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.