The Beekeeper Next Door
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Danielle Thorne
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16
Chapter One
Ali Harding paid no mind to the barking dog in the distance when she walked out of the back door with a toolbox in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. The new beehives were still in their packages waiting to be assembled not far from the active colonies, and it was a warm, sunny day—the perfect time to work in west Georgia’s unpredictable spring weather. The dog woofed again, and Ali squinted toward the Underwood property. Instead of an excited fur ball, she saw a man with wire cutters bent over her droopy chain-link fence. Ali dropped her things to the ground and watched. Mrs. Underwood had passed away last year and didn’t have a dog.
Bees buzzed and wrens warbled in the fresh morning air. She watched the intruder pull up a section of fence while she tapped a thumb with her forefinger. He wasn’t wearing a county service vest or any other identification. Ali’s chest tightened, but she dismissed the anxiety when a black-and-white border collie burst from the trees and loped straight for him. The man dropped everything to wrap his tanned arms around the dog with a laugh. It was a scene that made her heart tug, but there was the fence. Her fence. And he was pulling it up.
With a groan at the thought of more to deal with on top of making it through a lean month, Ali strode past her garden and blueberry bushes. The border collie saw her and barked. The dog lover realized she was there and dropped the tool to his side.
“Hello?” She mustered a patient smile.
He stared for a long moment. “Hi.”
Ali had only raked a comb through her hair that morning. She must have looked messy but wearing it down protected her from sunburn and stings. “Um, hi. I’m Ali Harding, and this is my land.”
The man brushed his chest with an old glove. “Heath Underwood. I guess I’m your neighbor.”
“I didn’t know the property was sold.”
Heath’s smile flinched. “It didn’t. My mother passed away six months ago, and I’m getting the place cleaned up.”
“You must be Ms. Margo’s son,” said Ali as it came together.
“Yes. I have a brother who lives in New Orleans.”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Ali assured him. “I only met her a couple times after we moved here from Columbus, but she was very sweet.”
“Thank you.” The dog barked insistently. Heath picked up a stick and threw it, and the canine dashed away.
“He’s yours, I presume?” said Ali.
Heath tracked the dog’s course with brilliant blue eyes, and she didn’t miss the faint smile of affection that creased the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Trooper’s very friendly—don’t mind him.”
“I won’t.” Ali remembered the two hives she was supposed to be assembling and counted the hours left before she had to pick up her son, Charlie, from school. The day could get warmer, and time was short. “May I ask why you’re cutting down the fence?”
Heath lifted the wire cutters as if it was a no-brainer. “The chain link’s old, rusted and I don’t want my dog to get tangled up in it again. He had a cut on his neck yesterday morning, and when I walked the property, I found this.” He motioned at the fence. There were several small gaping holes with sharp edges.
Ali worked her jaw and reminded herself to practice patience. “That makes sense, but without it, I’ll have more trouble with deer and other animals getting into my yard.”
“It can’t be that much of a deterrent,” Heath pointed out. “It wouldn’t stop a squirrel or a rabbit.”
“Yes, and I have my share of those.” Ali brushed her bangs from her eyes but held her neighbor’s sea-blue stare. “The problem is,” she began calmly, “it’s on my side, and I need to keep animals out of my hives as much as possible. Especially pets.”
“Beehives?” Heath turned his attention to her backyard. “I thought I saw some strange boxes, but I hoped... Those are hives?” His tone pitched, but she couldn’t tell if he was excited or horrified.
Ali tried not to beam. “Yes, I had twenty-four last year, just built two, and I’m building more this week.” She looked back at her tools on the ground. “Next month I’ll add the last set, so I’ll have thirty producing honey by summer.”
The man’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of bees.”
“It takes a village,” Ali jested. He stared like he didn’t understand. “To make honey,” she explained. “Eventually, it’ll be my primary source of income.”
Heath’s look of alarm merged with a frown. “How many do you plan to have in all?” Ali watched him study her land as if calculating the square footage.
“As many as I can handle. I have ten acres, and we’re surrounded by farmland, including your pastures, so there’s plenty of room. I also grow blueberries and vegetables to sell at the farmers market.”
“Thirty hives,” repeated Heath as if she’d said she owned a zoo.
“Which is why I’d like to keep the fence,” Ali reminded him.
Heath shook his head with a look of uncertainty. “The horses that used to be around here are gone. They sold them years ago.”
“I assumed there was livestock once,” said Ali. “I must have moved in afterward, because I never saw any.”
“Those hives are awfully close to your home.” Heath turned the subject back to her bees. “And mine.”
“I’m sorry?” Ali wrinkled her forehead. The majority of her land was on either side of her farmhouse and the Underwoods’ place, which backed up to hers, was a good quarter mile away.
“The beehives.” Heath sounded oddly breathless.
“They’re not unsafe,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t have bees if they were, because I have a son.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to disagree about how safe they are, and I’m pretty sure the fence is on my side, by the way. My grandpa put it up to keep the horses in.” Heath put his gloved hands on his hips like she’d said she dangled Charlie over the beehives whenever she felt like it. He had a trim waist that tapered down to long legs, and he was handsome in a quiet, almost rugged way with thick, dark blond curls he wore short.
Ali squared her shoulders. He was exasperating. “I bought this property three years ago, and I was under the impression the fence belonged to it.”
“That’s understandable,” Heath allowed. “The farms around here are old and so are the fences. The city limits haven’t reached this far out yet.” He stopped as if contemplating a memory, then said with a sallow look, “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to keep a million bees if it did.”
“The bees are necessary for my business,” Ali replied. “And just so you know, I’m licensed through the state. The sweet life is worth a little sting or two.” She caught herself rubbing her fingertips together and looked down the line at what she thought had been her property. “It’s legal. Limits aren’t an issue. I assume you’re going to put up another fence in its place?”
“What?” With eyes still laser-focused on her apiary, Heath slanted his head as if he hadn’t heard her right.
“Will you replace the fence?” Ali repeated.
“I wasn’t planning on it. I have a lot...” Heath glanced over his shoulder through the trees. “My brother and I received a letter from the county regarding the state of our property. There’s a great deal of maintenance to do, and a fence isn’t in my budget right now.” When he saw her look of disappointment, Heath added, “I need to clear out some of these old trees back here this fall, too, and that’s quite an expense.”
“Is there anything you won’t take down?” Ali blurted.
He hesitated in surprise. “I thought it’d be best to remove the weak or dead ones. Tornado damage is a nightmare to clean up, and we get plenty around here. It’s good financial sense.”
Ali ignored the fact he was right because she knew her bees loved the spring blooms on the flowering trees. “Speaking of tornadoes,” she said impulsively. “I guess that means I’ll need to put up a fence of my own.”
Her neighbor gave her an uneasy smile, as if she’d called him out. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” said Heath. He hesitated, then added with another frown, “but it’s not like a fence will keep your bees off my side, either.”
Heath Underwood wasn’t sure if he should be unnerved or offended by his new neighbor, because he was overwhelmed by awful memories and the remnants of an adrenaline rush that had almost drowned him when he’d realized there were legions of bees behind Ali Harding’s house. The diminutive fireball with woodsy-hazel eyes had gone from civil to boiling beneath the surface in a matter of minutes while he tried not to sprint away like she’d said she kept dragons in her backyard. He’d offered his hand for a shake when they parted, but she’d barely brushed his glove before striding off like he’d declared war. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he could compromise. The rusty fence needed to come down to keep Trooper safe.
Besides, in his opinion, the real issue was her bees. He did not like them. Period. Exclamation point. Just the mention of them turned his knees to mush. It was worse than the mess his mother had left behind for him to deal with. Trooper at his heels, Heath hurried across the pasture he’d just hired someone to mow. He made a mental note to research the state requirements for beekeeping, although he suspected it was futile. This was Lagrasse, Georgia, and the rural areas had even fewer restrictions than towns when it came to livestock. With bee populations already in jeopardy, their rights would certainly supersede flashbacks of his childhood nightmare. That meant he was going to have a problem with Ali, because bees, in his opinion, were a menace despite their contributions to the natural world. The thought of so many stinging insects near his house made a shudder run down his spine.
Heath tossed the wire clippers into a rusted gardening shed that should have been demolished years ago and plodded over the ground to the carport of his ranch-style home, noticing the roof looked saggy here and there. He saw the sea of trash bags he’d left out had been picked up and sighed with relief. Wiping a smudge off his car with the hem of his T-shirt, he stepped back to admire the wax job, then tapped the key code on the side door to the house and let Trooper and himself inside. The smells of newsprint, dust and his mother’s favorite lotion struck him in a rush of air, and the problems he’d momentarily forgotten sank back onto his shoulders.
“Ugh,” Heath muttered then stopped to catch a sneeze. He sidestepped cardboard boxes filled with odds and ends of every description on the old shag carpeting. The sight of his father’s bowling trophies made his heart free fall, but he shuffled to the refrigerator and swung open the door, determined not to wallow in self-pity. A package of Swiss cheese was aligned perfectly on top of the ham he’d bought at Piggly Wiggly, and he made himself a sandwich, eyeballing the progress he’d made cleaning the kitchen. The counters were empty, and the corners of the room were cleared of the shelving units that’d been stacked with knickknacks. He’d also removed all the duck and rooster lithographs, but there was still more clutter waiting. Pottery and cookware were piled on the top of the cabinets where dusty faux ivy dangled from the edges. Inside, decades’ worth of dishes were waiting for attention.
After annihilating his lunch and musing over Ali and her fence protest, Heath plowed into the living room, reinvigorated. He patted his pockets for his glasses as he surveyed his mother’s towers of books, magazines and newspapers. Across the room, family pictures mingled with seafaring paintings his parents had treasured. A large plastic tote of his father’s models waited to be sorted on the hearth. Heath gave up on his glasses, plopped down beside the tote and pulled off the lid. He thumbed through bubble-wrapped airplanes and ships that his father had constructed with pride until his hand tremors had begun. The USS Constitution had been his favorite. Clay Underwood had taken his sons to Massachusetts to see “Old Ironsides” in person.
The doorbell rang and jerked Heath from his bittersweet reflections. His old high school math teacher, Monk Coles, had called him after learning he was in town and offered to buy one of the extra vacuum cleaners Heath had mentioned in exasperation. He waded to the front door and pulled it open. It wasn’t Monk. The redheaded beekeeper gave him an apologetic smile. A wave of interest washed over Heath, but he told himself that it was because of her occupation, not the fiery hair and velvety eyes.
“Hi,” said Ali. A small child of six or seven stood by her side.
“Hi!” repeated her mini-me.
“Um, hi?” parroted Heath.
“I don’t mean to bother you, but I had a thought,” Ali explained. She paused to look past him, and he pulled the door to his back so she couldn’t see the disaster inside.
“You have a dog!” the child exclaimed as Trooper padded up to investigate who’d arrived.
“Yes, this is Trooper.” Heath felt a smidgeon of pride.
Ali cocked her head. “Trooper? Are you a cop?”
For some reason, Heath wished he’d served in the navy like his father. “Accounting professor.”
“Trooper? I think he’s named after the Star Wars guys,” said the boy.
“You would be correct.” Heath loosened a smile, feeling an instant connection to him.
Ali motioned at her son. “This is Charlie. He’s seven.”
“Wow,” said Heath, pretending to be impressed. “You seem pretty smart for just seven.”
“I’m almost eight,” Charlie lisped through a missing front tooth. “And I like dogs.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, can I pet him?”
Heath widened the door, but instead of letting Trooper out, Charlie slipped inside and bounced all over him.
Ali sighed. “I’m sorry. We’re still working on our manners.”
“It’s okay.” Heath had no choice but to let her come into the house. It wasn’t like she couldn’t see the weeds outside. “Please don’t mind the mess. I’m decluttering.” He led her into the living room and moved a pile of blankets off the couch so she could sit down. Charlie found one of Trooper’s balls and threw it down the hall. The dog barked with excitement and gave chase.
“So when did you move in?” asked Ali as Heath took a seat back on the hearth. She sat rigidly, hands gripped in her lap.
“About three weeks ago. I’m teaching online this semester because I knew there’d be things to take care of here.”
“I thought I saw a different car in the carport last week.”
“Yes, that’s mine. My brother drove our mom’s car back to New Orleans. He needed it for his family.”
“That was nice of you.”
Heath shrugged. He watched Ali clasp and unclasp her hands while she looked around at all the junk. “My mother...collected,” explained Heath. He made air quotes with his fingers on the last word.
“People do that,” Ali replied. “I have a ridiculous amount of candles myself, not to mention antique furniture I plan to refinish someday.”
Heath imagined the inside of Ali’s home. Colorful, organized chaos, he’d guess, but she’d know where everything was stowed. “Mom wasn’t too bad until my father passed away. Then the ‘collecting’ got worse, but it made her happy.” Heath exhaled to hide his embarrassment. “I hired someone to come in once a week and dust when she got sick, but Mom didn’t like people moving her stuff and insisted she didn’t need help.”
“She was just holding on to things she loved,” said Ali. “I can understand that.” She glanced down at a finger and twisted an invisible ring.
With a jolt, Heath suspected she was widowed. There was an air of loneliness about her if he looked past the confident and determined disposition. He cleared his throat, wondering if he’d deduced correctly. “It’s been quite an undertaking, and I have a long way to go so I can get back to campus. She wanted one of us to settle down here, but I live in Auburn and teach at the university.”
“You just have to choose what to toss and what to keep,” said Ali, as if the bedlam was no big deal.
“I don’t think she expected me to keep any of it,” Heath replied. “She felt they had value and considered them investments. It was her way of leaving us something, I guess.”
“What will you do with them?” Ali scanned the boxes of bric-a-brac around the room.
“I’ll donate most of it, but I’ll probably sell my father’s models and extra household items when I have the time.”
“That’s a lot to deal with,” Ali relented with sympathy in her tone. “What if you can’t sell them?”
Heath floundered. What would he do? He couldn’t throw them away. The thought of not passing on his mother’s prized possessions riddled him with guilt. “I don’t know.”
“If you have any gardening tools you decide to get rid of, I might be interested,” Ali informed him.
Heath raised his chin in agreement. “I’ll let you know. We used to have a good-size vegetable patch, but I won’t be keeping it up.”
“Not your thing?”
“I don’t have a green thumb,” Heath confessed. And I don’t like bees. “I don’t enjoy landscaping, either, as you can see by the front yard, but I’m going to get it taken care of after I clean out the house. There’s nothing worse than being the local eyesore.”
“So you can’t stand a mess, and you’re scared of bees.” Ali arched a reddish eyebrow.
Heath shifted uncomfortably at her observation. “How could you tell?”
She waved at the clutter on the floor. “Your boxes are sorted by category, and you turned as white as a sheet when I mentioned building new beehives.”
“No, I’m not a fan of either.”
She nodded. “Noted, which, by the way, is why I came over. I thought it’d be best to get the land surveyed. Just to make sure we know what our boundaries are...officially.”
Heath processed her announcement, wondering if she still believed the fence was on her land. If she was right, he’d have to put a new one back up since he’d removed it. He’d also have to make sure it was a better one to keep Trooper from getting hurt. Suddenly, he saw the numbers in his balanced budget turn red, but fair was fair. “I suppose we could go in on the survey together,” he suggested. Despite a possible storm that might take it out, a bigger, better fence might be a good idea after all, especially if she intended to put up more hives. Thirty bee colonies. The thought made his lungs shrivel. He took a measured breath.
“That would be nice of you,” Ali relented, unaware of the anxiety she’d created. “To be honest, I don’t have the extra money to put up a fence right now, but at least we’d know where we stand.”
“Well, I don’t intend to get any livestock,” Heath informed her. “I plan to rent the house out for now.” This seemed to mollify Ali, and the subtle awkward feeling between them dissipated somewhat. Her hair was the most beautiful shade of dark auburn he’d ever seen, but he brushed away the admiration and rose to his feet.
“I hope everything goes okay with your cleanup.” Ali stood at the same time. “I’ll do my best to keep the bees on my side.”
Heath’s heart tripped, even though he knew it was nothing more than a joke. “They swarm, you know, bees.” He knew he sounded grim, but he couldn’t help it.
“Yes, but I’ve never had a problem,” Ali insisted. “I know when to split the hives.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve been stung before?”
“A few times,” said Heath shortly. He didn’t want to go into details about how he was swarmed by bees when he was a child, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about his failed marriage, which still stung. He met her questioning eyes and arranged a stiff smile on his lips, suddenly needing to be back in the safety of his makeshift office staring at spreadsheets, but Charlie and Trooper wandered in like best friends, delaying his escape. The boy had his hand on the dog’s back until he saw the USS Constitution on the top of the storage box.
“Wow, cool!” he cried.
He dashed over as Ali called, “Don’t touch anything, honeybee.”
Heath held the ship up for him to examine.
“What is it?” The boy put his nose to the bowsprit. “Is that a pirate ship?”
“No, it’s a battleship.”
“It’s awesome.” Charlie leaned over to see the rest of the contents in the box, and his eyes flashed with awe. “I love ships. I’m going to have a boat someday.”
“Are you?” Heath smiled. “Do you want to be a captain?”
“I think so,” said Charlie thoughtfully. He looked at his mother. “This year I’m going fishing for my birthday, aren’t I, Mom?”
“Sure, yes,” agreed Ali, her eyes darting to Heath for a split second.
“That sounds like a fun birthday,” Heath allowed.
“Yes, on the ocean. Do you like fishing?” The child looked like he was going to spontaneously combust with excitement.
Heath was impressed with his sense of adventure. “I like to fish at the lake. Do you get seasick?”
“Seasick?” Charlie laughed. “I can stay on a boat for days and days. Years.”
“Come on, Charlie, we should go.” Ali seemed anxious to leave. She turned back to Heath. “I’ll let you know when I find someone to come out and do the survey.”
“Great.” Heath set his dad’s ship back inside the box, noticing how Charlie’s eyes followed his every move. When he straightened, Ali held out her hand, and he shook it, despite the odd feeling this wasn’t business. Her skin was as soft as suede, and a wispy perfume—something rose—radiated from her. Heath met her gaze for a split second then jerked away and took Trooper by the collar.
Charlie raced for the front door. “See you later, Mister!”
“It’s Mr. Underwood,” Ali called sternly to the boy as she followed.
“Heath is fine,” he shrugged. “Or Mister.”
She didn’t acknowledge his feeble attempt at polite humor but gave a swift wave goodbye and shut the door behind her, leaving her alluring scent behind. Trooper yapped in frustration over his new friend’s departure, but Heath let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. He sank back down onto the hearth and stared at a picture of his parents across the room. Ali was right. They needed to determine the property line if she was going to put a fence back up, although he didn’t see the point. It might keep some creatures out of her hives, but it wouldn’t keep the bees away from him until he returned to campus, and that was the real problem.
