His gut twisted and he leaned his head over the side of the bed to puke. Doc rushed at him with a bed pan, but there was nothing in Huck’s gut. He dry-heaved.
Huck caught his breath, fighting the pain.
Doc patted his back. “I’ll give you some time to process this. We’ll set you up with a counselor, and we’ve got a full staff if you need anything.”
The door opened then closed. Huck shut his eyes.
He’d killed someone.
Giada would never take another breath because of him. He should’ve died instead. She had a family. He didn’t.
A tornado howled inside him.
Fingers brushed through the hair at his temple. He turned to find Arianne at his bedside. Tears glazed her cheeks. “Are you OK?”
Anger replaced despair. He’d forgotten she was here. He didn’t like the piteous way she watched him, how exposed he felt right now. “What’s your angle, Arianne?”
She flinched at his growl. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play games with me. My cousin? Why did you tell the doctor you’d see to my care?”
“We don’t have to talk about this now.”
“Yes. We do.” Anything to take his mind off death.
She lowered onto the mattress. The warmth from her hip seeped through the thin blanket into the part of his thigh that wasn’t casted. “You don’t have anyone else. Do you?”
Her words were soft, careful.
He turned away at the brutal reminder. She touched his chin and gently turned his head back around.
“I thought we could help each other.”
Here was the catch.
“I’ll see you through your entire recovery. All I ask is that you let me stay in the shop in the meantime. I’ll still pay rent for the apartment and help in any other way I can. Give me time to get back on my feet, and I’ll help you get back on yours.”
Huck’s skin heated. No way. He could barely look at her after what he’d done. “I’ll hire a nurse.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I made it halfway through medical school, so I’ll make as good a nurse as anyone. The price of in-home care is outrageous, and with me you won’t be out any money.”
Like he was worried about money right now.
She folded her hands together. “We worked toward a goal together once before and succeeded.”
Somehow he always managed to hurt those around him. He couldn’t chance it. Not with Arianne. The kid. What if… His eyes watered. Nose burned. “Get out.”
“Huck…”
He turned his head away. “Get out!”
The mattress lifted and so did the warmth. The door clicked shut behind the curtain.
~*~
“Thanks.” The phone threatened to slip from Huck’s splinted fingers.
“You’re welcome.” His nurse pointed to a button on the keypad with a picture of a microphone. “If it’s easier, you can press that and it will go on speaker.” She dialed the first of two phone numbers she’d looked up for him earlier then left the room.
It rang three times before Jude answered. “How’ya doing, Huck?”
Jude was an expert beekeeper who worked closely with the local college. They’d met through Maine’s Beekeeper Association a few years back and had taught some workshops together.
“I’ve been better.” Asking someone to run his farm really stuck in his craw. He’d combed every possibility the last three days, and since he’d come to the conclusion he didn’t have a choice, he wanted a man he trusted. Jude knew his craft, and Huck would recoup easier knowing his farm was in seasoned hands. “Listen, I’m gonna be down for the next six months or so and wondered if you’d be available to run things for me ‘til I get back on my feet.”
“Six months?” Jude paused. “What in the world happened?”
“Had a motorcycle accident a few weeks ago. Doc says it’ll be Christmas before I’m running any marathons.”
“Man, I hate to hear that. Say, you’re not talking about that accident at Somes Sound?”
Huck glanced at his mummified body. The memory of Giada’s scream piercing the air made his stomach roil. “That’s the one.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll help in any way I can. Sherry and I were on vacation when it happened. We heard about it when we got home, but we hadn’t heard it was you.”
Huck swallowed. “I had everything caught up before the accident. If you could just give all the hives a once over in the next few days, I’d really appreciate it.”
Huck gave him the address, told him where to find the spare key and where he kept his tools and supplies. “Doc plans to release me from my cell sometime next week, so we can talk more then. In the meantime, if you need anything, call me at the hospital.” He rattled off the number.
“Will do.”
“One more thing. You don’t happen to know any nurses in need of a job do you?”
“Sure don’t. Why?”
“Never mind. I’ve got someone taking care of the house, and me, once I get home. If you see a blonde woman with a little girl, they’ve got my permission to be there.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks, Jude.”
The phone disconnected in Huck’s ear.
He groaned against the rage and despair crashing against his insides like waves during a hurricane. Why did this happen? It should’ve been him.
His vision blurred and he blinked to clear it. Yawned. Best to get this over with before the morphine took full effect and he started making all kinds of crazy promises. With clumsy fingers, he dialed the number and brought the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
Huck’s throat closed. He couldn’t do this.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
He forced his teeth to unclench. “Arianne.”
A pause. “Huck?”
“We’ve got a deal.”
“If you want to harvest honey, don’t kick over the beehive.”
—Abraham Lincoln
9
Arianne still couldn’t believe it.
Huck wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. He’d made that clear over the phone. Well, she wasn’t either, but neither of them had a choice, so they’d find a way to survive.
The morning sun burst through the passing rainclouds, bathing the earth in gold. Moisture still saturated the pavement, and she slowed the car as the road looped around Somes Sound. The guardrail to her left was mangled. Broken glass still lay on the highway’s shoulder to her right.
She cupped her hand over her mouth. Thank you, Lord, for keeping Huck alive.
Summerville was farther from her shop than she preferred, but if it gave her almost a year to get her affairs straightened out, she’d gladly drive the extra twenty-five miles. She’d only been through the village once, on the way home from camping with her dad at Seawall, Acadia National Park, when she was twelve. What had brought Huck way out here?
A few miles down the road, a wooden bench rested on a grassy knoll, tucked peacefully in the corner of an inlet. Sea hawks scavenged the ground, slicing through the morning fog. Across the water, a roofline peeked from a pine grove. She pulled over and rolled down her window, inhaling the salty air. The landscape was straight out of a storybook. Surely this wasn’t Huck’s place.
The number on the mailbox matched the one he’d told her, and the names Anderson and Summerville Honey were hand painted on the side. She flipped on her turn signal and started up the gravel.
The driveway was a bridge with a white-washed railing built across the marsh. A two-story, white, vinyl-sided house with black shutters reflected off the water. Red geraniums spilled from the window boxes. She checked the address again. It was too beautiful to be real.
An old pickup, a perfect blend of sea foam green and rust, was parked by the back door, advertising Summerville Honey in black script. She pulled next to the vehicle and stopped, staring in disbelief. A curved footbridge started behind a garden shed that looked like a miniature
version of the house. Beyond the bridge lay a field dotted with buttercups.
Arianne glanced in her rearview mirror at Emma sleeping in the backseat. For the next half-year at least, they’d live in a real home, not a cramped apartment that froze in winter and suffocated in summer. Emma would have a place to run and play.
She rolled down the other windows, turned off the engine, and exited the car. Her heels caught in the gravel as she walked to the front door. They’d woken early that morning to attend Sunday school. With a nice breeze blowing and the car parked in the shade, she’d let Emma sleep. It wouldn’t take long to gather the items Huck had asked her to bring.
Two doors welcomed her on the front porch, separated by a single rocking chair. The home was a duplex, more or less, the way Huck described it. Separate sleeping quarters and bathrooms and a shared kitchen. He’d said it was built by Colonel Sanders in 1765 with the east wing built to accommodate his widowed mother-in-law. Huck had begged her to bring fried chicken too, so she’d assumed that was the medication talking. Different Colonel Sanders.
A spare key waited beneath the welcome mat, just as Huck had said. Unsure which door was hers, she picked one, unlocked it, and stepped inside. Beige carpet stretched down the hall and up the stairs. The rooms were furnished with utilitarian furniture, and the closets and cabinets were empty. This must be her and Emma’s quarters.
She explored her way to the other side and halted as she reached the kitchen. Crusted, dirty dishes overflowed the sink, stacked like an abstract sculpture made by cavemen. Newspapers, honey jar labels, and an empty pizza box littered the countertops.
“And Huck enters stage left,” she mumbled.
A quick survey of his living quarters proved once again that her new arrangement wouldn’t be easy.
One glance at his bathroom and she closed the door, afraid it would cause nightmares. His bedroom wasn’t any better. A twisted mass of sheets and blankets on the bed. Dirty laundry covered the floor. She tip-toed to the dresser for his things in fear a living creature might emerge from the mess and nip her ankles.
Yes, she was being dramatic, but she’d forgotten how messy men could be.
Despite disaster, the room smelled like him—a mix of earth and women-find-me-irresistible cologne. After she gathered his requested belongings, she made a mental note of all the chores that needed to be done. Seemed she had a date after all—with Mr. Clean and a large can of disinfectant. Huck couldn’t come home to a dirty house and risk infection.
As she passed through the living room, a huge, dark object loomed to her right. She turned and screamed, throwing her hand to her chest. A big, ugly moose head hung from the wall, glaring at her. Good grief. Why did some people feel the need to hang dead animals in their homes?
Arianne hurried out the front door, returned the key, and tossed Huck’s things into her trunk. Emma slept, releasing a light snore. This gave Arianne time to investigate the footbridge. She walked along the stone steps and ambled to the middle of the bridge. Leaning her elbows on the railing, she stared down at her reflection. She could picture herself sketching in the field, drawing inspiration for her gowns from nature.
What a breathtaking spot for a wedding.
She inhaled the aromatic summer air—salt and flowers. This whole place baffled her. The man who didn’t believe in happy endings lived in a storybook.
The weak spot she had for him throbbed. He was like a lost, drenched puppy she’d found in an alleyway and, though she knew he’d be nothing but trouble, she couldn’t stop herself from taking him home.
Dummy.
She gazed at the field of buttercups, bending in the breeze. Honeybees hovered from flower to flower. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. They’d tolerate each other then go their separate ways. Perhaps by the time it was all done, they might even become friends.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d stepped right into a hornets’ nest.
~*~
Huck rolled his achy head to the other side of the pillow and forced himself to wake up. A blonde imp with big blue eyes stood beside his bed, gaping at him like a science experiment.
The kid strangled a plastic doll in the crook of her elbow. “Hi, Mr. Huck. Are you ready to go home today?”
Arianne stepped away from the window. “Give him room to breathe, Emma.”
The kid wasn’t the problem. It was how good Arianne looked in that black-and-white cotton dress that made his pulse stutter. This arrangement would never work.
She looked at the clock. “The doctor’s finishing up some paperwork, and then you’re free to go.”
Emma tapped his arm and grinned. Son of a gun, there were two of ‘em. He’d never survive.
“What happened to you anyway, Mr. Huck?”
“I got hit by a car.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. “And you lived? You’re like Superman.”
And you ladies are my kryptonite. The awe in her tiny voice made him more uncomfortable than his itchy cast.
An hour later, they were on the road with a grocery bag of pills at his feet, and his new wheels in the trunk. He barely fit into the Micro Machine Arianne had the nerve to call a car. He’d shed his gown for a T-shirt and shorts and promised to never take clothes for granted again.
Arianne glanced his way, and the wind from the open window blew loose curls around her face. “You’re frowning. What’s wrong?”
“You’re not driving Miss Daisy. Could you speed up to at least forty? I’d like to get home sometime this week.” He couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed.
“I’m trying to be gentle. I don’t want to hit any bumps and put you in more pain. That happened to me as a child when I broke my arm. It’s not fun.”
Huck shook his head. “I’m glad your broken arm can sympathize with me.” If she wanted him to die a slow, agonizing death, her driving would do the trick. As well as the off-key humming from Emma in the backseat.
His neck muscles stiffened as they approached Somes Sound. The overcooked bacon and eggs he’d eaten for breakfast rolled in his gut. When they reached the accident site, he cringed at the mangled guardrail. His body hurt just looking at it. Had Giada died on impact, without pain? Why did the other driver have a heart attack at that very moment?
Arianne reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Huck. If there was any other way to get you home, I’d have taken it.”
“I’m fine.” The bite in his voice proved otherwise. He ripped his hand away and hitched his thumb toward the backseat. “Can we cool it with the noise? I have a headache.”
She pursed her lips and glanced into the rearview mirror. “Emma, honey. Huck isn’t feeling well. Can you hum a little quieter, please?”
“Yes, Mommy. Sorry, Mr. Huck.”
Jerk. It wasn’t her fault. He concentrated on the pine trees flashing past.
The engine coughed as the speedometer climbed. They moved down the straightaway to the inlet where his roofline appeared.
Arianne turned into the driveway. “Your place is gorgeous. How did you come to live here?”
He shoulders relaxed. “It’s not mine. The acreage is owned by Mount Desert Island. The municipality allows me to rent it in exchange for my bees.”
Arianne slowed to a stop behind the house. “I don’t understand.”
“Bees are vital to crop production. They pollinate blooms so farmers have something to harvest. I ship bees all over, but mostly rent whole hives to blueberry farmers in Machias. I deliver the bees and get the hives set up, then collect them again after harvest.”
Being home lifted his spirits. “Farmers help stabilize Maine’s economy. The crops are bought not only for food, but from businesses that make soaps, syrups, jellies, wines. Those products are sold to tourists in Bar Harbor and online. They provide the land, I provide the bees.”
A corner of Arianne’s mouth turned up.
“What?”
She yanked the door handle. “Nothing.”
Ari
anne got out and lifted the trunk. A moment later, it slammed, and she came to his door with his unfolded wheelchair. He curled his fists. Thirty-two was too young to be pushed around like an old man.
She knocked on his window. “Ready?”
He studied her navy eyes then trailed down her nose over her red lips to her stubborn chin. He needed to get over the red lips. But it was hard when they looked like they came straight out of one of those makeup commercials. Doomed to failure this was.
He opened his door and scooted to the edge of the seat. The movement sent a sharp pain through his ribs. His stolen breath kept him from any swearing. He managed to swing his leg out. Arianne scooted close and wrapped her arms around his waist. The cottony scent of her shampoo filled his nose. This would never work. A twig couldn’t hold the weight of an oak tree. Even if her body did feel right against him.
Jude walked out of the shed. “Hold on, girlie, I’m coming.”
Arianne released him. Jude hooked his arms beneath Huck’s armpits to pull him up. The two men bear-hugged to the open wheelchair. Huck preferred the softness of Arianne.
Both men groaned as Huck’s weight dropped into the chair. It hurt to breathe. Jude wiped his sweaty brow, panting. “You OK?”
Huck nodded. “Jude, this is Arianne,” he said through gritted teeth.
Jude wiped his hand along his jeans and held out his hand to her. “You think you can handle this guy?”
Arianne smiled and unbuckled Emma then shook Jude’s hand. “We’ll manage.”
“And who’s this little lady?” Jude bent, and his stomach folded over his belt.
“This is my daughter, Emma.”
Emma jumped like a jackrabbit. “We’re moving here, and I’m going to have a place to play!”
Arianne laughed. “As you can tell, she’s very excited.”
Emma lost her balance and almost fell into Huck’s broken leg. “Are you excited, Mr. Huck?”
“Thrilled.” The scant amount of energy Huck had used to get home was exhausted. He yawned.
“We’d better get you to bed.” Arianne pushed the wheelchair. “Come on, Emma.”
Jude held the door open. The chair’s front wheels caught in the doorway.
How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart Page 6
