by Meredith, MK
Blayne clamped her arm tight, imprisoning Larkin’s to her side. “We’re going to Flat Iron. And you’re explaining yourself. You’re hiding something. I can smell it.” She cut a cat-eye lined look at Larkin.
Larkin led the way inside Flat Iron and back to their favorite corner with two navy velvet arm chairs. Sinking with a sigh, she brushed at the leg of her cargo shorts.
“Quit stalling.” Blayne gave her a pointed look.
“I have to do something.” She checked her messages once more and the time. Her day was rapidly disappearing. If she didn’t get out to the Cape soon, she wouldn’t have the sunlight necessary to see in the woods. And even if every square inch of the property was ingrained in her mind, she was not traipsing through the woods in the dark.
On a deep inhale, she confessed. “I’ve been trying to reach Claire Adams. To talk to her. I really want to find a way to help. But she hung up on me the first two times I called and then quit answering altogether.” She shrugged.
Blayne pulled her bandana from her hair and shoved it in her front pocket. The look in her eyes was all kickass and very little compassion.
“Calm down.” Larkin had seen that look in her friend’s eye on more than one occasion, and it never ended well. “I understand why she’s avoiding me, but I have to try. I don’t need Mama Bear Blayne to the rescue. You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”
“I can’t help it. You’re my best friend. Besides, I can’t let anything happen to you. You’re my only grown-up friend.”
Larkin grinned. “It’s funny that in our thirties I’m your only grown-up friend.”
“Don’t add me to that group, I still have two more years. But think about it. We have Marci.”
“So much drama.” Larkin wrinkled her nose.
“Kate.”
“Still lives with her parents.”
Blayne tapped her chin then jabbed her pointer finger to the sky. “I got it. Victoria.”
Larkin adjusted the package in her arms. “Is still wearing her tiara from winning homecoming her senior year.”
“So weird.” Her friend threw her a lopsided grin. “See? You really are it then. I have to watch out for you. I’m S.O.L. if anything happens.”
Larkin nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She studied Blayne. Might as well detonate her bomb. “But we can also have Claire Adams, or we could in time.”
“Now you’re just mad.” Blayne set her chin in the stubborn way Larkin had come to love.
“I’ve been thinking hard about it. She isn’t coping with the accident any better now than when it first happened, and I’ve just turned a corner myself. I understand the feeling that tomorrow won’t be any better. We have to help her.”
“But she’s been brutal,” Blayne said. “Case in point, your most recent attempts to contact her.”
“Regardless, we have to try.”
Her friend looked at her hard then put up her hands. “I said I’d help with anything. I meant it.”
“Claire and I aren’t very different, but she doesn’t see it that way. We’ve avoided one another like the plague when we could actually help each other finally get through all of this. Maybe even help other people.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I get the Cape declared as conservation land, I want to start a community outreach organization. We could use the house as the center. One of the interests could be a coping or life-coaching kind of class. We could also do environmental workshops geared for kids and adults, art classes, maybe wellness classes like yoga.”
Blayne laughed. “Who the bleedin hell are you and what have you done with my friend?” She reached over and grabbed Larkin’s hand. “You’re going from barely moving through life to sprinting in one week. Don’t you think you’ve enough on your plate with the conservation?”
“I don’t know. Yes.” She shook her head with a nervous chuckle. “But, the idea came to me the other night at your shop and it won’t let go. This is bigger than me. Just like the Cape. And I think it would help Claire.”
“But what about Ryker?”
“What do you mean?”
“Honey, with your plan, you’re not just talking about conserving the land, you’ve already moved him out of his home.”
Chapter 8
Ryker pulled the bee suit over his shoulders and slipped his arms through, ready for the escape he always found in beekeeping.
Breathing deep, he focused on the crisp, sweet smell of the freshly cut grass and the salty spray of the sea. On any other day, on any other cape, he’d be hard-pressed to find any better place, but his home was in New York with his work and very small social circle, and most importantly, no ties to his past or a beautiful, green-eyed woman in need of saving from bees.
Of all the ridiculous shit he’d seen. His lips pulled up at the corners. He loved the way she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d wrapped herself around him. The scent of her had clouded his senses and he’d come close to taking a thorough taste of her sweet mouth and anything else she might have offered right there at the top of the lighthouse.
And it would have been a terrible mistake.
Thinking about her was another.
Adjusting the now too-tight suit, he scowled.
He had more important shit to tend to right now. Mitch had warned him of some rumblings, so Ryker had put a call through to one of his investors. The group of them wanted to meet in person and assure themselves that he had a handle on the project. Of all the goddamn nerve. He hadn’t built a reputation in New York for being the best land developer by fucking around. But this wasn’t New York, and over the years, he’d found that people liked to pretend their standards were somehow higher than those in the city.
Whatever made their dicks hard in the morning.
But there was no question from where true excellence reigned. It was a driving force in his decision to settle there in the first place. Not too close to Cape Van Buren, but not too far from his grandmother, and hard as hell to be successful. There was even a Goddamn song about making it in New York, for shit’s sake.
He zipped the suit then, tucking the hood under his arm, grabbed his bag and retraced the steps he and Larkin had taken on Thursday. Stepping from the lawns into the woods was like slipping into a hushed cathedral. Every noise muffled, the lights dim, even his own breathing seemed somehow shallower and quieter amongst all the trees.
He’d added hummingbird nectar to the feeders a couple days ago and two little birds fluttered about like Larkin around bees.
The low hum of his striped little friends led the way and once he was just a few yards from the apiary, he pulled the hood over his head, draping the veil around his shoulders. The bees were gathering outside one of the hives in a small cluster. No doubt that inside, the frames were overflowing with honey, leaving no place for the queen to lay her eggs.
If he wanted to keep her in her castle, he had to collect the honey before it was too late. And not just the one box, but all the hives spread around the Cape. The investors would just have to wait.
He approached with slow, light steps, listening to what nature had to say.
Grandfather had always told him to be silent and let the world speak to him. If he was quiet enough, he’d hear its wisdom.
Well, he could sure as shit use some now.
Flexing his gloved fingers, he walked into the swarm. The low hum grew with the bees’ interest. He was a threat until he proved that he wasn’t. After two or three visits, they’d get used to him, but right now they were irate, as the higher frequency of their buzz relayed loud and clear.
With slow movements, quiet and calm, he set his bag on the ground and pulled out the smoker. He poured a little smoke along the cover, clearing the bees from the edge. Careful not to crush any of his little friends, he removed the lid then set it next to the box.
It was a nine-frame box and covered in burr comb. He carefully removed a frame, then scraped the overbuilt honeycomb clusters off the edges. Furt
her inspection of the honey box and the brood boxes confirmed his initial assessment. The hives had overfilled. He wasn’t more than a day or so away from these bees swarming and abandoning the hive all together.
He methodically worked through each frame, collecting them for honey extraction, then replacing empty ones for the bees to make or move more honey. The muscles along the back of his neck eased, allowing his shoulders to drop. The frequency of the bees’ hum had settled into a quiet buzz, taking him with them into their little cloud of contentment.
Inside his hood, it was as though he were separate from all the bullshit that existed outside. The tension he’d carried with him all morning slid off his shoulders, leaving him feeling lighter somehow.
The lessons he’d learned from his grandfather came rushing back, making each move automatic as if he’d been there yesterday. Like seeing an old friend after years away and falling right back into a comfortable, familiar rhythm.
Next, he moved to the brood boxes. He’d collect the honey from a few of the brood frames and those he’d replace with empty ones. He scraped open the other frames filled with honey instead of larvae then replaced them. The bees would work at moving the honey to the super box, and while they stayed busy clearing out the brood frames, the queen could begin to lay more eggs in the empty ones.
Kind of like what he was doing with the Cape. It overflowed with painful memories. Parceling it out, turning it into a housing community would give it new purpose and make room for a future of memories that wouldn’t constantly burn like the sting of his little winged friends.
He replaced the lid then stepped back to admire his handy work, feeling a sense of contentment for the first time since driving through the iron gates a week ago.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the prodigal Van Buren child returning home to Grammy’s house.” The words were accompanied by loud, resounding claps from his father’s hands.
The buzz of the bees increased as the ignorant man added a bellowing laugh to his show. Ryker stepped away from the hive and removed his hood.
A string of heat lit up the back of his neck and he flinched, but he refused to slap at the insect when the guilty party was standing in front of him. Tamping down his reaction against the burn, he walked away from the honey frames, forcing the man to move with him. The last thing he wanted was the hive to be disturbed any further.
Once he stepped from the protective canopy of the trees and out onto the groomed lawns, he swung around to face James Van Buren and tried to control the entwined thread of fear and fury that snaked up his spine. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He hardly recognized the man. Years of alcohol abuse and anger had drawn his leathery skin into a permanent frown and grayed his bushy brows.
“What am I doing here?” His father’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “It’s my home, boy. The question is what are you doing here? You scurried away like the damn pussy you always were years ago.”
All the tension from the past week slammed upon Ryker’s shoulders with a powerful grip. “Most wouldn’t consider running from a monster cowardly.” He gritted the words out between his teeth.
James let his head fall back in a peal of mocking laughter. “Monster? Says who? The big city business man? Is that why you’ve come home with your tail between your legs? If your grandfather could see you now.”
“Leave Grandfather out of this. He was more of a father to me on his worst day than you ever were.”
“Oh, fuck. Hail to Stuart Van Buren.” James threw his hands in the air then performed a fake bow. “You think he was so goddamn perfect. You think he loved you? You were just a replacement. If he loved you so much, why the hell did you have to buy the place? Why wouldn’t my dear old dipshit of a dad just leave it to you?”
Years of pain and anger and fear came boiling to the surface with such swift fury, Ryker felt the world go red as he grabbed his father by the collar of his shirt. “Get the fuck off my property.” He shouted, hating the break in his voice. Hating the man for making him feel less than he was, hating him for making him lose his temper.
“I’m not going anywhere. And quit acting all high and mighty. You’re nothing more than the scared little twit you were years ago.”
Ryker seethed, staring into eyes too much like his own. “You can’t hurt me anymore and you won’t hurt Grandmother, either. I’m not a powerless kid half your size anymore.”
“No, you’re worse. You’re a sorry, sack-of-shit, grown man.”
Ryker tightened his grip, practically lifting the man from the ground.
“Ryker?”
His name spoken so quietly didn’t make sense and he continued to stare at his father, seething at the nerve of the man for stepping foot on his land.
His father’s eyes darted to the side and he sneered, “Call the police. Do you see this? I’m pressing charges.”
Ryker shoved his father away, pleased when he stumbled and fell back on his haunches.
Larkin stepped close, briefly placing her hand on Ryker’s cheek. Then she turned toward his father. Every instinct told him to throw her over his shoulder once again and carry her to safety.
She stepped toward his father instead. He grabbed at her arm but she shook him off.
“Call the police?” She asked quietly, cocking her head. “And why is that? From what I saw, Ryker was merely trying to keep an old man from falling.”
What in the hell was she doing? His father was dangerous and she needed to keep her distance for her safety and his own sanity.
James snorted. “Keep me from falling? What the hell are you talking about, you crazy bitch? He attacked me and I’m pressing charges.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Ryker stepped between them.
Larkin placed a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.” Focusing on his father, she continued, “I don’t think you’ll do anything of the sort.” She chuckled as she walked past Ryker and around his father’s prone form. He wasn’t sure what game she was playing. Who the hell was this woman and where did Larkin go?
“You see, I walked up while the two of you were conversing. Your son was trying to keep you steady.” She tilted her head in an understanding nod. “So sweet of him if you ask me, but you yanked away and stumbled on your own feet, as one who drinks too much is prone to do.”
She swung back to Ryker with a look of innocent nonchalance. “Makes sense, don’t you think? And since the chief of police is my uncle, I’m sure he’ll believe me over James Van Buren.” She glanced back at the man with a raised brow. “You do have quite the reputation.”
His father shoved to his feet and scowled. “You’re fucking with the wrong man, young lady.”
“Such niceties from this one.” She dismissed him and looked at Ryker, merely gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb.
Ryker wanted to hug her and hide from her all at the same time. She’d saved him from making a huge mistake, but she’d also witnessed his greatest shame and the reason the Cape could never be his home.
James Van Buren.
His visit today was a potent reminder about why Ryker was selling.
One he wished he could forget.
* * *
Larkin wanted to pull Ryker into her arms and erase the haunted look from his eyes.
When she’d walked up on the two men, it was apparent there was a problem, but it wasn’t until Ryker grabbed the old guy that she understood who he was.
After losing Archer, she had sworn she’d never let anyone hurt the people she cared about again. And she considered Ryker a friend. She’d been too little too late for her own son but she wouldn’t fail this one. The very fact that it was Ryker’s own father flicked a switch that made her feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. She didn’t care if he called her every damn name in the book, and the look on his face when she’d ignored his threats would hold her over for a long time.
“Come on.” She put her hand out toward Ryker, but instead of taking his arm or hand, she merely directed him
back toward the house. The last thing he needed was to be touched by yet another person who would only bring him pain.
He moved with her, vibrating with anger, but continued to watch over his shoulder
“Leave it. He’ll be gone by the time you come back out. Let’s grab a quick drink.”
Once inside the house, she closed the door then joined Ryker in the front room. Dark navy-and-cream striped walls offset two plush chaise lounges covered in eggplant velvet.
He shrugged out of his bee suit then dropped to the lounge, grabbing a navy decorative pillow and holding it to his chest. In the soft afternoon light filtering through the drapes, she could almost imagine him doing the same as a boy.
When he swept his anguished gaze over her, she saw a man in pain. Silently, she approached the chaise. “Are you okay?”
She stood with her hands hanging at her sides and he trailed his fingers over hers. A wash of awareness raced up her arms.
He gripped her hand and gave a tug.
She plopped down next to him, a little closer than intended, and she sucked in a breath. Need shone from his eyes. But for what she didn’t know.
“Ryker?”
He held her gaze, making her restless, but she stared back, lost in the stormy emotion she found there.
“Thank you. He’s not happy unless he’s hurting someone. But don’t you ever do something so foolish again.”
Ignoring his command, she stared up at him. “You know he was wrong, right? All those nasty things he was saying?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line then sighed. “He’s dangerous, Larkin.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He tensed but nodded with one dip of his chin.
“Where’s your mother in all of this? Maxine won’t speak of her. No one does, really.” Which was an anomaly, because the citizens of Cape Van Buren prided themselves on being fluent in everyone else’s business and informing whoever wasn’t.
He rubbed a hand over his face, breaking eye contact. She moved to scoot back a little, but he stopped her with a hand to her leg. The heat of his thigh already burned through her cargo shorts, but nothing prepared her for the slow turn in her stomach from the feel of his thick fingers and meaty palm gripping her.
