How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart

by Candice Patterson

  He massaged his burning leg muscle until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He found his way back to his room, stretched out on the bed, and went back to staring at the ceiling.

  “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

  —Muhammad Ali

  16

  Huck sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He grabbed the folded stack of clothes off his nightstand and slung them over the back of his wheelchair, then maneuvered into it and inched toward the bathroom. Each day got easier, but the process was slow and painful.

  The house was silent. No girlish humming. No cartoons. None of the usual noises Arianne made while making breakfast.

  No female tears or drama. Just quiet.

  The bathroom tiles were cold against his feet. He reached into the shower and twisted the faucet. By the time he’d removed his clothes, steam filled the room like a sauna. He swiped a towel over the mirror and glanced at his back. The road rash had healed, leaving only a quarter-sized scar on his right shoulder blade. Come next year, no one would ever know by looking at him that he’d broken almost everything in his body. He secured a trash bag around his casts and staggered to the shower.

  He peeled back the curtain and frowned at the bright-colored bottles. Large containers of shampoo and conditioner, smaller ones with cartoons on the label—strawberry scented and tear-free. A bar of white soap next to his. Purple, sparkly liquid, something called shower gel, a metal can of pink shaving cream, and an orange razor possessed one corner. How much stuff did it take to get a woman clean?

  And why were they in his shower? She had her own. Wasn’t it enough that she’d infected the rest of his house, including his TV? Now she had to have his bathroom too? He didn’t want to know what things she’d stuffed in the medicine cabinet and under the sink.

  Hot water pelted his back and shoulders, relaxing his stiff muscles. After he rinsed his hair, he threw his head back and let the spray run down his face. A light cottony smell lifted in the steam. He breathed it in. Why had he tried to kiss her?

  Because she set his body on fire, that’s why. The more he was around her, the more he wanted to be. A bad thing he couldn’t get enough of. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Arianne was getting to him, more than any woman. She’d moved into his house, and now she was moving into his heart. Except there was no vacancy.

  After his shower, he dressed and wheeled himself to the kitchen. The coffeepot gurgled the last drips into the pot. He inhaled something sweet. Sticky buns? Have mercy. How was he supposed to keep his feelings platonic when she kept doing things like this?

  Huck pushed to the counter, balanced on his good leg, and opened the cabinet above him. Where was his mug? He’d watched Arianne closely as she emptied the dishwasher after dinner last night, so he knew it wasn’t in there. He grabbed the nearest one and filled it. Took a sip. He swallowed and stuck out his tongue.

  Arianne walked into the kitchen. “It’s cinnamon roll flavored. You’ll want to add cream and sugar.” She rested her mug on the table—his mug—and breezed through the room.

  The crayon drawings on his fridge rustled as she opened the refrigerator door. She brought him the cream and sugar. Now that the rancid taste had left his tongue, his attention zeroed in on the light blue dress swishing just above her calves. The style was old. Very 1950s.

  Arianne babbled, which she did when she was nervous. Overcompensating for last night, he supposed. He didn’t register a word she said. He was too preoccupied by the way her hips swayed as she moved around the room.

  Her fingers snapped in front of him.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I said it’s good with whipped cream. Do you want some?”

  He scratched his chin. “I don’t drink girlie coffee.”

  Plus, he’d had his heart set on sticky buns. The talking vegetable cartoon theme song drifted from the living room.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.” She poured herself another cup. Steam lifted around the rim. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us to church?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Arianne looked down at her bare feet. “We, um…need to talk.” She nibbled her bottom lip and scratched her head. “About last night.”

  Why did women always have to talk everything to death? “No, we don’t.”

  One hand hugged the curve of her hip, and she studied him over the mug raised to her lips. She was barely taller than him, and he was sitting down.

  “Huck, I—”

  “You tryin’ to bring back the fifties?”

  Her forehead wrinkled, and she looked down at her dress. “It was my grandmother’s. I found it in the attic after my dad passed away. I had to repair a few things, but it was salvageable.”

  “You look like you belong in an episode of Happy Days.”

  “It’s true vintage. Women pay big money for dresses like this.” She lowered her long, black lashes. “Well, I like it.”

  He did too, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Why is your stuff in my shower?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. There’s a leak in our bathroom. I found it last night. It’s made a terrible mess on the wall. I don’t know anything about plumbing, but I managed to get the valve shut off. We moved everything into your bathroom temporarily.”

  “Fine, but I draw the line at fuzzy, pink toilet lid covers.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll call and get someone out here right away.”

  She placed the mug in the sink. “No hurry. I don’t mind.”

  “Well, I do.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “And quit using my coffee mug.”

  Immature, yes, but there wasn’t anything in his house she hadn’t fingerprinted. Couldn’t a man at least have his coffee mug?

  “We’ll just be on our way.” She stomped a cute little tantrum to the living room entryway. “Emma, turn that off, please. It’s time for church.”

  With her stubborn chin held high, she passed him without a glance.

  “And another thing. She watches entirely too much TV.”

  Arianne spun, mouth open. “When did you become an expert on child-rearing? You don’t have children. You’re not even married!”

  “It doesn’t take a marriage license to see she needs more than cartoons.”

  “Are you going to church with us today, Mr. Huck?” Emma bounced beside him.

  Her dingy floral dress was a stark contrast to her bright smile. “Sorry, kid.”

  Emma slouched and gripped her tiny Bible closer.

  Huck nudged her elbow. “I was just telling your mom how much fun you can have doing things outside. How ‘bout after supper, you and I do some fishin’?”

  Arianne’s face puckered like a prune.

  Emma squealed and danced on the toes of her scuffed, white shoes.

  He grinned, looked at Arianne, and winked.

  She clasped Emma’s hand. “We need to go, or we’ll be late.”

  They moved past him to the door. Arianne shoved her feet into her heels and snatched her purse and Bible. Emma went outside. Arianne followed, slamming the door behind them.

  ~*~

  Ripples expanded on the glassy surface of the water. Arianne held tight to her fishing pole in one hand and rested her chin in the other. She’d agreed to this only because Emma was so excited. Otherwise, she’d have told Huck what to do with his fishing poles. How dare he tell her how to raise her child?

  They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since his tantrum this morning. Men. One minute they want to kiss you, the next, they insult you.

  Something tugged on her line. She straightened. Another tug. She jerked the pole back and reeled it in. The line gave, flinging the hook out of the water. No fish, no worm. She sighed.

  Story of her life.

  Emma hopped up from her spot beside Huck. “Did you get one, Mommy?”

  “No, he just stole my worm.”

  Emma sat back down.

  “You
don’t have your bait on good enough.” Huck never looked up from the water.

  “At last, he speaks.”

  His Adam’s apple shifted in his thick neck.

  She’d show him. Arianne grimaced and lifted a wriggling worm from the container and impaled it. Worm murderer. She wiped her slimy fingers on the bridge and recast.

  Water lapped over the rocks at the pond’s edge. Emma hummed. Arianne dared to peek at Huck. She knew Emma’s crooning irritated him, but he seemed unaffected.

  What had almost happened the night before, however, affected her a great deal. She’d craved that kiss the way she was craving a cherry cheesecake right now. The fact that she’d come close to giving in to him… She couldn’t get attached. Wouldn’t. At the end of their deal, they’d part one way or another, and after taking care of him, the last thing she wanted to do was nurse a broken heart.

  She had to protect her little girl too. Emma had already placed Huck on a pedestal so high he couldn’t be seen for all the clouds. That’s why she’d never let Emma around the few men she’d dated. There was too much to lose if it didn’t work out. And it never did.

  “Mommy, I need to go potty.”

  Arianne reeled in her line. “OK, I’m coming.”

  “I can do it by myself.” Emma stood and passed Huck her pole.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  No she wasn’t. Her little girl was growing up. Maybe that’s what Huck was getting at this morning. “All right.”

  Emma’s footsteps thumped along the bridge then quieted when she reached the grass. When she’d disappeared through the back door, Arianne stole the empty place beside Huck.

  He visibly tensed. She recast and stared at the circles the water made when her bobber hit the surface. “About last night…”

  Huck groaned. “A word of advice: when a man wants to talk about something, he will. Otherwise, let it be.”

  “If all women abided by that rule, nothing would ever get settled.”

  “Instead y’all nag us to death and wonder why we get mad.”

  “I don’t nag.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re nagging right now.”

  “I’m not nagging. I just want you to answer my question!”

  “What question? What do you want me to say? It was really poor judgment on my part, Arianne. It won’t happen again. End of discussion.”

  That’s what every woman wanted to hear after a man tried to kiss them. “There’s more at stake here than just me this time—my business, my daughter.”

  She would not let him hurt her again.

  “Are you still holding on to something that happened years ago?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You just said you won’t let me hurt you again.”

  Embarrassment flooded her. She hadn’t meant to voice that out loud.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t stand you up that night because I wanted to.”

  Yeah, right. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.” No way would she give him the satisfaction of knowing she remembered. Or that it still hurt. She’d memorized the feel of the pale pink chiffon of her mother’s old dress, the one she’d dreamed of redesigning for years, the one that would’ve made every girl at the prom envy her if she’d gotten the chance to show it off.

  The muscle in Huck’s jaw bulged. “I was getting into my car to pick you up when your dad and his posse paid me a visit.”

  “My dad? What was he doing there?” Stupid woman. She’d let him reel her in.

  “To let me know I’d better think twice before taking out his daughter.”

  Arianne swallowed her shock. Daddy didn’t like Huck which was why she’d told him she was going stag. How did he find out? The mantel clock ticked through her memory. She’d counted every one, waiting for Huck.

  Huck shrugged, eyes trained on the water. “You know, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Sure it did. “If that’s what happened, why didn’t you tell me then?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “At the time, it was easier to make you believe I’d stood you up.”

  “Because of my dad? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “He threatened my scholarship.”

  “What hold could he have possibly had over your scholarship?”

  Huck stared at his lap. “Never mind.”

  “No. You said yourself it doesn’t matter anymore. So tell me. I deserve to know.”

  “I was almost nineteen. You were a minor.” He regarded her with caution. “It’s best that he stepped in.”

  Was it?

  She’d driven to the school that night in hopes she’d misunderstood and was supposed to meet Huck there instead. Her heart had hit the gym floor when a spotlight illuminated the couple in the middle of the room. Huck, in all reigning glory, had his meaty hands wrapped around the waist of a bosomy brunette wearing a glittering tiara.

  What little contents were in Arianne’s stomach threatened to re-appear. Chairs screeched across wood as couples left their tables to join the monarchy. She looked around the gym without really seeing anything.

  In a daze, she stepped through the crowd. Huck’s gaze locked with hers. His smile fell, along with his hands from the girl’s waist.

  The fairytale spell was broken. Tears clouded her view, but she blinked them away. The brunette turned to see who’d stolen Huck’s attention. Ashlynn Evans smirked and pulled Huck closer.

  He tugged her arms from his neck and started toward Arianne, looking…wounded. He was an excellent actor, however, making her believe he wanted to take her, even if it was only payment for his tutoring. Before he reached her, she fled to the car, escaping all the smiles and snickering.

  She’d been vulnerable ever since. Determined to prove to herself she was worth having and that not all gorgeous men had a black heart. Daddy had tried to save her from the mess she’d fallen into with Adam. And what a disaster it was.

  Arianne crossed her bare feet at the ankles. “For the record, if it hadn’t been for my dad, you’d have taken me?”

  ~*~

  He’d have been there early. Weeks in fact. “I’d have kept my end of the bargain.”

  The sheriff’s words rang fresh in Huck’s ears. “You’re not fit to be around my daughter.”

  Two cops had pinned Huck against his waxed Mustang. Rage swelled in his chest as he tried to fight them off. The buttons on his white shirt strained along his chest. When he noticed them scratching the car’s paint, he surrendered, swallowing past the grip the bowtie had around his neck. “This is illegal. You can’t lay a hand on me without a valid reason.”

  And for once, the law didn’t have one.

  Laughter spewed from the sheriff’s throat. “And who’s the judge going to believe? You think I don’t know about you?” He paced behind Huck. “I know you’re a bastard child from Tupelo, Mississippi. I know your mother—if you can call her one—had a criminal record longer than the roach-infested trailer you both lived in. You’ve had more daddies than you can count with your fingers and toes.”

  The grip on Huck’s hands released, and he pivoted toward the cops, rubbing his wrists. The sheriff’s hot breath rolled across Huck’s ear as Thompson placed his hand on the Mustang’s hood and lowered his voice for effect. “I know all about what you did, son. Why you moved up here in the first place.”

  Huck stilled.

  “I won’t allow my daughter to be humiliated.” Thompson backed away. “Hopefully, we both agree that it’s best you stay away from Arianne. After all, she’s a minor. I sure would hate to press charges when you’ve been promised that fancy football scholarship. A second chance at life might do you some good. We understand each other?”

  It wouldn’t matter what Huck said. The sheriff had made up his mind. “Yeah.”

  “Good, because I’m sure your uncle wouldn’t want h
is past returning to haunt him, either.”

  Huck started toward him when two hands slammed into his shoulders and pinned them to the car. “What’s my uncle got to do with this?”

  “My beef with Martin is my business, boy. You just make sure you stay out of trouble and away from my daughter.”

  Thompson nodded toward the squad cars, and all three men fell away. Engines revved and pebbles spit from their rear tires, raining gravel on top of Huck and his restored classic.

  His first instinct was to fire up the engine, beat the sheriff to his own house, and pick up Arianne anyway. But he’d worked hard to make a new name in this town. He was a school legend, scoring more touchdowns than any quarterback in county history. If he ever wanted to be somebody, he needed that scholarship.

  Huck slammed the driver’s side door and stormed into the house, shedding his tuxedo jacket as he went. How would he ever explain to Arianne why he didn’t show up? He couldn’t tell her the truth without exposing his past. His only option was to make her think he’d stood her up. That he’d played a part in the scheme.

  That would crush her. He ran cold water in the bathroom sink, cupped his hands, and splashed his face. He dabbed his skin with a towel and took a long look in the mirror. She’d done so much for him. Believed there was something good deep inside his heart. No one had ever seen him that way before. He didn’t want to kill that, but it was going to happen either way. Breaking his word was the lesser of two evils.

  His jaws clamped together so tightly his molars threatened to crack. Love wasn’t real anyway. The only person he could count on was himself. He needed that scholarship. So he’d go to prom tonight, but not with Arianne.

  A pull on Arianne’s fishing line brought Huck back to the present. He took it from her, and with a few turns of the reel, up came a big juicy bass fighting the hook.

  Emma ran to him, curls springing every direction. “You got one, Mr. Huck. Gee, that’s big!”

  “It’s your mom’s.” He handed the rod back to Arianne.

  She tried to grip the fish and shrieked when it wriggled and sprayed water off its fins.

  Emma giggled. “It almost as big as the one who ate Jonah.”