“My hired help hasn’t turned up yet. Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

Will’s smile took ten years off him.

“I’d love that, if I won’t be in the way.”

“Not at all. In fact, I think you may actually be a help.” Annie headed for a nearby cupboard. She couldn’t explain why she’d been so impulsive, but the man had roused her curiosity. Handing him a tub of honey and waving goodbye was the last thing she wanted to do.

“I’ll just get my suit and a cardboard box,” she said.

“That’s it? Just the canvas and a cardboard box?” His frown reappeared. “How can you catch a swarm of bees with that?”

Annie smiled. “You’ll see.”

Dear Reader,

There is a scene in The Beekeeper’s Daughter where the heroine, Annie Collins, explains how honeybees learn to identify their hive by memorizing the outside of it, so they can always find their way home.

That’s how firefighter Will Jennings felt when he drove into Ambrosia Apiary. As if he were coming home. Not only was he revisiting a boyhood fantasy about the family of beekeepers who lived and worked there, but he was finding a new life—something he both needed and wanted.

Annie’s return home to help out with the family beekeeping business, on the other hand, was supposed to be temporary—a respite from her old life in the city. Just when coming home is beginning to feel too permanent for Annie, a letter and a stranger arrive at her door on the same day, changing her life forever.

In the end, both Will and Annie learn—just like the honeybees—where home and heart can be found.

Janice Carter

The Beekeeper’s Daughter
Janice Carter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

WILL CLOSED the door gently behind him. His apartment was dark and stuffy with the closed-up smell of an attic in an old house. He set his duffel bag down and headed straight for the kitchen. If he was lucky, there might be a beer in the fridge.

There was, along with a quart of sour milk and an opened packet of salami that looked like something off a tannery floor. Will took out the beer, popped the tab and shut the fridge. No rush to clean it out. He had all the time in the world. The icy beer sent a jab of pain to the center of his forehead and Will clutched the back of a kitchen chair, overcome by vertigo. He closed his eyes, waiting for the room to settle down before sitting in the chair. Will breathed deeply, forcing air into his lungs. The pounding against his rib cage eased and he loosened his grip on the beer can. The moment had passed. When he finished the beer, he tossed the can into the recycling bin in the far corner and went into the living room.

Not much to get rid of in here. One armchair, one floor lamp, a small television perched awkwardly on a wooden folding table and a portable CD player with a stack of CDs on the floor next to it. He walked over to the window and raised the Venetian blinds, filling the small room with dust—and the first glimmer of daylight since the morning of the accident. Will sneezed.

He took a moment to stare down at the street, shrouded in the same pall of mist that had hung over Newark for the past few days. It was the end of April, though you’d never know it. Will checked his watch, thinking it must be later than the day looked, but it was only three o’clock. Too early for dinner—not that there was anything edible in the place—and probably too early for another drink, though he was tempted.

He withdrew from the window. He’d checked out of the hospital just that morning and had taken a taxi right to Headquarters downtown, where he’d made his resignation from the Newark Fire Department official. The rest of the day was his. And the next and the one after that. At least, until his savings disappeared, which wouldn’t be too long.

He paused in the middle of the room, considering his next move. Funny how unexpected free time was so wonderful when your days were full. Now time had suddenly become a kind of monster—something to be reckoned with, demanding to be filled.

Will’s mouth twisted. It was perverse really. People—doctors, the few friends he could still count on—had warned him about the importance of filling each day. Otherwise the temptation to sit idly inside his apartment would be overwhelming. He would find more and more excuses not to leave. And in spite of his resistance against taking advice, Will knew they were right.

Hence the decision he’d made in the middle of the night, days before he was discharged from the hospital. Forget taking a leave of absence. Forget the physiotherapy and the recommended counseling sessions. He’d known almost as soon as he’d regained consciousness hours after the paramedics whisked him to Emergency that his life would never be the same again.

Frank and Gino were dead and he was alive. Nothing he could ever do would change that cold hard fact. No matter what he did or how hard he tried to convince the rest of his squad that he was every bit the firefighter he’d once been, Will’s gut told him otherwise. Regardless of how many people told him he wasn’t responsible in any way for either death, Will knew there must have been something more he could have done.

He sucked in a deep breath. Not a good idea to relapse your first day out of the hospital, buddy. Stick to the plan. Keep moving. He grabbed the key to his Harley and headed for the door.

CHAPTER ONE

ANNIE TOSSED the bundle of mail onto the seat beside her and aimed the pickup away from the mailbox and down the long gravel driveway. She felt a small surge of pride at her skill in maneuvering the truck. Of course, she’d had a year’s practice to finally master the trick. The scratches on the side of the aluminum mailbox were testament to her efforts.

A maroon Buick was parked in the driveway. Shirley was already here. Annie bit down on her lip and parked close to the honey barn, well clear of the car. Shirley had a disconcerting habit of failing to check her rearview mirror when reversing. Annie grabbed the mail and made for the kitchen door. Through the sagging screen she could see her father sitting at the table across from Shirley, who was jotting on a notepad.

“Good timing, Annie,” he said, turning to her as she came in. “Shirley’s just writing down her cousin’s address and phone number for you.” In spite of the heat, her father was wearing his old navy pinstripe suit and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. Annie couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him in the suit, but guessed it might have been at her college graduation ten years ago. He looked every bit as uncomfortable in it now as he had then.

“You’re early,” Annie said to Shirley. “I hope you wouldn’t have left before I got back.” She hated the reproach in her voice but couldn’t help herself. Her anxiety over the past few weeks was now—on the day her father was leaving for his hip replacement surgery—at its peak. Shirley, her father’s “lady friend,” was driving him to Charlotte where the two would stay with her cousin while he recuperated.

“Of course we wouldn’t have,” Jack Collins said. He shot her an exasperated look edged with apprehension.

Annie set the mail on the table and went to the sink, turning her back on them while she ran the cold water. She wet her hands, rubbed them across her face and then filled a glass. “It’s warming up out there,” she said before taking a long drink of water. She placed the glass on the counter and added, “I hope it isn’t going to be too hot in Charlotte.”

“The hospital’s air-conditioned, I’m sure,” Jack said with an indifferent shrug.

Annie stared down at her father. He looked frail suddenly, and much older than his sixty-four years. Nothing like the robust man who’d swung her over his head till she’d begged to be put down when she was a child. She could still recall her shock at the change in his condition when she’d first arrived back home to help him with the business a year ago.

The past few days Annie had been so absorbed in her own worries about checking all the beeyards after the spring setup that she hadn’t considered how her father might be feeling about leaving the farm. It was probably the first time in years—if not in his adult life—that he was handing over the operation of the apiary to someone else, and she suspected he was having difficulty accepting that. On top of that, he had to face surgery and physiotherapy a long way from home.

Her eyes shifted from the top of his wispy, gray-haired head to Shirley’s even hazel gaze. They were both worried about Jack, Annie realized, and she gave Shirley a quick smile. “At least you’ll have Shirley to watch out for you, Dad. That should make the change from country to city more palatable.”

He grunted. “The sooner I get back here, the better.”

Shirley’s eyes flicked a message to Annie.

“Best not to rush it though,” Annie said lightly. “The doctor advised you to be in good shape before coming back home.”

Another grunt. “Humph. What do doctors know?”

“Well, hopefully more about hip replacements than we do.”

He tilted his head toward her. “Maybe I’ll take that up when I retire.”

She grinned. “What, you retire?” Annie hugged him. “Don’t worry about the business. I told you I’ve got Danny McLean helping after school and on weekends. He’ll be able to come full time once school’s finished for the summer.”

“I hope he’s got his driver’s license, otherwise he won’t be much help.”

Annie stifled her irritation. They’d been through this already. “He does and his father promised him the use of their truck if necessary.”

Shirley cleared her throat. “I think we’d better get going, Jack.” She stood, collecting her purse and keys from the table.

“I’ll get your suitcase,” Annie said, moving toward the hallway.

“Shirl put it in the car already,” he said. “We were just waiting for you to get back so’s we could say goodbye.”

Now Annie felt guilty about the ice cream she’d stopped for on her way out of town. She reached for her father’s cane propped against the refrigerator and handed it to him as he slowly and painfully rose from his chair. She hated to see him moving like an old man. If he hadn’t been so stubborn a year ago, he might have been able to have the surgery in the winter, when beekeeping came to a dead halt.

On the way out to the car, Shirley told Annie she’d call her in the morning but Annie was focusing on her father as he leaned against her. She knew the surgery was nothing to worry about and knew, too, that he was otherwise in good health. She simply wasn’t accustomed to any vulnerability in a man who’d labored tirelessly and effortlessly all his adult life.

Shirley opened the passenger door and waited for Annie to help him into the car. Annie wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she dared.

“I’ll keep an eye on Paradise for you,” she whispered. Paradise was his nickname for their home.

“You do that,” he said, patting her cheek. “Remember, those pesky bees may wander miles every day but they always come home. And I will, too.”

After an awkward struggle getting his six-foot length into the car, Annie closed the door and bent to the open window for a last kiss.

“You may want to think about hiring another student,” her father said. “Danny hasn’t done the work before and may be a bit slow. Can’t hurt to have a third pair of hands.”

If only it were that simple. Getting Danny to work for her had been difficult enough. Her father didn’t realize that most of the local high school kids wanted easier, better-paying jobs in town.

“And one more thing,” he added, lowering his voice. “If you get a call from the people at that damn food conglomerate, tell them to go to hell.”

“Jack,” Shirley interjected.

If he weren’t going off to a hospital for surgery, Annie might have been tempted to take the bait. They had an ongoing argument about selling the business.

“I think you’ve already done that, haven’t you?” Annie reminded him instead. “We’ll talk about it when you’re back home. It won’t be that long, you know. Just a few weeks.”

He started to say something but Shirley quickly opened the driver’s side door and climbed inside. As the engine turned over, Jack leaned out the window, determined to get the last word. “All’s I’m saying is, get hold of Arnie Harris if they start pestering us again.”

Arnie was not only their lawyer but her father’s longtime friend. Wonderfully impartial, Annie thought, pretending not to hear him over the idling car. She slapped her palm firmly on the roof and jumped aside as Shirley shifted into reverse.

“Take care,” she called out as the car headed down the driveway. Annie watched until it turned onto the highway, then went inside, sat in the chair her father had just vacated and tried not to cry.

When the moment passed, she reached for the mail. There was the usual collection of catalogues from suppliers and a handful of bills, which Annie pushed aside for later. They’d only be a reminder that time was running out for the apiary. She and her father would have to come to some agreement about selling sooner rather than later. The last item was a letter addressed to her from her father’s sister in Charlotte. Annie recognized the delicate spidery handwriting of Auntie Isobel, who’d called a few days earlier to wish Jack good luck.

Annie was about to open it when she saw the end of a long white business envelope sticking out of a catalogue. Pulling it free, she saw that it had been sent to her, care of her aunt, who had re-addressed it to the farm.

St. Anne’s Adoption Agency

256 Elmgrove

Charlotte, North Carolina

The envelope shook in Annie’s fingers and she dropped it onto the table. Stumbling out of the chair, she got another glass of water and, as she drank, stared at the envelope. Maybe it was merely a request for financial support. A fund-raiser. Annie pushed that faint hope aside. Not likely. She’d had no contact with the agency for thirteen years and had almost obliterated it from her memory. Almost.

She took a huge gulp of water, moved back to the chair and sat. Finally, she picked up the envelope and tore it open before she could change her mind.

Dear Ms. Collins,

We have recently been contacted by the adoptive mother of the baby girl placed by you for adoption with our agency in August 1992. She wishes us to assist her daughter in locating her birth mother. Pursuant to the agreement in the contract signed by all parties in 1992, we are simply passing this information on to you. There is absolutely no obligation on your part to agree to this request, but should you wish to do so, please contact me at the agency. If we receive no response from you we will—as per our agreement—consider the matter closed and advise the parents accordingly.

Respectfully yours,

Sister Mary Beatty

Annie slowly set the letter down. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the note from her aunt, which related that a letter from the adoption agency had arrived and that she was forwarding it. In typical fashion, Aunt Isobel had asked no questions nor offered any speculation about what the letter might contain. It had ended with the unnecessary reminder that should Annie need her for anything, she was always available. Annie blinked back tears. Aunt Isobel had never let her down.

In all the years since the birth and adoption, her aunt had never referred to that summer of ’92. Perhaps she’d sensed that Annie didn’t want to talk about it—which was true—or that the subject would be too painful for her. Also true. Yet it had been her aunt’s quiet, nonjudgmental support that had spurred Annie to finish college and become a teacher. And now she had to make the tough decisions on her own.

Annie glanced at the kitchen wall clock. It was almost four and Danny would be arriving soon. Working hard for a few hours was just what she needed to take her mind off the letter. She took it upstairs, along with her aunt’s note, and tucked them in her dresser drawer. This decision, she knew, wouldn’t be as easy.

On her way downstairs the telephone rang and she froze midstep, caught by the crazy thought that it was a follow-up from the agency. Paranoia. It was more likely Danny, telling her he was going to be late. She dashed to the kitchen phone.

WILL GRIT HIS TEETH as he listened to the digressions that popped up like detour signs in the shopkeeper’s account of how to get to Ambrosia Apiaries. He hoped the road there wasn’t going to be as winding as these directions because the van was already showing signs of fatigue.

“But if it’s their honey you want,” the store owner said, “I can sell you a jar myself. Save you the trouble of going all the way there.”

Will shook his head. “No thanks, I just want to have a look at the place.” The man’s raised eyebrow made him add, “I’m a friend of the family.”

“Oh yeah? Jack or Annie?”

“Uh…Annie.”

The man’s frown deepened. Will was painfully aware of the stillness in the fine food shop. No doubt the man was wondering why, as a friend of the family, Will didn’t know how to get to the apiary. Why hadn’t he simply told him the truth? That he’d read about Ambrosia Apiaries in a magazine article years ago and had come looking for the place.

There were only a handful of customers inside the store, and they’d stopped talking when he’d come in. Now a couple of them exchanged whispered comments, and he felt their surreptitious glances at his scar. He ought to be used to stares by now. The problem was, every stare was another reminder.

“Thanks for the information,” Will said and, every eye on him, hustled out.

He strode toward the van, parked half a block away. Of course he could have simply purchased the honey, as the man had suggested. But honey wasn’t his reason for coming to Garden Valley.

The sight of a brand-new Honda motorcycle parked behind his van made him smile, nostalgic. It was an auspicious reminder of his decision to walk out of his old life and begin a new one. He paused to admire the bike, much flashier than his old Harley Davidson.

The Harley had been the last of his personal possessions to go. Will had kept putting off selling it, the symbol of a wilder, more carefree life. Before the accident.

His gaze shifted to the somewhat beat-up camper van, a far different symbol for the new direction his life was taking. The flare of nostalgia suddenly died. No regrets. Will climbed into the van, carefully eased out of the parking spot and, with one last glimpse in his rearview mirror, headed down the main drag of Essex, North Carolina.

It was a pretty town with a larger commercial center than he’d expected for a population of eight thousand. Though he didn’t know if that figure—emblazoned on the town’s welcome sign—included the outlying rural area. What he did know was that as soon as the van had begun its descent from the foothills an hour ago, he’d been so awestruck at the size and beauty of the valley that he’d had to pull off the road.

Garden Valley was a fitting name for the lush countryside that rolled away beneath him. The rooftops of Essex, clustered at the base of the hill, glittered beneath the midafternoon sun. Surrounded by verdant pastures and tracts of woodland, the town sparkled like underwater treasure. It could be a scene out of a fairy tale. It was definitely a scene out of the magazine article folded up on the seat beside him.

He headed southwest, as the store owner had instructed, taking his time. Now that he’d finally reached his destination, he had no idea what his next step was. Pull out the article and confess he’d saved it since he was twelve years old? Yeah right. Now that he was here, what did he expect would happen?

That was the issue, he mused as he searched the signs at each crossroad after leaving Essex behind. His ex-wife had once accused him of running away from his problems and he’d bristled at the suggestion. Yet here he was, proving her right. Suddenly he caught the sign for Dashwood Side Road, slammed his foot on the brake and turned onto the hard-packed gravel.

Five miles in, the man had said, and then make a left at somebody’s orchards. Will had forgotten the name of the farm itself, but the barn behind the house was supposed to be bright red. Weren’t all barns red? He was going less than twenty miles an hour and had plenty of time to make his turn when he spotted a red barn and silo immediately ahead on his left. What he failed to notice was the other vehicle coming at him like a tornado.

Pebbles and dirt pelted the van as Will cranked the steering wheel right. By the time he’d straightened out the van, the other vehicle—a mud-brown pickup—had disappeared. Damn. Country drivers were no better than city ones. Will kept going, occasionally checking the rearview mirror in case the maniac in the pickup came back.

Another three or four miles after the turn, according to the store owner, and he’d see the sign at the end of a long driveway. Will passed fields of some kind of bushy, flowery crop on both sides of the road, crossed over a narrow stone bridge spanning a strip of bubbling water, rounded a curve and spotted a yellow and black sign up ahead on his left. As he drew nearer, he pulled over and turned off the engine.

The sign, with its curlicue scrawl Ambrosia Apiaries, J. Collins and Family, had seen better days. It had been fashioned out of sheet metal into the shape of a picture-book-style beehive. But the apex of the hive had twisted into a rusting knot. Will guessed that the scattering of black spots was supposed to be honeybees. Or maybe the yellow paint had just worn off.

He sat for a moment. What should he say? Just passing through from New Jersey and happened to notice the sign. He cursed again.

He’d never really expected to find the place. The article had been written years ago and who would have thought that the apiary, with its tired old sign, would still be here? A twelve-year-old kid’s boyhood fantasy. Buying honey was the plan. Besides, he couldn’t leave without at least seeing the place. Maybe he’d even catch a glimpse of the girl in the picture—Annie. The girl he’d once befriended in his imagination. Someone with a family that could be traced back a few generations.

He was about to drive up the lane when he noticed a vehicle approaching from behind. Will watched as it grew larger in the rearview mirror. Seeing the square front end of a mud-brown pickup, he frowned. The same crazy driver who had almost sideswiped him? The truck slowed as it passed. Maybe he’d have a chance to give the guy a piece of his mind. Then it turned sharply into the driveway to the apiary and lurched to a stop.

Will waited, his eyes riveted on the pickup. Someone was getting out, striding purposefully toward him. Male or female? The sun was in his eyes and Will couldn’t decide if the person was being confrontational or not. Trouble was the last thing he was looking for, but on the other hand…

Will realized with some relief that the driver was indeed female. Very female, he thought. Jeans and a loose shirt failed to conceal the evidence. The unbuttoned shirt flapped open in the breeze to reveal a form-fitting tank top. She marched right up to his open window.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Her voice was confident and challenging. She was blocking the sun and as Will peered up, he realized that it was her. Annie of the magazine article. Same honey-colored hair, no longer braided but skimming her shoulders, and same heart-shaped face. And definitely no longer an eleven-year-old girl.

He cleared his throat. “I, uh, was driving by and noticed the sign. Thought I’d buy some honey. Are you the owner?”

Her golden brown eyes narrowed. She pursed her full, naturally rosy lips and didn’t speak for a long moment. “Buy some honey,” she repeated slowly.

Her tone made the excuse seem wildly implausible.

She scanned the side of the van. “You’re not from Sunrise Foods, are you? A private investigator?”

“I’m just here for honey. And I’d love to see your apiary.” He climbed out of the van and leaned against the door.

“See the apiary,” she echoed, giving him the once-over.

Will sighed. He took off his baseball cap, realizing at once from the way her eyes widened that the inch of hair covering his scalp wasn’t a reassuring sight. “It’s actually a long story. Some years ago I read a magazine article about a family of beekeepers.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

“I know this may sound crazy,” he continued, “but ever since I read it I’ve wanted to see the place. And, uh, well, so I came.” When she still didn’t speak, Will reached through the window for the article on the passenger seat. As he straightened, he saw that she was looking at the scar on the right side of his face. Her eyes moved quickly back to his.

“Were you in some kind of accident?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Another long story.”

“Does it still hurt?”

It was a refreshing question, not the standard two or three he usually got. “Sometimes.” He stretched out his hand and she took the magazine article. She skimmed it for a few seconds, smiling.

The effect was transforming and when she raised her face again, her smile washed over him like warm water. He felt lighter somehow and the knot between his shoulder blades was gone.

“I remember when this was written,” she said.

“Is that you in the picture?”

“Yes, and my dog, Skipper. Long gone now.”

“And your parents?”

She peered down at the article again. “Yes, those are my parents. My mother and grandfather, next to Dad there, are dead, too. My great-grandfather was the J in the sign back there. John Collins. Dad was named after him.” She held out the article.

Will stepped closer, relieved she didn’t inch away. Up close, he noticed a smatter of pale freckles across the narrow bridge of her nose and a tiny dark mole at the corner of her mouth. A beauty spot, it would have been called once. In her case, appropriate. She had the healthy, wholesome looks of the all-American girl but there was something else in her face, too, he decided. A hint of sadness perhaps.

“I guess you should come up to the house then, and get your honey.”

“I’d like that,” he said. “By the way, I’m Will Jennings.” He held out his right hand.

She clasped it, surprising him with her quick, strong grip. “Annie Collins—but you already knew that.” Her eyes held his a moment longer and then she said, “Follow me in your van. It’s about a quarter of a mile up the driveway.”

Will waited until she’d climbed into the truck and fired up the engine before his fingers fumbled at the keys in the ignition. As he followed the truck up the driveway, he caught glimpses of fields through the row of trees lining the gravel road. The fields seemed to stretch out forever. When the white-framed farmhouse with its wraparound veranda and gingerbread trim came into view, Will felt as though he had come home.

CHAPTER TWO

ANNIE CHECKED her rearview mirror. She couldn’t believe she’d just invited this guy up to the farmhouse for a tour of the apiary. What had she been thinking? She was supposed to be back at the Vanderhoff place to retrieve the swarm in their apple orchard. That’s where she’d been heading when she’d almost forced him off the road. At least, she was pretty certain now that it had been his van she’d spotted at the last second as she’d made the turn.

He wasn’t the first person to wander into the apiary in search of honey or even out of curiosity. The year after the magazine article came out, the place had been deluged with tourists. But it had been a long time since anybody had arrived, magazine in hand.

Twenty years later and he still had the article? If she were in the city, alarm bells would have been clamoring in her head. Stalkers. But this was Garden Valley, for heaven’s sake. Besides, the look in his eyes and her own instincts convinced her his story—though weird—was legit.

Her father would have given the man a tour. There was nothing he liked better than talking to unexpected visitors about the habits of the honeybee and the curative powers of honey.

She took her foot off the accelerator and let the truck coast the last few yards around the side of the house to the kitchen door. No sign of Danny yet. When she’d seen the size of the swarm at the Vanderhoffs’, she knew she’d need help to get it down and had come back for Danny.

Annie was unlocking the door to the barn when Will Jennings climbed out of his van. He paused to look around the yard and his smile wiped out any doubts she’d had about bringing him up to the house.

“This is…” He stopped, as if he couldn’t find the right words. “You were very lucky to grow up in a place like this.”

“Hmm.” More or less. She was about to ask where he’d grown up but something in his ensuing silence warned her off.

“Come on inside,” she said, pulling the door open. “This is the honey barn. Years ago when my great-grandparents were alive, this was still a working farm and they kept animals in the barn, as well as storing grain and hay. They only had one or two hives back then. It was my grandfather who made the transition from farming to beekeeping.” She flicked on the lights and watched his reaction.

Will didn’t say anything at first, just made a slow turn, taking it all in—the huge gleaming stainless steel extractors, the settling tank, shelving units filled with various beekeeping essentials, frames for supers neatly stacked in corners and two long, sturdy wood tables. Counters ran along two walls beneath windows obviously not original to the barn. Will stretched to peer out one of the windows. “There was a picture of rows of hives in a meadow in the article,” he said.

“When the article was written, my father and grandfather were still planting crops in the back acreage. We have a few hives in a buckwheat field my father plants every year but most of them are on neighboring farms.”

“Why? Don’t you have to rent the land from them?”

“No. They’re happy to have our bees because they pollinate their orchards and crops. Plus, we give them honey.”

“How many hives are there?”

“We used to have about three hundred, but after Pete retired a couple of years ago we’ve been gradually reducing the number. I think we’ve got about two hundred and thirty now.”

He whistled. “What’s this?” he asked, leaning over the extractor.

“A honey extractor. It’s electric, but they used to be hand-crank. The frames from the supers—those white boxes over there—are slipped into these slots—” she pointed “—the extractor spins and the honey falls into the well and comes out the spigot. It all works by centrifugal force.” She bumped against him as she turned away from the extractor. “Sorry.”

Annie lost her train of thought. She felt her face heating up and she turned aside, gesturing to one of the shelves. “After extraction, we transfer the honey into a settling tank where all the debris rises to the top. Then we pour it into buckets. It’s a pretty simple process.”

Annie stopped, her voice echoing in the spacious barn. She was babbling, she suspected. But then wasn’t that understandable when the guy’s only response was to fix his blue-gray eyes on hers?

“Look,” she said, unsettled by his level stare, “I’ve got to remove a swarm of bees down the road. I’ll get you some honey and then—”

She broke off when she saw him frown, obviously disappointed. “Oh, sorry,” he said quickly. “Well, uh, thanks for showing me around. As I said, I’ve been curious about this place ever since…since I read the article.”

Again, Annie relented. “My hired help hasn’t turned up yet. Maybe you’d like to come with me? It won’t take long and I could show you the rest of the place after.”

His smile took ten years off him.

“I’d love that, if I won’t be in the way.”

“Not at all. In fact, I think you may actually be a help.” Annie headed for a nearby cupboard. She couldn’t explain why she’d been so impulsive, but he’d roused her curiosity. Handing him a tub of honey and waving goodbye was the last thing she wanted to do.

“I’ll just get my suit and a cardboard box, check for phone messages to see if Danny’s called and then we’ll be off.”

“Danny?”

“He’s a high school student who’s going to work for us this summer. Why don’t you wait by the truck while I pop into the kitchen?” When she came out less than five minutes later, he was standing by the truck, looking around him as if he’d just landed in some exotic locale. “All set?” she asked.

“That’s it? Just the canvas and a cardboard box?” His frown reappeared. “How can you catch a swarm of bees with that?”

Annie smiled. “You’ll see.”

WILL CONSIDERED Annie’s deft handling of the pickup as she maneuvered it around the potholes in the gravel road and realized that, in spite of his first impression of her driving skills, she knew what she was doing. “Was the swarm the reason you almost collided with me at the corner up there?”

“So that was you I almost mowed down.” She grinned. “Not really. I mean, I should get the swarm as soon as possible before it moves somewhere else, but I was expecting Danny any minute and I was rushing to assess the situation and get back before he arrived. I didn’t notice your van till the last second. Sorry about that. Dad’s always on my back about my driving but I’m not really as reckless as I look.”

Will thought about how she hadn’t noticed a van on an otherwise empty country road, but decided not to belabor the point. He stared out the window, spotting the red barn and the farm at the junction ahead. “So, three of you manage all those hives?”

“Actually it’ll just be the two of us for a few weeks. Dad’s gone to Charlotte for a hip replacement. Afterward he’s supposed to be taking it easy, though I’ll probably have to tie him to a chair to stay put.”

Turning, he caught her wide grin. With the splash of freckles across her nose, she looked like a teenager.

“Have you always lived and worked here?”

“I grew up in Garden Valley—as you know. But I left to go to University of North Carolina in Charlotte and after graduation I taught high school in New York. Queens.”

“A long way from home,” Will said.

“Yes,” she said, “a long way.”

He tried to picture her in front of a class of street-smart adolescents. “That must have been tough—teaching high school in New York.”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. “At first, but by my fifth year I was a pro.”

“How long did you teach altogether?”

She glanced his way. “Almost six years before I came back to the Valley.”

“Because your dad needed you,” he repeated.

“Yessss,” she said, drawing out her reply. “And…I was ready for a change.”

She shifted her attention back to the road. So there was another reason as well.

As she neared the junction, Annie slowed down to turn into the driveway of the farm with the red barn.

“This place looks familiar,” Will commented.

“I bet you didn’t get more than a glimpse of it through the dust cloud I spun.” She looked across at him and grinned.

Definitely not feeling defensive, he thought.

“The Vanderhoffs live here,” she went on. “They keep a lot of our hives in their orchards. The swarm’s in one of the apple trees out back, past the barn. It’s about a five-minute walk.” She reached behind the seat and pulled out the canvas. “I’ll get the box and my suit from the back, but could you bring the two supers? I always carry a couple in the truck in case of a swarm or if I need to set up a new colony. I’ll let Marge know I’m here. Oh, and there’s a hand saw. I’ll need it, too.”

Will watched her walk up to the back door of the farmhouse. He had an odd sense of familiarity, as if he’d helped her with a job like this many times. Perhaps it was the casual way she accepted his presence—her assumption that he’d be right behind her, doing his part.

His eyes narrowed when the screen door opened and what could have passed for a small bear bounded out and lunged at Annie. Will pressed down on the door handle, about to rush to her rescue, when he realized it was a dog. Annie dropped the box to hug it as a woman appeared in the doorway. Annie turned and gestured for Will to join her.

He hesitated. He wasn’t much for social conventions since the accident. Getting out of the truck, he went around to the back for the supers. The dog raced toward him, barking, and Will froze.

“Bear!” shouted the woman.

I called that one right, Will thought, as the dog bounced back to its owner. He hefted the supers out of the truck and walked toward them.

“Marge, this is…uh….”

“Will Jennings,” he quickly filled in. She’d already forgotten his name.

The woman smiled politely, waiting for some addition to the introduction. But when none came, she said to Annie, “I’m sorry Ted isn’t here to help out.”

“Will and I can manage. I just wanted you to know why the truck was here. And thanks for letting me cut the branch.”

Will followed her across the yard, past the barn and into an orchard so large he couldn’t see the end of it. “Quite a place,” he said as he caught up to her.

“They keep a good third of our hives here. Listen,” she said, stopping him, “I hope you don’t think I forgot your name back there. I was just trying to think of what to say about you. I mean…” A red stain crept up her neck. “You know how people always tack on something about the person they’re introducing? Like, this is—”

“I know what you mean,” he said, cutting her off. “You could have said I stopped in to buy honey.”

The stain deepened. “I have a tendency to babble awkwardly,” she finally said with an embarrassed laugh that made Will regret his bluntness.

They continued walking. There was a cool breeze in the dappled rows of trees laden with pink-and-white blossoms and Will greedily sucked in the fresh perfumed air. He could have been on another planet, the place was so far removed from Newark. A muted hum drifted toward them on the breeze and grew increasingly louder the farther into the orchard they walked.

Annie dropped the box and saw onto the ground and stared up into a tree a few feet away. Will swallowed hard. Thousands of honey bees clung together in a massive, pulsing pendulum hanging from a branch. His first impulse was to vacate the area immediately.

Without taking his eyes off the swarm, he whispered, “How’re you going to get them down from there?”

“It’s tricky,” she said, “but not complicated. The swarm came from one of those hives.” She pointed to half a dozen towers of white supers about a hundred yards away. They were stacked in groups of four to seven, with bees flying in and around them. “Once the bees have left a hive with the queen, they won’t return. The hive has likely been taken over by a new queen. I have to get the swarm to go into a new hive, which I’m setting up with the two supers you’re holding. Come on.”

Will gave the tree a wide berth.

“The swarm won’t bother you,” she said, smiling. “The bees are in what my dad calls a state of bliss. Before they leave with the queen, they fill themselves with honey. They’re really docile right now.”

“But won’t they want to protect the queen?”

“They are. She’s in the middle of the cluster. Here, I’ll take the supers.” She set them one on top of the other onto a wooden stand about five feet away. Then she picked up the canvas tarpaulin and unrolled it, spreading it on the ground directly in front of the supers.

Will was fascinated by her unhurried manner. Obviously, she’d done this many times before. He watched as she climbed into a white jumpsuit made of some kind of canvas material. The bee suit. Zipping it up, she reached down for the helmetlike hat with its mesh curtain and a pair of gloves.

“Okay,” she said, “now for the fun part. This is where you get to help.”

Uh-oh. He didn’t want to risk a reply, in case his voice gave him away. Swallowing, he traipsed behind her as she headed back to the tree with the swarm where an aluminum ladder was propped against the trunk. Annie picked up the hand saw.

“I’m going up the ladder to cut off the branch holding the swarm. It’s not very thick, so it won’t take more than a few seconds. You’re going to stand right below the swarm with the box. When the branch is cut through I’m going to lower it very carefully into the box.”

“That I’m holding,” he said.

“It’s going to be heavy,” she warned.

“Uh-huh. So how come I don’t have one of those outfits, too?”

The obvious concern in his voice drew a smile from her. “Don’t worry. You’re the box man. I have to hold the branch with one hand and saw with the other. Besides, as I said, the bees are in a—”

“State of bliss. Right. And what if they quickly shift into some other state? Like a state of attack?”

Her smile widened. Will had the uncomfortable feeling she was enjoying this. “They won’t, trust me. I started helping my dad collect swarms when I was about ten years old.”

“Won’t they just, uh, freak out and take off?”

Annie shook her head. “They want to stay with the queen.” She positioned the ladder closer to the branch with the swarm and began to climb, saw in hand.

Will felt his heart speed up. He was certain the swarm would either attack her or head immediately for him, and wondered how much protection the cardboard box would offer. Instantly, he had an image of his hapless cartoon self being chased by bees into a river. Annie began to saw at the branch.

“Okay,” Annie said quietly. “I’m almost through. All set? By the way—”

Here it comes, Will thought. The disclaimer that puts a lie to every assurance she’s just given me.

“Sure you’re okay?” She was frowning down at him. “You look a bit pale.”

I’m a firefighter for God’s sake, he wanted to say. I’ve tackled far more dangerous jobs than this. But nothing came out.

“I was about to say that after I lower the branch inside the box, all you have to do is carry it over to the tarpaulin and set it on the ground. Gently. As I said, it’s going to be heavy so don’t let the sudden weight catch you off guard. Okay?”

He nodded and managed to inch closer to the branch. He raised the box until it was poised a mere four or five inches away from the tip of the pendulum of bees. His sweaty hands gripped the cardboard.

Annie made one last cut with the saw, which she then dropped to the ground. Will knew at once what she’d meant by weight. He could hear her breathing heavily as she struggled to slowly lower the branch into the box.

Will’s grasp gave slightly at the heft of the swarm. He heard Annie clamber down the ladder but his eyes were fixed on the top of the box as he headed for the canvas.

“You’re doing great,” she called out behind him.

He’d have made some glib remark about hollow praise but was trying not to trip. Annie was standing at the edge of the tarpaulin by the time he reached it, smiling encouragement as he set it down.

“Okay. I’ll take it from here.”

Will watched her carefully tip the contents of the box onto the canvas. Then she moved back to where he was standing and took off her hat and gloves. “Thanks.”

He smiled, unable to take his eyes off the bees. The swarm began to break up, moving across the canvas tarpaulin toward the opening in the bottom super.

“So they’re just going to go inside now?”

“Yep. It won’t take too long. Maybe half an hour. I might have to brush some of them off the branch to hurry them along.”

“And they’ll start up another hive in there?”

“That’s right. Look, there’s the queen. She’s the large oval-shaped one with the three stripes on her back.”

Will leaned over the tarpaulin and, after a few seconds, spotted the much larger queen. “She looks like royalty,” he said, “the way she’s marching across the canvas.”

“Yeah. Dad says it’s the equivalent of the royal wave.” She placed a hand on his forearm. “It’s natural to be wary of a swarm. I guess many of us remember getting stung as kids. And of course, some people are allergic.” Her face clouded over. “God, I never thought to ask if you were allergic.”

“It’s okay. I was stung once and nothing much happened so I guess I’m not.” She’d removed the bee suit and the front of her tank top clung to her in a large, damp V. Will glanced at her hand on his arm, instantly regretting it when she pulled it away. He’d liked the feel of her warmth against his bare skin.

His eyes drifted to her face, still flushed with the exertion of bringing down the branch. A drop of perspiration clung to one eyebrow and a strand of hair was plastered to her forehead.

Abruptly he turned his attention back to the swarm. “You were right. They’re almost all inside.”

“Safe and sound.” After a moment, she added, “How about a cold beer when we get back to my place?”

Will felt his tension begin to unwind. “I’d like that. Thanks.” Well worth snaring a swarm of bees.

CHAPTER THREE

ANNIE RAN THE TIP of her finger along the edge of her empty glass, peering down at it as if she found it far more interesting than the man sitting across the table from her. But she wasn’t fooling herself and likely wasn’t fooling him, either.

The strange fact was that even though she’d known Will for less time than it usually took her to grocery shop in Essex, she felt as though it had been years.

“You said your father’s surgery was tomorrow morning?” he suddenly asked.

“Hmm?” She raised her head. “Yes.”

“When do you expect him back?”

“Maybe not for a couple of weeks. His friend, Shirley, is hoping she can persuade him to take a bit of a holiday afterward. But knowing Dad, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking of looking for work myself. Maybe…in town.”

Annie stared at him. Was he asking her for a job on the farm?

She was debating whether to be frank and tell him straight out that they could barely afford to hire another part-time student when he added, “Just that I thought I might stick around the valley for a bit before…well, heading out on the road again. If you know anyone looking for someone to do odd jobs, I’d appreciate it.”

“What kind of work?”

He shrugged. “Anything really. Yard work. Basic carpentry. Whatever.”

“What did you do in New Jersey?” As soon as the question popped out, Annie felt the temperature in the kitchen drop.

There was a quick interplay of emotions in his face, as if he were having an argument with himself. He stared at his empty beer bottle. “I was a firefighter.”

“Oh.” She hesitated for a second before blurting, “Is that where—”

“Yeah. An accident.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything much to say. “The long story.”

A trace of a smile crossed his face. “The long story,” he repeated. After a moment during which Annie wished she’d never asked the question, he added, “Part of a burning roof collapsed on me.”

A simple statement, but enough to etch a vivid picture in her mind. “So are you on sick leave now…or holidays?”

“Actually, I quit. And that’s—”

“Another long story,” she finished.

“You got it.” There was a slight pause. “Maybe I should confess now how badly I wanted to run from that swarm.”

Annie bet he wasn’t the type to admit to a real weakness quite so nonchalantly, but she played along. “Could have fooled me.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re mocking me?”

He sounded stern but she caught the look in his eyes and smiled. Then she realized that she was practically flirting with a stranger in her kitchen. She looked down at her empty glass again.

“I guess I should be heading out,” he said after another long silence. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Thanks again for the honey, but you should let me pay for it,” he said, reaching for the small plastic bucket on the table.

“No way. As I said, I really appreciated your help.”

She followed him to the kitchen door and out into the yard. The sun had disappeared behind the honey barn roof and the yard, now in shade, was cooler. A faint breeze carried with it the delicate fragrance of the tulip poplar in full bloom at the corner of the house.

Will paused by the driver-side of the van and raised his face into the breeze. “Smells like spring.”

“Spring’s been here for a few weeks now. We’re a long way from New Jersey.”

“Yeah.” His expression was unreadable. “A long way,” he repeated softly, before abruptly opening the van door.

Annie peered over his shoulder into the van. “Looks like you’ve made yourself a cozy living space.”

“It works for me.” He set the honey inside. “That bench folds down into a bed and there’s a small fridge and propane burner for cooking. I stay at campsites wherever possible for the shower and laundry facilities.”

“There’s one not far from here,” Annie said impulsively. “Off the main highway back toward Essex. Rest Haven Camp, about ten miles outside the town limits.”

“Thanks for the tip. Maybe I’ll head there now and check out the job situation in the morning. And…thanks again for your hospitality, Annie.” He extended his right hand. “You took a chance asking a stranger with a story like mine into your home. I appreciate the opportunity to finally see Ambrosia Apiaries.”

Annie placed her hand in his. Touched by the gratitude in his eyes, she was tempted to invite him to stay for supper, but common sense prevailed. Still, she had to admit to a definite spark when his hand folded around hers. Even the way he said her name made it seem exotic, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone far more daring. She stepped back from the van.

“It was my pleasure, Will. All the best with…your road trip.”

He nodded and turned the ignition key. The engine’s rumble made any further talk pointless. Annie waved as he reversed, made a neat three-point turn and lurched forward. Will’s left hand tipped a quick goodbye. Annie watched until the van drove out of sight. When the last dust settled, she headed for the kitchen door, wondering why she felt so inexplicably deflated.

She cleared the table in silence and sat in the chair Will had just vacated, trying to see the room through his eyes. So ordinary really, lacking the flash of a modern kitchen. Yet there had been such awe in his face when he’d followed her inside that his odd story about the magazine article had rung true. His interest in the apiary was clearly serious and focused. She hadn’t wanted to admit that while he’d been dreaming of Garden Valley and beekeepers as a child, she’d been planning her escape.

Ironically, he’d more or less realized his fantasy while she…well, that was another story. A long one. Annie glanced instinctively upward to her bedroom and then closed her eyes. Once upon a time she’d thought by going off to college she could escape Garden Valley and for a while, she had. Until reality caught up with her in the form of an unplanned pregnancy.

Annie sighed and rose shakily to her feet. Tucking the letter deep into her dresser drawer had merely put it out of sight. When she reached her bedroom, she first piled her dirty laundry into a basket to take downstairs, retrieved soiled towels from the bathroom and, on the way, paused to peek into her father’s room. He’d made his bed and, as if he were coming home that night, had left his pajamas folded on top of his pillow. Annie teared up at the sight.

Finally, she opened her dresser drawer and took out the letters.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she read them again, starting with her aunt’s brief note. Annie knew that her aunt would expect her to call, especially with news of her father’s surgery. Although she appreciated Aunt Isobel’s wisdom and common sense, Annie also knew that this was her problem. Her aunt had done more than enough for her. Taking a deep breath, she opened the letter from the agency. Was Sister Mary Beatty the woman who’d counseled Annie? She remembered a woman whose quiet, non-judging manner had soothed Annie’s fears and guilt.

She lay back on the pillows at the head of her bed, letter still in hand, and stared up at the ceiling. She could simply toss it into the garbage and go on with her life. The agency wouldn’t bother her again. She closed her eyes, her thoughts flying back to August 12th, thirteen years ago, and the day she gave birth to a tiny baby girl.

And now that baby girl—a teenager—wanted to meet her. In spite of Annie’s curiosity about the person that baby had become, she wasn’t certain she wanted to relive an event from her past that still evoked guilt. The thought of coming face-to-face with…her daughter…was almost terrifying.

Daughter. The word sounded foreign to her, a concept she couldn’t connect with, even though she was a daughter herself.

If her mother were still alive, what advice would she give her? If her mother hadn’t set out for Essex on that icy winter morning, what would Annie’s own teenaged years have been like? If Annie hadn’t drunk so much the night of that frat party, what would she be doing that very moment instead of lying on her bed contemplating a meeting with the daughter conceived that night?

If, if, if. A useless word. Almost as pointless as the phrase I wish. She sat up, tossing the letter aside, and reached for a tissue on the night table. The clock radio told her it was almost six-thirty. Auntie Isobel had likely finished dinner long ago and was now dozing in front of the television. Annie hesitated, index finger poised above the phone. Then, before she could change her mind, quickly tapped in the number.

Annie could tell from the disoriented tone in her aunt’s greeting that she had indeed been napping. “I, uh, wanted to tell you that Dad and Shirley got away just before four and that Shirley will call you tomorrow after the surgery.”

There was a slight pause. “I know that, dear. We made those arrangements last week. Remember?”

Annie cleared her throat. “Oh, right. Well, I also wanted to tell you that I got your letter and…the one from the adoption agency.”

“So quickly! I just mailed them the day before yesterday.”

The ball’s back in my court. “I was surprised. No, more than that. Well, maybe closer to shocked.”

“I thought you might be, dear.”

Annie closed her eyes, knowing Auntie Isobel wasn’t going to ask the question. “The letter was from a Sister Mary Beatty. She said that the…that is, my…uh, daughter wanted to make contact with me.”

When her aunt finally spoke, she sounded almost sad. “I thought that might be the reason for the letter. I couldn’t think why else they’d be writing after all these years.”

“The thing is…I don’t really know what to do.”

“Of course you don’t. How could you possibly? Take your time, Annie. There’s no rush, is there?”

“No, but I… It’s just that Dad will be home in two or three weeks and…”

Auntie Isobel’s voice was soft. “You haven’t told him, I’m assuming.”

Annie waited for the pounding at her temples to ease. “No. There never seemed to be a good time and then—frankly—I left it so long I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I know you’re worried about his reaction, dear, but you’re an adult now. He won’t be disappointed in you.”

“I never thought he would be. But he might feel hurt that I never told him in the beginning. And now all this time has passed and—”

“Your father may come across like a gruff man, Annie, but we both know he’s not really.”

“Telling Dad is the least of my… I just don’t know what I want…. Do you remember this Sister Mary Beatty? Was she the one who was so nice to me?”

“I can’t recall, Annie.” She paused. “I suppose this has brought back all the memories.”

“In a huge overwhelming flood.”

“Would you like me to come for a visit?”

“No, that’s okay, Auntie Isobel. I’ll be coming your way soon.”

“Do you think your father will give in and stay with Shirley’s cousin?”

“Hard to say. You know Dad.”

“Are you managing without him?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good. So you’ll let me know when you’re coming? You might have a chance to pay a visit to the agency while you’re here.”

Annie felt as if time was squeezing her. Obviously she’d have to make a decision soon. “I guess so.”

“Just a suggestion, dear.” Her aunt must have picked up the tone in her voice. “Don’t feel pressured to decide before you’ve thought everything through very carefully. Otherwise, how’re things? Anything new in your life?”

Annie had a vision of Will Jennings waving goodbye from his camper van. “Not really,” she said. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.” When she hung up, Annie wasn’t certain if the call had helped or made her feel worse.

AS HE HEADED into Essex, Will scanned the paved road ahead for a sign indicating that campsite Annie had mentioned. When he spotted a small arrow-shaped sign, he let the van coast to a stop. Rest Haven Camp, a mere five miles away. Worth a look-see, he decided, and turned onto the gravel road. It was an unusual location for a campsite. How many tourists wandered this far off the highway?

Three miles in, he suddenly understood. Cresting a hill, Will jammed the brake and stared openmouthed at a jewel of a pond ringed by trees. It was the centerpiece of a stretch of green pasture at the bottom of the hill. The roof of a farmhouse reflected the setting sun. Beyond it, about half a mile to the north, were three shedlike constructions in a stand of trees and the wooden framework of a larger, rectangular building in progress. A dirt trail wound around the buildings out to the gravel road and the entire area was bordered by a split rail fence. The late-afternoon sun cast the scene in a rich gold that Will had seen only once before, in a book of paintings. He eased his foot off the brake and drove down the incline.

As he passed he saw that the farmhouse on his right was boarded up. The roof of the weathered gray barn behind the house had collapsed and the front yard was overgrown with tall weeds. Will gave the van more gas, anxious to check out the campground ahead. The sign fronting the entrance to Rest Haven was newer than the first one Will had seen from the highway. He turned onto the dirt lane. The van bumped and jostled along the potholed surface as Will drove toward the building with the Office sign.

He parked in front and climbed out. Except for the clamor of birds in the trees, the place was silent. There were no vehicles as far as Will could see and when he called out a hello, no response. Standing in the open clearing, Will made a slow circular turn and decided that the place either hadn’t opened yet, or the manager had been called away on urgent business. The office door was locked, as he’d suspected. Cupping his hands against the reflection, he peered through a window next to the door.

Squinting, he could just make out a telephone on an otherwise empty desk. Two or three chairs loomed in the shadows and he thought he saw the outline of a filing cabinet. If the place was open, it obviously wasn’t enjoying a busy season. He called out once more but when there was still no reply, he got back in the van and started up the engine.

Ten minutes later he was back on the highway leading into Essex. He had the money for a motel, but hated to spend it unnecessarily. What was there to keep him in Garden Valley? Annie’s face popped into his head as clearly as if he were still sitting across the kitchen table from her.

The small upturned nose with its sprinkle of golden freckles. Eyebrows arched quizzically at him above her large, tawny eyes. She was all golden light, he realized, like the painting he’d been reminded of moments ago, only drawn in clear, strong lines. There was nothing delicate or ephemeral about Annie Collins.

Face it, man. You don’t want to leave. His mind made up, he continued toward Essex. But long before the town limits, Will saw something he’d hoped not to for a long time. An inky black column of smoke spiraled up from a thicket of trees about a quarter of a mile ahead, on the left. Maybe a farmer was burning trash. As he drew nearer, Will saw a farmhouse and behind it, the burning roof of a barn.

He pulled over onto the gravel shoulder at the end of the driveway leading to the farmhouse. The fire was roaring unchecked, flames darting through the open barn doors and out the ground floor windows. Likely filled with hay, it was already a goner. Will couldn’t see anyone trying to douse the fire and unless help came quickly, the house was in danger too.

Sweat broke out on Will’s forehead and he felt suddenly nauseous. There wasn’t much he could do by himself. He had to get into the house and telephone for help. Surely there was at least a volunteer fire hall in town. If the valley wasn’t linked with a 911 system, he could probably raise an operator.

Still he sat, wasting precious seconds. What if he just kept on driving? No one would ever know he’d been there. Except, of course, he would. Will took a deep breath, jerked the door open and jumped down from the van.

CHAPTER FOUR

ADRENALINE GOT HIM to the side door of the farmhouse, pounding and shouting above the fire. But something else held him there, seconds longer. Fear. Sweeping up from deep in his gut, bursting out in beads of sweat. Turning from the locked door, Will looked at the barn.

Was it his imagination, or did he really hear voices over the roar? He squinted into the thick, billowing gray smoke and his heart almost stopped. Was someone or something moving in there? He’d automatically assumed there were no animals in the barn because he hadn’t heard any cries. Could he have been mistaken? Will rubbed his eyes, smarting from the acrid smoke in the air. Nothing there. He forced himself to stay calm. This wasn’t Newark. He was at a barn fire in North Carolina. And if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to step one foot inside it.

Fortunately the slight breeze was coming from the right direction, wafting the sparks away from the house toward the clearing on the far side of the barn. He could at least try to delay the fire’s spread until the trucks arrived. That is assuming someone had spotted the smoke and called in the alarm. If nobody arrived momentarily, he’d have to break into the house and call himself. Meanwhile, there should be some kind of garden hose.

Hand over his mouth and nose, he ran along the side of the house until he found the hose attached to a tap in the stone foundation. He cranked the faucet to the max, grabbed the hose by the nozzle and began to spray the section of house closest to the barn. The intense radiant heat of the fire could easily scorch and perhaps even ignite the house as well. The paint was already beginning to blister and the spray from the garden hose wasn’t going to be terribly effective. But until help arrived, it was all he could do.

Will was deciding which window to smash when he heard something behind him. He craned his neck, hoping to see an engine and tanker coming up the driveway. Instead, a bright yellow school bus idled beside the house and a stocky, barrel-chested man was running toward him.

“What the—?” He stopped, gasping for breath and staring at the barn, panic in his face. Then he snarled at Will, “Who the hell are you?”

It wasn’t quite the reception Will had been expecting. He didn’t think the man was looking for an introduction either. “If you live here,” he replied, raising his voice against the fire, “call the fire department. Now!”

But the man had already unlocked the side door and was disappearing inside before Will completed his sentence. The smoke was thickening. Will’s eyes stung and sweat dripped from his forehead. He doused his head and face with the hose, though the relief lasted no more than a few seconds. The man suddenly reappeared at his side and lunged for the hose.

Will let go, but when the man swung around to aim the hose at the fire, he grabbed his arm. “Forget the barn. Save your house!”

He stared at Will, his eyes wild. For a tense moment Will was afraid it would erupt into a fight, but the man suddenly directed the spray back to the house.

“Where’s the nearest fire hall?” Will hoped the guy wasn’t going to say Essex.

“Not far. It’s a volunteer brigade. They’re on the way.” He looked behind him at the barn. “Got an antique harvester in there.”

“Nothing else? Animals?”

The man shook his head. Will could see pain and frustration in his eyes. It was a look he’d seen many times after fires had wiped people out. Homes, possessions—not to mention lives.

“Let me do this,” Will said, moving his head closer to be heard. “You better move the bus out of the way before the trucks get here. Then start taking anything out of the house that you want to save.”

“You think it’ll spread to the house?” The man’s voice cracked.

“Just in case.” Focusing on the house would distract him from the barn and the antique harvester.

Hesitating for no more than a second, the man tossed the hose to him and vanished into the smoke. Will turned to check on the barn and saw that the roof was ablaze. No possibility of saving it now. He just hoped the guy had a good insurance policy. He also hoped the meager spray from the hose would be enough to keep the house from scorching before the trucks arrived.

A familiar sound rose above the roar of the fire—the muted wail of sirens. Will felt the tension ease out of him. An engine rolled up the driveway, followed by a tanker truck. Will squinted. Figures in heavy bunker gear and yellow helmets were jumping from the trucks and quickly unraveling hoses. One man stood apart, wearing a red helmet and shouting instructions. Noticing Will, he strode toward him.

“Who’re you? Where’s Warren?”

“If he’s the guy who lives here, he’s inside the house. I happened to be driving by and saw the smoke.”

The man stared at the hose in Will’s hand. “Leave that. I’ll get a couple of my men over here. There’s a shed behind the barn that needs cooling down, too.” He glanced behind him. “Too late for the barn.” He started to head for the tanker truck. “Stick around. I want to talk to you later.”

Will turned off the tap and stood aside as two men dragging a hose ran toward him. Responsibility was now on someone else’s shoulders, which suited him just fine.

He watched while two others began assembling the metal frame of a portatank to hold the water from the tanker truck. Once the tanker dumped its water it would go back for a refill at the nearest water source. Will estimated there’d be seven minutes for the truck to race back before the portatank emptied. Hopefully, a reservoir or water tank serviced the farms in the valley and it was close enough.

The owner of the house was now outside, talking to the captain. The two looked quickly at Will, then away. Discussing who he was, he figured, and how he’d so coincidentally happened on the scene. He’d expected questions. It was no secret that arsonists often hung around to witness their work. But there were more pressing matters at the moment. The captain began to help another firefighter lug a hose around the side of the barn. Probably saving the shed.

The farm owner walked over to Will. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. He held out his right hand. “Name’s Warren Lewis,” he said. “Wanna thank you for helping out.”

In spite of his words, Will saw wariness in the man’s eyes. Not quite sure what to make of me? Still, he clasped the outstretched hand. “Will Jennings.”

“Scotty—that’s the captain, Scott Andrews—said you did the right thing by cooling the house.” He lapsed into silence, watching the firefighters hosing down the house and the shed. The barn blazed unchecked. “If they had more men and another tanker truck, they could’ve saved the barn,” he muttered.

“For what it’s worth, the barn was already at peak when I got here.”

“Yeah?”

Warren’s curiosity prompted Will to add, “I…uh…used to be a firefighter.”

“So why aren’t you helping them?” He turned his head at a sudden shout from the firefighter at the portatank.

Will swore under his breath. He’d blown it. The portatank was probably full and the tanker would be leaving for a refill. They’d be a man short.

Lewis turned back to Will as the tanker began to reverse out of the driveway. “Where’s he going?”

“For more water. Is there a lake or something nearby?”

“There’s a reservoir about two miles down the road.”

Will nodded. They stared at each other for what seemed a long time before Will relented. “Guess I’ll see if they can use my help.” He jogged toward the man monitoring the portatank. Without protective gear, there was no way the captain would let him do anything nearer to the fire anyway.

The guy at the tank frowned when Will shouted that he’d watch the water pressure and do the refill when the tanker returned. Will could hardly blame him, knowing that firefighters seldom wanted civilian help. “It’s okay,” he said, raising his voice, “I know what I’m doing. I used to work for the Newark Fire Department.”

The other man shouted back, “The truck’ll be back soon and the tank’ll need refilling right away. We got about three minutes of water left here.”

A tight time frame. Likely one of many drawbacks to rural firefighting. Still, it seemed that the guy had no sooner dashed to help the hose men working on the house than Will heard the tanker returning.

As soon as the truck pulled up alongside, Will had already extended the chute and pressed the electronic switch. Water gushed into the tank. Except for a brief look of surprise, the firefighter who had driven the truck accepted his presence. They worked silently and quickly until the tank was full again. The man motioned that he was going for another refill and climbed back into the tanker.

As the truck left for more water, Will looked across the smoke-filled yard at the barn. In spite of what he’d said to Lewis, he knew if they’d been in a city where water was handy, the men would have made some attempt to save as much of the barn as they could.

Time was suspended as the repetitive pattern of emptying and refilling continued. At one point, the captain appeared a few yards from where Will was working and watched briefly before disappearing around the side of the barn. Will could see that he was directing a couple of the men to work on the barn now that the fire there had peaked. Probably wanted to hurry the burn-out so that they could finish the job and go home. It was already dark. The pale yellow glow from an outside light above the side door of the house was barely visible through the smoke.

Suddenly a car roared up the driveway and pulled over next to the school bus. A woman climbed out, her face toward the barn. She had the dazed, disbelieving look of someone waking to a nightmare. Then she spotted Lewis and ran to him. They wrapped their arms around each other and somberly watched the last of their barn crumble.

Most of the men were working on the barn, hosing down the embers. Wafts of steam mingled with the smoke and the men shifted in the thick night air like wraiths in a horror movie. Except for the hiss of water on fire and the crash of falling beams, the yard was quiet. Will heard the tanker coming. The last run, he figured. The big job now would be mopping up and hanging around to make sure the embers didn’t reignite. He helped the tanker driver load up the portatank and when they finished, the man thanked him.

Will nodded. He’d have liked to get back in his van and head to town for a shower and a cold beer. Except the captain, directing the mop-up, kept glancing his way. He sighed. The evening wasn’t going to end any time soon.

But things moved quickly once the remaining embers had been doused. The firefighters worked silently as they put away their equipment. Will recalled all too well the mood after a fire. The first rush of anxiety on arrival at a blaze led rapidly to a routine polished by practice and real-life runs. Save lives, then save property. Afterward, the relief was always muted by the realization of loss and suffering.

The captain finished his conversation with Warren Lewis and his wife and headed in Will’s direction. He’d removed his helmet and the balaclava beneath it, his face and forehead slick with perspiration. He leaned against the tanker truck beside Will and, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiped his face. Then he withdrew a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Will.

“No thanks.”

Lighting up, the captain took a long draw, releasing the smoke slowly before speaking again. “I’m Scott Andrews, by the way.”

“Yeah. Warren told me.”

“Appreciate the help, Jennings. Especially manning the portatank.” He took another drag on his cigarette before adding, “Warren said you’re a firefighter.”

“Was,” Will corrected. “In New Jersey.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I gotta say, I figured you knew something about fires. Most civvies would’ve been trying to put out the barn with the garden hose.”

Will didn’t say anything.

“Sorry for the initial suspicion,” Andrews went on, “but we’ve had a few barn fires in the area lately. Any stranger needs checking out—especially one so conveniently on the scene.”

“I’d have done the same, in your place.”

Andrews looked at him. “On a leave of some kind?” His eyes flicked from Will’s eyes to his scar.

“Nope. Quit.”

“You get that in a fire?”

No beating around the bush with the guy. Still, his bluntness was refreshing. It reminded him of Annie’s question earlier in the day. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Andrews fell silent, finishing his cigarette. Will waited until the other man finally asked, “Where were you coming from? This road is hardly a main highway.”

“I was visiting Ambrosia Apiaries, not far from here. Then I went to some campsite—I don’t remember the name—to see if I could stay there for the night. No one was around so I was heading into Essex.” Will took a deep breath. “Mind if I go now? It’s getting late.”

“You a friend of the Collins family?”

Will sighed. The guy had obviously missed his calling. He should’ve been a cop. “I’m on a road trip and was driving through the valley when I saw the apiary sign. I was curious. I had a tour of the place and as I was leaving, Annie told me about the campsite.”

Andrews stared at him for a long tense moment. “Like I said, I appreciate your help. And so does Warren. He had an antique harvester in there. Good thing you were around to keep him from getting hurt going after it.”

The compliment must’ve meant he’d decided to accept his story. Will rubbed his face, wondering if it was as sooty as the captain’s. “Look, if you don’t mind, I should be finding a place for the night. Right now a shower and a cold beer are all I’m interested in.”

Andrews smiled. “You’n me both. As a matter of fact, one of my men owns that campsite. He’s at home sick today, but I can give him a call.”

Will considered the offer for a moment, but hot water and a frosty ale were too irresistible. “Thanks, but for tonight I’d rather be in town. Maybe I could get his name and number from you though, in case I decide to stick around?”

“Sure. Hang on for a sec. I need to talk to Warren.” He walked to where the couple stood staring at their ruined barn.

Will waited by his van. He was worn out. Just pumping out the tanker had left him exhausted—a sign he had yet to recoup his strength since the accident. He saw the captain gesture toward what was left of the barn as he spoke to Warren. No doubt the local fire marshal would have to come take a look, especially if there’d been an outbreak of fires in the area.

He frowned, thinking of Annie Collins running the apiary alone while her father was away. Then he shrugged the thought aside. Whatever was happening in Garden Valley was no business of his. Anyway, more than likely the perp was simply some troubled or bored teenager.

Andrews came back, a grim expression on his face. “Warren was just telling me he decided to drop the insurance on the barn a few months back. He was using it basically as a storage shed and the premiums were getting higher every year so…” He shook his head. “Damn bad luck.”

“So you think it was arson?”

“Oh yeah. One of my men found an empty gasoline canister in the bushes over there that Warren says isn’t his.”

“The same person who’s been setting the other fires?”

“We won’t know for sure till the marshal’s had a look around, but my guess is a yes. Why is another big question.”

“Someone obsessed with fires?”

“Possibly, but here? In Garden Valley?”

Maybe Andrews considered the valley some kind of Eden but personally, Will was a bit more skeptical. Life so far had convinced him paradise existed more in the imagination than the real world. “So what other reasons have you been tossing around?” he asked.

Andrews absently patted down his jacket pocket before pulling out his pack of cigarettes again. He offered one to Will, who shook his head. “Oh yeah, sorry. Forgot. I have to quit—so the doctor says. I’ve been having some angina.” He took a long draw, blowing out the smoke in a satisfied sigh. “I promised the wife this would be my last pack.”

“That you bought? Or borrowed?”

Andrews gave a sheepish grin. “Right. I’ve been working on that. Anyway, at first we thought the fires were part of some kind of insurance fraud thing. Couple of the farmers were really down and out—on the verge of bankruptcy. But then about a week ago, one of the most prosperous outfits in the area lost its hay barn.” He took another drag on the cigarette. A sprinkle of embers from its tip flew into the air with the evening breeze.

Will had a sudden vision of calling back the trucks, this time to put out a blaze started by the captain. “No pattern to the victims then?”

“None we can see. Except all of the barns and sheds have been used for storage or whatever. No animals.”

Interesting. The perp has a heart? “When did the fires begin?”

Andrews shrugged. “About three months ago. It took a while for us to realize we had a serial arsonist at work.”

“Serial arsonist? That doesn’t sound like teenagers.”

“Could be, though. You know—one with serious problems.” Andrews finished off the cigarette and carefully ground the butt into the earth with the heel of his boot. “You ever encountered a serial arsonist?’

“Can’t say I have. The only arsonists I’ve met were hired.”

“I thought of that, too, along with the possible insurance fraud. But the one thing every victim had in common was a different insurance company. Or, like poor Warren here, no insurance at all.”

“Poor guy,” Will muttered.

“No kidding. Anyway, knowing folks in the valley, there’ll be a barn-raising organized before the end of summer. Okay, that’s it for me,” said Andrews with a loud sigh. “I’m beat. You wanna follow me? There’s a pretty decent motel about five miles this side of Essex.”

“Sounds good,” Will said.

“Motel’s got a sports bar attached.”

“Better still.” He turned to open the van door, but caught Andrews’s appraising stare.

“Too bad you’re not planning on hanging around a bit. I could use some big-city expertise on this.”

This meaning the fires, Will assumed. How could he let the captain know fighting fires was the last thing he wanted to do? Did the man think the sheen of sweat on Will’s face had been put there by the fire’s heat?

Something in Will’s face must have been answer enough for Andrews. “Oh well, can’t blame a guy for trying.” He signaled to one of his men, who began to climb behind the wheel of the fire engine. “Give us a sec to turn the truck around and we’ll lead you right to Traveler’s Way Motel.”

Will could just as easily have found the motel himself, but the gesture was meant to be hospitable. He got into the van and watched the engine reverse until its nose was aimed toward the main road. As he followed, Will glanced in his rearview mirror. Warren Lewis and his wife were still standing arm in arm, staring at the black, crumbled beams and timbers that had once been their barn.

ANNIE’S RELIEF was palpable. Jack had just been wheeled out of surgery and everything had gone well.

“I know he’ll be asking me when you’re coming to visit,” Shirley said on the other end of the line. “Have you decided yet?”

“Soon,” Annie said. “I called Auntie Isobel after you left yesterday and I’m going to stay with her. Did the doctor mention how long Dad might be in the hospital?”

“There’s a rehabilitation center nearby that will have a bed for him in a couple of days. The doctor said maybe a few days there to get started on a program and then he’d be able to go home.” Shirley’s sigh resonated along the phone line.

“Are you worried if he comes home too soon, he’ll want to get right back to work?”

“Of course. You know how stubborn your father can be, Annie.”

Tell me about it. “I thought you planned to stay on a bit longer in Charlotte—to visit your cousins.”

“That was the plan but last night Jack was hinting quite strongly that he wanted to get back to Garden Valley as soon as possible.” Another sigh.

“He may not feel the same once he tries to get up on his feet. I’m sure you can persuade him to stay a few days after the rehab center.”

“I hope so. Anyway, dear, can I give him some kind of timeline?”

Annie hadn’t thought that far ahead. She had to call Danny McLean to let him know she’d be away and to discuss the work he’d be doing in her absence. “I’m not sure. I’ll call you later tonight or tomorrow morning to let you know. Give Dad a kiss for me, okay?”

After hanging up, Annie sat staring at the phone. Since receiving the letter yesterday, going to Charlotte had suddenly taken on a whole other meaning. Auntie Isobel would be expecting her to have made a decision about contacting the adoption agency while she was there. Her father likely wanted her to come as soon as possible, bringing mail as well as news about the business and Garden Valley. The walls were closing in.

She pushed her chair back and took her empty coffee cup to the sink. The day promised to be bright and sunny, but she couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for it. She’d impulsively given herself a deadline of the next morning at the latest and saw no way out of it. Going to Charlotte also meant having to make a decision about her daughter.

If she started down that path this early, she’d never get through the day. There was shopping to do in town and she wanted to check on the new hive she’d set up in the Vanderhoff orchard yesterday.

Was it only yesterday that the firefighter from New Jersey had arrived on her doorstep? She smiled to herself. Will Jennings had flashed across her mind enough last night to make her want answers to several questions.

Such as, what was her attraction to a quiet, almost solemn man with a scarred face and an obviously traumatic past? Was her life so empty that she was compelled to fill it with some crush on a complete stranger? Annie grimaced. She had no answer for the first question but the second—well, how much longer could she delude herself about the so-called life she’d had since returning to Garden Valley?

In the beginning, the plan had been to stay long enough for her father to find a replacement worker for Pete, the hired hand who’d retired. Annie had been grateful for the excuse. It sounded a whole lot better than admitting to friends and colleagues in New York that her fiancé had jilted her. In fact, she’d quickly come up with the line that her wedding to Jim had to be postponed because of family reasons. And Annie knew the very best place to recuperate from the pain of the breakup was Garden Valley.

What she hadn’t realized until she’d come home, was how badly her father needed help. She still couldn’t believe how quickly a few weeks had rolled into a year. Her life in New York—teaching, her friends and even Jim—was now a distant memory.

Inexplicably, and against all reason, she hoped Will Jennings had stayed. Seeing him one more time just might guarantee a better day.

CHAPTER FIVE

ANNIE WAS ABOUT TO climb back into the cab of the pickup when Marge Vanderhoff’s voice halted her midstep.

“Heard that friend of yours helped save Warren Lewis’s farm last night.” At the farmhouse back door, Marge loomed on the other side of the screen mesh.

“Huh?” Annie asked, her eyebrows raised.

“That fella who came with you yesterday to get the bees.”

She was talking about Will? “What happened?”

Marge stepped out onto the small porch. “Fern Lewis said the fella—what was his name again?”

“Will Jennings.”

“Seems he told Captain Andrews that he’d been visiting the apiary, so when I heard that, I put two and two together and figured it must’ve been him they were talking about. Anyhow,” Marge went on, “this Will Jennings was driving by the Lewis place when he noticed smoke coming from the barn.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, thank heavens. The fella told Warren he was a real firefighter and Captain Andrews said he did all the right things.”

What must it have been like for him to have to deal with another fire? She glanced up, realizing that Marge was waiting for her to respond. “Does the captain think it’s the same person who’s been setting the other fires in the valley?”

“Word’s out until the fire marshal investigates.”

The idea of someone creeping about the valley setting fires unnerved Annie. This blaze was too close to home. It wasn’t the best time to leave the apiary untended.

“By the way,” Marge said, “have you had news of your father yet?”

“I talked to Shirley about half an hour ago. He’s fine. Everything went well.”

“That’s great. Any idea when he’ll be coming home?”

“Tomorrow, if he had his way.”

Marge laughed. “That’d be your dad all right. But they don’t keep them in the hospital long anymore, do they?”

“No. Shirley’s hoping she can persuade him to take some vacation time in Charlotte.”

Marge’s laugh deepened. “Good luck to her!”

Annie’s smile felt forced. She pictured herself and her father driving back together, while Shirley stayed in Charlotte. If he got wind of this latest fire, so close to the apiary, he wouldn’t even consider recuperating longer.

Marge must have made a similar connection. Suddenly sober she asked, “You going to be okay staying at the apiary on your own?”

Annie gave a dismissive wave. “Of course. Besides, the thing with all of these fires is that no people or animals have been hurt.” She paused, adding, “It’s almost as if the places have been chosen for that very reason.”

“Still, accidents can happen.”

“Hmm,” Annie murmured, thinking of Will. “Look, I have to go into town. Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Thanks, dear, but I have to go in later myself. You take care and give our love to your daddy when you’re talking to him.”

Annie promised and climbed into the truck. As she turned over the engine, she realized she hadn’t mentioned she might be seeing her father in a day or two. If she had to leave the apiary, it would be good to have the Vanderhoffs keep an eye on it. On the other hand, it might also be better if no one knew she was away and the apiary untended.

On her way into town, it occurred to her that if Will had spotted the fire, he must’ve been heading away from the campsite. Presumably he’d decided not to stay there after all.

No doubt Will Jennings was driving out of the valley at that very moment and that was a good thing. Wasn’t it?

THE CAMPER VAN stuck out like a parent at a high school prom. It sat in a far corner of the parking lot behind the Red and White Grocery Store, surrounded by an assortment of cars, SUVs and pickup trucks. Annie spotted it as soon as she turned into the lot and almost sideswiped an exiting car. Her heart rate surged, which she blamed on the near accident rather than the sight of Will Jennings’ van.