Arianne smiled, finally getting the fish under control.
“Was Jonah a worm?” Huck changed positions in his wheelchair. He was ready to burn this thing.
Emma scratched her head. “No, silly. Jonah and the whale. It’s a Bible story.”
Arianne made faces as she worked the hook from the bass’s mouth.
“So what happened?”
Emma placed one hand on his shoulder and another on her hip. “God told Jonah to do something, and he didn’t obey, so he got eaten by a big fish.”
She extended her arms in demonstration.
Huck reeled in his line. “That’s not a very happy ending.”
“You haven’t heard the rest of the story.” Arianne tossed the fish back into the water.
After the splash, Emma waved at the fish and continued. “He stayed in the fish’s belly for three whole days, praying and asking God to forgive him. He promised to do what God had asked. From the bottom of the ocean, God heard his prayers, and the fish swam to shore and puked him up.”
Sure. Huck raised the corner of his upper lip. “I bet Jonah needed a good bath.”
Both girls laughed. He’d take whale spit over a guardrail any day.
“Mommy, can I play on my swing set now?”
They’d only been fishing for thirty minutes.
“Sure, I can see you from here.”
Emma sprinted up the hill.
Silence stretched between them before Arianne finally spoke. “I’m doing the best I can with her, Huck.”
He turned, only to get drawn into her blue eyes. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I’ve no right to tell you how to raise your kid.”
She nodded. “It’s not easy doing this by myself. Playing mom and dad.”
“It’s even tougher on the kid, believe me.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Maybe.”
Cold, lonely nights in juvenile hall when he was twelve crept into his memory. The bloodied, lifeless face of his cell-mate still haunted him at times. The horror of watching those thugs gang up on James, surround him and beat him to death with their fists. Huck’s fault. Though he was protecting himself from something he didn’t do.
Huck had caused some ruckus in his life, but he’d never witnessed such evil before. It’d scared the spit out of him. That’s why he was a Big Brother now. He didn’t want Matt, or any kid, to suffer the same fate. Huck had banished that nightmare to the darkest corner of his mind, but occasionally, like today, it would slip through the cracks.
“I’m no good, Arianne.” She needed to know that so she could intervene on the days he was weak. Like last night.
Her fishy-smelling hand reached for his. “Giada’s death wasn’t your fault. You had no control over that driver’s heart attack. It was…her time to go.”
Her words could sooth his open wounds if he’d let them. Emma’s giggles floated on the air. She’d finally learned how to swing on her own. “Why do you really think Jonah got eaten by the whale?”
“He disobeyed God’s instructions. There are always consequences to sin.”
Huck nodded. God or not, there were always consequences.
There are thousands of kinds of bees, but only the honeybee can produce honey.
17
Why did some brides think that ruffles and lace and all-out gaudiness on their gowns made them more special on their wedding day? Arianne curled her nose at Darcy’s sketch. The dress had everything the governor’s daughter had demanded, down to the last pearl: sparkling white satin, strapless bust line, a sheath silhouette to hug every natural curve, and—heaven help them all—a twelve-foot, chiffon train that flowed from around her knees like a waterfall.
Who on earth needed a twelve-foot train? What a waste of expensive fabric. Sure, the dress would look fantastic on a model in a bridal magazine, posing in the middle of a forest in some artsy, unnatural way. Impractical in reality. Not to mention, between the fabric and her time, very expensive. Arianne quoted upwards of ten-thousand dollars. At this, Darcy hadn’t batted an eyelash. Arianne couldn’t imagine having that much money to spend on a single dress. Or a car for that matter.
With Darcy’s classic beauty in mind, Arianne had sketched a gown more sophisticated, enchanting. A gown that would enhance her natural beauty instead of the dress stealing the spotlight. The fabric would’ve glittered under the reception hall lights and given the black-and-white bridal portraits an old-movie feel.
Darcy had hated it.
Arianne returned to the sketch in her hand. Instead, her client would look like a giant spool of ribbon that had unraveled and attacked her dress. It was Darcy’s day, however, not Arianne’s.
If it were hers, she’d wear a simple design with a fitted bodice and a scalloped, sweetheart neckline. Beige cotton tulle trimmed in gold embroidery, open back, and a sweep train to gently skim the floor. Homage to the decadence of 18th-century France.
The white pant suit she’d worn with Adam at their Justice of the Peace wedding slipped into her memory. She folded it away. Next time—if there was a next time—she’d have a real wedding, with a groom who actually loved her.
“Mommy!” Emma’s voice drifted from the stairs.
“I’ll be down in a minute.” Arianne put aside the sketch and checked her reflection in the mirror as she sucked in her tummy. The outdoors offered great exercise. She should take advantage of it while she was here and give a good effort to shedding that extra twelve pounds she carried around. Today’s humidity gave her hair enough frizz to make Medusa jealous, and…was that a wrinkle?
What did it matter? Prince Charming was taken anyway.
The main level was quiet. Sketch in hand, Arianne went to Huck’s office and fired up his laptop, grateful he’d given his permission earlier in the day. She dropped into the leather chair. A puff of his cologne escaped, and she breathed it in. Heaven help her.
After the computer woke up, the last webpage he’d used filled the screen. Bangor Daily News—Giada’s obituary.
Her heart squeezed. Laughter filtered in through the window where Huck and Emma sat in what looked like a golf cart on steroids. His attitude had improved lately. He even joked and laughed on occasion, but the smile never quite reached his eyes. His tough-guy mask didn’t fool her. He was hurting.
After she scanned the dress design and emailed it to Darcy, she shut down Huck’s laptop and followed the noise coming from the kitchen. Emma extracted water bottles from the fridge and put them in a plastic bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Mr. Huck told me to come and get you and some drinks. We’re going to see his bees.” Emma shut the fridge and pulled Arianne along. “Come on, Mommy. He’s gonna leave without us.”
Outside, Huck waited in an open vehicle with heavy duty tires and a small bed. “You’ll have to drive.”
She climbed behind the wheel after Emma scooted to the middle and handed the bag to Huck. A spike in temperature, more common in July than the end of August, caused sweat to bead along her forehead and temples. Huck had to be smothering in that thick cast.
“Ready?” he asked.
Arianne gripped the wheel. “I’ve never driven a golf cart.”
“It’s a Gator—a farm utility vehicle. Just turn the key and drive.”
“If you say so.” The engine fired, and they all flew forward when her foot hit the gas.
“Woman.” Huck gripped the dash with one hand and the top of the frame with the other.
Emma giggled.
Arianne cringed. “Sorry.”
She pressed lighter this time, and they coasted over the bridge and through the meadow, bouncing in the hot vinyl seats. Long, wispy grass rustled around the tires.
She glanced at Huck. Sweat glistened on his skin and soaked circles on his white T-shirt. The breeze floating through the cab brought his scent her way. If only she could bottle that smell and keep it forever.
He caught her staring and winked. “You mi
ght want to keep your eyes ahead of you.”
She snapped her head forward. His laugh rolled in the wind.
~*~
The Gator slowed to a stop and Arianne shut off the engine. “What’s that noise?” She tipped her chin, listening.
“The bees.” Huck grinned as Emma’s eyes grew round as bowling balls.
“What are they doing, Mr. Huck?”
“Humming.”
“I like to hum too.” Her heels thumped the floorboard with each kick.
Oh, he knew. He pointed to the white boxes tucked among the pines. “Pull closer.”
Sweat rolled between his shoulder blades and soaked his shirt. It could be hot as the sun, and he wouldn’t leave. He was back where he belonged.
Arianne drove until he instructed her to stop. Less than ten feet away, the hair on his arms and neck perked with the adrenaline rush that always got him when the bees were near.
“I don’t know about his, Huck.” Arianne leaned closer to his side of the vehicle. He rested his arm across the back of the bench seat.
“Feel that?” The air around them buzzed. Her ponytail brushed his hand, and he stroked the soft ends of her hair.
Arianne rubbed her arms. “I’m not sure about this. Will our being here make them mad? Emma’s never been stung before. What if she’s allergic?”
“Don’t be such a downer.” He could swim in those dark pools of blue looking to him for reassurance. “Trust me.”
She blinked a few times then grabbed Emma’s hand and nodded.
Worker bees by the hundreds surrounded the supers, flying in and out of the white boxes, slicing through the air with their tiny bodies.
“What are they doing, Mr. Huck?”
“You don’t have to whisper. The ones hanging ‘round those boxes are the guard bees. They protect the hive from danger. The others are collector bees. They’re foraging—gathering food. They find flowers and other plants, collect as much nectar as they can carry, and then bring it back to their home. They transfer the nectar to the younger worker bees inside those white boxes, who turn it into honey.”
Emma pushed a damp lock away from her sweaty forehead. “Where’s all the honey?”
“It’s in there.” He handed her a water and pointed to the supers.
Bees buzzed around the cab. Arianne squealed when one landed on her arm and marched toward her sleeve.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Be still. She won’t hurt you. She’s trying to decide if you’re a threat.”
Arianne craned her neck away from her arm, but her gaze never left the bee. “How do you know it’s a she?”
“All the workers are females. Male bees—drones—only wait around to mate with the queen.”
“Can we see the honey, Mr. Huck?” Emma rubbed her temple with the cold bottle.
“Not today, kid. The heat makes ‘em cranky, and I don’t have my equipment with me. But it’ll be ready to harvest next week. If your mom says it’s all right, you can see it then.”
Emma looked up at Arianne, who didn’t look too sure. The bee flew away, and Arianne relaxed against the seat.
“I’ll take you both to see the building where we separate the honey and bottle it. No bee threats in there. I’ll even let you help if you want.”
Something he never offered. He played with a damp curl at the nape of Arianne’s neck. Her eyelids closed for a second, and her cheeks turned pink. “We’d like that.”
If that made her blush, what else could he get her to do?
Arianne swallowed. “What do you say we head home? I made a fresh jug of blueberry lemonade this morning, and I’ll cook a pizza for supper.”
He and Emma exchanged glances.
Arianne frowned. “Don’t worry. It’s a frozen pizza from the store.”
Emma slapped him a high-five, and Arianne gave them a mock scowl.
They cruised down the path through the field and over the hill. The ocean was a good five miles away, but he could smell the salt on the breeze, almost taste it.
His gut tightened as they neared the house. Home. Arianne had called his house home. It was starting to feel that way, wasn’t it? Something stirred within him he couldn’t define. As much as he knew she was off-limits, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her, like a bee to a rare flower.
“Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue…”
—Song of Solomon 4:11
18
The letter opener sliced the crisp, white envelope. Arianne fingered the check for seven-thousand dollars—Darcy’s down payment for her gown. She squealed and grinned so wide it hurt. This small piece of paper was the start to a new life. The promise it held crept into her bones, along with an ache from the jog she’d attempted yesterday. She rested her palm in the small of her back and arched, stretching her pinched muscles.
Arianne placed Huck’s letter opener in the desk’s top drawer. His spacious office held a masculine charm with matching walnut furniture and simple décor. Outside, sunlight played peekaboo through maple leaves, casting prismatic rays of light into the room. White towels and washcloths on the clothesline danced in the breeze. September was Arianne’s favorite time of year. Tepid days relinquished to cool nights, requiring extra layers of clothing.
On the corner of the desk sat a framed picture of Huck in his college football uniform, pumping his fist in victory. Beside it lay a loose, faded photo of him around age ten. He stood by an attractive blonde who appeared to have lived a lot of life for such a young age. Next to the woman, a dark-haired man with a mustache and wide grin gazed at her with love in his eyes, his hands resting on Huck’s shoulders. The woman was clearly Huck’s mother, but was the man his father?
She lifted the frame of Huck in all his jock glory and stared into the velvety brown eyes that made her body hum. Then it hit her. Her future life wouldn’t involve him.
Her initial elation of a fresh start plummeted. She sank onto the leather desk chair. How silly. She really needed to kick this adolescent crush. At her age, it was ridiculous. Beyond the borders of pathetic. She was a grown woman for crying out loud, not a teenager. Then again, the longing she’d caught on his face lately—or at least that’s how she’d interpreted it—and the stirring his simple touch invoked brought on all kinds of teen angst.
Arianne replaced the photograph and stood. This was Huck Anderson. Every woman up and down the eastern seaboard had the same reaction. He was an expert fisherman, using himself as bait. The female population swam straight into his net.
Well not her. Thirty waited just around the corner, ready to jump out, snatch her, and drag her up the hill, kicking and screaming. When she reached the top, she didn’t want to look down and see another heartbreak on her list of life’s mistakes.
And heartache would surely come with Huck. His gypsy heart didn’t know how to settle down. How to love. Furthermore, he’d no desire to, saying as much that night by the campfire, which she only partly believed.
Had Huck’s comment been a defense mechanism? A way of protecting himself from her—as if she were a threat—or from detaching himself from Giada’s death, a subconscious way of coping? After all, he’d never sought counseling to help him grieve.
His motorcycle accident alone was a daily reminder of why he and Arianne were incompatible. Huck was insouciant and impulsive, and she was careful and…boring. But she liked boring. Boring was safe, and as a parent safety took priority.
He’d become such a part of their lives the past few months it was strange to think of a day without him. Except she couldn’t let her heart think that way, no matter how integral his presence felt.
Arianne fingered the check, rubbing her thumb over the slick surface. Nope. Come spring, her bridal shop, her daughter, and her own semi-truck load of excess baggage were moving on.
~*~
After three weeks of grueling therapy drills led by Sergeant Sandy, Huck’s reward was a completely healed arm, a lighter leg cast, and a pair of cru
tches. He could finally walk on his own—sort of. Anything beat that wheelchair. And once he was able to slip back into jeans, he was going to burn every pair of shorts he owned.
Little hands wrapped around his bicep. Emma snuggled against his arm. The wind blew through the Gator’s cab and fanned her curls across her face. She closed her eyes and brushed the hair away. After a good yawn, she burrowed closer to his stiff arm. He gave in and steered with his left wrist through the meadow.
Another crayon drawing had graced his fridge this morning. One of his toothpick arms held a fishing pole, and the other held a shield. She stood next to him with her rod, dressed in a pink ball gown and gold tiara. A horse stood poised on the hill by her swing set. A yellow blob hovered over them from the sky. He’d known the picture held some deep meaning by the twist in the pit of his stomach.
A red, metal barn came into view. His attention drifted to his adult passenger in a blue shirt that fit her just right. She’d pulled her hair back into a messy bun he’d like to undo altogether. Purplish circles under her eyes hinted at the absence of sleep. He’d barely gotten a word out of her after she’d returned from getting the mail that morning. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to upset her this time—probably breathed the wrong way—but she’d definitely built a wall.
“Here we are.” He parked the Gator by the barn door and turned the key.
The building towered over them. He steadied his weight on the crutches and hobbled inside. His pith helmet and tools hung on racks by the door, and the warm, sweet scent of honey welcomed him home.
“What is all this stuff, Mr. Huck?” Emma’s curious eyes observed the room.
The dehumidifier whirred. The noise mixed with their voices and echoed off the walls. “This is the honey house.”
Supers stacked as tall as him swallowed the entire west corner. A few vagrant bees flew among the exposed support beams. Arianne craned her neck to look around, clutching the picnic basket she’d brought along.
Huck pointed behind her. “Through that door is a small office with a fridge. You can put our lunch in there ‘til we’re ready. There’s a bathroom back there, too, should y’all need it.”
How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart Page 13