The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Carter, Janice

  Not quite awake, Will hesitated. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yep.”

  “What time is it?” he asked, remembering the eight o’clock meeting.

  “Seven-thirty. Want to shower inside first?”

  “Do you mind? The captain is coming in about half an hour.”

  “C’mon then. I’ll take the tray back to the kitchen.”

  Will grabbed a towel and change of clothing. He’d fallen onto his bed last night fully clothed. As he followed Henry across the yard to the kitchen door, he sneaked a glance at the pigeon coop. The gate was closed now. He hoped nothing had made off with the remaining pigeons while he was passed out inside the van.

  He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. He’d noticed the other day that the windows at the rear of the house hadn’t been shuttered, which explained the airiness of the kitchen. The house was much tidier and cleaner than he’d expected. He’d assumed—and he felt guilty about this—that it would be littered with the type of debris that recluses seemed to collect. Granted, the appliances were right out of the fifties and the linoleum on the floor had not worn well. Paint was peeling from a ring of rust on the ceiling. Sign of an old leak, Will guessed. But the man’s dishes were stacked neatly in a rack and the room was filled with the aroma of bacon and eggs.

  Henry took the plates off the tray and popped them into the oven. He turned around, almost surprised to see Will. “Oh. Thought you’d gone upstairs.”

  Will smiled. “I’m not sure where to go, Henry.”

  “Of course. Foolish of me.” He led the way along a dark hallway to a staircase at the front of the house. Will glanced into the living room where, except for a small television on a bookcase and a shabby reclining chair, pieces of furniture were shrouded in sheets. His face flushed when he realized Henry had caught him looking.

  “Don’t spend much time in there,” he said. “I’m usually in the kitchen or out back with my birds.”

  Will wanted to ask why the windows were shuttered but hesitated to pry.

  “Bathroom’s upstairs, second door on your right. The hot water takes a few seconds to get going, so be careful. And don’t worry, there’s lots of light. I didn’t close up the bathroom.”

  “Oh.”

  “I put shutters on the other rooms about sixteen years ago, when my wife—Ida Mae—got sick. She couldn’t bear the light. Had terrible migraines with her condition. Just never got around to taking them off.”

  “Keeps the place cool in summer, I bet,” was all Will could think to say.

  “Go get your shower then.” The old man gestured to the top of the stairs. “Breakfast won’t keep warm forever.” He shuffled back to the kitchen.

  Will found the bathroom as antiquated as the kitchen, but likewise, as clean. The tile floor was spongy in places, where water had overflowed, perhaps from the tub. Stripping down, Will sneaked a peek out the small window. No one had arrived yet. He pulled the cracked plastic shower curtain around the old-fashioned tub and turned on the faucet. A spray of rust-colored water shot out and, after a few seconds, Will tested it before stepping into the tub.

  He soaped himself liberally and had to stand patiently while the thin stream of water trickled all over. Knowing that the captain might arrive any time, and that Henry would be disappointed if he didn’t eat breakfast, Will decided to forego a shave. He toweled dry and changed quickly, bundled up his dirty clothes and took the stairs two at a time.

  Henry was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He started to get to his feet when he saw Will.

  “No, no, I’ll get it.” Will took the plates out of the oven and set them across from Henry. The eggs had slightly congealed and the bacon was no longer as crisp. But he was starving and polished off everything, including two pieces of cold toast and two cups of coffee.

  Henry beamed. “Glad to see you enjoyed it.”

  “Yes, sir, I did. And thank you very much for going to the trouble. I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

  “Least I could do after you saved my birds last night.”

  Henry’s watery blue eyes confirmed how much that had meant to him. Hard to believe that mere days ago this man was holding a shotgun on me. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save them all,” Will said.

  Henry looked down. “Me too.”

  “What about the ones that flew off? I noticed that some went up to the roof, but others headed into the woods.”

  “They’ll come home when they’re no longer spooked.”

  “Come home?”

  “Pigeons home, Will. They find their way eventually.”

  The sound of vehicles coming up the driveway interrupted them. “Guess that’s Captain Andrews,” Will said.

  “Guess so.”

  “Mind if I ask you something, Henry? I know the captain will anyway.”

  “Go ahead.” The old man’s face sobered.

  “Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you? Get even with you for something?”

  Henry pursed his lips in thought. “I haven’t been exactly hospitable—if that’s what yer thinkin’—for a long time, but I doubt I’ve offended anyone enough to warrant a fire. Still, there’ve been some strange goings-on lately.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen flashlights in the yard from my bedroom window, at the back of the house. Thought it was kids again, but now I’m not so sure. Then a few weeks ago someone must’ve opened the door to one of the coops. The pigeons were okay and those that flew off came back, but some predator could’ve got in after them. That was distressing.”

  He’d been lucky the old guy hadn’t shot first and asked questions later, the afternoon he’d wandered onto the property.

  When Henry didn’t say anything more, Will stood. “Thanks again for the breakfast, Henry. And by the way, I thought I’d come back after work today to discuss rebuilding that pigeon coop.”

  Henry’s face lit up. “You mean that?”

  “I sure do.”

  “I can’t believe a stranger’s willing to do that for me. Thank you, son. I surely do appreciate the offer.”

  Will had his hand on the kitchen door to go outside when Henry added, “And bring that young Annie Collins with you again sometime. She’s a corker, that girl. Just like her mama.”

  Annie. He’d almost forgotten. Will closed the door behind him and went to get the cell phone from the van.

  ANNIE REPLACED THE RECEIVER. Another fire and even closer to home. For the first time since the fires had begun, she was starting to worry about the apiary. There seemed to be no particular pattern to the blazes either. Certainly the few people in the valley who’d been hit so far had no obvious connection to one another.

  She’d have thought that if the arsonist was a problem teenager, the Krause place would’ve been one of the first targets. Henry was legendary for his pigeons and his avoidance of people. The fact that he didn’t allow residents of the valley to use his pond could be reason alone for some kid to want revenge. And the ramshackle out-buildings on his property would have been irresistible.

  She sighed. Enough speculation. Your big problem now is whether to tell Dad or not. She ought to, but if he detected trouble in the valley he’d be home in a shot, which would ruin Shirley’s plans.

  She went upstairs to finish getting dressed. No rush if Will was going to be late. She could pour off some of the honey from the settling tank and get the Essex bakery order ready. But as she went about her tasks, part of her was attuned to the sound of Will’s van. He might be able to give her some advice about her father. Annie saw the irony in that immediately. Seeking advice from someone who’d been in the valley all of one week and who hadn’t even met her dad?

  Midmorning, with no sign yet of Will, Annie returned to the house for a cold drink. She’d finished the order and, after pouring a glass of iced tea, picked up the phone to call the bakery to arrange pickup. There was a voice mail message and she quickly tapped in the password. Maybe something’s come up with
Dad. But the voice she heard—unexpectedly high and slightly tremulous—belonged to a young girl. Annie’s damp hand clutched the receiver as she listened to the message, then replayed it.

  “Hi, this message is for Annie Collins. Um, my name is Cara Peterson and I got your phone number from Sister Mary at Saint Anne’s Adoption Agency in Charlotte. Sister Mary called a few days ago to tell me that you said it was okay to get in touch with you. I guess you know who I am…. and…uh…I sent you an e-mail right away after I heard from Sister Mary but never got an answer.”

  Annie closed her eyes. She hadn’t checked her computer in a week things had been so nuts.

  “I’m really looking forward to seeing you whenever we can arrange something. My mom—her name is Devona Hall—says we can drive there anytime that’s okay with you.”

  Annie forced herself to ignore her rising panic.

  “Anyway, I’ll send you another e-mail with some information about me in it. Mom says it’s better to do it that way first. I’m really looking forward to meeting you and I hope you are, too. Bye.”

  After replaying it, Annie saved the message and slowly hung up the phone. She’d had a sense of unreality listening to the call, as if it were happening to someone else, not her. The voice could have belonged to any young girl and Annie hadn’t felt much more than a strong sense of disbelief as she’d heard it. But partway through the second play, realization struck. This is your daughter.

  Dazed, she went immediately to the spare bedroom that served as a den and booted up the computer. Sure enough, there was the e-mail. It was almost word for word the same as the phone call and Annie wondered if the girl had written the message down first. Somehow that touched her more than anything.

  She had no idea what to say to her. Not her. Cara. Cara Peterson. Your daughter. Annie sat and stared at the monitor. Finally she began to type.

  Dear Cara,

  Thank you for your phone message. I’m glad you called because I haven’t had time to check my e-mail since I saw Sister Beatty in Charlotte. She gave me your photograph. Thank you for that! I can see that you have a lot of your birth father in you. You are tall like he was and have his coloring. I am sorry to admit that I never had an opportunity to tell him about you—or even that I was pregnant. I have had no contact with him at all, but I think you may get some information about him from the University of North Carolina. At least, perhaps they have an address on record. Now let me tell you something about myself.

  ANNIE KEPT IT SIMPLE, giving a general summary of the years after Cara’s adoption. She knew that Cara would want to know about her father, too, but didn’t want to overwhelm her with information in the first message. Not that she had a lot of information about the tall, good-looking young man she’d dated briefly that year. She also didn’t want to tell her just yet that she had a grandfather. Best to let the grandfather know first.

  Dad. Annie pressed her forehead against her fist, overwhelmed by guilt. She could summon up convincing excuses for not telling her father thirteen years ago. First, she hadn’t realized she was even pregnant until ten weeks into her first trimester. Because she’d only been intimate that one time with Adam, she hadn’t made the connection, little dreaming she could get pregnant her first time. I was another statistic there, too.

  The days following the positive pregnancy test had been frantic, tormented. Adam had already left university to be with his family after his father’s sudden death. She didn’t expect to hear from him again and she hadn’t. When she finally confided in her aunt, the two spent long hours discussing Annie’s options. Adoption came out at the top of the list, allowing Annie to finish university and start a career. Once the decision was made and Auntie Isobel began making inquiries about where and how to place the unborn child, Annie had immersed herself in school work. Success was now more important than ever. Not telling her father had never been a plan—more a fallout of the mental and emotional chaos she was experiencing at the time.

  The last trimester had coincided with the apiary’s busiest time of year. Annie knew her father would leave for Charlotte right away, had he known, but their hired man would never have managed on his own.

  After the birth, Annie was out of commission for a few weeks. Post-natal depression, without the joy of a baby to help pull her through. Once again, Isobel came to the rescue and by the time classes resumed in the fall, Annie was ready to start over. More or less. She’d made it—but not unscathed.

  Her thoughts leapt to Will. They were alike in some ways, though his scars were both tangible and invisible. Annie checked the time on the computer monitor. He’d said midmorning at latest and it was eleven already. She didn’t want to greet him in an emotional upheaval a second time. She ended her e-mail to Cara and promised to write again in a few days.

  After washing her face and a quick change from T-shirt to tank top, Annie jogged downstairs and into the kitchen just as Will’s van pulled into the yard. Although they’d smoothed out the rough edges of their misunderstanding, she still felt awkward. As if my life isn’t complicated enough. Now you’re going to stir it up even more, in true Annie fashion, by falling for this complex, mysterious man.

  She found him in the barn, inspecting the buckets for the bakery order. When he turned at her footfall, his smile disarmed her. The other day at the pond might never have happened.

  “You’ve been working hard this morning,” he said. “When is this lot going to be picked up?”

  “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.