He stepped up to the bar, ordered a tall cold one and sat his ass on the stool. He was on his second swallow when he felt it, a hand on his back. Not threatening, not intimidating, it was a light touch, a woman’s touch. He turned his head and there she was.
She was the cause of it, Beth Greene. She was pretty, smart, clever, funny and she’d made a miserable man happy just by being her sweet and crazy self.
He was a little wild back then, running with Merle and the boys, riding the highways every chance they got and walking a little too close to the edge. That was before he met the prettiest flower child in the whole hippie nation, Beth Greene. Bethyl Love