Jude stood. “Just a little advice from one man to another. I’m willing to help out in any way I can, but at some point, you’re going to need to bathe, and that’s where I draw the line.” He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “She’s not so bad, you know. Quite the looker too.”
Since when had Jude become Cupid? “Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”
A raspy chuckle escaped his friend. “Yeah, right.”
Jude left, and Huck stared at the closed door. Arianne was a looker all right, but that’s not what drew him. It was her sweet, giving heart. Her determination to succeed on her own, though she clearly needed help. A vulnerability that pressed him to protect her, shelter her. Only he was the one she needed protection from. His tainted past spread like a deadly virus, and he’d done enough killing for a lifetime.
The waggle dance is performed by worker bees to let their sisters know a food source is farther than 295 feet from the hive.
11
Arianne threaded the last stich on the bridesmaid’s dress and rubbed her sore fingertips. She zipped the gown into a garment bag and hung it in her bedroom closet. Her whole apartment could fit in here. She definitely could get used to this—living in a real home with a backyard and a faithful hot water heater.
Emma’s snore drifted from the bed. Arianne shut the closet door and stared at her daughter. The girl’s hair lay in damp ringlets across the pillow. Covers pulled to her chin, the corners of her mouth curved up. After lunch, they’d played outside, chasing butterflies and tumbling down the hill. Halfway through her bath, Emma’s eyes had grown heavy, and she’d fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Arianne yawned. It was late enough that Emma would sleep through the night. After getting Huck fed and settled, she’d turn in early herself.
She went to the kitchen, took the casserole dish from the refrigerator, and preheated the oven. Lemon scent permeated the air from when she’d mopped that afternoon. The sheer curtains danced in the breeze. Clouds hid the setting sun and cast shadows over the landscape.
Huck’s room was quiet. She peeked in and found him leaning against the headboard, staring at the laptop she’d placed on a tray over his lap earlier. “I have some things I need to take care of at my shop tomorrow, but Jude said he’d stick around until I get back. I’m heating up the casserole his wife sent over. Until then, can I get you anything?”
He looked up from his laptop. “I’d like to take a shower.”
Arianne blinked. The nurses had instructed her on how to give a sponge bath, but the idea had seemed unfathomable at the time, and she’d pushed the thought from her mind. Figured she’d burn that bridge when she got there. Now here it was, a dangerous swinging bridge with fire blazing at both ends, and she was on it.
He turned all dimples. “Your face is red, but you look as green as your sweater. Like a Christmas tree.”
This was not funny. Her stomach tied a sailor’s knot as she glanced down at her mom’s old cardigan. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d embarrassed her.
He chuckled. “Calm down, Arianne, I’ve no intention of corrupting your morals. I researched how to bathe with casts. I can do it myself. I just need you to fetch two trash bags and the plastic stool in the shed for me.”
Arianne fled to gather the items, fighting to control her nerves. Why was she so rattled? It made perfect sense that he’d want to shower. He’d been home for over twenty-four hours and still wore the same shirt and shorts he’d left the hospital in. So why did this surprise her? She could cope. She’d encountered worse things than this during medical school. Even seen some patients in the nude.
But those patients weren’t Huck Anderson with a buttery southern drawl and the ability to turn her stupid.
The stool fit in the tiled, walk-in shower with room to spare. Arianne tested the angle of the showerhead to make sure the water would fall in the right place. She retrieved a towel, washcloth, and the topical antibiotic the doctor had sent home. Then she hesitantly returned to Huck.
He sat on the edge of the bed, face twisted in pain. “Are these ribs ever gonna stop hurting?”
“It’ll get better. Give them a couple more weeks.”
He slipped his arm from the sling and yanked his T-shirt with his good hand, holding out his un-splinted fingers. He turned and tugged, but the shirt wasn’t coming off. Arianne’s teeth dug into her lower lip, and she reached for the worn cotton, inching it around his cast and over his head.
Her breath caught.
Bruises and scrapes marred his sculpted chest. His ribs were blackish-yellow. Pink road rash covered his right shoulder blade and continued down his back and around to his washboard abs.
He glared at her. Heat flooded her cheeks when she realized she’d been staring—as much at the grotesqueness as the beauty. He looked at himself in the mirror on the closet door behind him. The skin around his eyes frowned along with his mouth.
Huck turned away from his image and cleared his throat. “You’re blushing again. I’m flattered.”
His voice was different. Deeper. Her first instinct was to coddle him, but Jude had told her not to. What should she say? Nothing would make him feel any better about what had happened. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
She helped him into the wheelchair and pushed him to the bathroom. He instructed her on how to tie the trash bags around his casts so they wouldn’t get wet, although she already knew both from med school and the nurse’s instructions. She obeyed without arguing. Best to let him think it was his idea. She wrapped his arm in the plastic then fitted a bag around his leg. Now what?
Arianne stood and crossed her arms. Dread barreled through her.
“Help me to the stool and I’ll take care of the rest.”
She nodded. Good idea.
Together they hobbled into the shower. “There are your fresh clothes.” She pointed to the items she’d draped over the towel rack beside him. “Are you sure about this?”
“No,” he said, his breath ragged. “But I’m halfway there. I’ll holler when I’m done.”
She couldn’t flee the bathroom fast enough. So much for turning in early.
~*~
Arianne smoothed the hem of the crimson, chiffon bridesmaid’s dress. She stood to admire her handiwork. The two women looked divine with the fabric draped across their shoulders that gathered to an empire waist.
One bridesmaid—a tall, voluptuous woman with sun-bronzed skin and dark, smoldering eyes—nodded her approval in the full-length mirror. “Beautiful work, Arianne, simply beautiful.”
Arianne’s heart swelled. She’d worked on them most of yesterday, adding by hand the special touches the bride had requested. No matter how long it took, or how sore her fingertips were, it was always worth it to see her customers’ satisfied smiles.
The woman looked like a runway model with her six-foot-long legs and the way the gown’s lines cascaded down her perfect curves. She ran her palm along the silky fabric. “Arianne, your work is stunning. I’d like to speak with you about my upcoming wedding.”
The woman held out her hand. A golf ball-sized diamond glittered under the fluorescent lights. Arianne whistled. “That’s the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen.”
Something familiar struck a chord in Arianne’s brain when the woman smiled. She didn’t think they’d ever met, but Arianne knew her somehow. The eloquent speech and sophisticated way the woman carried herself exuded a finishing school education.
“I’m Darcy Roberts.” She paused as if that said it all.
The other bridesmaid rolled her eyes. “Great job, Arianne. I’m going to get changed and be on my way.”
“Thanks for coming in.” After a few moments, the woman’s identity dawned on Arianne. The governor’s daughter? She recalled seeing the woman’s face plastered in newspapers and over local television. What was Miss Roberts doing in Arianne’s shop?
Oh yeah, she was a bridesmaid. Why would Darcy want t
o discuss her wedding with Arianne when she could afford to go anywhere?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Arianne shook her hand. The ring had to weigh five pounds, judging by the weight of Darcy’s grip.
“Likewise. I’m the bride’s cousin. She’s from Stone Harbor and happened to stumble into your shop. I’m delighted she did. I love this old Hollywood theme you have here.”
Vintage. Finally, someone who understood.
“I can go anywhere for a bridal gown, but I’m looking for something unique. A gown made specifically for me. A design never worn by another bride before. Something classic. Do you know what I mean?”
Arianne’s cup ran over. “I do.”
“Now, I can choose any designer, but I see something in you, Arianne.”
Was she breathing? The room started to spin, and she inhaled a deep breath. No, she hadn’t been.
“Daddy’s campaign is all about growing small businesses this term.” Darcy examined the room with a slight scrunch of her nose. “This kind of publicity would do wonders for your shop. I think we’d work well together. What do you say?”
“I’d be honored to design your wedding gown.”
Darcy clasped her hands together. “Smashing. Now make sure you tell everyone you know to vote for Daddy this fall. I’ll contact you after Jillian’s wedding so we can discuss a design before I leave town.”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.” Arianne forced herself not to squeal.
Darcy retreated to the dressing room like Miss America walking across the stage.
With a hand pressed to her lips, Arianne turned to the window. Was this a dream? She pinched her arm and winced. Nope.
She removed her rose-colored glasses and examined the boutique through Darcy’s eyes. When she’d opened the place a few months after Adam left, she’d filled it with secondhand decorations from consignment shops and garage sales. She was a single mother, determined to accomplish her dream. She’d saved some money to redecorate, but then the economy dipped and her income slowed to a trickle.
Now the shop was in serious need of an update. Along with her life.
This opportunity could do wonders for her business. This one wedding alone might provide her with enough overhead to move out of this building and open another shop. A place where no one could force her out on a whim. Once women discovered that Darcy Roberts had used her shop, they’d all want to come here.
Renewed hope surged through Arianne’s veins. No more scrimping and scraping. No more secondhand stores for her daughter. She was going to provide a better life. She’d work harder in the next year than she ever had and be rid of this place forever.
~*~
He’d never survive three to four more months.
Huck coughed and cringed from the pang in his ribs. Stiff, achy muscles complained from lying in bed so long. Every time he took his meds, they knocked him out. Taking a deep breath, he tightened his abs, and attempted to push his body up. Pain exploded in his chest. He collapsed against the mattress. The house was silent. Where was Arianne when he needed her?
Not that he needed her. She just insisted on hovering over him, but now that he could use her assistance, she was gone.
He readjusted his pillow and gazed out the open window. A perfect July day. Bees foraged nectar from the geraniums in the window box. By the time he was well enough to run the farm on his own again, these workers would be deceased and new ones would have taken their place. They didn’t live long, but they worked hard and lived every day to the fullest. As if they knew their days were numbered.
He felt like a bee trapped in a Mason jar, pining for flight while the world continued around him.
Girlish laughter came through the screen. Emma skipped into view of his bedroom window. Her giggles floated behind her along with the bubbles from her green plastic wand. Arianne chased the kid through the buttercups, sending bubbles and pollen puffs into the air.
They made a game of popping the bubbles and running after the ones that escaped. Mother and daughter linked hands and spun in a circle, all squeals and giggles. He smiled. Arianne released the kid’s hand and wrapped her arms around the girl, twirling until she fell to the ground. The two held onto one another, laughing. He’d like to be out there too. And not just so he could run again.
He fixed his eyes on the ceiling. The narcotics were eating his brain cells.
Arianne was a good mother. It was evident from the first day he’d walked into her shop. She spoke quietly and patiently to Emma. Always gave the girl attention even when she was busy. He’d even heard Arianne tell the kid she loved her.
Adele Anderson-Jones-Brown-Tait-McFee-
Washburn-Johnson had only shown him affection when she wanted him to fetch her vodka and cigarettes or star in her latest scam. The revolving door of men she’d brought into their home had practiced parenting skills with their fists.
Huck scrubbed his hand over his wooly face. He hadn’t thought about his childhood in years. Buried the memories with his mother. The reflection brought an ache to his chest.
Ever since Arianne walked back into his life, things he’d drowned long ago rippled back to the surface. Being near her made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Hurtful things. Wonderful things. She treated him as if he hadn’t just killed a woman. She treated him like a friend.
He had to find a way to heal quicker, so he could send those two packing before he actually started to like having them around.
Henry Fonda, actor of over 96 films, kept bee hives on his grand Bel-Air estate for hobby. He enjoyed gifting jars of “Hank’s Bel-Air” honey to co-workers and party guests. His unique honey blend was foraged from his groves of lemon, grapefruit, tangerine, apple, and orange trees.
—Ocala Star-Banner, June 9, 1980
12
“That should do it.” Arianne placed a pillow beneath Huck’s arm and smiled.
He relaxed into the cushions of his recliner. She folded a blanket over his lap, still wearing that goofy grin she’d held all through supper, even when gnawing on overcooked pork chops. How she was able to eat shoe leather and be happy about it was beyond him.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Yeah, a beer.”
The kid sprang from the couch and ran from the room. Wow. He didn’t know she was trained to fetch.
Arianne stood taller. “There isn’t any.”
“What do you mean?”
“I threw it out.”
“What? Why?”
She crossed her arms. “You can’t mix alcohol with medication, and I didn’t want to explain that stuff to my daughter when she asked me what it was.”
His neck prickled with heat. “This is my house. What I drink is none of your business.”
“Like it or not, for the next several months you are my business, and I’m yours.”
Not by choice. “When she asks, you tell her to stay away from it. What’s the big deal?”
“I hate the stuff.” The fire in her voice and the steely gaze in her eyes told him it went deeper than dislike.
The kid skipped back into the room. “Here you go, Mr. Huck.”
He examined the aluminum can in her hands. “What’s this?”
“You said you wanted root beer.” Her shoulders squared and she smiled.
Hard to be mad when she was so proud of herself. “Thanks, kid.”
“You’re welcome.” She tip-toed through the wreckage on the floor.
What Arianne called fabric swatches, spools of ribbon, sketches, bridal magazines, pencils, and pastels littered his carpet like her bridal shop had walked in and thrown up. Emma’s toy box had exploded in front of the TV. Like mother, like daughter.
Arianne reached down and popped the tab. Brown carbonation hissed into the air.
“I can open my own pop.”
She glanced at her bare toes. “I know you’re capable, but you’ve only got one good hand, and I didn’t want to chance a mess.”
He poi
nted to the floor. “You’re concerned about my mess?”
She smirked.
“And another thing. You plannin’ to finish me off by torturing me with cartoons?”
Arianne put a hand on her hip. “You’ll live. The movie doesn’t have that much longer. Now, if you don’t need anything else, I have things to do.”
His fuse had run short with her ever since she’d gotten back from town. He’d decided to start looking right away for investors who might be interested in the space. By the time he chose a partner, took care of the necessary paperwork, made improvements to the building, and healed completely, Arianne’s time would be up, and he could go on with his life. Not that he really deserved to.
He waved her away. At least she’d uncovered his moose.
She settled onto the carpet beside him and rummaged through her supplies. That gorgeous smile returned.
“What’s with you?” He took a sip.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so happy.”
As if it were possible, her grin widened. “Darcy Roberts came into the shop today.”
“OK…”
“Darcy Roberts—the governor’s daughter.”
“Really? Hmm. Is she as hot in person as she is on TV?”
She threw a spool of ribbon at him. “Her cousin is a customer, and Darcy is one of the bridesmaids. I feel so silly. I had no idea it was her when the family came in for alterations a few weeks ago.” She sat on her haunches and latched onto his good arm. “When she came in today for a final fitting, she said she loved my work and wants to use me to design her own, one-of-a-kind wedding gown. Can you believe it?”
No.
Her eyes shone brighter than the Portland Head Light. His lips twitched from her nails digging into his skin. But he liked her touching him so he let it go. “What’s that mean?”
“This one wedding alone could mean enough money in my pocket to pay my debts and secure another building. Every woman in Maine will want to use the same bridal consultant as Darcy Roberts. By the end of the year, you could be rid of us forever.”
The best news he’d heard in weeks. He ignored the pang in his chest. “Good for you.” He meant it. He wanted her to succeed, and now he wouldn’t have to worry about them when all this was over. He had enough baggage to carry around. “Now, about the cartoons…”
How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart Page 8
