The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) (14 page)

“About three this afternoon. You look like you’ve been working hard, too.”

“Things have been hectic.”

“I can imagine. Look, I need to check the new hive we set up from the swarm at the Vanderhoffs. Why don’t you tell me about the fire on the way?”

“Sure. Want me to load a few supers into the truck and the rest of our gear, in case we need to take off some more honey?’

He was learning fast. If Danny could help out when he finished summer school, they might manage to bring in the whole harvest without depending on her father at all.

“Yes, please. I’ll run back into the house for some cold water. It’s getting hot and if we have to stay longer, we’ll need to cool off.” Annie blushed as soon as the words were out. She was describing the very situation that had led to the swim at Henry’s pond.

But if he made the same connection, he didn’t indicate it. He simply nodded and began to pack up the equipment.

Annie made her escape. When she walked into the kitchen, she noticed the red light flashing on the phone. She hesitated. Was it Cara again, or some message from her father? She picked up the receiver and waited for the voice mail to activate.

It was the man from Sunrise Foods, asking if he could reschedule their meeting to tomorrow afternoon, instead of the day after. Annie had forgotten about the meeting and now wished she hadn’t agreed to it. The summer harvest was no longer in immediate trouble and she no longer felt a sense of urgency to make a decision about the business. She tapped in the number and was immediately transferred to voice mail.

“Hi, this is Annie Collins from Ambrosia Apiary returning your call. Look, I’ve changed my mind about discussing a possible sale at this time. Sorry for any inconvenience,” she said and quickly hung up. Then she collected the water and a couple of apples and headed for the barn.

Will was loading the back of the pickup in the yard. “I’ve got everything,” he said when she approached.

She peered into the pickup. “Okay,” she said, glancing up to find him studying her. “What?”

He looked away. “Nothing. Have I missed anything?”

“No, you haven’t. I’d say you’re becoming a beekeeper, Will.”

He was walking toward the passenger side of the truck as she spoke, but she caught a glimpse of his satisfied smile.

“How’s Henry?” she asked as she pulled out of the driveway. “You said he wasn’t hurt, but he must be upset about the birds he lost.”

“He was a bit emotional this morning, but I think he’s beginning to realize it could have been a lot worse.”

“How bad was it?”

Will’s expression was serious. “He came that close—” he put his thumb and index finger an inch apart “—to losing his house and maybe even his life. If the wind had shifted at all, we wouldn’t have been able to save anything.”

Annie shivered.

“Are you worried about your place?”

She shot him a look. “Should I be?”

“This person—male or female—is either mentally unhinged or has some kind of hidden agenda. I don’t think Andrews knows a lot yet. We gathered some evidence this morning, but it wasn’t quite what we were expecting.”

“What’s Henry going to do? Does he have insurance?”

“He said he has an old policy from years ago. He was searching for it upstairs when I left.”

“Did you go into his house?”

“Yeah. I spent the night in my van in his yard, then went in for a shower and breakfast.”

“You were in Henry’s house and he made breakfast for you?”

“Yeah. Is that so weird?” He sounded amused.

“Well, Henry Krause isn’t exactly known for his social skills.”

“They’re a lot better than some I’ve witnessed this week.”

What did that mean? Was he referring to her? Spotting the Vanderhoff place ahead, she tightened her grip on the wheel, grateful not to have to pursue the topic.

After she parked the truck, Will placed a hand on her arm. “Henry’s a harmless old man who shut out the world in grief,” he said. “But I will admit I was surprised myself when I saw that his house was as normal and tidy inside as…well…as yours.”

Annie’s eyes held his. As far as she knew, Will was the first person to actually step foot in Henry Krause’s kitchen in fifteen years. Certainly not since the days after Ida Mae’s funeral, when neighbors were still bringing casseroles and cookies. “You’re a good man, Will,” she finally said.

His face flushed and he turned his head. “Not really. I just don’t have a history with Henry.” Then he opened the truck door and got out.

Judging from the way he’d stressed Henry’s name, Annie suspected there was definitely history with someone—or something—else. She watched him as he collected their gear. He
was
a good man. But also a man with a mass of contradictions. Dry sense of humor yet dead serious. Vulnerable but closed.
Maybe by the end of the summer, I’ll begin to understand him. Just
as he’s about to leave.
That sobering thought in mind, Annie climbed down out of the truck.

M
UCH LATER
, after they’d checked the new hive and found it thriving, they took a break before placing bee excluders in some of the hives. Annie stepped out of her bee suit and kicked it aside. Her face was red from the heat and physical labor and damp crescents drooped from the armpits of her tank top. Will got out of his suit too, watching her sprinkle water on her face and guzzle the rest down, greedily.

That was something else he liked about her. She seemed to hold little regard for how she looked. What you saw was what you got. Of course, he knew that a lack of attraction to him could easily account for her nonchalance about her appearance. Though the feverish kiss at the pond told him otherwise.

He left his suit on the grass and walked over to get his water, drinking the whole bottle in one go. Then he sank down under a tree a few feet from Annie, munched on an apple and leaned his head against the trunk. Except for the hum of the bees as they flew in and out of the hives and distant bird calls, the orchard was silent. The perfect summer day, he was thinking as he closed his eyes.

Waking up was a long slow journey through a landscape of bizarre images. Flames licking at shapes in the night. The silhouette of flapping birds rising soundlessly against a red-tinted sky. Smoke, black and acrid,
billowing into the atmosphere in a towering column. Teasing at his nostrils, seeping into his lungs. Will shot up, heart racing and gasping for air.

He must have called out, because Annie, suited up and holding the smoker in her right hand, turned sharply toward him. She set the smoker down on the grass beside her and took off her hat. “Are you okay?”

Had she been working the whole time he was snoring away under the tree? Embarrassed, Will just nodded. He rose clumsily to his feet, holding onto the trunk for a second while his dizziness subsided. He hadn’t dreamed about the fire for a while and last night was the obvious trigger. He hoped the dream didn’t signal another cycle of the flashbacks that had tormented him since the accident.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Will?” Annie was frowning at him.

“The heat.” He picked up a water bottle and poured some into the palm of his hand to wash his face. “Have you been working long?”

She looked sheepish. “I fell asleep, too. I woke up about fifteen minutes ago.”

He walked over to where he’d dropped his suit and began to climb back into it.

“We can call it a day, if you’d like,” she said. “It’s really hot.”

“Yeah, but it’s a good one for disturbing the hives. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay,” he said, pulling up the zipper and stepping into the boots. “Let’s get at it.”

They spent another hour checking which hives needed honey extracted. When they ran out of excluders, Annie stuck a piece of red electrical tape on the covers of the hives that were left. “We’ll get these tomorrow,” she said.

Will set the last super into the back of the truck and eagerly removed his suit. They loaded everything up and sat in the shady interior of the cab for a few seconds, panting. “Now I know what the expression dog days of summer means,” he said.

Her laugh thrilled him. His head lolled against the back of the seat and he half turned her way, grinning. Her cheeks were bright red and her hair dark with perspiration. A tendril clung to the side of her neck and Will reached out to loosen it.

“Hair,” he explained when she looked surprised. She didn’t move. He slowly drew her toward him. Shifting onto his side, he brought her face close. There was a slight resistance and he paused long enough for her to pull away. If she wanted to.

Then she smiled. Will held her face between his two hands and lowered her mouth to his, closing his eyes. Unlike the kiss at Henry’s pond, this was a slow, gentle roll. Exploration without urgency. He felt a rise of excitement, but forced his mind to stay on her lips. He kept his hands on her cheeks, not trusting them to stray. No way did he want a repeat of the pond. But
God, she tasted good. Warm and fruity, like the apples they’d eaten earlier. Crisp green ones. Her hair draped over his face and it smelled of apples, too.

Her fingers were digging into the back of his head and he knew that the kiss could lead to something else. Right there, in the cab of the pickup. In the Vanderhoff orchard. His passion ebbed at that. He could feel it draining right out of him as he pictured Ted Vanderhoff coming along to check his orchard. His sigh fanned her cheek. The same thought must have occurred to her. She lifted her head and gave a small giggle tinged with embarrassment.

“That was a great kiss,” she said, “but maybe this isn’t such a good place for it.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching her adjust the straps of her tank top and smooth it over her breasts. Beautiful, round, plump breasts. Will forced his eyes away. “Sorry,” he started to say but was cut off by her index finger on his mouth.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “We both enjoyed it. It was a kiss. That’s all.”

Yeah, but that’s not all I wanted. His reassuring smile felt a bit weak.

Annie, on the other hand, seemed energized. She started the truck and flashed a smile at him. “How about a cold drink?”

“I’d never turn down a cold drink on a hot day,” he said.

He leaned back against the seat as the truck bumped
and jostled out of the orchard. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the determined way she drove. Her long fingers wrapped loosely around the wheel. The toned but slender arms, golden-brown, glistening with perspiration.

She’s had one bad experience from an impulsive, short-term affair. He wasn’t going to be the man to give her another. Will repeated that to himself all the way back to the apiary, where a large white truck was parked on the driveway. Someone was waiting for them.

A
NNIE SWORE UNDER HER BREATH
.
“The bakery?” Will asked.

She pulled a face. “I forgot all about it. I guess we’ll have to postpone the cold drink.”

“Probably just as well. I promised Henry I’d help him rebuild his pigeon coop and we’ll have to go to town for the lumber.”

Was there no end to the thoughtfulness of this man? she wondered. She parked the pickup and got out to greet the delivery man.

“Hi, Joe. Hope you haven’t been here long.”

“Just pulled in, Annie. How’s it going?” His eyes drifted with interest to Will.

Annie introduced the two and led Joe into the barn. They loaded the truck in minutes and it was heading down the driveway when Will asked, “Is there something pressing to do tomorrow morning? Henry wants to get the remaining pigeons in their own coop as soon as possible.”

“I have to go into town anyway. I ordered a couple of new queens and they might be in. Plus I need a few supplies.”

“You can order new queens?”

“A couple of hives at the McLean beeyard didn’t survive the winter. Dad and I never got around to starting them up again. We ordered the queens from a bee supply company.”

“They
mail
them?”

“Well, express and registered, so they arrive quickly. I’ll show you tomorrow.” She paused, then impulsively asked, “Feel like staying for dinner?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Unless you have other plans.”

“That would be great, thanks. I’ll come by after lunch or before, depending on when we finish the coop.”

“Okay. If I’m not back from town, you could start decapping the frames we took off today. Shall we unload the truck, then?”

“Of course.”

Annie headed into the barn, sensing a sudden awkwardness between them. Less than half an hour ago they’d been kissing passionately in the pickup, like teens at a drive-in. Now it was business as usual, with both of them pretending it had never happened. We can’t continue with this charade anymore, Annie realized, as they worked with the supers. She had to decide what kind of relationship she wanted to have with Will, talk it out with him and make sure they both followed whatever decision was made.
Sounds easy enough. If only we can synchronize mind with body. Resolve with impulse.

After Will left, Annie locked up the barn and went inside to forage through the fridge for something for dinner. She’d been picking at food the past few days and ought to make herself a decent meal. But remembering her invitation to Will, she decided the meal could wait until tomorrow. She popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and fried some bacon for a BLT sandwich. While it was sizzling, she browsed through a few of her mother’s cookbooks for inspiration. Cooking had never been her thing, but she’d watched her mother at work in the kitchen and since coming back home, had taken over from her father.

She turned a few more pages and came upon a handmade Valentine’s Day card she’d made in primary school for her mother. The paper doily border was frayed, but the scrawled message—TO THE BEST MOMMY IN THE WHOLE WORLD—was still vivid. Annie’s eyes filled with tears. What was it like to receive such unconditional love? The love of a child for a parent.

Whenever she’d allowed herself to wonder what had become of the daughter she’d given up, she’d never thought about missing out on hugs or cards like this one. The small daily pleasures of child-rearing were unimaginable to an eighteen-year-old. She’d thought only of gossip and the surrender of her dreams.

Now there was a possibility of some kind of relationship with her daughter. Not as a mother—she was sensitive enough to know that—but perhaps as a special
friend. It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be something.

Annie closed the book and put it back on the shelf next to the stove. The bacon was ready and she quickly put together her sandwich. She’d just sat down at the table when the phone rang. She stared at it, almost afraid to pick it up. But on the fifth ring, she dashed for it before the voice mail came on. It was Shirley.

Disappointed and relieved at the same time, Annie said, “Hi, Shirley. How’re things?”

“Fine, Annie. Your dad’s here and is itching to speak to you so I won’t be long. Could you do me a favor and drive over to my place sometime in the next couple of days to check my mail? I’m waiting for my credit card statement before I…uh…make a purchase I’m thinking about.”

“Sure, no problem. So, how’s Dad? What did the doctor say about the heart test? Or can you talk right now?”

“I’ll let your father tell you all about it. Thanks, Annie. Hold on a second, he’s not moving very quickly.”

Annie prepared herself for the onslaught of questions she knew her father would fire at her. She heard the sound of him fumbling the receiver and then,
“Annie?”
It came out like a bark. He’s in fine form, was her immediate thought.

“Hi, Dad! Good to hear your voice.”

“Humph.
Not moving very fast.
I’d like to see
her
get to the phone a week after a hip replacement.”

Uh-oh. Things weren’t good if Dad and Shirley were quarreling. “What did your heart test show?”

“Lotta fuss over nothing, that’s what.
Watch your diet. Take it easy,
” he said in a mimicking falsetto. “Save that advice for a seventy-year-old. I’m not there yet.”

“But the idea is to get there, Dad. How’s the physiotherapy?”

“Don’t get me started.”

“I guess you’re almost through, then,” Annie commented, searching for a safer topic.

“Darn right I am.”

There was a pause, followed by muffled speech as if his hand was covering the receiver. He was answering some question from Shirley. When he came back on the line, he asked, “How’s that fella doing? The one you hired to help out.”

The afternoon kiss popped wickedly into her head. She felt her face heat up. “Fine, Dad. He’s picked it up very quickly.”

He made a doubtful grunt. “What’re we paying him?”

Not nearly enough. “Minimum wage.”

“Huh. That’s what I don’t get. How come a grown man is content with that kind of money. He’s not…you know…one of those transient types?”

I have a feeling he might be, Dad. Unfortunately. “Does it really matter? He’s only here for the summer.”

“
Summer!
I thought he was there till I came home.”

Uh-oh. Big mistake. “Well, he can stay on longer
because he’s got a temporary job with the volunteer fire hall.”

“What?
How come?
”

Another very big mistake. “Uh…I think they’re a man short and Will is a firefighter from New Jersey. Did I tell you that?”

“I don’t know if you did or not, Annie. What does it matter? What I want to know is, are you filling the orders in time? What about that swarm? Did it take to the hive or move on?”

Her head was spinning. “It’s fine, Dad. And the bakery picked up their order today.”

“What about the gourmet food shops here in Charlotte? How many jars do they want this year?”

“A hundred each. And they asked for some honeycomb.”

“I don’t know if we have enough containers for comb. Can you go check?”

Annie had had enough. “Dad, I will take care of it, okay? Relax. I can practically hear your veins popping from here.”

“What’s that? What did you say?”

“Nothing, Dad. Just that everything’s fine. Don’t worry. Get better and have a bit of a holiday.”

She held the phone away from her ear at his response, counted to ten and came back on as he finished. “Okay, Dad, got to go now. Give my love to Shirley.”

“What? Hold on—wait a minute.”

“I’ve got something on the stove,” she lied. “Call me
when you’ve set a date for coming home. Bye. Love you.” She hung up before he could say anything more and stared blankly for a long moment, calming down.

She’d discovered in her teens that a long hot bath was the perfect antidote for too much Dad and, although it was barely seven o’clock, decided to have a luxurious soak and then catch a flick on TV. While the bath water was running, she checked her e-mail again but there was no reply yet from Cara. She shut down the computer, wondering how she could tell her father about Cara if she had trouble communicating with him about the everyday business of the apiary.

The bath wasn’t quite as effective as usual, but then, Annie had a lot more than just her father on her mind. Restless, she prowled the house looking for any diversion. Television stations were already into summer repeats and after a few listless clicks of the remote, she turned off the set. She went back to the kitchen for a glass of water, locked up and headed upstairs to read in bed.

Dusk had fallen by the time she’d finished in the bathroom. Walking in the darkness back to her bedroom, she paused to look out the window at the end of the hall. It had a commanding view of the long driveway, the road passing their property and the distant hills. When Annie was a little girl, she used to run to look out whenever they were expecting guests, wanting to be the first to announce that the company had arrived. She leaned forward, pressing her face to the glass, exactly as she’d done then.

That was when she noticed the flicker of car headlights enter the driveway. Will, dropping by as a surprise? A thrill shot through her. Annie waited for the car to continue up to the house, but after a few minutes, it reversed onto the road. Probably someone using the driveway to make a U-turn. She waited but the car didn’t move away. She frowned. Should she do something?

Like what? Storm down the driveway in your night-wear?

If it was Will, how funny would that be? And if it wasn’t…well, her mind shied away from other possibilities. The car slowly drove away. Annie went into her room, feeling somewhat foolish. Valley paranoia about the arsonist was getting to her, too.

W
ILL LOOKED UP
as the screen door slammed shut. Henry was coming his way with two glasses of iced tea, a plate of cookies and a huge grin. They’d been at it since seven in the morning and now, three hours later, the new pigeon coop was actually taking shape. He just hoped they’d bought enough chicken wire yesterday and wouldn’t have to make another trip to Essex.

He and Henry took their iced tea and cookies to a bench under an ash tree adjacent to the kitchen door. They ate in silence. Will was content to cool down in the shade and listen to the gentle cooing of the pigeons. He thought of Annie’s story about how the locals used to use Henry’s pond.

“Was it your wife’s illness that made you close off the pond to the community?”

“It was all the noise. Not just cars driving back and forth, throwing up gravel and dust everywhere, but the shouting and screeching. When the windows were open we could hear them as if they were right in the yard here. Then there was the drinking and tossing empty bottles into the bushes. After a while, I just had enough. So I put barbed wire around it and blocked off the end of my driveway. There was no way to the pond, unless they walked along the stream from the campground. They did that, too, at first, but it wasn’t convenient. Couldn’t take a car.” He’d said this last word with a sneer.

“I’m surprised Sam Waters hasn’t tried to buy the pond from you.”

“Guess you haven’t heard the story.”

“What story?”

“All that land where the campground is used to be mine. I sold it to Sam Waters’s pa about seventeen years ago, after Ida Mae was first diagnosed.”

“I didn’t know that. What happened?”

“We ran out of medical insurance and the bills were piling up fast. Sam’s daddy wanted the whole thing but Ida Mae loved that pond. Loved to walk around it and watch the wildlife. After she died, I still couldn’t bring myself to sell it. Besides, her ashes are scattered in the bullrushes on the far side.” Henry looked off into the distance. After a while, he said, “Scotty Andrews told
me in confidence that he actually hired you to replace one of his men. You must be good at your job, if the county’s willin’ to pay you a wage.”

“Guess the county’s worried about all the fires.” Will watched Henry out of the corner of his eye for his reaction.

But he was staring at the new pigeon coop, obviously thinking of other things. Will wondered how much Andrews had told Henry about the arsonist. The evidence they’d collected from the ruined barn—a dented old jerry can and burnt plastic container of cleaning solvent—had been traced to Henry himself. He’d told them the stuff had been in the barn but he hadn’t used them in ages. Will had no reason to doubt the old man, but Andrews wasn’t so sure.

Henry suddenly asked, “You get that injury in a fire?”

Will nodded. He didn’t feel like explaining and didn’t think Henry was looking for a long story.

“You going to be okay fighting fires again?”

Will smiled. “I hope so, Henry.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle ended the conversation. When the red fire hall SUV rolled into the yard, Will got to his feet. Scott Andrews climbed out wearing his standard issue uniform. So it was business, rather than social.

“Morning, Henry, Will.” He paused to survey the new coop. “Been doing some building, I see. Looks great.” His eyes cut back to Will. “You’re a man of
many talents, Jennings. Henry, I wonder if I could ask you a few more questions. The fire marshal will be visiting you soon and maybe the sheriff, too.”

Will frowned. Obviously the sheriff had been investigating the fires and would have interviewed all the other victims. He glanced quickly at Henry, who seemed unperturbed.

“Have you had the forensic reports yet?” he asked Andrews.

“Nah. The evidence has to go to Charlotte. It’ll be a few days.” Andrews looked at Henry. “Mind if we sit down, Henry?” He pointed to the bench they’d just vacated.

Henry shrugged and took his seat again. The rest of the iced tea and cookies sat on the table next to the bench, but Henry didn’t offer anything to Andrews. Will hesitated, wanting to stay but uncertain whether he was welcome.

Andrews glanced up at him and said, “If you want to go on with your building, that’s okay.”

He waited for some signal from Henry that he wanted him in on the questioning, but when none came, strolled back to the pigeon coop. The talk yesterday after the morning meeting had inevitably swung back to Henry as a possible suspect. Mainly because the evidence collected from the other fires hadn’t belonged to the victims. Although the official report was out, Andrews had implied the Krause fire might not be the work of the valley arsonist.