A Bear In the Honey (BBW Unintentional Mail-Order-Bride Paranormal Shifter Romance)

by Viola Notte

  A BEAR IN THE HONEY

  (BBW Unintentional Mail-Order-Bride Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance)

  BY VIOLA NOTTE

  COPYRIGHT 2015 VIOLA NOTTE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WHAT’S INSIDE THIS SEXY SHIFTER ROMANCE?

  Sebastian Fields is a werebear with an unconventional hobby: keeping honeybees.

  Unfortunately for him, bees don’t like bears, and the stinging critters aren’t cooperating. At wits end and with nowhere else to turn, he puts out an ad desperately seeking a beekeeper’s assistance. Little does he know, however, the chain of events he’s about to unleash.

  Because when curvy professional beekeeper, Sara Carlisle, reads his cry for help, she’s more than ready and willing to help out a fellow beekeeper in need.

  The problem is, once Sebastian lays eyes on the voluptuous bee whisperer, he forgets all about his bees. Instead, he starts fantasizing about sinking his tongue into a different kind of ‘honey.’

  And as for Sara, she, too, falls head over heels for the sexy hunk who shares the same passion she does. Little does she know, however, just what sort of beast lurks inside.

  Bears are stung and hearts are broken, but one thing remains certain in this sexy shifter romance: when an alpha male wants a taste of woman’s sweet nectar, nothing will deter him from claiming her hard, fast and forever!

  I hope you enjoy the following story! I appreciate my readers and am glad to provide FREE stories to anyone subscribing to Kindle Unlimited.

  If you like the following story, you might also take pleasure in reading my best-selling Bearing Destiny!

  A BEAR IN THE HONEY

  Sebastian

  I was beginning to think the elders were right: that bears weren’t meant to keep honeybees.

  But for the life of me I couldn’t understand why.

  I mean, humans have had great success keeping them, so why couldn’t I? But now, at the start of my third season, I was beginning to agree and lose patience. The cantankerous little buggers seemed to hate me, stung me continuously whenever I was near, and swarmed often. Of course, the history of the bears and bees has never been a harmonious one, but I treated them well, did everything I could to keep them healthy and safe, and in return all I got was stung. I was at the end of my rope. All I wanted was to gather of bit of honey at the end of the season—was that too much to ask?

  On the verge of giving up, I did what I thought was the next best thing: I placed an ad for a beekeeper to come to my place and inspect my hives. Hopefully someone would answer it and show me what I was doing wrong. But never in a million years could I have imagined what was about to happen next.

  Sara

  The ‘Beekeeper Wanted’ advertisement was notable not only for its unusual request, but also for its desperate presentation. Clearly the individual who wrote it was at wits end, and it gave all of us at the monthly Beekeeper’s Association meeting a good laugh. My best friend, Carol, happened to stumble upon the humorous ditty in the classified section of our local newspaper, and was so tickled by it that she decided to share it with all of us.

  “It sounds more like a cry fer help than a want ad,” chuckled the Association’s eldest member and patriarch, Jim Thompson. Jim was an invaluable resource and loved by everyone. His family had kept bees in Western North Carolina for five generations, and in his 83 years had witnessed many beekeeping mishaps, and certainly his fair share of novice beekeepers who couldn’t keep a hive going for even one season. “The poor soul probably doesn’t know his hive tool from his smoker,” he said in his good-natured, grandfatherly voice. He was always joking and laughing and smiling, and never had a bad thing to say about anything or anyone.

  “Sara,” he said, looking my way, “why don’t you reach out to this feller up in Bear Gulch and offer him some assistance. You live the closest.”

  “Yeah, I guess I could,” I replied, forcing a smile; I wasn’t thrilled about being put on the spot in front of everyone. I’m a single woman, a professional beekeeper in fact, who has to attend to about a hundred hives all by myself. The first spring bloom was drawing near and I had plenty of work to do in preparing my hives for the big honey flow that was to come. I certainly didn’t need the extra responsibilities, especially this time of year.

  “Just bring some bear repellent—them bears are somethin’ dangerous up that way!” He winked at me and laughed again, holding his belly.

  Jim, besides being the revered, knowledgeable old-timer, was hard to say ‘no’ to. He resembled Santa Claus, except that instead of the red suit and hat, he usually wore tattered overalls, a t-shirt, and a grimy old baseball cap. Of course, I agreed to help out the individual in need and I knew it was for the best--we were all encouraged to reach out to the public and educate people on bees whenever the need arose.

  “Okay, Jim. I’ll make sure to contact the person and see what I can do for him.”

  ****

  “So anything new with you, Sara,” Carol asked as we grabbed our coffees from the barista and sat down at a quiet corner table. We often get coffee after the Association meeting, just to chat about things other than bees.

  “No, not really. Just really really busy with the bees, getting honey supers on my hives, making sure my girls have what they need to make honey.”

  “So no new men in your life?”

  “Ha! No, no new men. I’ve just been too busy, no time for that nonsense. Besides, at my age, I’ve sort of given up on the whole love-and-marriage thing.”

  “Oh stop,” Carol said with a wrinkled brow as she nudged my elbow and leaned in closer across the table. “Thirty-four doesn’t make you too old. There’s still plenty of time.”

  “Yeah, well maybe. Anyway, I’m not holding out hope. There can’t be that many guys out there who want to be with a solitary beekeeper who lives in the middle of the woods.”

  “Well, don’t give up. You’re a great catch, you’ll find someone.”

  The rest of the evening was spent talking about other things, like Carol’s family, our adventures with bees, and swapping old stories.

  Towards the end of our conversation, as we were wrapping things up and getting ready to part ways for the evening, Carol asked, “So, are you going to reply to the classified ad?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I sighed. “I really don’t have time right now, I’m just so darn busy at the moment. But Jim asked me if I would, and I agreed. Besides, I know it’s a great way for the Beekeeper’s Association to reach out to the public and show them we’re here. And who better to do it than a professional?”

  “Good for you, Sara. Hey, and who knows, maybe you’ll meet the love of your life.”

  “Yeah right, okay,” I said as I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. If there was one thing I liked about Carol, she was always the optimist, forever looking on the positive side of things. “The more likely scenario is his bees swarmed and I’ll have a chance to capture them and add them to my numbers,” I joked with a wry smile.

  ****

  The next morning dawned clear and warm—it was going to be a perfect day for working the hives. I was in a good mood, the air was fragrant with Lilac, and the Tulip Poplar, Blackberry, and Locust were just beginning to blossom. If everything went well, I could have many pounds of honey to harvest in just a few short weeks.

  As it was 8:30 in the morning and not a good time to mess with the hives, I decided to call the individual who was in need of a beekeeper.

  I rang but there was no response. Instead, a sexy, deep-voiced
voicemail message answered and said, “This is Sebastian. Leave a message.”

  I paused for a second. The voice was so alluring I could hardly speak. Finally I managed, “Uh…hi Sebastian. My name is Sara Carlisle. I’m a member of the Bear County Beekeeper’s Association and a professional beekeeper. I’m calling with regard to your advertisement in the newspaper seeking a beekeeper. If you still need assistance, please give me a call at…”

  After leaving my contact info I hung up and put my phone down. The voicemail voice sounded so rich and so smooth that it practically gave me chills. Even though I was more-or-less happy with my life, I was, if I were to be completely honest with myself, a lonely woman. I wanted love, I wanted a man to love me and sweep me off my feet, but I just never had much luck in the dating arena. Still, a part of me continued to long for that special someone, to hope and pray that my prince charming would arrive sooner or later. I stared at my phone a little longer, imagining what Sebastian might look like, wondering if he was single, etc. Then I put my little girl fantasies away and got ready for the day ahead.

  ****

  It was 8 pm when the screen door to my ranch-style house finally banged shut for the last time behind me. It turned out to be a long, hot day, but I was satisfied with how the work went. I took off my shoes and left most of my dirty clothes in the entryway and walked to the shower to rinse off. When I finished, I made my way to the kitchen to make dinner.

  I checked the messages on my phone. I had several, but there was only one I was hoping for—and thankfully it was first in the queue.

  “Hi Sara, this is Sebastian Fields, the guy in search of a beekeeper. Thank you very much for returning my call, and yes, I’m still in need of assistance. Whenever you get a chance, please give me a call back at…”

  I scribbled down Sebastian’s number then took a seat at my kitchen table. I wasn’t usually quite so giddy, but whatever it was about his voice turned me on!

  I stared at my phone and took a deep breath. Should I call him? Was it too late? I hated to admit it to myself, but I was nervous. I felt like I was 16 years old all over again.

  It was 8:35 pm. It was a bit too late. But I made the call anyway. Maybe, I told myself, he had to work early in the morning and wouldn’t be available to talk then. I hoped I wouldn’t bother him, or his family, if he had one.

  ****

  Sebastian

  I couldn’t believe my good fortune--a professional beekeeper answered my ad. We talked for quite some time about my bee issues, and even though we didn’t come to any hard conclusions as to what my problem might be, we had some ideas.

  We agreed to meet at my place at 11:00 the following morning. I could only hope that the other bears wouldn’t get a whiff of her. If she looked and smelled as delicious as she sounded, there could be trouble. I didn’t know what it was about her voice, but something in it made my bear come out something fierce! It would be a disaster if she found out my true nature—I was truly afraid that the beast inside me wouldn’t be able to handle itself around her.

  ****

  Sara

  As I drove to Sebastian’s my mind went over all the previous night’s discussion. He seemed intelligent and well-spoken. And he clearly did his homework; he wasn’t like so many other novice beekeepers who purchase bees and expensive equipment without doing any research and just expect to make honey their first year. He was able to answer most of the technical questions I had for him, and even though that wouldn’t necessarily guarantee a competent beekeeper, he couldn’t possibly be a complete disaster—and believe me, I’ve seen some complete disasters.

  Whatever his problem was I hadn’t the slightest clue—all I could glean from talking to him was that his bees didn’t like to stick around. I didn’t know if it was something in the way he handled them, or maybe something about the area he lived, but I was determined to get to the bottom of it. He really seemed like an attentive, conscientious beekeeper, and I genuinely wanted to do my best to help solve the mystery of his missing bees.

  The first thing I noticed as I drove up to his home, apart from the fact that he was clearly wealthy and well-to-do, was that he didn’t have a bear fence around his bee yard. This was quite puzzling, to say the least, because in Western North Carolina, where the black bear population is particularly high, if one doesn’t have an electric bear fence, one doesn’t have bees, plain and simple. Bears love honey and brood, and they will put up with a blistering amount of stings to get into beehives, destroying the hives in the process. I recalled the old joke Jim likes to share with new beekeepers: “There are two kinds of beekeepers: those who HAVE a bear fence, and those who WILL have a bear fence.” It was remarkable that Sebastian even had standing hives.

  I didn’t have much time to look over his bee yard, however, because as soon as I came to a stop on the gravel driveway, the most handsomely rugged man I had ever seen stepped through the stately French doors of the luxury cabin and descended the stairs.

  “Good morning, Sara. I hope my place wasn’t too hard to find.”

  “No, it was no problem at all,” I smiled as warmly and comfortably as I could, even though I was already feeling nervous in the presence of this hunk who moved and talked like liquid sex. Anytime I’m attracted to a man I get nervous and sweaty.

  “Thank you so very much again for coming out here, I really appreciate it. If you require any compensation for your troubles, please don’t hesitate to ask.” He smiled and reached out to shake my hand.

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” I blushed as I took his warm, strong hand into mine. “The Beekeeper’s Association is happy to assist in any way we can; it’s our mission to reach out to the public and help educate people about bees.”

  We both stood there looking deeply into each other’s eyes for a moment. I was transfixed—his were such beautiful light-green orbs; they appeared to radiate energy. I couldn’t look away. I gulped hard.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he finally said, “Well, should we suit up and go take a look at the bees?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Whew, I thought as he turned away. I didn’t know if it was him or me, but there was definitely some intensity in the air between us!

  We put on our protective veils and jackets and then went over to his beehives. Of course, I had to inquire about the absence of a bear fence.

  “Don’t you have a problem with bears around here?”

  “What do mean?” he asked, turning my way quickly with an expression of annoyance (or maybe it was suspicion, I couldn’t tell). Clearly, the question threw him off for some reason, and his reaction, in turn, caught me off-guard. It was an awkward moment to say the least.

  I smiled, trying to diffuse whatever tension or anxiety I seemed to create. “Well, bears love brood and honey. They’ll rip apart hives and destroy bees to eat the resources. A bear fence is absolutely essential to having bees, and I noticed you didn’t have one as I drove in. We have a running joke we like to tell people who are thinking about getting bees. ‘There are two kinds of beekeepers: those who HAVE a bear fence, and those who WILL have a bear fence.’”

  “Oh, I see,” Sebastian laughed nervously. “No, I guess, I guess I haven’t had time to put one up yet.” He seemed really thrown off by the question for some reason.

  But I didn’t care. It was a straightforward request for information, so I pressed on. “How do you keep bears out then? You said in your ad that this is your third season keeping bees. In all this time you haven’t had one problem with bears knocking over and destroying your hives?”

  “Uh, no. I guess not. Maybe there aren’t many in these parts.”

  “Hmm. Well maybe. It’s funny, but I just saw a black bear not far from the end of your driveway as I drove in. In any event, you’re a lucky man, Sebastian, if you don’t have problems with bears.”

  “Oh, uh. Yes well maybe I am,” he said quietly without looking at me.

  The topic of bears seemed to sincerely bother him, so I let it
slide. Instead, I shifted gears and began a general inspection of the layout of his bee yard, followed by an examination of the hives for various diseases or conditions that might shed light on his problem.

  And what I found was most curious: His hives appeared to be well-managed, healthy and strong; I couldn’t find the slightest defect in his management. In fact, the most remarkable observation I was that the bees didn’t seem to like Sebastian! Whenever I removed a frame and handed it to him, the bees got agitated and angry. Whenever he moved about the yard, the bees would move around him or attempt to sting him through his protective clothing. It was the darndest thing!

  “I’ve got to tell you, Sebastian,” I said with a voice laced with amusement, “It’s the weirdest thing, but your bees don’t seem to like you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he deadpanned.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a bear! They are clearly agitated by your presence alone, I just can’t figure out why. It’s as if you emanate a warning pheromone to them or something!”