Page 34 of Honey Bee Hearts

He glances at me and moves over to the forge before pulling out the metal again. From here, I can see he’s working on shaping them into circles now that I’m closer. “Rings for thehorse stalls,” he says. “Gunnar asked for something hardier than we have now. The horses keep busting them.”

“Oh! You must mean Houdini. Yeah, he busted out yesterday again Gunnar said. That’s so cool that you can just make new rings,” I muse. “You ever make any swords?”

I’ve always been interested in forged swords and knives. I’ve always drooled over the pretty swords at the ren fairs, but I’ve never pulled the trigger and bought one, if only because I worried I’d get drunk and use it to do something silly, like butter toast or something. Jinx and I used to joke about the mundane things we could do with a sword and how there are no laws against carrying a sword. I think there may be one now though. Someone had to ruin it for everyone.

He hesitates at my question. “Not swords, no. But knives.”

He pulls off his glove and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out something small and tosses it to me. I barely catch it before it can clatter to the ground. I look down at the item in my hands and realize it’s a pocketknife. I flip it open and stare with wide eyes at the design. The metal is a beautiful Damascus pattern of folded steel that I know takes real skill to make. “Wow,” I say as he pulls the rings from the forge. “This is gorgeous.”

He glances at me. “It’s nothing crazy.”

“Don’t downplay your skills, Trent,” I chastise him gently. “I’ve seen some awesome blades at renaissance fairs, and I know what it takes to make the Damascus pattern. This is easily one of the best pocketknives I’ve seen.”

He flushes despite the heat in the garage and looks away quickly. “Yeah. Well. . . it’s just a pocketknife.”

“I bet you’d make a great sword,” I say, watching him carefully as he starts pressing at the metal with tools. “I don’t want to bother you too much, but if you don’t mind, are you willing to walk me through what you’re doing?”

He looks over at me again, his dark eyes taking in my bright pink outfit. He’s wearing jeans and a white tank top today, both marked with soot. His hair is longer, down to his shoulders, but he keeps it pulled up. A few tendrils escape his messy bun to frame his face. He’s sweat slicked which only adds to his allure. He’s massive, at least a foot taller than me, if not more. Of the men on this ranch, he’s certainly the largest. Something about him makes me want to wrap him up like he’s a big teddy bear, which is silly, because he’s literally a giant, and I’m not even short. He just makes everyone else around him seem short.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I can do that.”

And so, I get a very direct and very bare-boned lesson in blacksmithing. I absorb every detail as he talks, completely interested in everything he has to say. It’s clear he doesn’t spend much time with other people. There’s no small talk, no pleasantries. Mostly, he puts out as little words as possible to get his point across. The shop is as hot as he warned, but when I start to sweat, I just pull my hair up off my neck and clip it up, eager to watch him work and listen to him talk. At the end of it all, he holds up a handful of iron rings for me to inspect.

I take them. “These are amazing. You did such a good job,” I gush, inspecting them.

“They’re just rings,” he says.

“Very well-made rings,” I point out and look up at his burly height with a smile. “Thank you, Trent,” I say honestly. I thought today would be boring. Instead, I’d thoroughly enjoyed myself sitting out here with him.

“For what?” he asks, confused.

“For sharing a piece of yourself with me,” I answer. “Anytime you’d like company, I’m down to sit out here with you.”

Something tugs on my pant leg, and I look down, expecting to see Jethro. Instead, I nearly shit myself when I see the fatraccoon. I screech and jump away, not really sure what I should do. Wild animals are unpredictable.

Trent scowls at the creature. “You wait until now to reveal yourself, Sly?” he growls as he scoops him up. The fat raccoon chitters in answer. “Sorry about that. This is just Sly Cooper. He’s a shop raccoon.”

“Shop. . . raccoon?” I repeat. “What’s that mean?”

“He was abandoned as a baby. We tried to release him, but he wouldn’t leave, so now he’s my shop raccoon,” he explains with a shrug.

“Is he. . . can I pet him?” I ask hesitantly.

“Yeah. He won’t hurt you. He’s like a cat.”

I blink and reach over to pet him in Trent’s arms. He’s a chunky thing and when I touch him, he chitters and pats at my hands, as if he’s looking for food. I giggle and pet him more comfortably. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Sly. Maybe don’t scare me so bad next time.” I glance up at Trent. “Make sure to remind your dad to invite me back.” I straighten with a smile and wave at Trent. “See you at dinner.”

And then I leave him to his peace.

“Damaged, that one,” Jinx comments from beside me. “But you always did like the onions.”

I grin. “All those layers to peel back. Just something about it.”

“Yeah, and they make you cry,” she says rolling her eyes. “No crying, Everhart. I forbid it.”

I swallow when I’m reminded again that she isn’t here, that I’m not talking to her. “No promises,” I rasp. “No promises.”

Chapter 21

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