Page 23 of Honey Bee Hearts

“Of course,” he answers.

“Good. George makes the best seasoning mix for chicken, too. I swear.”

This time, George looks up at the pride in Mel’s voice and something flashes in his eyes. I can tell that this place, this kitchen, is home to him. Whatever happened to bring him here, Mel might as well be his father, and he only works to make him proud.

“I look forward to seeing what you can do, George,” I say with a smile. “I’m not the best cook, but I can eat.” I pat my stomach to prove my point and the first hint of a smile cracks George’s face.

“Wait until you try Mel’s cheesecake. You’ll gain a few pounds just by lookin’ at it,” he warns.

“Pounds well worth it, I’m sure,” I laugh, and settle into a comfortable work routine. I decide right then and there that I’ll be back to help Mel. I enjoy my time way too much to never come back.

“So how long have you been here at Circle Bee?” I ask Mel once we get the rolls on the trays and have them set out to rise.

“Fifteen years,” he admits. “Long before young Rhett had to take over and his momma and daddy ran this place. When I first got hired, Rhett was barely eleven. His sister, gosh, she was a baby still. Cutest little thing, too. She’d have grown up to be a fine woman. I have no doubt about that.” When his words turn sad, I can’t help but reach out and squeeze his arm in comfort.

“What happened to them?” I ask, curious, but keeping my tone neutral so he knows he doesn’t have to tell me if he doesn’t want to.

Mel shifts on his stool where he snaps fresh green beans. “A tragedy really. Car wreck while Rhett was at school. His parentsand his little sister. All gone in the blink of an eye. He was only sixteen.”

I tense at his words and look away. I want to ask more, but my heart is too loud in my ears, and I can’t bring myself to. It’s too close to my own trauma, too profoundly similar, that I can’t stomach opening my mouth and prying anymore. “Everyone here seems like good people,” I say instead, changing the subject. My heart starts to immediately calm as Mel follows my lead.

“The best people,” he nods. “The boys, they may not like it when I talk about them, but every one of them are honorable and good men. Rhett can be cocky, but him and his friends have kept this place afloat. The investors came sniffing around right after he took over, like vultures, but he kept them at bay. It takes a special kind of man to do that.”

Mel looks down instead of at me, and though I can hear the pride in his voice, there’s something else there, too, something. . . hesitant. I don’t ask, mostly because it feels like a story I should get from the men in question.

“Investors come around in times of loss like that?” I ask.

“Oh, do they. From all walks of life, from other countries, everything. They come crawling out of the woodwork the moment a ranch has a little bit of struggle. Thunder Valley Homestead is dealing with that right now. Ole Frank is on hospice. Brain cancer. His family is scrambling to figure things out before he passes, and the bank is chomping at the bits to jerk it right out from underneath them. The thirteen are important for many reasons, but our location is real good. We all supply something beneficial, and while some of the ranches have been sold and passed onto new families, and some have even been renamed, there’re still always thirteen, and every year we all join together for the Green River drift, minus two ranches who don’t participate.”

“Gunnar told me about that,” I muse. “It sounds amazing.”

“It’s a sight you’ll never forget,” he nods. “You’re here for their trek home, but you should come out in the spring one year and see it for yourself.”

“I’d like that,” I nod.

“I’ma hold you to that,” he says, pointing at me with a green bean. “I expect you out here in April next year.”

“We’ll see,” I laugh, moving a stool up to help him with the rest of the green beans.

The sunrise the next day is a sight I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life. The way it rises over the mountains and begins to shine on the dew from the evening before makes something in my soul ease, like I’m able to breathe for the first time in a long time. It’s like I’ve never seen a sunrise before, not like this at least, and I snap a quick picture with my phone, so I’ll never forget the colors. My hands itch to sew an outfit inspired by it, but I just tuck them back into my pocket, hiding them away, fighting the urge.

From a distance, I catch sight of Trent disappearing into the large garage, always in and out, never lingering in any other place besides the big house. He never looks over at me, never says a word. It’s as if he thinks he can make me disappear by just ignoring me. I suppose it’s working for him, but it only intrigues me further. What secrets does he hold? Why doesn’t he want to spend any time at all with me? I don’t buy Rhett’s mention of him being shy as the real reason he wants nothing to do with me.

I expect today to be more of the same pattern, but with the early afternoon sun comes something new.

A silver pickup truck with a kennel in the back of it pulls into the main drive and parks. A man hops out, tall and lean with blond hair swept into a style that looks both disheveled and perfectly placed. He’s leaner than the others, but that doesn’t seem to deter him. He lifts the kennel out of the bed of the truck and plops it on the ground effortlessly.

“You must be Fable,” he says as he looks up at me when I approach. “I’m Colt King. Sorry I couldn’t be here when you arrived, but it’s nice to meet you finally.”

I wave away his words. “I’m hardly worth stopping business for,” I reply. “Besides, I hear you had an important mission.”

He pauses at my words, and so fast I almost miss it, his eyes dance down my body before he looks back down at the kennel. “Yes, well, to make up for it, you can meet the newest member of Circle Bee, the very important mission you mentioned.”

He opens the door, and a tiny ball of white and gray fur comes tumbling out. “Meet Rugby. He’s from a long line of working old English sheepdogs and comes with a beautiful pedigree to match.”

“Oh!” I cry, kneeling down immediately. The puppy comes running right up to me, all happy butt wiggles and little yips. “Nice to meet you, Rugby!” He’s so soft and fluffy, I can’t help but pick him up and hold him. “Don’t tell Rhett, but I think you’re my favorite,” I tell Colt with a grin.

He leans against the truck. “And all I had to do was bring a puppy home to be the favorite. Imagine how much I’ll be ahead of the others when you actually know somethin’ ‘bout me.”

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