The man’s frown deepened. Will was painfully aware of the stillness in the fine food shop. No doubt the man was wondering why, as a friend of the family, Will didn’t know how to get to the apiary. Why hadn’t he simply told him the truth? That he’d read about Ambrosia Apiaries in a magazine article years ago and had come looking for the place.
There were only a handful of customers inside the store, and they’d stopped talking when he’d come in. Now a couple of them exchanged whispered comments, and he felt their surreptitious glances at his scar. He ought to be used to stares by now. The problem was, every stare was another reminder.
“Thanks for the information,” Will said and, every eye on him, hustled out.
He strode toward the van, parked half a block away. Of course he could have simply purchased the honey, as the man had suggested. But honey wasn’t his reason for coming to Garden Valley.
The sight of a brand-new Honda motorcycle parked behind his van made him smile, nostalgic. It was an auspicious reminder of his decision to walk out of his old life and begin a new one. He paused to admire the bike, much flashier than his old Harley Davidson.
The Harley had been the last of his personal possessions to go. Will had kept putting off selling it, the symbol of a wilder, more carefree life. Before the accident.
His gaze shifted to the somewhat beat-up camper van, a far different symbol for the new direction his life was taking. The flare of nostalgia suddenly died. No regrets. Will climbed into the van, carefully eased out of the parking spot and, with one last glimpse in his rearview mirror, headed down the main drag of Essex, North Carolina.
It was a pretty town with a larger commercial center than he’d expected for a population of eight thousand. Though he didn’t know if that figure—emblazoned on the town’s welcome sign—included the outlying rural area. What he did know was that as soon as the van had begun its descent from the foothills an hour ago, he’d been so awestruck at the size and beauty of the valley that he’d had to pull off the road.
Garden Valley was a fitting name for the lush countryside that rolled away beneath him. The rooftops of Essex, clustered at the base of the hill, glittered beneath the midafternoon sun. Surrounded by verdant pastures and tracts of woodland, the town sparkled like underwater treasure. It could be a scene out of a fairy tale. It was definitely a scene out of the magazine article folded up on the seat beside him.
He headed southwest, as the store owner had instructed, taking his time. Now that he’d finally reached his destination, he had no idea what his next step was. Pull out the article and confess he’d saved it since he was twelve years old? Yeah right. Now that he was here, what did he expect would happen?
That was the issue, he mused as he searched the signs at each crossroad after leaving Essex behind. His ex-wife had once accused him of running away from his problems and he’d bristled at the suggestion. Yet here he was, proving her right. Suddenly he caught the sign for Dashwood Side Road, slammed his foot on the brake and turned onto the hard-packed gravel.
Five miles in, the man had said, and then make a left at somebody’s orchards. Will had forgotten the name of the farm itself, but the barn behind the house was supposed to be bright red. Weren’t all barns red? He was going less than twenty miles an hour and had plenty of time to make his turn when he spotted a red barn and silo immediately ahead on his left. What he failed to notice was the other vehicle coming at him like a tornado.
Pebbles and dirt pelted the van as Will cranked the steering wheel right. By the time he’d straightened out the van, the other vehicle—a mud-brown pickup—had disappeared. Damn. Country drivers were no better than city ones. Will kept going, occasionally checking the rearview mirror in case the maniac in the pickup came back.
Another three or four miles after the turn, according to the store owner, and he’d see the sign at the end of a long driveway. Will passed fields of some kind of bushy, flowery crop on both sides of the road, crossed over a narrow stone bridge spanning a strip of bubbling water, rounded a curve and spotted a yellow and black sign up ahead on his left. As he drew nearer, he pulled over and turned off the engine.
The sign, with its curlicue scrawl Ambrosia Apiaries, J. Collins and Family, had seen better days. It had been fashioned out of sheet metal into the shape of a picture-book-style beehive. But the apex of the hive had twisted into a rusting knot. Will guessed that the scattering of black spots was supposed to be honeybees. Or maybe the yellow paint had just worn off.
He sat for a moment. What should he say? Just passing through from New Jersey and happened to notice the sign. He cursed again.
He’d never really expected to find the place. The article had been written years ago and who would have thought that the apiary, with its tired old sign, would still be here? A twelve-year-old kid’s boyhood fantasy. Buying honey was the plan. Besides, he couldn’t leave without at least seeing the place. Maybe he’d even catch a glimpse of the girl in the picture—Annie. The girl he’d once befriended in his imagination. Someone with a family that could be traced back a few generations.
He was about to drive up the lane when he noticed a vehicle approaching from behind. Will watched as it grew larger in the rearview mirror. Seeing the square front end of a mud-brown pickup, he frowned. The same crazy driver who had almost sideswiped him? The truck slowed as it passed. Maybe he’d have a chance to give the guy a piece of his mind. Then it turned sharply into the driveway to the apiary and lurched to a stop.
Will waited, his eyes riveted on the pickup. Someone was getting out, striding purposefully toward him. Male or female? The sun was in his eyes and Will couldn’t decide if the person was being confrontational or not. Trouble was the last thing he was looking for, but on the other hand…
Will realized with some relief that the driver was indeed female. Very female, he thought. Jeans and a loose shirt failed to conceal the evidence. The unbuttoned shirt flapped open in the breeze to reveal a form-fitting tank top. She marched right up to his open window.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Her voice was confident and challenging. She was blocking the sun and as Will peered up, he realized that it was her. Annie of the magazine article. Same honey-colored hair, no longer braided but skimming her shoulders, and same heart-shaped face. And definitely no longer an eleven-year-old girl.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh, was driving by and noticed the sign. Thought I’d buy some honey. Are you the owner?”
Her golden brown eyes narrowed. She pursed her full, naturally rosy lips and didn’t speak for a long moment. “Buy some honey,” she repeated slowly.
Her tone made the excuse seem wildly implausible.
She scanned the side of the van. “You’re not from Sunrise Foods, are you? A private investigator?”
“I’m just here for honey. And I’d love to see your apiary.” He climbed out of the van and leaned against the door.
“See the apiary,” she echoed, giving him the once-over.
Will sighed. He took off his baseball cap, realizing at once from the way her eyes widened that the inch of hair covering his scalp wasn’t a reassuring sight. “It’s actually a long story. Some years ago I read a magazine article about a family of beekeepers.”
Something flickered in her eyes.
“I know this may sound crazy,” he continued, “but ever since I read it I’ve wanted to see the place. And, uh, well, so I came.” When she still didn’t speak, Will reached through the window for the article on the passenger seat. As he straightened, he saw that she was looking at the scar on the right side of his face. Her eyes moved quickly back to his.
“Were you in some kind of accident?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Another long story.”
“Does it still hurt?”
It was a refreshing question, not the standard two or three he usually got. “Sometimes.” He stretched out his hand and she took the magazine article. She skimmed it for a fe
w seconds, smiling.
The effect was transforming and when she raised her face again, her smile washed over him like warm water. He felt lighter somehow and the knot between his shoulder blades was gone.
“I remember when this was written,” she said.
“Is that you in the picture?”
“Yes, and my dog, Skipper. Long gone now.”
“And your parents?”
She peered down at the article again. “Yes, those are my parents. My mother and grandfather, next to Dad there, are dead, too. My great-grandfather was the J in the sign back there. John Collins. Dad was named after him.” She held out the article.
Will stepped closer, relieved she didn’t inch away. Up close, he noticed a smatter of pale freckles across the narrow bridge of her nose and a tiny dark mole at the corner of her mouth. A beauty spot, it would have been called once. In her case, appropriate. She had the healthy, wholesome looks of the all-American girl but there was something else in her face, too, he decided. A hint of sadness perhaps.
“I guess you should come up to the house then, and get your honey.”
“I’d like that,” he said. “By the way, I’m Will Jennings.” He held out his right hand.
She clasped it, surprising him with her quick, strong grip. “Annie Collins—but you already knew that.” Her eyes held his a moment longer and then she said, “Follow me in your van. It’s about a quarter of a mile up the driveway.”
Will waited until she’d climbed into the truck and fired up the engine before his fingers fumbled at the keys in the ignition. As he followed the truck up the driveway, he caught glimpses of fields through the row of trees lining the gravel road. The fields seemed to stretch out forever. When the white-framed farmhouse with its wraparound veranda and gingerbread trim came into view, Will felt as though he had come home.
CHAPTER TWO
ANNIE CHECKED her rearview mirror. She couldn’t believe she’d just invited this guy up to the farmhouse for a tour of the apiary. What had she been thinking? She was supposed to be back at the Vanderhoff place to retrieve the swarm in their apple orchard. That’s where she’d been heading when she’d almost forced him off the road. At least, she was pretty certain now that it had been his van she’d spotted at the last second as she’d made the turn.
He wasn’t the first person to wander into the apiary in search of honey or even out of curiosity. The year after the magazine article came out, the place had been deluged with tourists. But it had been a long time since anybody had arrived, magazine in hand.
Twenty years later and he still had the article? If she were in the city, alarm bells would have been clamoring in her head. Stalkers. But this was Garden Valley, for heaven’s sake. Besides, the look in his eyes and her own instincts convinced her his story—though weird—was legit.
Her father would have given the man a tour. There was nothing he liked better than talking to unexpected visitors about the habits of the honeybee and the curative powers of honey.
She took her foot off the accelerator and let the truck coast the last few yards around the side of the house to the kitchen door. No sign of Danny yet. When she’d seen the size of the swarm at the Vanderhoffs’, she knew she’d need help to get it down and had come back for Danny.
Annie was unlocking the door to the barn when Will Jennings climbed out of his van. He paused to look around the yard and his smile wiped out any doubts she’d had about bringing him up to the house.
“This is…” He stopped, as if he couldn’t find the right words. “You were very lucky to grow up in a place like this.”
“Hmm.” More or less. She was about to ask where he’d grown up but something in his ensuing silence warned her off.
“Come on inside,” she said, pulling the door open. “This is the honey barn. Years ago when my great-grandparents were alive, this was still a working farm and they kept animals in the barn, as well as storing grain and hay. They only had one or two hives back then. It was my grandfather who made the transition from farming to beekeeping.” She flicked on the lights and watched his reaction.
Will didn’t say anything at first, just made a slow turn, taking it all in—the huge gleaming stainless steel extractors, the settling tank, shelving units filled with various beekeeping essentials, frames for supers neatly stacked in corners and two long, sturdy wood tables. Counters ran along two walls beneath windows obviously not original to the barn. Will stretched to peer out one of the windows. “There was a picture of rows of hives in a meadow in the article,” he said.
“When the article was written, my father and grandfather were still planting crops in the back acreage. We have a few hives in a buckwheat field my father plants every year but most of them are on neighboring farms.”
“Why? Don’t you have to rent the land from them?”
“No. They’re happy to have our bees because they pollinate their orchards and crops. Plus, we give them honey.”
“How many hives are there?”
“We used to have about three hundred, but after Pete retired a couple of years ago we’ve been gradually reducing the number. I think we’ve got about two hundred and thirty now.”
He whistled. “What’s this?” he asked, leaning over the extractor.
“A honey extractor. It’s electric, but they used to be hand-crank. The frames from the supers—those white boxes over there—are slipped into these slots—” she pointed “—the extractor spins and the honey falls into the well and comes out the spigot. It all works by centrifugal force.” She bumped against him as she turned away from the extractor. “Sorry.”
Annie lost her train of thought. She felt her face heating up and she turned aside, gesturing to one of the shelves. “After extraction, we transfer the honey into a settling tank where all the debris rises to the top. Then we pour it into buckets. It’s a pretty simple process.”
Annie stopped, her voice echoing in the spacious barn. She was babbling, she suspected. But then wasn’t that understandable when the guy’s only response was to fix his blue-gray eyes on hers?
“Look,” she said, unsettled by his level stare, “I’ve got to remove a swarm of bees down the road. I’ll get you some honey and then—”
She broke off when she saw him frown, obviously disappointed. “Oh, sorry,” he said quickly. “Well, uh, thanks for showing me around. As I said, I’ve been curious about this place ever since…since I read the article.”
Again, Annie relented. “My hired help hasn’t turned up yet. Maybe you’d like to come with me? It won’t take long and I could show you the rest of the place after.”
His smile took ten years off him.
“I’d love that, if I won’t be in the way.”
“Not at all. In fact, I think you may actually be a help.” Annie headed for a nearby cupboard. She couldn’t explain why she’d been so impulsive, but he’d roused her curiosity. Handing him a tub of honey and waving goodbye was the last thing she wanted to do.
“I’ll just get my suit and a cardboard box, check for phone messages to see if Danny’s called and then we’ll be off.”
“Danny?”
“He’s a high school student who’s going to work for us this summer. Why don’t you wait by the truck while I pop into the kitchen?” When she came out less than five minutes later, he was standing by the truck, looking around him as if he’d just landed in some exotic locale. “All set?” she asked.
“That’s it? Just the canvas and a cardboard box?” His frown reappeared. “How can you catch a swarm of bees with that?”
Annie smiled. “You’ll see.”
WILL CONSIDERED Annie’s deft handling of the pickup as she maneuvered it around the potholes in the gravel road and realized that, in spite of his first impression of her driving skills, she knew what she was doing. “Was the swarm the reason you almost collided with me at the corner up there?”
“So that was you I almost mowed down.” She grinned. “Not really. I mean, I should get the swarm as soon
as possible before it moves somewhere else, but I was expecting Danny any minute and I was rushing to assess the situation and get back before he arrived. I didn’t notice your van till the last second. Sorry about that. Dad’s always on my back about my driving but I’m not really as reckless as I look.”
Will thought about how she hadn’t noticed a van on an otherwise empty country road, but decided not to belabor the point. He stared out the window, spotting the red barn and the farm at the junction ahead. “So, three of you manage all those hives?”
“Actually it’ll just be the two of us for a few weeks. Dad’s gone to Charlotte for a hip replacement. Afterward he’s supposed to be taking it easy, though I’ll probably have to tie him to a chair to stay put.”
Turning, he caught her wide grin. With the splash of freckles across her nose, she looked like a teenager.
“Have you always lived and worked here?”
“I grew up in Garden Valley—as you know. But I left to go to University of North Carolina in Charlotte and after graduation I taught high school in New York. Queens.”
“A long way from home,” Will said.
“Yes,” she said, “a long way.”
He tried to picture her in front of a class of street-smart adolescents. “That must have been tough—teaching high school in New York.”
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. “At first, but by my fifth year I was a pro.”
“How long did you teach altogether?”
She glanced his way. “Almost six years before I came back to the Valley.”
“Because your dad needed you,” he repeated.
“Yessss,” she said, drawing out her reply. “And…I was ready for a change.”
She shifted her attention back to the road. So there was another reason as well.
As she neared the junction, Annie slowed down to turn into the driveway of the farm with the red barn.
“This place looks familiar,” Will commented.
“I bet you didn’t get more than a glimpse of it through the dust cloud I spun.” She looked across at him and grinned.
The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 2