I decided then that I admired her. Charlie never got to that point. Charlie would smile after he lost his legs but it was never the same. Bitsy seemed to have come to terms with her life in her chair and continued to enjoy living it. Furthermore, it was apparent she didn’t mind reminders of the life she had before she was put in it.

I stopped when I saw a photo of Bitsy with a man taken a long time ago for they both looked young and they were both standing.

It had to be her husband, the now very dead Curtis Dodd.

I was surprised at the sight of him. Somehow I expected him to be short, maybe balding, looking squirrely, his eyes mean. But he looked kind of like Max, except not nearly as handsome or tall. But he was a Mountain Man, slightly rough, his hair fair to almost gold, his face tanned. He was smiling at the camera in a weird way, though, almost self-conscious, as if he wasn’t comfortable being photographed and wanted to put his best foot forward. Bitsy, on the other hand, was smiling with abandon, clearly happy, both her arms around his neck and her cheek pressed to his. She didn’t care what anyone thought and the only thing anyone could think was she was in love with the man in her arms.

I glanced through the other pictures, trying to find him in the faces, but that was the only photo of the two of them together and the only photo of him at all.

I moved to the last shelf looking for signs of Curtis, my eyes grazing the limited books and knick knacks displayed between the photos when I stopped dead.

Three photos had their own shelf, a lower one, Bitsy’s height, and they were arranged like it was a place of honor. Unlike the others, these pictures weren’t shoved in, a jumble to exhibit as many as possible to surround Bitsy with constant reminders that she was loved and of the ones she loved. These were just those three, three different sizes in frames that clearly showed the photos were important.

I leaned down and it took everything I had not to reach out and grab one, bringing it in for closer inspection. But I couldn’t touch them, couldn’t let my fingers give the signal to my brain that they were real.

Max. Max and Anna.

In all that happened I’d forgotten what Arlene had said the other night at The Dog, it totally escaped me.

Max had a wife, her name was Anna and she was beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful. She matched him in her utter perfection.

Blonde to his dark, her hair long and wild, her complexion without flaw, her eyes gorgeous and dancing.

There was a photo, smaller, a snapshot of Max, Anna, Curtis and Bitsy, all in a row, all with their arms around each other’s waists, all smiling into the camera. Even Curtis looked relaxed and at ease. Good friends, out of doors doing something together, a picnic, a barbeque, enjoying good times.

There was another photo, much larger, more official, sitting in the center, Max and Anna’s wedding day. He wore a tux; she had on a simple white dress that she made stunning, daisies mingled in her long, wild hair that she made look sophisticated. They were depicted full-length, standing outside, the river behind them. They were front to front, arms around each other, Max’s head tipped down, Anna’s head tipped back, broad smiles on both of their faces that you could see even in profile. Happy. Exceptionally so. They both looked young, maybe early twenties, their life spread out before them filled with love and wonder.

But it was the last that caught my heart, that claw coming back to slash at my insides. It was a close-up, Max’s arm around Anna’s shoulders, her head against one of his, both of them looking in the camera, both of them clearly laughing, both of them deliriously happy and obviously in love.

Max’s bluff was behind them.

Something blocked my throat as my eyes seemed to swell against their sockets and, suddenly frantic, I walked the length of the bookshelves examining the other photos again.

No sign of Anna. No sign of Max.

Back to the shelf of honor, I looked at the smallest photo. Bitsy, younger, standing, smiling, one arm around Curtis who was to the outside, her other arm around Anna.

Then back through the shelves, Bitsy in her chair, no Anna, no Max.

“Oh my God,” I breathed as it hit me.

Mindy telling me Max wouldn’t forget what a visit from the police felt like. Max’s fierce vow about dying in an effort to take care of someone you loved. Curtis, Bitsy, Anna and Max, all standing linked and happy, friends once, good ones. Now, Max was one of the earliest suspects questioned in Curtis’s murder.

Something had happened, something that put Bitsy in her chair and took Anna away altogether. And that something, I was sure, had to do with Curtis Dodd.

My recent conversation with Max in the Jeep came back at me, striking me, scorching, like a bolt of lightning.

“You had better?” Max had asked.

“No,” I’d answered.

Then he’d murmured, “Yeah.”

His “yeah” didn’t mean he felt the same. He hadn’t agreed that he hadn’t had better. He just knew I hadn’t.

Because he had. He’d been married to her. Funny, beautiful, forever young Anna with her blonde hair and her knack for making daisies, of all things, look sophisticated.

And he hadn’t said a word. Not one word.

All his pushing for me to share, he hadn’t shared. He’d mentioned his father, his sister, his mother, his land, but not the fact that he’d quite obviously been married to the love of his life and she’d died.

Which was a bloody big piece of history to keep to yourself.

I heard the murmur of voices approaching and I quickly moved back across the room in order to appear as if I’d been studying view. I turned my back to the entrance of the room and looked out the window, my eyes not seeing, my heart tripping over itself, that thing still lodged in my throat.

It would, of course, be me who would find an amazingly handsome Mountain Man with great hair, an attractive voice, an ability to show affection in a way that made you feel cherished, a protective streak that made you feel safe and, lastly, a dead wife who was the love of his life.

Meaning that was something I would never be. The love of Holden Maxwell’s life would never be me.

However, if we explored this, as Max wished to do, it was becoming more and more evident by the second, that he could be that for me.

“Sorry, Nina,” Bitsy called and I swallowed against the lump, forced a smile on my face and turned to her as she finished, “that took longer than I expected.”

“That’s all right,” I said, trying to sound cheerful but my voice seemed higher pitched and false. I kept talking to hide it. “You have a beautiful view.”

Bitsy wheeled herself close and looked out the window.

“Yeah,” she said as if she wasn’t entirely convinced then she looked at me and smiled her small, somewhat sad but still authentic smile. “Max’s is better.”

I nodded for what she said was true.

“Let’s get this done,” Max announced and I started at his gravelly voice and my eyes went to him.

He was looking down at Bitsy and he asked, “You want me to load up the motorized chair?”

“Nope, feel energetic today and not goin’ very far. This one’ll work,” Bitsy answered, wheeling herself back into the hall. “I’ll just get my coat and we’ll be on our way.”

I licked my lips and kept my eyes pointed at the floor as I headed to the front door.

“Duchess?” Max called when I was passing him.

I stopped, trying to clear my expression and I looked at him.

“Yes?” I asked.

His head tipped to the side, his eyes scanning my face before he asked back, “You okay?”

“Fine,” I lied, suddenly hating, no detesting, the fact that, even knowing him only a week, he could read my mood so easily.

“Honey,” he said softly, not believing me.

“I’m fine,” I repeated and he got close, hooking a finger in my side jeans belt loop, effectively, even affectionately, halting my progress when I moved to head to the door again.

“Nina,” he said and I looked up at him, wishing I didn’t like his finger in my belt loop so darned much. “She’s good,” he told me in a hushed voice. “She’s used to it. She adjusted a long time ago”

“What?” I asked.

“Her chair.”

I blinked as I realized Max thought my mood had shifted because Bitsy was reminding me of Charlie.

This was thoughtful, as Max, I knew since he’d exhibited this ability on more than one occasion, could be and I suddenly decided I detested that too.

“That’s good,” I muttered, pulled from his hold on my belt loop and headed to the door where a be-jacketed Bitsy was pulling it open.

“God, it’ll be good not to have to go somewhere in that stupid van,” Bitsy commented and looked at me, taking the sting out of her complaint by explaining, “I like the Cherokee.”

“Then you get to sit in front,” I told her, using this as my excuse not to be close to Max, not even in his car. I needed distance, I needed to think, I needed to process the knowledge I’d learned in Bitsy’s house and what it meant to me.

“Oh, that’s okay –” Bitsy began.

“I insist.”

“Really –”

I cut her off again saying, “Better views from up there.”

She gave me another smile and a, “Thanks,” then rolled herself out, down a ramp and to the front passenger side of Max’s Jeep.

Max opened the door and lifted Bitsy in without effort like he’d done it more than once before. I grabbed the chair and wheeled it to the rear of the truck, thinking he was so obviously strong and detesting that suddenly too. Bitsy was thin, though not skinny, and looked fit regardless of the wheelchair. But standing, as I saw in the photo, she was Anna’s height and Anna, I guessed, was my height which meant Bitsy was not exactly light as a feather.

I pulled the seat up at the middle, folding the chair as I’d done to Charlie’s time and time again, thinking Anna was blonde and she was my height. She was also, according to Arlene, funny. She didn’t look like me, I wasn’t hideous but I certainly didn’t have her beauty or her obvious effervescence, but we resembled each other.

Maybe Max, at long last, thought he’d found a replacement. Not the real thing, never to have the real thing again, but close enough.

“I got it, Duchess,” Max told me as I pulled up the back of the Cherokee to load the chair.

“Right,” I muttered and walked around him to sit behind Bitsy, not sparing him a glance. I got in and buckled up.

“It’s nice that you came, Nina,” Bitsy said into the car. “I know you’re on vacation and this is probably the last thing you wanted to do.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Max got in and I noticed he did this twisted so his clear, gray, too intelligent eyes were on me. I looked out my window.

“Please don’t worry. I’m fine,” I told Bitsy but spoke to the window.

“It’s just that,” Bitsy said as Max switched on the ignition and started to back out, “Max and I’ve been friends for a good long while and I’d heard about you so I was curious. And, without making a big production out of it, I couldn’t come to you.”

“Really, it’s okay,” I assured her again. “It isn’t every day a girl goes to a Police Station. I came out for an adventure and here it is. I’m having it.”

She laughed quietly at my lame joke but she did it without a lot of humor. “Yeah, great adventure, hunh?”

I didn’t reply. Instead I hesitated then leaned forward, reached through and curled my fingers around her shoulder. I felt it tense under my hand but I gave it a squeeze and then pulled away and sat back.

We rode in silence to the Station, not exactly comfortable since everyone was in their own thoughts and none of our thoughts were good. However, fortunately, it wasn’t a long ride.

I stayed silent and hung back as Max took care of Bitsy and she wheeled herself into the Station.

“I’ll go find Mick,” Max said when we were all inside, moving forward, as usual taking charge and Bitsy looked relieved to wheel herself to a bank of chairs.

I followed and she backed in beside one, giving me my cue to sit by her.

“This is stupid, this whole thing,” she muttered when I sat down.

Her head was tilted down but she was looking under her lashes at the reception desk.

“What is?” I asked quietly.

“I shoulda let Mick come up to the house, talk to me there,” Bitsy looked at me, I noticed her face had changed, the mask was falling, grief was moving to the surface and she whispered, “I just couldn’t.”