by Cathryn Fox
“Let’s go,” Jay says to his brother as I bolt upstairs. I didn’t buy a lot of clothes in town, just enough to get me by, and if I keep ruining them, I’ll soon be running around in my underwear. I shower again, toss my clothes into a bag, and tug on a pair of yoga pants, a T-shirt, and my work boots. The look is not attractive.
I check for signs of Cluck as I cut through the path leading to Jay’s place. The damn rooster still hasn’t warmed up to me, and I think he’s pissed I disturbed all the bees. Wait, what am I saying? Roosters don’t have emotional intelligence, right? Heck, maybe they do? I’ll have to Google that later, and if that’s the case, I’m going total vegetarian.
The late afternoon sun shines down on me, and despite my earlier predicament, the sounds of the birds chirping in the trees overhead warms my soul. You certainly don’t hear any singsong birds like this back in New York, and when I leave here, I’m really going to miss the sound.
When I leave here?
Hmm, maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can make a real go of this farm, for more than the thirty days I promised my family I’d stay here. Every day, I learn something new, and I have a million calls to make and deals to oversee, selling my apples to the local grocery stores and juice plants. I’m sort of having fun—well, save for the skunk, and harvesting will be a nightmare; I’m sure of it. My nails will never be what they were before, but there is something so damn satisfying in a hard day’s work, followed by a good night’s sleep—or an even better night with Jay in my bed.
Am I really thinking about staying on longer?
That would secure my trust fund, but if I did stay, think about how I could invest in my orchard, this community, sustainable farming with the money coming to me. Cluck comes running at me, and I hurry my steps to Jay’s place. I step inside, breathless, and Cluck stops at the door. He must not be allowed inside.
“Clucky’s a douche.”
I spin at that and laugh as Capone struts around his massive cage. “You need to clean up your language,” I say and point to him.
“Alyson’s hot stuff.”
“Well, that’s better.”
“Capone,” Jay warns as he comes down the stairs. I grin at him.
“It’s okay, and that bird needs a friend.” I stare at his chest and admire his hardness as he tugs on a T-shirt. “This is a really nice place, Jay.”
“My brothers and I fixed it up when Juanita…”
His voice trails off.
“Mom’s a peach,” Capone says, and Jay frowns.
“He’s too smart for his own good.”
Sensing Juanita is someone he doesn’t want to talk about, and perhaps the person who once owned that ring I saw in his nightstand, I say, “Do you have extra Benadryl, just in case?”
“You didn’t get any yet?”
“No, been too busy.” I’m just glad I don’t have a bee allergy and didn’t go into anaphylactic shock last time. A trip to the hospital is not on my to-do list. Dad would be here in a heartbeat if he received the insurance bill, reminding me I don’t have my life together.
Jay opens his fridge and pulls out a bottle. “We can run to the drugstore later for more if you want.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, and my phone pings. I pull it from my pocket and snort. “It’s like he knows I’m thinking about him.”
“He?”
“My father,” I say. “He’s just checking in on me, or rather checking up on me. Again.”
“Everything okay?”
I glance out the door, take in the gorgeous green trees and gardens. But now, not even the chirping birds are bringing me joy. “He’s one of those people I was telling you about. The biggest one, as a matter of fact.”
He frowns. “That’s tough, Alyson.” He, too, stares off into the distance for a moment, and his dark eyes cloud over. “For what it’s worth, I know all about disappointing a parent.”
“Really?” I shake my head. “I find that hard to believe. You do so much for your family.”
His hand goes to the scar on his face. “It wasn’t always like that.” He turns back to me. “You’re not going to answer him?” he asks, sliding the subject back to me.
“Nope. I’ll message him back later. Right now, I’m going to learn all about bee farming. You ready?”
“Yup.” He puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me back outside. “Let’s go to the barn and get suited up.” We head up a hill, and I take in the half-finished barn.
“What are you building?”
“Shelter for beef cattle.”
“You have cows?”
“Not yet, but I have permits in, and I’m expecting to start by fall. I want to raise beef without the use of hormones or steroids. I’ll start small, sell local, and go from there.”
“You really do care about people, don’t you?”
He nudges me playfully and I falter a bit in my boots. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” I say. “What made you think to do beef farming? You have so many other things going.”
“I have crops, but I want to work with animals. Raising beef was something my father always wanted and put off because he didn’t know enough about them. My degree is in bioveterinary science. I was going to be the brains behind the operation.”
“Bio what?”
“I studied animal health and welfare. I don’t want to hang a veterinary sign. I’d rather work outdoors. I want to raise animals and help other farmers if they need assistance.”
“Your father would be proud,” I say. “This is all very impressive.”
“You think?” he asks, like he doesn’t really believe me.
“You always knew you wanted to do this?” I ask.
“Farms are handed down. It was a given. I guess it’s just a good thing I like this lifestyle.”
“There was nothing else you wanted to be? Fireman? Police officer?”
“It’s not a bad thing, Alyson.”
“I don’t mean—”
“Even if there were something else, I have to be here.” There’s a sadness in his eyes, a regret of sorts as he looks to the horizon, avoiding my gaze.
“Have to?” I ask. Surely he doesn’t have to be here, like I do.
“I promised my dad I’d take care of things, and I plan to do that. I owe him that much.”
I’m about to ask what he means by that when we come across a barn.
“Here we are,” he says. “This is my bee barn.”
We step inside and sunshine slants in through a small window, and the dust we stir up dances in the light with our entrance. I take in the space, my gaze raking over a table with a blue cloth over it and a few tools on top. There is a big steel pot on legs, with a lever on the lid and a bunch of buckets with nozzles on the bottom. A couple of white suits hang on a hook, and Jay takes one down.
“This will be big on you, but that’s what you want. Bees can’t sting if they can’t reach your body.”
I tug it on, and Jay gets into his gear beside me. He checks me over, closes some flap near my neck, and puts a hood on me.
“This is called a veil,” he explains. “And you’ll need these gloves.” Like I’m five years old, he puts the gloves on me and tugs until they are up to my elbow. My stomach does a weird little dance. I’ve had men undress me before but never dress me, and I have to say, it’s kind of nice the way he takes care of me. In fact, the man takes care of everyone. Who, then, is taking care of him? He gives me a once-over, finishes dressing himself, and we head outside to the boxes.
For the next half hour, I listen intently and with fascination as he shows me all the parts to the stacked double boxes. I learn the queen, drones, and workers live in a brood box, where the queen lays her eggs. Brood refers to eggs, pupa, and larvae, and they all develop into fully grown bees. He talks about pollen and nectar stores, how bees
will beard, meaning they all hover together to protect and warm the honey when it’s colder out. He then removes one of the frames from the box. Bees buzz about, and I don’t panic this time.
“Before we process this,” he says, “we need to brush the bees off.” He takes a small brush and gently runs it over the bees, cleaning them from the honeycomb. “Now we take these frames inside and process them in the extractor.” He puts the frames back in the box and carries the entire thing inside.
“What can I do?”
He smiles at my enthusiasm, places a big square container on the table, and removes one of the frames. “You enjoying this so far?”
“Yeah, and I kind of like seeing what fascinates you so much. I like learning about your passions.”
“Beekeeping isn’t for everyone,” he says and frowns, and I’m not sure why, but I get the sneaking suspicion that his sadness has something to do with Juanita.
“Well, I can’t wait to eat the honey.”
“Then are you ready for me to show you how it’s done?” I give a very animated nod. “Okay, some people use a hot knife to remove the honeycomb. I prefer to use this.” He holds up a serrated knife and positions the frame on the edge of the container. “I just cut it away really gently. We only want the honeycomb and don’t want to disturb the honey.”
“What do you do with all that honeycomb?”
“We sell it, or I use it to feed the bees.”
“Amazing,” I say under my breath, and he reaches for me.
“Come here, give it a try.”
I step back. “I don’t want to ruin anything.”
“You won’t,” he says, like he truly believes in me. But I hesitate, and he reaches for me, refusing to take no for an answer. “Come on. You’ve got this.”
“Okay.” I step up to him, and he hands me the knife. I grip it, and he turns the frame he’d been working on so I can clean the other side. His body presses against mine from behind, and he holds the knife with me. I gently move my hand, and he moves with me, guiding me through the honeycomb. I smile as the comb drops into the bucket. I glance at him over my shoulder.
“Isn’t it amazing?” He smiles as I work the comb from the frame and I get it. I get what he sees in this.
“It is,” I say. “Actually, the whole thing is far more complex than I ever knew. So many moving parts.”
“I read books and periodicals and try to keep up on everything so I can properly manage the colonies. But I really enjoy the process.”
I stare up at him with a new kind of appreciation. This guy knows a lot of things about a lot of things. I nod and wish I could find something I loved this much. “I guess my orchard is pretty important for your bees.”
“Very,” he says, and that’s when understanding hits. He can’t let me screw up and run the business into the ground because he needs my trees. That makes me want to succeed all the more.
“What do they do in the winter?” I ask, a new sort of determination taking up residency in my gut.
“I leave the honey inside for the winter, and they feed off it.”
I finish cleaning the honeycomb and turn to him. “Now what?”
“Now we need to extract the honey.” He finishes cleaning a few more frames, much more quickly this time, and puts them into the big extracting machine. “This controls the speed of the centrifuge,” he explains and turns the machine up to medium. The frames begin to spin, and Jay steps back. It goes for a few minutes, and he switches it off, only to change the direction of the spin.
After a few more minutes, he points to a stack of buckets. “Can you grab me one of those and a strainer?” I do as he asks and he places the bucket, strainer on top, under the nozzle and opens it. Honey pours out. “Isn’t that beautiful?” he says when I gasp at how quickly the bucket is filling.
“It is,” I agree, and he smiles at me.
“I could do this all day. There is something very satisfying in watching this flow.”
My heart misses a beat as I take in the pleasure in his eyes. “I could watch all day, too,” I say, but I might be talking about Jay, rather than the flow of honey. “When do we get to eat it?”
He laughs. “Right. Let’s get out of these clothes and dig into a honeycomb.”
We both remove our big loose suits and hang them up. I follow Jay to the bucket full of honeycomb. He reaches for a piece.
“Wait, is this stealing the honey?” I ask.
“Not really. Bees produce honey all the time.”
“Okay, good.”
He hands me a piece and takes one for himself. “Would you have refused it if I said yes?”
We walk out into the sunshine, and I chuckle as I taste the sweet honeycomb. “Probably not,” I say, and catching us by surprise Cluck comes racing around the corner crowing and chasing something.
“What the—” I stumble backward, my arms flailing.
“Whoa,” Jay says and catches me.
Cluck disappears, and I take a quick breath. “He scared me half to death. What is his problem?”
“He has many, but right now you’re the one with a big problem. A big sticky problem.”
“What—” I ask, but my words die an abrupt death when I touch my hair and realize exactly what he’s talking about.
Chapter Fourteen
Jay
“Pass the gravy, Aly,” Tyler says as he taps his hand on the table, his head bobbing to some imaginary beat. He’s taken to calling our new neighbor—even though she might be a little more than that to me—Aly, like she’s one of the family. She’s been here two weeks to the day, and for the last week, since the skunk incident on Monday, she’s been having dinner at our table.
Her house is soon going to be clear of the smell, probably will be by now, but we’ve all gotten used to her sharing meals with us, and yeah, I’ve gotten used to sharing a bed with her. That first night, I set her up in the loft, and I took the sofa, but it didn’t take long before I found myself between the sheets with her. She’s like an addiction I can’t quit, but if she’s still here in two weeks, I lose my goddamn farm.
Alyson picks up the bowl and hands it over, and as she goes back to eating, a permanent smile on her face, it occurs to me how much she likes being around my family. She’s an only child, so I can understand that. What was that she said about not bringing a child into the world? Something about not being able to care for one when she can’t care for herself. But it’s clear she loves being with my big family, and while she’s adamant that she’s not interested in marriage or commitment, she’s soaking this up faster than a dried-out sponge.
I take in her smile, her new haircut. After getting the honeycomb stuck in it, compliments of Cluck knocking her off her feet, she had to have an emergency hair appointment. The short cut is adorable and makes her eyes look even bigger.
Tyler grabs for his water. “Jesus, this gravy is hotter than a goat’s ass in a pepper patch.”
“Tyler, language,” Mom says and Alyson frowns.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“Just some local lingo,” Mom explains.
“When is your friend coming?” Tyler asks, shooting a glance at Alyson.
Alyson’s head dips, a hint of sadness on her face. “I’m not sure she is. After the house was sprayed, I asked her to hold off.”
“We have room for her here,” Beck says.
She smiles at my brother, the affection she has for him all over her face. “You’ve all done enough for me already. I’m not going to ask you to put up my friend, too.”
“You’re probably missing home,” Mom says. “We don’t mind.”
She frowns and looks down again, fiddling with her potatoes. “I do,” she says, her voice lacking any sort of enthusiasm.
“Has Bryce been by again?” Mom asks as our eyes meet. My stomach roils. Jesus,
does she know about the bet? “I ran into him in town this morning, and he said he’s surprised you’re still here, Alyson.”
“He’s called a few times, but I haven’t answered,” Alyson says.
“If he lowballs you again, I’ll—” Ty begins, but I cut him off.
“Tyler, stay out of it.”
“I’m just saying.” He nods at Alyson. “I’ve got your back.”
Alyson smiles at him, and my throat tightens. She’s bonded with every member of my family, much the same way Juanita had, and when she leaves here…
“How’re those dance moves coming?” Beck asks, and I’m grateful for the change in subject.
Alyson lights up. “The guys are doing fantastic. I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see Sara’s face when they do their routine.”
“You’re going to the wedding?” Mom asks.
She gives a noncommittal shrug and stifles a yawn. “I was invited.”
Mom turns to me again and gives me an all-knowing look. If she stays for Colin’s wedding, that means I lose everything.
Fuck me.
“Do you know you’ve got yellow on your face?” Beck asks.
Alyson touches her cheek. “I do?”
“Right here,” Beck says and wipes a spot beneath her ear.
She laughs. “I’m so tired by the time I get to painting, I end up with more on me than I do the house.”
“Maybe you should hire out?” Beck suggests.
She gives a fast shake of her head. “No, I can do it,” she says.
I get that she’s trying to prove something, and I admire her grit, but maybe there is more going on here. Maybe money is an issue. She only bought the bare minimum in clothing, and I’ve not seen her in anything designer since the first day I met her.
“Are you fixing the place up to sell it?” Tyler asks, his face falling.
“I just… Those cedar shingles needed a fresh coat of paint before fall,” she explains.
Tyler laughs. “You should ask Jay to help. He’s good at painting, especially high places.”
“Tyler,” I warn.
