows jutting out.

Max reached for Bethanne's hand, and every doubt he'd experienced instantly fled. They were together and that was enough. They would take this day by day.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," Ruth said to Rooster.

"Why, I'm taking two beauties out for breakfast, that's what."

"I believe that's our cue to slip off by ourselves," Max said. They walked out of the hotel, and when Rooster went left, they went right.

Max's heart lifted. He had twenty-four hours with Bethanne. It was going to be a good day.

Twenty.

"How about a ride?" Max asked Bethanne after they'd finished breakfast. They'd returned to the hotel, strolling lazily down the busy sidewalks of Branson. Bethanne hadn't seen Ruth, Annie or Rooster since they'd parted ways about an hour earlier.

"I'd think after all that time on the bike, riding would be the last thing you'd want to do."

"There's a place I want to show you."

"Then I'm all for it." Twice now Bethanne had ridden with Max and each time she'd felt more relaxed, more comfortable. He must have planned this, because when he collected his Harley, he had Rooster's helmet.

When she was securely seated behind him, Max took off. He hadn't said where they were going, but it really didn't matter. She would've gone anywhere with him.

They rode for about forty minutes. He turned off the main road to a lake with a number of upscale modern homes built along the sh.o.r.eline. Then he pulled into the driveway of one of those houses and climbed off the bike.

After removing his helmet, he said, "This belongs to a friend of mine. He said I can stop by anytime I want."

"Is he at home now?" she asked, removing her own helmet.

"I don't know. I left him a voice mail and said I'd like to take him up on his offer. I haven't heard back."

Bethanne dismounted and tucked her fingertips into the rear pockets of her jeans while Max walked over to the house. He dashed up the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he lifted a brick from beneath the window, thrust his hand in the hole and took out the key.

"Looks like we have the place to ourselves," he said, unlocking the front door.

Bethanne hesitated. "You're sure your friend won't mind?"

"I'm sure."

"You've done this before...stopped in like this."

"No."

"Max," she protested.

"It's okay, I promise." Without waiting for her, he walked inside.

Reluctantly, Bethanne followed. When she entered the house she noticed large, comfortable furniture. Max went over to the triple-wide sliding gla.s.s doors that led to the deck. He opened two, letting a clean breeze waft through the rooms.

He moved to the railing and looked out over the lake, which sparkled in the sunshine. It was alive with activity. The sounds of enjoyment-laughter and good-natured shouting-carried easily to the house. People were boating and fishing. A water-skier crossed the lake, and a couple of Jet-Skiers left huge rooster tails in their wake.

Bethanne joined him on the deck, and he slid his arm around her waist. "I had no idea this was so lovely," he said, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

"You haven't been here before?"

"Once. That was about two and a half years ago. Like I said, a friend of mine owns this. It was a little over a year after Kate died and I was consumed with grief. I was here, but I don't even remember looking at the lake."

"Grief takes over your life, doesn't it?" she said, growing thoughtful. "Years ago I read that grief is the place where love and pain converge. For whatever reason, that stayed in my mind. The truth of it hit me after Grant left. I grieved for my marriage." Like Max, she spoke in a whisper. "In the months after that, I discovered a number of things about myself, and they weren't necessarily things I liked. My husband had moved in with Tiffany. I wanted him back. I was willing to do anything, be anyone, if only Grant would come home again. I needed my husband. I'd never experienced that kind of emotional pain. Never understood how the man who'd vowed to love me could hurt me this badly."

Max's arm tightened around her.

"That first year forced me to reinvent my life," she said, "but a large part of who I am was formed by my love for Grant."

Max nodded. "Yes," he murmured. "And he tried to destroy that."

She didn't respond.

"I know how much you loved Kate," she said after a moment, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I wish I could tell you that the grief you're feeling will disappear and never return. But by now you've discovered it won't completely vanish."

He slowly exhaled.

"Because of Kate and Katherine, because you loved them, you're a different person. That love, and the love they had for you, will stay with you forever. Nothing can change the way you feel about them. They're part of you and always will be."

Max turned her to face him and whispered, "Thank you." Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. For a long time they stood there and simply clung to each other. They didn't feel the need to kiss, and she believed that was because what they shared transcended the physical. This understanding-that they'd both lost what they'd treasured most-brought them together in a more profound way than mere attraction.

Eventually, they wandered down to the lake, took off their shoes and walked along the sh.o.r.e, holding hands. They smiled at a group of kids digging in the sand with colorful shovels and pails. After a while they found a private spot, where they sat and gazed out at the water.

"You're leaving in the morning?" Max asked, although he already knew the answer.

Bethanne splayed her fingers in the sand and nodded.

"Have you decided where you're going next?"

"Probably New Orleans." Bethanne remembered that was on Ruth's original route. "Ruth had everything worked out before Annie and I joined her."

"Ruth planned to drive cross-country alone?"

"We weren't about to let that happen."

"I'll be forever grateful you tagged along." He reached for her left hand and kissed the knuckles.

Bethanne would be forever grateful, too.

Her right hand continued to make circles in the sand. "Why did you want to know about our next stop?" she asked as casually as she could. She might appear relaxed, but she held her breath, torn between hope and dread. She hoped he'd follow but didn't dare ask if he would.

"Have you ever been to New Orleans?" Max asked.

"Never."

"It's a wild and crazy town."

"So I've heard."

Max squeezed her fingers. "I can't meet you there."

She blinked, trying to hide her disappointment. "What about Florida?"

"Probably not."

She blinked again. He hadn't offered any explanations or excuses. She could always ask but decided against it. If Max wanted her to know his reasons, he would volunteer the information. She wasn't a needy individual who craved constant rea.s.surance.