The Burbs and the Bees

by Cathryn Fox

  “Just so you know, I never said anything to him about…” He mimics Tyler and bumps his fist together. “He likes to torture me.”

  “Oh, yeah, no. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to say something like that.” I bump my fists together, too. “You’re probably already married or engaged or taken or something.”

  Subtle, Alyson, real subtle.

  “I’m not any of those things with anyone and plan to keep it that way,” he says firmly. His words are a bit slow, like he’s trying to get a point across. Okay, I get it. I was wrong. It wasn’t attraction at first sight on his part, and he’s not interested in me, which is good. But not to be interested in anyone like that… This guy must have been hurt.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that,” I say. “I’m not interested in… You know.” I bump my fists again and squirm a little under his scrutiny.

  “Good to know.”

  “Not interested at all…” I begin and try not to stare at his crotch, which is pretty much in my face. If I stuck my tongue… “…in marriage or commitment,” I add. “Nope, not for me.”

  “Right. Same.”

  “I just want to get this cow milked.” I pat Sidney’s side, and she moos. That’s right, Sidney, go ahead and agree with me. I am not here to sow wild oats with my neighbor or however that saying goes. Actually, I think that old adage might just apply to guys. Nevertheless, not interested at all.

  Farmers are honest folk.

  I glance down, pretty sure if I were wearing pants, they’d be on fire.

  Chapter Six

  Jay

  After checking on my bees and refilling the jars of sugar water, I step into my bee barn, tug off my gloves, and remove my oversized white bee suit. I hang it on the hook as my cell pings. I pull it from my back pocket and read the message from Colin.

  “Did you put your stinger in the queen next door last night?”

  Jesus, he’s as bad as Tyler…and Capone. “Leave it,” I text back, and he sends me the middle finger emoji before firing me off another text.

  “She’s still there then?”

  “Yeah, but not for long,” I say and ignore the unease inside me.

  “Tonight, Seven. Don’t be late,” he warns, and I shove my phone back into my pocket. I like his fiancée, Sara, I really do, but for a damn year now, since Colin put a ring on her finger, she’s been hinting that she’d like to see Colin and his groomsmen perform a surprise dance at the reception. I don’t dance. Ever. And this is all bullshit when I have a million other things pulling my attention. I tried to get out of it, but I’m the best man, and when it comes right down to it, I’d do anything for Colin.

  I exit the bee barn, and the joy of kids squealing and playing in Alyson’s petting zoo carries in the late morning breeze as I glance out over the twenty acres of land I’m going to use for my beef cattle—once I get the barn finished. If I ever get it finished, that is. I’ve been pulled in so many directions lately, and Colin was helping me until he got caught up in the wedding plans.

  I need to get my brothers on it. Speaking of my brothers, earlier this afternoon, I spotted Beck coming from Alyson’s farm, long after I helped her with her animals. I guess he, too, wanted to check out the hottie next door.

  Shit, I hope she’s doing okay over there. She was thrown into all this without so much as a lick and a lesson, a weird thing my late dad used to say. The gist being, she has no idea what she’s doing. Dad was always quick to roll up his sleeves and help out a neighbor. He’d expect the same from any of his kids. Shit, maybe I should check on her.

  Wait, what am I saying?

  I bet the goddamn farm she’d be gone within thirty days. I know. I know. Ludicrous, right? Insane really. Maybe I have a goddamn brain tumor, but when that douche Charlie Miller crossed his arms and stared down his nose at me—reeking of whiskey and smugness—it ruffled my feathers. I’m so sure Alyson will bail, I took him up on the bet. If I lose, he gets my farm. But the bet was a no-brainer. A sure thing. Even Charlie seemed like he agreed that I couldn’t lose. Could this really be a pride thing, him wanting the farm back in my family without looking like he’d gone soft?

  A thrill goes through me to think I’ll finally get back the property that had been wrongly taken from us many years ago. Which means going over there and helping Alyson is the last thing I should be thinking about.

  I head to my cottage and tug on my hoodie as I make my way to the house to check in on Mom, who’s working on making honey lip balm today. But instead, I find myself cutting into the path leading to Alyson’s farm.

  What am I doing?

  I stand back in the distance and count the number of vehicles in the long stretch of gravel parking lot. She must be completely overwhelmed by now. I stand there for a long moment, the devil on one shoulder, the angel on the other. After a hard internal debate, the angel gets the best of me, and I head to the market. Behind the counter, Alyson is limping around in her heels and trying to bag produce for customers while answering questions from others. From the looks of her and the oversized shirt she’s wearing, I’m guessing her luggage still hasn’t arrived.

  “What is the best apple for baking?” a young woman asks as she steps up to the counter.

  “Um. Ah. Just a second,” Alyson says. She grips her phone and scans it as she rings up a customer. Christ, she looks like she’s gulping for a breath that just won’t come.

  “Hey,” she says, and pushes back her mess of hair when she sees me. My heart takes that moment to skip a beat. Jesus, she might be a hot mess, but she’s absolutely beautiful.

  “Do you have any peaches?” a man asks. His voice breaks the spell she has over me, and I turn to him as he adjusts his glasses and studies Alyson through the bottom of the lenses.

  “I don’t really think so,” Alyson says, flicking him a fast glance. I swallow against the tightening of my throat. She’s my neighbor, and I shouldn’t be standing here doing nothing.

  “When will you have them?” he presses.

  Alyson swallows. “I… Uh… I’ll have to check when they become ripe.”

  The man frowns at her. “You don’t know?”

  Alyson shoots a worried look at her phone again.

  “Do you have any soup for sale?” an older woman asks. “I was really looking forward to bringing a container home for supper.” She presses her hand to her chest and beams. “Cindy makes the best squash soup.” Her hand falls, and her brow furrows as she looks around. “Where is Cindy?”

  “Squash soup. Okay,” Alyson says under her breath, like she’s adding that to a mental checklist. “Cindy’s not here.”

  “I hope she’s coming back. She is coming back, isn’t she?”

  “We look forward to her lunches,” someone else says.

  I can’t take my eyes off Alyson as the customers bombard her with questions. I step farther into the market, and coming to her rescue, I say, “Granny Smith is the best apple for pie, and the peaches won’t be ready until late August. As for the lunches, that’s not been determined yet. Alyson is new here and just learning the ropes.”

  “Thanks, pal,” the guy looking for peaches says and heads outside. As the questions die down, I turn my focus back to Alyson, and once again, my heart thumps.

  “You okay?” I shove my hands into the front pocket of my sweater and inch closer.

  “Perfectly fine,” she lies, and I curse under my breath, because she’s not perfectly fine. She’s a hot mess, fighting back tears, and any second now, I expect her to collapse under the weight of all this. Those fancy-ass shoe straps are blistering her feet, and those too-high heels are done holding her up.

  But that’s what I want, right? That’s what it’s going to take to smarten her up and send her packing.

  “You want some help?” I ask.

  Yeah, okay. I might be a lot of things, but goddammit,
I’m not a total prick.

  “I just had help.” She covers her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Your brother Beck was here earlier. Did you send him over?”

  “No.”

  A boy with ice cream all over his face lets loose an ungodly cry that could shake the fruit right off the trees when a bag of apples falls and lands on his foot. Alyson’s eyes go wide, and I swear to God I can hear her elevated blood pressure rushing through her veins. My stomach plummets as she works to stave off a panic attack.

  I drop to one knee. “Hey, bud,” I say and snatch an apple from the bag. “Do you know what kind of apple this is?”

  He wipes his eyes and sniffs. “No,” he whimpers.

  “It’s a magic apple,” I say, and his lips quirk. I steal a glance at Alyson, and the smile she aims my way, the gratitude in her eyes, nearly steals the air from my lungs.

  “Watch this.”

  I take the apple, switch it back and forth between my hands, and slide it into the front pocket of my hoodie. I hold both hands open and the boy grins. I move my hands around again, get him to focus on one as I pull the apple from my pocket and reach around him, pretending to take it from his ear.

  “Look what I found,” I say, and he covers both ears and chuckles. I glance at Alyson again and she mouths the words, “Thank you.” My lips curl into a smile, and I try to balance myself as the warmth in her eyes throws me off a little.

  “What do you think of that, Hudson?” his mother asks.

  I shine the apple on my sweater and hand it to the boy. “For you,” I say. He captures it in his small hands, and I push to my feet. This time, I don’t ask Alyson if she needs anything. Instead, I grab a stool, step behind the counter, and set it down. I point to it, but she hesitates.

  “Sit,” I say. “Before you fall.”

  I get a whiff of her sweet scent and try not to think about the way it messes with my body as she gives a little nod and drops onto the stool. I take her place at the register, answering questions about the fruit and orchard. For the next half hour, I help out, and when the rush dies down, I turn to find her rubbing her sore feet.

  She smiles at me, and my damn heart loses its steady rhythm—again.

  “Thank you, Jay.” She jumps from the stool and tries to hide a wince. “I’ve taken up enough of your time today.”

  “You sure you got this?”

  She nods. “Oh, one thing. Where can I buy nails and a hammer?”

  I stare at her, not sure whether to tell her or not. She’s liable to hurt herself, but I can’t keep coming to her rescue, right? “What do you need those for?”

  “The handrail outside is loose. I don’t want some child tugging on it and falling off the ramp. I’d never forgive myself if someone got hurt.” She crinkles her nose and stares at the floor. It’s so nice that she cares. For a moment, I forget she’s not a local. “Wouldn’t that just get me an…I told you so.”

  “What?”

  Her hair whips across her face as she shakes her head, the distant look in her eyes gone. “I just mean I have a ton to learn and do around here, but I think that’s something I can tackle first. One thing at a time, right?” As I take in her uncertainty, my goddamn stomach tightens, and I open my mouth, about to offer to do it, when she holds her hand up to stop me. “I can do it,” she says.

  She’s tenacious, I’ll give her that. I turn and point down the road. “You drove past town on your way here. You’ll find everything on Main Street, including Trader Tim’s. It’s the local hardware store. That’s the place that sells hardware and farming clothes.”

  “Perfect.” She grabs an apple off the counter and takes a bite.

  “You’ll also find other clothes stores on Main, as well as a grocery store,” I say. “Do you have any food in the house?”

  Her face lights up. “I had pie this morning, thanks to your mother. Tyler dropped off some fresh eggs; I just haven’t had a chance to cook them yet. I close up here in fifteen minutes, then I’ll finally have a chance to make a run into town to restock my cupboards and find some new clothes.”

  “If you need anything, let us know.”

  She nods, and I head outside to walk back to my place. I find Mom on the front deck, peeling carrots for supper. Her gaze lifts at the sound of my boots on the bottom step.

  “How’s our new neighbor making out?” she asks, her expression blank, unreadable. That look means she’s got something on her mind.

  “Doing fine.”

  She drops a carrot into the pot and reaches for another. “She’s a pretty one.”

  “Mom—”

  “What?” she asks, without looking at me. “I’m not allowed to point out when a girl is pretty?”

  I lean against the rail. “Not when you’re trying to set us up, no.”

  “Foolishness, Jay.” She waves a dismissive hand. “She’s not your type anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, come on. You and I both know she’s not cut out for this kind of work. She’ll be gone before we know it.”

  I relax a bit, and a warm breeze washes over my face as I glance at the hill in the distance, where cherries are growing on the trees. “Yeah,” I say, my mind going to Juanita. The last I saw on social media, she was engaged to her former psychology professor. Now she’s his to analyze. Lord knows I couldn’t figure out what she wanted, and moving to the city was out of the question. Not only do I hate the city—I loathe the traffic and congestion and rude people—I couldn’t up and leave my family. I made a promise to my dad, and I’m going to follow through with it.

  “I give her a month. What about you?” Mom says, pulling my thoughts back. I stiffen. Christ, word spreads fast here but I hope she didn’t hear about the bet. Then again, Charlie and I spoke the words in secret, a private bet between men. Other than Colin, no one knows about the wager.

  “I was surprised to see her this morning.” This time, her gaze does lift and her eyes lock on mine.

  “No reason for her to stay any longer, now is there?”

  “No reason at all,” I agree. “I’m going to have a shower. I have to meet up with Colin and the guys in a few,” I say and head toward my cottage. I step inside. “Hey, Capone.”

  “Jay’s an asshole.”

  “Nice to see you, too.” I kick off my boots.

  “Alyson’s hot stuff.”

  I spin around and my fast movement ruffles Capone’s feathers. He jumps and struts around his cage like a peacock on display.

  “What did you just say?” I ask.

  “Alyson’s hot stuff.”

  “Motherfucker,” I curse. “Tyler, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Tyler’s tight,” Capone blurts out.

  “Tyler’s dead,” I say. When the hell did he teach Capone that? He obviously has too much free time on his hands, and I’m about to fix that. I tug off my shirt and pants and stomp upstairs to the loft. I jump in the shower and stay under the spray for a long time, prolonging the inevitable—working on a ridiculous dance routine for Colin’s wedding.

  When I’m finally done, I dry off and tug on my jeans. My gaze goes to my laptop. I stare at it for a second. Does Alyson have a social media profile? Is she on there taking selfies every chance she gets? I open my laptop and find her easily. I scroll through the pictures, many of them of her smiling and partying with her friends at trendy places in the Big Apple.

  It won’t take long for her to miss that kind of action. I’m about to slip into my T-shirt when a god-awful high-pitched shriek rips through my farm.

  “What the fuck?” I hurry downstairs and push open my door. I spot Alyson, running and flailing near the apiary like her life depends on it.

  “Shit.” Barefoot, I rush outside and run up the hill to my bee farm. “Alyson,” I call out, and she turns and comes racing toward me. Except when she
gets close, my gut tightens, and real fear sets me into action.

  “Jesus,” I say and hold her trembling shoulders to look her over. “How many?”

  “I… I don’t know,” she cries, her pink lips getting puffier by the second. “I… I must be allergic.” She winces and tears prick her eyes, but she’s doing her damnedest to hide them. My pulse jumps, hating the hurt on her face.

  “You’ve never been stung before?” I ask as I scoop her into my arms.

  “No,” she mumbles and slides her hands around my neck to hang on. “Not too many bees in New York City.”

  I run back to my cottage as Cluck comes racing from the path and chases after us. I hurry inside, and Cluck stands in the doorway like a worried watchdog as I set Alyson on the kitchen chair.

  “Is your throat itchy, or are you having a hard time swallowing?”

  “No, just my lips,” she says and lightly touches them.

  “Okay, it’s not anaphylactic shock, so this should work.” I pull the Benadryl from the fridge and pour a generous amount into the cap. “Drink this.”

  She swallows it all and cringes. “Ohmigod, that’s worse than the stings.” She holds my shoulders and takes deep gulping breaths.

  “It tastes awful but it works. Look at me.” Her gaze lifts, and she sweeps her tongue over her lower lip. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Her shaky hands tighten on my bare shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll leave her, and her eyes grow wider than I’ve ever seen them. That’s saying something, considering they nearly bulged out of their sockets when we fell in the Atlantic. “I’m not going anywhere,” I reassure her. Her breathing changes, slows, and the swelling around her mouth slowly begins to abate.

  Her eyes drop, take in my bare chest. Her hands jerk back, and she sets them on her lap. “You should put a shirt on.”

  “That’s not really my concern at the moment.”

  “Right. Ah, okay. I didn’t know you were a bee farmer.”