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A pause while he let me get him the rest of the way in the suit. “If I’m scared, will that mess the bees up for you?”
“Worried about my safety?”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“How about you just let me handle them, and you hang back a little. We’ll see what they do.”
I pulled the zipper closed on his hood, still avoiding his eyes. He smelled like mint and soap and man, and I decided I should never be this close to him again.
It was real hard to hate him when I wanted to climb him like a jungle gym.
I reached into his front pockets, surprising him as planned. I dangled elbow-length gloves in front of him and left him to fend for himself while I unpacked the brood boxes from my truck and headed for the shed.
He grabbed me by the arm before I reached it. “Hang on. Don’t you need smoke or something?”
One of my brows rose. “Are you questioning my authority?”
“No, I just—”
“I think I’ve got this, Stone.” When he didn’t remove his hand from my person, I added, “If you don’t mind…”
He let me go and exhaled audibly as he peered into the dark shed. And with a smile on my face, I ducked into the den, humming.
The shed housed equipment that didn’t look like it’d been used much in recent years. It was big enough for an ancient tractor—though not much else—with old bales of hay stacked in a corner and rusty hoes and rakes and other various tools hanging on one wall. The space was filled wall to wall with the hum of a massive hive I needed to locate.
I set the box down and opened it up, assessing the space as I turned my baseball cap around so I could see better. Light cut into the shed in slices thick with dust motes, just enough to show me what I was dealing with.
I crept around the tractor with bees flitting around me. “Hello, friends,” I said in the voice I used only with bees and babies. “Look at what a good job you did building your house.” I crouched to look under the tractor but saw no sign of the hive. “Wyatt needs his shed back, though. Wanna come live with me? The place is lousy with flowers.”
Carefully, I tested the tractor’s hood and found it unlatched. Even more carefully, I lifted it enough to see the massive hive inside.
“There you are,” I whispered, putting it back to rest so I could figure out how the hell to get them out. I stepped back and assessed the situation. There was no motor, so the bees had taken the shell for a home, attaching their honeycombs to the hood, which meant I couldn’t open it all the way without breaking the combs. I had to figure out how to prop it so I could separate them from the metal.
“Grant—I need your help.”
I glanced back to find him hovering near the door with his eyes on the tractor.
“Grant.”
He found himself and looked at me.
“I need you to hold up the hood so I can cut the honeycombs out.”
“All right,” he said with confidence I almost believed.
“It’s gonna be awkward. Hop into the tractor and reach over the wheel. I’ll pass you the hood, and I need you to hold it right there so we don’t break the structures.”
He was already climbing into the tractor. “Good thing this one’s old and doesn’t have a windshield.”
“Heaven forbid we have to use a ladder.” I nodded to the wall where a ladder hung.
“You think you’re so smart.”
“There’s no thinking about it,” I said, retrieving the A-frame ladder from its rusty nail and opening it. Once set up, I inspected the rungs for rot before climbing on. “Okay, lean this way.”
He did, and I opened it as far as I could before indicating he should take it.
“Watching you stand there without gear on is terrifying.”
“Grant Stone, scared?”
“My heart’s a jackhammer. Have you ever been stung?”
“Of course,” I answered, pulling my knife out of my pocket. Tenderly, I held the comb with one hand and began to saw the first row out. “But not since I was little. Daddy taught me all the secrets.”
“Care to share with the class?”
“Mostly what I told you. It’s all about trust.”
“Interesting, since you don’t seem to trust anybody.”
“That’s not true.” When I’d angled the honeycomb out, I climbed down and fruitlessly inspected it for the queen before sliding it into the brood box. “I just don’t trust you.”
A laugh through his nose.
“But bees are different. They have no grand designs, no greed to speak of. Hoarding, maybe, but not greed. They just want to live their lives and protect their home—simple needs. And if they know that I want to protect their home too, they let me in to help them.”
