Page 7 of Honey Be Mine
Violet cocked an eyebrow. “That’s all? You’re too young to spend all your time working, Rosemary. You’re in California. Young, single, pretty, and smart. You should get out, live a little, make some memories. I know how dedicated you are to the bees, but I’m pretty sure they’d be okay with you taking some time for yourself every now and then.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Bees don’t take time off.” She smiled at the way Violet sighed and shook her head. “I’ve always been more of a homebody. But I did go hiking whenever I had any downtime.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I guess that’s something.” But Violet smiled. “It’s so good to have you home. I know I’m not the only one that’s missed you.” She grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.
Since Violet had always been friendly with her aunts, Everett had always been one of Rosemary’s friends. Growing up, the Taggert house had been like a second home. Violet and Leland Taggert had, in many ways, served as the parental figures she and her sisters lacked—giving them a special place in Rosemary’s heart.
“I can’t thank you enough for saving my babies,” Gramma Dot spoke up, rocking in her chair with a teacup in one hand. “I didn’t want them catching a chill.”
“You’re a hero, Rosemary,” Violet whispered—for her ears only. “Everett was going to get a stern talking-to if those onesies didn’t show up. I appreciate you bringing them by.”
“I was happy to do it.” Partly because Aunt Mags had told her how distressed Gramma Dot was getting over the lack of her new baby goat onesies and partly because she hoped to see Everett. She’d only been here a few days, but still, she’d expected to see him by now.
Jenny, Everett’s younger sister, sat on the couch. “Now your babies are safe and warm, Gramma Dot.”
“As they should be.” Gramma Dot’s nod was firm. “Though I imagine they’ll be getting hungry soon.”
“I’ll get the bottles ready.” Jenny pushed off the couch. “But you should let me feed them, Gramma Dot. Those little guys get a little eager around feeding time. You might end up with bruises all over you.”
“These little darlin’s wouldn’t do that,” Gramma Dot cooed, obviously smitten.
Jenny exchanged a look with Rosemary, then headed into the kitchen.
“That child acts like I haven’t been doing this for fifty-plus years.” Gramma Dot shook her head. “I was raising goats long before she was a twinkle in Leland’s eye.”
Violet smiled. “She’s worrying over you, Mama Dot. She means well.”
Gramma Dot sighed, offended nonetheless.
“Bottles are ready,” Jenny called out.
The three women stood and headed into the kitchen. The large playpen Gramma Dot’s goat kids called home took up a good portion of the kitchen. Jenny opened the large playpen gate and stepped inside. “Which one do you want to feed? Marilyn or Clark?”
Gramma Dot went into the pen and closed the gate behind her. “I fed Marilyn earlier. I don’t want Clark getting jealous.”
Jenny smiled. “I don’t think they’ll notice, Gramma. As long as they’re getting fed, they’re happy.”
“Well, I notice.” Gramma Dot sniffed. “And I’m not picking favorites.”
Rosemary had always gotten a kick out of Gramma Dot. The old woman was headstrong and opinionated but absolutely adorable. Even more so now. She wore jean coveralls and sat on the kitchen floor, already patting and cuddling the two goats that ran to her. When Aunt Mags shared Gramma Dot was struggling with early stages of Alzheimer’s, Rosemary had been devastated for the Taggert family.
“Fine.” Jenny took one of the bottles and one of the goats to the far side of the pen, sat on the floor, and offered it to the goat.
“Here you go, Clark, you handsome lad.” Gramma Dot giggled as the goat kid attached itself to the bottle, drinking like it’d been on the verge of starvation—a highly unlikely scenario as Gramma Dot tended to spoil “her” kids.
It was a relief to see how little the old woman had changed. Dot was pushing eighty but still full of zip and opinions.
“I sure hope they don’t get milk all over their new onesies.” Gramma Dot frowned. “Maybe we should have taken them off before we fed them?”
“We just put them on,” Jenny pointed out.
It hadn’t been an easy process, either. The goat kids had no interest in being clothed. If it wasn’t for Gramma Dot’s insistence, chances are the onesies would have been tossed aside.
“Rosemary?” Gramma Dot looked at her, her eyes narrowing just the slightest bit. “Is there some special someone out there in California? A surfer, I bet. Doesn’t everyone in California surf?”
Rosemary laughed. “Not everyone. And I’m sorry to disappoint you, there’s no surfer boyfriend. There’s no boyfriend.”
“No?” Jenny’s grin was a little suspect. “That’s too bad.”
