The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Carter, Janice

  Annie’s mind was swirling. “Uh, maybe e-mail? The next few weeks are busy ones for us at the apiary—my father’s farm, where I’m now working—and there won’t be anyone to pick up the phone. I wouldn’t want her to get discouraged by constantly hearing voice messages.”

  Sister Beatty smiled. “How good of you to consider that. Here’s Cara’s address but I think the next move has to be up to her now, don’t you think?”

  Annie got up slowly. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She hadn’t taken it all in yet, but reached out for the piece of paper, her other hand still clutching the photograph. Dazed, she said goodbye and suddenly found herself behind the wheel of her Ford Focus, staring blankly through the windshield.

  She eyed the dashboard clock. Two o’clock. If she left for Garden Valley now, she could be there by dinnertime. Home was the only place she wanted to be. Even more peculiar was the realization that Will was the one person she looked forward to seeing.

  AT SOME POINT IN THE LONG DAY, Will wondered when Annie would be coming home. Not that it mattered, because there weren’t any other job prospects on his personal horizon. And besides, he was actually enjoying working with the bees. He no longer felt so claustrophobic wearing a beekeeper’s white jumpsuit and hat and the adrenaline that shot through him every time he lifted up the cover of a hive was manageable.

  He’d spent the entire morning setting bee excluders in the hives or colonies, as Annie called them, on the McLean acreage. Bob McLean drove up once to check things out, more out of curiosity, Will thought, than suspicion. He’d been surprised at how quickly the other man had accepted not only his presence, but his work. Either I’ve finally got a grip on this job or McLean knows even less about it than I do. Then he drove back to the Vanderhoff colonies to extract the frames he and Annie had set up.

  He was beginning to see how beekeeping involved basic tasks endlessly repeated. He spent the afternoon trucking supers laden with honey back and forth to the barn, running the extractor, then returning to collect more. During one of these trips, Marge Vanderhoff had popped out of her kitchen with a glass of cold lemonade for him.

  By six o’clock he was locking up the barn and contemplating a shower and a cold drink—the order of which he hadn’t yet determined—when he heard a car coming up the driveway. When he saw the glint of silver, he was filled with such pleasure it startled him. Will waited for Annie to climb out. Ever so slowly, the door creaked open and she stepped out.

  He saw right away that something had happened. There was uncertainty in her face and she moved al most in a trance. “Annie?” he asked, closing in on her. “Are you okay?”

  She made a funny half laugh and half sob, before bursting into tears. Will swiftly wrapped his arms around her, tucking her against his chest, placing his palm on the top of her head to keep her there for as long as necessary. Her face fell into the crook of his arm and her arms tightened around his waist. Will closed his eyes, wishing he could make everything better for her.

  Pulling away was difficult. Annie could have stayed wrapped in Will’s embrace for hours. When she did pull back, his hands remained on her shoulders while he studied her face.

  Finally his hands dropped to his side. “Tell me that wasn’t about the traffic,” he said, his voice oddly hoarse.

  She shook her head. “It’s a long story,” she said, struggling to smile.

  After a light pause, he asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No, I drove straight through.”

  “I’ve got some food here in the van. How about if I cook us a light supper, as my mother used to say?”

  “Are you sure? I hate to use your supplies. I’m sure there’s something in the freezer.”

  “Hey, I’ve got eggs, tomatoes and cheese. Do we need anything more than that to whip up a great omelet?”

  Annie knew he was trying to lighten the mood and played along. “Can’t think of anything except maybe a glass of wine.”

  “Got that, too. You go on inside while I rustle up some victuals.” He started toward the van. “See? I’m getting into the local lingo now that I’ve been in the valley for a couple of days.”

  Annie smiled, indulging him. She wasn’t certain where his lingo actually belonged, not having ever heard it in the valley, but let him keep his illusions. By the time she’d finished in the bathroom and changed her clothes, she could hear cupboard doors and drawers being opened and shut in the kitchen. She paused in her bedroom doorway. Was he whistling?

  When she reached the kitchen, the table was set and two wineglasses were already filled with white wine. He turned from the stove. “I had a nice bottle of Sauvignon in the van, waiting for the right occasion.”

  The fact that he considered making her supper an occasion was both flattering and disconcerting. She picked up her wine and sipped. She was home, in her own kitchen. An attractive man was cooking her dinner. Or supper. A wave of emotion threatened again and she blinked back tears.

  He came over to the table with the frying pan and carefully slid the fattest omelet she’d ever seen onto her plate. It was golden brown, crisp around the edges. Tomatoes and melted cheese oozed out from the fold. The rich aroma that wafted up from her plate made her realize how hungry she was. She watched as he set a bowl of salad on the table. Annie smiled, recognizing the crockery mixing bowl from the cupboard.

  “Salad, too?”

  “Had a bag of that premixed stuff from the grocery store. Good thing you came along. I’d never have been able to eat it all myself before it went off.” He served his own omelet, plunked the frying pan on the counter and settled into his chair. He picked up his wineglass and, holding it aloft, said, “Cheers! Welcome home.”

  Annie clinked her glass against his. It was, she thought, one of the best homecomings she’d had.

  They ate without talking. Annie was grateful for his silence. It gave her a chance to let her visit with Sister Beatty shrink to something she could think about without tearing up again.

  She pushed her empty plate aside and moaned. “That was the biggest omelet I’ve ever eaten! And delicious. Hardly what I’d call a light supper. Is that what your mother would have called it?”

  Will set his fork down. “No. It was an expression she used for the few days before every pay. Her idea of a light supper was usually crackers and peanut butter, or sardines on toast.”

  “Was there just the two of you?’

  “Yep. Never met my dad. I believe he took off sometime in the nine months before I was born.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She passed away a few years ago. Breast cancer.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She didn’t say anything for a long while. “It must have been difficult for your mother being a single parent.”

  “It was. She didn’t have a college education and few skills. Most of her jobs were waitressing or working as a cashier. That type of thing. But she made do.”

  It explained something about his fastidious ways. He’d even rinsed the plastic wrap from the package of cheese and hung it over the faucet, to reuse later.

  Would she have been the same kind of struggling mother, if she hadn’t given her baby up for adoption?

  “Hey.”

  She raised her head, her watering eyes scarcely focusing.

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice soft.

  Annie took a deep breath. She knew it wasn’t his problem, but she was desperate to tell someone. Besides, she’d promised to call Auntie Isobel as soon as she got home to give a full report and if she didn’t have a run-through, she knew she’d simply dissolve again and would be totally incomprehensible on the phone.

  “I…uh…something happened while I was in Charlotte,” she began.

  “I gathered as much from your arrival. Your father?”

  His concern took her off-guard, but also gave her the courage to go on. “No. It has to do with me. A long story.” She gave a faint smile.

  “I can relate to that. We’ve got all night.”

/>   Annie ran her fingertip along the edge of her plate. “When I was in my first year at the University of North Carolina—in Charlotte—I was very foolish one night. Had too much to drink and—” she paused “—got pregnant.”

  She glanced at him, but his face was impassive. She continued, giving him a summary of that August as if it had all happened to someone else. When she finished with the details of her visit to the adoption agency, she detected a change in his expression. A softening.

  He waited a moment before asking, “What about the baby’s father?”

  “We’d only dated a few times.”

  “So he didn’t want the baby?”

  “I never got the chance to tell him.”

  “So he doesn’t know that you got pregnant?”

  Annie stared into the empty wineglass clutched in her hand. She shook her head. “Around the time I found out, he was called home for a family emergency. I tried to contact him, but didn’t have much success. Finally, I left him a note, but I never got a response.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “How do you feel about your daughter making contact with you?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Obviously I made the decision to open up that door, but to be honest, I’ve no idea how I’ll feel if and when it happens. The whole thing is still pretty overwhelming.”

  “Of course it is.” He stretched his arm across the table and gently released the wineglass from her grip to take her hand. “It sounds like you’ve got a supportive family when the time comes.”

  “That’s just it. My father doesn’t know. There never seemed to be a good time. After my mother died—”

  “When was that?”

  “I was fifteen. She was in a single-car crash. On the highway going into Essex.” Annie stopped.

  “So when you found out you were pregnant, there was some distance between you and your father that made it difficult—”

  “Impossible,” she interjected. “After my mother died, my father and I went our own ways. I stayed with my aunt the summer I had the baby.” She paused again, thinking of her aunt’s worried face as she’d driven off that morning. “She’s been wonderful. And don’t get me wrong. I know my father loves me more than anyone else in the world. He’s a lot different now, especially since he met Shirley.”

  “When are you going to tell him?”

  “I know he’ll fret and have a ton of questions and likely feel bad that I hadn’t told him years ago. It’ll be easier when he’s home.”

  “So I guess you have no idea when your daughter is going to call.”

  “No.” Annie withdrew her hand, tucking it under her chin and resting her elbow on the table. She suddenly felt drained of all energy and emotion.

  “Why don’t you go to bed while I clean up here?”

  Her eyes cut to his. There was no innuendo or invitation in his face. Merely a friend offering some help. “Thanks. I’d like that.” She rose shakily from her chair. “How did things go, by the way?”

  “Great. I think I’ve passed into Beekeeping Part Two.”

  “Up for another day or two?” She held her breath, praying he’d say yes.

  “Definitely. I’ll be around at eight and fill you in on what I did while you were gone.”

  “Could we make that ten? And thank you for staying here, Will. The trip would have been twice as difficult if I’d had to worry about the apiary.”

  “Get a good night’s sleep.”

  As she changed into her nightie and brushed her teeth, she was aware of cleaning-up noises from below. Crawling into bed, she thought about how comfortable she’d felt talking to him. Being in his arms. Feeling that someone cared. She closed her eyes and didn’t hear him leave.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE’D SAID TEN, but he’d been awake since six, after tossing and turning most of the night. Finally at daybreak, he got up to make a pot of coffee. He was just stringing his fishing rod when a car drove into the campground and parked in front of the office. It wasn’t quite eight-thirty and Waters was nowhere around. Will worked on the fishing line, but kept an eye on the car. No one got out, and after a few seconds the car made a sharp left turn and headed his way.

  Will had no idea who it was until the driver stepped out of the car. He propped the fishing rod against the picnic table and sauntered over to greet Scott Andrews. As he drew closer, he saw that Andrews had had a rougher night than he’d had.

  “Morning,” he said.

  Andrews nodded, shaking Will’s hand absent-mindedly. “See you found the campground all right.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for steering me to Waters.”

  “Speaking of…seen him around this morning?”

  “No, he doesn’t come in this early.”

  “Coffee smells good,” Andrews said, tilting his head to the propane stove Will had set up on the picnic table.

  “Have a seat,” Will said. “I’ll get a mug from the van.” When he came out, Andrews was mopping his forehead with a well-used handkerchief.

  “Tough night?”

  The fire captain didn’t reply until he’d poured milk and stirred a heaping spoonful of sugar into his coffee. “Could say that,” he muttered as he blew across the mug. Andrews took a long, careful sip.

  Will waited, knowing he’d get to the point eventually. He sensed the man was ticked off about something.

  “Arsonist struck again last night. Only it was a shed this time, instead of a barn. Place about ten miles south of here.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Yeah. One of my men. There were some cans of paint and paint thinner in the shed, along with a few jerry cans of gasoline the owner forgot to tell us about until the whole damn thing blew up.”

  “How is he?”

  “Burnt. He’ll be in the hospital a few weeks.” He stared at Will’s scar. “You know all about that.”

  “Think it’s the same guy?”

  “Oh yeah. Ninety-nine percent it is. ’Course the fire marshal’s gotta have a look-see but given his report on the Lewis fire, it’s gonna read the same.”

  “So the Lewis barn was set by the valley arsonist? That’s what the marshal decided?”

  “Yeah.” He drank from the mug, obviously savoring the brew. “Heard you were working at Ambrosia.”

  “Word gets around.”

  Andrews grinned. “Hey, it’s Garden Valley. What more can I say? Anyhow, I came by for two reasons. One, to find out where Sam Waters was last night when all hell was breaking loose and second, to find out if you planned to stay in the valley. Thought you might, since you were working for Jack and Annie.”

  “Can’t help with the first one, but I’m here until Jack gets back from Charlotte. Why?”

  “I’m a man short and with this arsonist running around, I can use some help. You interested?” He added, “It’s volunteer work, but I might be able to find some money in the budget for you. It wouldn’t be what you’d get back home, but enough to pay the rent here and keep you in food and beer.”

  “How would you get in touch with me?”

  “I’ll give you a cell phone. We all use them. When a call comes in on the emergency number, it goes directly to all of our cells. You have to keep it on all the time, though.”

  Will wanted to help the guy out, but the thought of fighting fires again made his stomach churn.

  “Look, maybe this is all too much for you. I don’t know exactly what happened to cause that—” he gestured to Will’s scar “—but if you’re not working now because of…”

  Will turned the scarred side of his face away from the other man.

  “Well, could you at least think it over and let me know by tomorrow evening?” Andrews got up from the table and pulled a billfold out of his trousers. “Here, take this.” He handed Will a business card. “Call me. Not the number in red. That’s the fire alert line. Okay?”

  “I can’t promise anything.”

  “Fair enough. If you see Waters anytime soon, ask him to give me a call. He’s no
t answering his cell phone.” Then he got back in his car and drove off.

  Will looked at his watch. It was a little after nine. No time for fishing now. Although Will had plenty of mixed feelings about taking Andrews up on his offer, one thought shone through. Volunteering would give him another excuse to stay in Garden Valley. Another excuse to see more of Annie Collins.

  ANNIE WAS TOWEL-DRYING HER HAIR when she heard the tapping at the kitchen door. It wasn’t locked, but obviously the city boy in Will Jennings was reluctant to simply walk inside. She dashed down the stairs to let him in.

  “Hi!” she said, somewhat breathlessly.

  He smiled, his eyes skimming from her bare feet, up over the cutoff denim shorts and T-shirt to her damp head. “Am I early?”

  She moved aside for him to come in. He’d recently showered himself, she decided, detecting the fragrance of some kind of soap. Not flowery, but spicy. And his hair—what there was of it—glistened in the sunlight pouring through the screen door. As he stepped past her, she saw a fleck of shaving cream at the edge of his jaw near his right earlobe and for some reason, she found the oversight touching.

  “No, right on time. I slept in.”

  “Catching up on a sleep debt?”

  “A few days’ worth.” He just nodded. She was relieved they weren’t going to have to dredge up last night’s conversation. In fact, she was feeling almost embarrassed about unburdening herself so readily to someone she’d known such a short time.

  “Shall I make coffee while you…uh—” he glanced at her hair “—finish with…?”

  “Sure. The filters are in the drawer next to the sink and the coffee’s—”

  “In the canister on the counter.”

  He didn’t miss much. “Okay then. Be right back. Have you eaten?” She paused midway to the door.

  “Toast.”

  “Help yourself to anything,” she said as she left the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made for the bathroom. A few minutes of blow-drying and she was all set. Although makeup was something she used in frequently and only for special occasions, she took a second longer to smooth skin cream over her face and apply a trace of eyeliner. She gave herself a once-over in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, tucking an elastic into her pocket for a ponytail later, when it was hot.