Page 19 of Roaring Fork Rooker (Roaring Fork Ranch #4)
“So you’re successful now,” she observed. “Own a ranch, part of a prominent family’s life.”
“I’ve been fortunate.”
“Good. That’s good.” But her words suggested it wasn’t good at all.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things we weren’t saying. The river flowed past, indifferent to human suffering, carrying away the detritus of broken dreams and lost chances.
I found myself studying her face, cataloging the changes time had wrought.
She was still beautiful—more so, perhaps, with the added depth that came with every trip around the sun.
But there was a guardedness in her expression that hadn’t been there before.
A careful distance that spoke of walls built to protect against further hurt.
“I should go. I promised friends I’d meet them at the concert.”
She stood, and I felt panic rise in my chest. This couldn’t be how it ended. Not again.
“Can I see you again?” The question escaped before I could stop it.
She paused, her back to me. “This is a small town, JW. We’ll probably run into each other whether we want to or not.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” She turned to face me. “But I can’t do this. I can’t pretend that seeing you doesn’t bring back everything I’ve spent so long trying to forget.”
Her words hurt. Everything she was trying to forget—our relationship, our love. Reduced to painful memories she wanted to escape.
“Please, Maya?—”
“I stopped using that name after you left. I go by Echo now, and I made a new life for myself. Responsibilities. People who depend on me.” She started to walk away, then paused and looked back at me. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you found the Wheatons. They’re good people.”
The kindness in her words spoke of a generosity of spirit that I’d forfeited any right to expect.
I sat on the boulder where she’d been, trying to process everything she’d said. Whatever she meant by saying I’d destroyed her, it was clear that my departure had consequences.
But beneath the guilt was something else—hope. For so long, I’d carried the weight of protecting those who needed me while losing the woman I loved. But those obligations were fulfilled now. For the first time in my adult life, I was free to choose what I wanted.
And I wanted her. I’d never stopped wanting her.
The sun was beginning its descent toward the western peaks when I finally rose from the boulder and started the walk back toward town. Instead of heading to the concert where Maya—Echo—said she was going, I walked toward the Goat.
I pushed through the door, barely able to get inside, and spotted Keltie behind the bar, moving frantically between customers while calling orders to the kitchen. Her usual staff looked overwhelmed, and I could see the stress on her face even from across the room.
“Keltie,” I called out, making my way through the crowd. “Need a hand?”
Her face lit up with relief when she saw me. “JW! Thank God. We’re absolutely slammed, and two of my servers called in sick.”
“Put me to work,” I said, already moving behind the bar.
“Bless you,” she said, handing me an apron. “Can you handle things here while I check on the kitchen?”
I nodded, falling into the rhythm I remembered from decades ago. Pour the beer, mix the cocktails, take the orders, keep the customers happy. My hands moved automatically, muscle memory from a time when this place had been my second home.
It was while I was pulling a draft beer that I noticed her.
Maya sat alone in a corner booth in the very back, a glass of wine in front of her, staring out the window at the street beyond. She’d changed from her parade clothes into jeans and a blue sweater, and she sat hunched slightly forward, as if she didn’t want to be noticed.
My hands stilled on the beer tap. She’d said she was meeting friends at the concert. What was she doing here, alone?
“You okay?” asked the customer waiting for his drink.
“Sorry,” I said, finishing the pour and sliding it across the bar. But my attention kept drifting to the back table.
She looked lost in thought, occasionally taking small sips of her wine, but mostly just sitting there, as if she couldn’t decide whether to stay or go. Every few minutes, she’d glance toward the door, then out the window again.
The dinner rush continued around us, but I kept stealing glances at her whenever I could. She seemed as reluctant to leave as I was to approach her.
After an hour of steady work, the crowd began to thin. Keltie returned to the bar, looking grateful but exhausted.
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking over from me. “I don’t know how we would have managed without you.”
“Anytime,” I said, untying my apron. “You know that.”
As I prepared to leave, I glanced once more toward Maya’s table. She was still there, still alone, still staring out the window. Without really thinking about it, I walked to the bar and ordered a glass of whatever wine she was drinking.
“For the lady in the corner booth,” I told the server.
The young woman nodded and took the glass from the bar. When she approached, Maya glanced around the restaurant. Her gaze found mine for just a moment before I looked away, pretending to be busy cleaning glasses.
When I looked back, she was holding the wineglass, and there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
I left the Goat and stepped into the warm evening air, my heart pounding with the knowledge that everything had changed. She might not be ready to forgive me. She might never be ready.
But for the first time in decades, I had hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late for us to find our way back to each other.