by Maisey Yates
“I don’t know, honey, those pants are pretty tight. I think getting into them would be a challenge.”
She made a scoffing sound. “You’re horrible.”
He stood up. “Maybe.” He swallowed down the rest of the coffee. “I’m going to go work now. I’ll see you at the ranch. Give you some time to talk to your boyfriend.”
“Are you in high school, or what?”
“Are you? Because if not, why are you waiting for him to make a move? If you really want him, you should ask him out. Life is short, right?”
And then Alex walked out, leaving her at the table by herself.
Asher chose that moment to turn around, and he noticed that Alex was gone. His expression shifted slightly, and he walked back over to the table. “So, he’s just your brother’s friend?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly.
“Okay,” Asher said. “Well, I’ll see you around.”
He started to walk toward the door and Clara bit her lip, warring with indecision. Then she figured, screw it. “Wait,” she said. “Are you...do you...do you want to hang out sometime? I mean, you said you did. But can we pick a tangible time to do that?”
Asher assessed her slowly. “Sure,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well...there’s a farm-to-table dinner event happening at Grassroots Winery. I thought maybe you would want to go.”
They were serving absolutely nothing at that dinner that Clara could force down her throat, and she had no idea what she was doing.
“Yeah, that sounds good. When is it?”
“Next Sunday night. If you’re free. It’s at seven.”
“Sure,” he said. “Sounds good. Want to meet in the parking lot at Stim?”
That was a little disappointing. She wanted him to pick her up. So that later, he could drive her home. And then maybe there would be couch making out.
But if meeting in a parking lot worked for him, she wasn’t going to complain about the details.
“Perfect,” she said.
“Great. See you.”
Part of her wanted to demand that he write it down in front of her so she knew he wouldn’t forget, but she had already made the first move, so she wasn’t going to be a crazy person.
“See you,” she said.
She finished drinking her hot chocolate slowly, until she could no longer justify avoiding real life, and the ranch.
As she walked to her truck, she kept her mind firmly fixed on The Grind and the conversation she’d had with Asher. The fact she had a date with Asher.
That felt...like it had to have happened to someone other than her. And considering how her life often went, it was nice to feel not so much like herself. Even if it was just for a little while.
CHAPTER SIX
CLARA SEEMED TO be avoiding him, so when she appeared in the barn around four o’clock, Alex was surprised.
What had been going through her mind when he had run into her this morning in the coffeehouse, he couldn’t say. Except that she had not been overly excited to see him. Or maybe that was an understatement. She may well have been actively avoiding him.
And then that skinny-jean-wearing idiot had come in. Alex didn’t like that guy. In his estimation, if a man wanted a woman, he should do something about it.
This guy, skulking around town with his scarves and ferrety face, clearly wasn’t man enough to do that. Or he didn’t want Clara. In which case, she didn’t need to be wasting her time on him.
Obviously, Clara didn’t feel the same, since she seemed to be glowing when she walked into the barn, the smile on her face one of immense satisfaction.
“Did you get into those skinny jeans?” he asked, knowing he was being a little mean, but not feeling all that guilty when her cheeks turned pink.
“I got a date,” she said. “So thanks for suggesting I make that happen.”
“Anytime. But you know he should have been the one to do it.”
“Come on. You can’t have it both ways. Like you said, I’m not in high school. So why should I wait around?”
“Well, it’s a valid point.”
“Of course you think so. You made it.”
“I can’t help it if I’m brilliant.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I didn’t really come out here to thank or congratulate you. I just thought you might want to see the bees and get some honey so that you can take it home and give some to Lane. You were talking about seeing if she wanted to sell any in her store. I thought you might want to sample it.”
“Do you have a spare bee suit? Because I don’t want to end up looking like an extra in a horror movie.”
She laughed. “Yes. I do.”
She walked over to the storage closet there in the barn and threw open the doors. She rummaged around for a moment before surfacing with two generic-looking white shirts and masks.
“Even with one of these on I’m probably going to end up looking like the extra in a horror movie,” he commented, taking a mask and shirt from her hand.
She gave him some gloves next, and the two of them outfitted themselves over the top of their clothes.
“Nothing on the bottom?” he asked.
“No. Just make sure you tuck your pant legs into your boots.”
He bent down, grumbling while he complied. “I don’t want to get stung in the junk.”
Clara made a strange, choking sound. “Well, nobody does.”
“Okay. Lead the way.”
Clara did, taking them out of the barn and walking down a narrow path that led farther away from the house.
He could hear the buzzing before he saw the hives. There were five of them, little rectangular wooden structures spread out in a clearing, lilac bushes all around. And bees. Thousands and thousands of bees. Swirling lazily between the purple flowers and the wooden structures.
“Okay,” he said. “This is a horror movie.”
“Don’t say that about my bees,” she said, forging ahead. “They aren’t a horror.”
“I disagree. Pretty much any animal in mass quantity has the potential to be horrifying.”
She made a scoffing sound and moved toward one of the hives. “Hummingbirds? Which are on my mind as you recently compared me to one.”
“Thousands of hummingbirds descending upon you. The sound of their wings would be deafening. They would suck the nectar...from your body.”
She jerked her head sharply, and he assumed that she had rolled her eyes. He couldn’t see very well through the netting he was wearing over his face, and he certainly couldn’t see through to hers.
She bent down and picked up a metal canister with a spout that looked something like a mini watering can. Then she grabbed what looked like a handful of wooden shavings and stuffed them down into the bottom of that metal can. That done, she pulled a matchbook out of her pocket, lit the match and threw it inside. Smoke started to pour out of the spout, and she stuck a lid over the top of it and walked over to the hive.
“They don’t like the smoke,” she said simply, taking one of the slats off the top of the hive. It was covered with angry-looking insects, and Clara waved the smoker around in front of it, causing most of the bees to dissipate.
“You look like you’ve been doing this for a while.”
“About two years,” she said. “At first, I did find them worrisome. But you get used to them. They get used to you. They’re kind of cute.”
“Doesn’t like coffee. Thinks bees are cute. That’s a concerning list of attributes, Clara.”
“Whatever. Asher doesn’t think so. Clearly.” She grabbed a brush and dislodged a few stray bees that were clinging to the honeycomb that was built on the wooden frame she was holding. She set the honeycomb in a plastic bin beside the hive and put a lid
over the top of it. Then she retrieved another wooden slat and repeated the same action.
“He doesn’t know that you hate coffee.”
“I’ll tell him someday.”
“That sounds like a good depressing art-house movie,” Alex said. “One depicting the bleakness of suburbia. One day, twenty years into their marriage, the wife confesses that she’s always hated coffee. The husband doesn’t know who she is anymore. Starts sleeping with an eighteen-year-old.”
She shook her head. “I hardly think my not liking coffee will trigger a midlife crisis.”
“But somehow it’s a big enough deal that you’re keeping it a secret.”
She made a funny, indignant squeaking noise. “Because if he knows I don’t like coffee then I won’t have a reason to go see him other than the fact that I’m hung up on him, and that’s embarrassing and humiliating.”
“Now you’ve asked him out. If it goes well, it won’t matter if he knows you like him. You’ll want him to know you like him.”
She put the second slab of bee-free honeycomb into her bin and closed the lid again before picking it up. “This is enough for tonight,” she said.
“What do you do with it now?”
“Decap it and then put it in the strainer. I’ll show you.”
“Let me take that for you,” he said, reaching out and taking the bin from her hands.
She looked up at him, but her expression was inscrutable through the layers of netting. “Thank you.”
The two of them started to head back toward the barn. “I think I owe you an apology,” he said.
“For which thing?”
“For which...wow.” He snorted. “Am I that offensive?”
She shrugged. “You’re just you, I guess.”
“Ouch. I take it that was not meant in a complimentary fashion.”
“It wasn’t really meant in an insulting one either.”
“I don’t believe that. But, regardless, I owe you an apology about the bees.”
“A bee-specific apology. Well, that is a new one.”
“You really know what you’re doing here. It’s impressive.”
She pulled the headgear off and shook her blond hair out, and this time he could most definitely read the screw you in her blue eyes. “Well, thank you, Alex. I wasn’t exactly looking for your approval. I know that I’m doing a good job with this. I hadn’t quite gotten to the point where I was ready to turn it into a product I could sell, but I’m definitely getting there. And I knew that I could. The thing about the bees is that they’re relatively low maintenance. And that fits into my schedule. I planned all of this, Alex. Because I’m used to having to take care of myself.”
He felt like an ass now. But then, that was nothing new. “I’m sorry I accused you of doing it just because of that guy.”
“Asher. His name is Asher.”
“Okay.” But he wasn’t going to say his name.
“You can take the headgear off now.”
He realized then that he was still wearing the net. He pulled it off and then proceeded to remove the rest of the protective gear while Clara did the same.
He did his best not to watch as she pushed the bulky suit off, revealing the shape of her slim figure beneath. But it was hard not to.
She took the suit from him, and went back into the storage closet, rummaging around for a moment before returning with a big metal canister-looking thing and a large white bucket.
She propped the canister up on the wooden storage bin, then placed the bucket underneath the spigot.
“So now I just need to get my roller,” she said, grabbing it out of the white bucket, “and then we de-cap the honeycomb here. Just getting the wax off. You can cut it off if you want to save it, but I haven’t gotten to the point where I’m doing anything with it.”
“No beeswax candles?”
She smirked. “Someday. When I’m the perfect hipster farm wife.” She sounded casual, but her cheeks turned pink again.
She really did have a thing for that guy. The appeal escaped Alex. Not that he was into men anyway, but if he were, it would not be a guy like that. Hipster guys had no practical application as far as he was concerned. Though he supposed they did make coffee. Even if it was pretentious coffee.
Silently, Clara set to work on the honeycomb, pressing the spiked roller over the top of it from all directions until the heavy wax coating was diminished. Then she put the entire wooden frame in the canister and set to work on the other one.
She repeated the process with the second frame, then put a lid over the canister. “And now the extracting. Which is the fun part.”
She plugged it into an outlet in the wall and it started to churn, wobbling slightly as it worked.
“Is it spinning?” he asked.
“Yes. And it will strain all the honey out. Make sure there aren’t any chunks.”
He watched as a stream of golden honey started to run out of the spigot and into the white bucket. He looked over at Clara, whose face was positively brilliant with joy.
This was hers. Something she had cultivated for herself. A way she had come up with to make the ranch work for her, without help. She’d had no help for all this time. That was just starting to sink in.
She was alone. And he’d come in and pretty well made light of all that she’d built for herself.
“You’re amazing, Clara. Do you know that?”
Her head whipped around, one pale brow raised. She looked at him like he was a giant, talking spider. “I’m sorry, what? Did you get stung by a bee? Is your airway swelling? Has it cut off the oxygen to your brain?”
“No,” he said, laughing. “I just think that you deserve more credit than I gave you in the beginning. I kind of burst in, determined to fix this, and it turns out it wasn’t really broken.”
“Well,” she said softly, letting out a long, slow breath, “it’s not like I was functioning perfectly.”
“Are we ever supposed to function perfectly? Because if so, I’m failing there too.”
“How?” she asked, her eyes glued to the honey. “I really want to know. I want you to list your failings so that I can feel better about myself.”
“Well,” he said, leaning against the barn wall, kicking his feet out and crossing his arms over his chest, “first of all, I showed up at the Laughing Irish ranch to collect my inheritance after my grandfather died, which made my older brother Finn mad, because of course he’s spent his entire life working that ranch, and now suddenly we all own an equal share. But of course, I didn’t tell him. About this. About the fact that I was going to be responsible for your ranch. No. I just worked my way into carrying a quarter of the weight and then abandoned them so I could do a bison start-up here.”
“Overachieving at ranching endeavors is hardly failing, Alex. If you want to make me feel better about myself, you’re going to have to try harder than that. Could you possibly be a little more of an ineffectual loser?”
She looked comically hopeful, and then she stuck her finger into the bucket of honey and pulled it out slowly, thick, golden liquid running down the digit. Then she slipped her finger into her mouth, drawing it out on a long glide. And he could do nothing but watch. Inappropriately. As her lips wrapped around her finger, and her tongue slid along the length of the bare skin.
And he couldn’t help but imagine her doing the same to him. If he stuck his finger in the bucket of honey and offered it up to her, pressed it up against those lips. Inevitably, his mind went even further and started to imagine other things she could put into her mouth.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek. Hard. It was ridiculous. Fighting any kind of attraction for his friend’s younger sister. For Clara. Clara, who was ten years younger than he was. Clara, who was vulnerable, fragile, and definitely in need of
protection and support.
She did not need him to fantasize about touching her soft skin. She needed him to touch her even less.
Alex had never had a girlfriend in his life. He hooked up. He made sure everyone got what they wanted. Then he said goodbye.
He was only good for a night.
And Clara Campbell needed a hell of a lot more than a night.
If she wanted a more convincing picture of what a dick he was, he could tell her what he had just been thinking. That would convince her. It would also ruin everything. Just another trauma he was basically responsible for in her life. He would skip it.
“I think it’s done,” she said, eyeballing the extractor. “I’m just going to take it out to the hive and let them do the cleanup for us.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Without suiting up?” she asked.
“No.”
She laughed. “I’ll be right back.”
She picked up the extractor and walked out of the barn, leaving the partially full bucket of honey behind.
He watched her leave, and this time, he didn’t bother to prevent himself from checking out her behind. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he let his head fall back against the wall with a hard thunk. He deserved the pain that resulted.
He wasn’t ready to admit that he wanted her. Not her specifically. She was a woman. And she was beautiful. Plus, he was hard up. He’d been back in Copper Ridge for nearly four months and in that time hadn’t come across anyone he wanted to hook up with. It was a symptom of a much bigger issue. And he knew it. The truth of the matter was he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to be with since Jason had died. Since he’d watched Jason die. For him.
Since he’d watched as his best friend flung his body in front of his and the rain of bullets that would’ve certainly hit Alex were all absorbed by Jason.
White light flashed before his eyes and he closed them, gritting his teeth against the pain. It was like he could feel the impact of the gunfire all over again. Like he could hear it. Ringing in his ears.
“Alex?”
He straightened, opening his eyes and looking over at Clara. He felt the impact of her down to his gut. Like another explosion. Only this one was different. This one felt good.
