The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) (13 page)

“When did it start?” Will hollered.

“I was asleep on the couch. Heard the birds squawking. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

More than long enough for the barn to become fully involved. If Henry hadn’t awakened, the house itself might have caught fire. Will shuddered at how close the old guy had come.

“What about that one? Can we save it?”

Will looked over at the flames licking out from the
roof of the birdhouse inside the coop. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s too late for that one. We need to keep the hoses on this one here.”

“But my birds!” He started to lunge forward.

Will clamped a hand on the man’s bony forearm. “No, Henry. Too late for the birds in there, but I think they’ve all escaped from this coop.”

Henry swiped at his nose with his free arm. When he raised his smoke-blackened face to Will, his eyes were red. “Thanks anyway, for opening the gate. I couldn’t even get near it, it was so hot. At least some of them had a chance.” He stretched to look over Will’s shoulder.

Will craned around to see clusters of pigeons sitting on the roof and eaves of Henry’s house. Their silent silhouettes against the backdrop of smoke and sky, eerily lit from the fire, reminded Will of a scene from some horror movie. He guessed that many had flown into the woods.

The headlights of vehicles coming up the driveway suddenly bounced off the side of the house. Relief flowed through him. The unit was here and hopefully the second coop and the house itself, could be saved.

The engine pulled up next to Will’s van, followed by the tanker truck. They’d made great time. A little less than ten minutes since his phone call. He saw Captain Andrews emerge from the engine and shout orders to the firefighters leaping down from both vehicles. Seeing Will and Henry, he walked over.

“Looks like a replay of the Lewis fire,” he shouted
to Will. “There’s extra gear in back of the truck. Why don’t you suit up?” He squinted down at Henry. “Mr. Krause, would you prefer to sit in the cab of the engine or Will’s van?”

“I’m happy right here,” insisted the old man.

“Not a good idea, sir. I don’t want any of my men to knock you down while they’re setting up the hoses.” He placed a hand on Henry’s elbow, took the hose from him and led him toward the engine. Will dropped the garden hose and followed them. Andrews closed the cab door, leaving Henry sitting in the dark interior, then showed Will where his gear was.

“When I heard you’d made the call, I brought it along.” He gestured back to Henry. “Poor guy. He loved those pigeons. I see a lot of them made it out. You open up the coops?”

“One of them. Henry got the other,” he said as he shoved his feet into the heavy-duty steel-toed boots. They were a bit snug, but safer that way than too big.

“Any sign of Waters? His wife said he was on his way but we had to leave without him.”

“I wasn’t at the campground. I spotted the fire from the road.”

“Again?”

Will shrugged. He picked up the canvas fire-resistant bunker coat and began to fasten it. Andrews studied him for a few seconds before rushing off to supervise his men. On his way back to the group, Will glimpsed Henry hunched over in the engine’s cab, star
ing at the blaze. There wasn’t time to say anything—even if he could have eased the man’s grief.

He tugged on the balaclava that covered his head and neck beneath his helmet. The fabric was fire-retardant and offered some protection from the heat and sparks that could fly up under the rim of the helmet. Though Will knew all too well that even the best safety equipment could fail.

“Jennings! You coming or not?”

The shout roused Will. He blinked twice before he realized where he was, alive and well in Krause’s backyard. Taking a deep breath, he forced his legs forward. Andrews was beckoning to him, pointing in the direction of the first pigeon coop, now totally engulfed.

“Get an axe and see if you can knock some of that down before the flames fly across to the other one. I’ll get Waters to keep a hose on the first while you’re doing it. Signal to him where you want him to spray. It looks like it just might burn itself out if we can narrow the perimeter.”

Waters? When had he turned up?
Will glanced sharply to the second coop and saw Sam helping a firefighter with another hose.

He checked the strap on his helmet one more time, grabbed the axe out of the bracket on the side of the engine and headed for the coop. His heart pounded erratically and he could hardly breathe. He made himself wait thirty seconds to catch his breath and let the adrenaline ease up.

Then a shout from behind. Waters. He couldn’t hear what the man was hollering but figured he was asking him what was wrong. Will raised the axe and began to hack away at the burning wood.

Much later, as the firefighters stood around the engine after mopping up, talk got around to the cause of the fire. Although there was no way to tell yet how it had started, everyone was thinking it had to be the arsonist again. Everyone except Waters, who suggested Henry might have set the fire himself, maybe accidentally.

That postscript irritated Will. “Anyone with half a brain should be able to figure out that Krause would never harm his pigeons.”

“Maybe he wanted to collect some insurance money. It’s damn easier to burn a barn down than to raze it. Cheaper, too,” Waters retorted.

Andrews took a wait-and-see attitude. “I’ll send a team out in the morning to start the investigation.” He turned to Will. “Can you meet us here, about eight?”

Will thought about Annie waiting for him at the apiary but remembered he now had a cell phone. After a few more instructions from Andrews, plus a belated introduction of Will to the other members of the volunteer unit, the men began to pack up the equipment.

“Poor old fellow,” Andrews muttered, watching as Henry tried to coax the freed pigeons into the remaining coop. “Leave that, Henry. Get some sleep. The birds will go back into the coop when they’ve calmed down.”

“I don’t want to leave them free at night. Too many predators about.”

“I’ll spend the night in my van right next to the coop, Henry,” Will said. “When they’ve gone back in, I’ll shut the door behind them.” He doubted he’d notice a fox or owl hunting but his proposal appeased Henry enough for him to agree to go back inside the house.

Andrews clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks. I think he’ll sleep easier knowing you’re out here. Besides, the perp might just come back to finish the job.”

“You believe that?”

“I don’t want to, but you never know. This is the first loss of life we’ve had, you know, since the fires began.” He paused. “Sure hope the record holds there.” He waved a hand and headed to the engine where his men were waiting.

He didn’t have to explain what he meant to Will. He was thinking the same thing himself. Nobody wanted to see this go to the next level—human loss.

When the roof had collapsed, trapping him, Frank and Gino in the blazing warehouse, part of a roof truss had knocked Will’s helmet off. The balaclava had somehow twisted over his face mask, dislodging it enough to block his vision. Frank was lying under a beam, his PASS motion alarm shrilling loudly. Will knew instantly the beam was too heavy to move. Somewhere behind him, Gino was crying for help, his voice muffled under his mask and the din of the fire.

Will made a snap decision and turned back to find Gino, pinned beneath some rubble. He bent to start clearing the debris but his mask and balaclava slipped again, blinding him. He tore off the mask and was lifting a huge chunk of burning wood when something fell on him. All he remembered was the sharp pain before everything went black.

W
ILL AWOKE TO BANGING
.
He sat up, groggy and disoriented. He was in the van, which was a good thing. But when he brought a hand up to rub his eyes, he stared down at the black soot folded into the creases of his fingers.
The fire.
He was at Henry’s. The banging persisted and he stumbled to the door.

Henry was standing at the foot of the door, holding a tray of what looked like breakfast. “Thought you’d be hungry,” he said. “Where do you want it, in or out?”

Not quite awake, Will hesitated. “Have you eaten?”

“Yep.”

“What time is it?” he asked, remembering the eight o’clock meeting.

“Seven-thirty. Want to shower inside first?”

“Do you mind? The captain is coming in about half an hour.”

“C’mon then. I’ll take the tray back to the kitchen.”

Will grabbed a towel and change of clothing. He’d fallen onto his bed last night fully clothed. As he followed Henry across the yard to the kitchen door, he sneaked a glance at the pigeon coop. The gate was
closed now. He hoped nothing had made off with the remaining pigeons while he was passed out inside the van.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. He’d noticed the other day that the windows at the rear of the house hadn’t been shuttered, which explained the airiness of the kitchen. The house was much tidier and cleaner than he’d expected. He’d assumed—and he felt guilty about this—that it would be littered with the type of debris that recluses seemed to collect. Granted, the appliances were right out of the fifties and the linoleum on the floor had not worn well. Paint was peeling from a ring of rust on the ceiling. Sign of an old leak, Will guessed. But the man’s dishes were stacked neatly in a rack and the room was filled with the aroma of bacon and eggs.

Henry took the plates off the tray and popped them into the oven. He turned around, almost surprised to see Will. “Oh. Thought you’d gone upstairs.”

Will smiled. “I’m not sure where to go, Henry.”

“Of course. Foolish of me.” He led the way along a dark hallway to a staircase at the front of the house. Will glanced into the living room where, except for a small television on a bookcase and a shabby reclining chair, pieces of furniture were shrouded in sheets. His face flushed when he realized Henry had caught him looking.

“Don’t spend much time in there,” he said. “I’m usually in the kitchen or out back with my birds.”

Will wanted to ask why the windows were shuttered but hesitated to pry.

“Bathroom’s upstairs, second door on your right. The hot water takes a few seconds to get going, so be careful. And don’t worry, there’s lots of light. I didn’t close up the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“I put shutters on the other rooms about sixteen years ago, when my wife—Ida Mae—got sick. She couldn’t bear the light. Had terrible migraines with her condition. Just never got around to taking them off.”

“Keeps the place cool in summer, I bet,” was all Will could think to say.

“Go get your shower then.” The old man gestured to the top of the stairs. “Breakfast won’t keep warm forever.” He shuffled back to the kitchen.

Will found the bathroom as antiquated as the kitchen, but likewise, as clean. The tile floor was spongy in places, where water had overflowed, perhaps from the tub. Stripping down, Will sneaked a peek out the small window. No one had arrived yet. He pulled the cracked plastic shower curtain around the old-fashioned tub and turned on the faucet. A spray of rust-colored water shot out and, after a few seconds, Will tested it before stepping into the tub.

He soaped himself liberally and had to stand patiently while the thin stream of water trickled all over. Knowing that the captain might arrive any time, and that Henry would be disappointed if he didn’t eat
breakfast, Will decided to forego a shave. He toweled dry and changed quickly, bundled up his dirty clothes and took the stairs two at a time.

Henry was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He started to get to his feet when he saw Will.

“No, no, I’ll get it.” Will took the plates out of the oven and set them across from Henry. The eggs had slightly congealed and the bacon was no longer as crisp. But he was starving and polished off everything, including two pieces of cold toast and two cups of coffee.

Henry beamed. “Glad to see you enjoyed it.”

“Yes, sir, I did. And thank you very much for going to the trouble. I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

“Least I could do after you saved my birds last night.”

Henry’s watery blue eyes confirmed how much that had meant to him.
Hard to believe that mere days ago this man was holding a shotgun on me.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t save them all,” Will said.

Henry looked down. “Me too.”

“What about the ones that flew off? I noticed that some went up to the roof, but others headed into the woods.”

“They’ll come home when they’re no longer spooked.”

“Come home?”

“Pigeons home, Will. They find their way eventually.”

The sound of vehicles coming up the driveway interrupted them. “Guess that’s Captain Andrews,” Will said.

“Guess so.”

“Mind if I ask you something, Henry? I know the captain will anyway.”

“Go ahead.” The old man’s face sobered.

“Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you? Get even with you for something?”

Henry pursed his lips in thought. “I haven’t been exactly hospitable—if that’s what yer thinkin’—for a long time, but I doubt I’ve offended anyone enough to warrant a fire. Still, there’ve been some strange goings-on lately.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve seen flashlights in the yard from my bedroom window, at the back of the house. Thought it was kids again, but now I’m not so sure. Then a few weeks ago someone must’ve opened the door to one of the coops. The pigeons were okay and those that flew off came back, but some predator could’ve got in after them. That was distressing.”

He’d been lucky the old guy hadn’t shot first and asked questions later, the afternoon he’d wandered onto the property.

When Henry didn’t say anything more, Will stood. “Thanks again for the breakfast, Henry. And by the way, I thought I’d come back after work today to discuss rebuilding that pigeon coop.”

Henry’s face lit up. “You mean that?”

“I sure do.”

“I can’t believe a stranger’s willing to do that for me. Thank you, son. I surely do appreciate the offer.”

Will had his hand on the kitchen door to go outside when Henry added, “And bring that young Annie Collins with you again sometime. She’s a corker, that girl. Just like her mama.”

Annie.
He’d almost forgotten. Will closed the door behind him and went to get the cell phone from the van.

A
NNIE REPLACED THE RECEIVER
. Another fire and even closer to home. For the first time since the fires had begun, she was starting to worry about the apiary. There seemed to be no particular pattern to the blazes either. Certainly the few people in the valley who’d been hit so far had no obvious connection to one another.

She’d have thought that if the arsonist was a problem teenager, the Krause place would’ve been one of the first targets. Henry was legendary for his pigeons and his avoidance of people. The fact that he didn’t allow residents of the valley to use his pond could be reason alone for some kid to want revenge. And the ramshackle out-buildings on his property would have been irresistible.

She sighed. Enough speculation. Your big problem now is whether to tell Dad or not. She ought to, but if he detected trouble in the valley he’d be home in a shot, which would ruin Shirley’s plans.

She went upstairs to finish getting dressed. No rush if Will was going to be late. She could pour off some of the honey from the settling tank and get the Essex bakery order ready. But as she went about her tasks, part of her was attuned to the sound of Will’s van. He
might be able to give her some advice about her father. Annie saw the irony in that immediately. Seeking advice from someone who’d been in the valley all of one week and who hadn’t even met her dad?

Midmorning, with no sign yet of Will, Annie returned to the house for a cold drink. She’d finished the order and, after pouring a glass of iced tea, picked up the phone to call the bakery to arrange pickup. There was a voice mail message and she quickly tapped in the password.
Maybe something’s come up with Dad.
But the voice she heard—unexpectedly high and slightly tremulous—belonged to a young girl. Annie’s damp hand clutched the receiver as she listened to the message, then replayed it.

“Hi, this message is for Annie Collins. Um, my name is Cara Peterson and I got your phone number from Sister Mary at Saint Anne’s Adoption Agency in Charlotte. Sister Mary called a few days ago to tell me that you said it was okay to get in touch with you. I guess you know who I am…. and…uh…I sent you an e-mail right away after I heard from Sister Mary but never got an answer.”

Annie closed her eyes. She hadn’t checked her computer in a week things had been so nuts.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you whenever we can arrange something. My mom—her name is Devona Hall—says we can drive there anytime that’s okay with you.”

Annie forced herself to ignore her rising panic.

“Anyway, I’ll send you another e-mail with some information about me in it. Mom says it’s better to do it
that way first. I’m really looking forward to meeting you and I hope you are, too. Bye.”

After replaying it, Annie saved the message and slowly hung up the phone. She’d had a sense of unreality listening to the call, as if it were happening to someone else, not her. The voice could have belonged to any young girl and Annie hadn’t felt much more than a strong sense of disbelief as she’d heard it. But partway through the second play, realization struck.
This is your daughter.

Dazed, she went immediately to the spare bedroom that served as a den and booted up the computer. Sure enough, there was the e-mail. It was almost word for word the same as the phone call and Annie wondered if the girl had written the message down first. Somehow that touched her more than anything.

She had no idea what to say to her. Not
her.
Cara. Cara Peterson.
Your daughter.
Annie sat and stared at the monitor. Finally she began to type.

Dear Cara,

Thank you for your phone message. I’m glad you called because I haven’t had time to check my e-mail since I saw Sister Beatty in Charlotte. She gave me your photograph. Thank you for that! I can see that you have a lot of your birth father in you. You are tall like he was and have his coloring. I am sorry to admit that I never had an opportunity to tell him about you—or even that I was pregnant. I have had no con
tact with him at all, but I think you may get some information about him from the University of North Carolina. At least, perhaps they have an address on record. Now let me tell you something about myself.

A
NNIE KEPT IT SIMPLE
, giving a general summary of the years after Cara’s adoption. She knew that Cara would want to know about her father, too, but didn’t want to overwhelm her with information in the first message. Not that she had a lot of information about the tall, good-looking young man she’d dated briefly that year. She also didn’t want to tell her just yet that she had a grandfather. Best to let the grandfather know first.

Dad.
Annie pressed her forehead against her fist, overwhelmed by guilt. She could summon up convincing excuses for not telling her father thirteen years ago. First, she hadn’t realized she was even pregnant until ten weeks into her first trimester. Because she’d only been intimate that one time with Adam, she hadn’t made the connection, little dreaming she could get pregnant her first time.
I was another statistic there, too.

The days following the positive pregnancy test had been frantic, tormented. Adam had already left university to be with his family after his father’s sudden death. She didn’t expect to hear from him again and she hadn’t. When she finally confided in her aunt, the two spent long hours discussing Annie’s options. Adoption came out at the top of the list, allowing Annie to finish university and start a career. Once the decision was
made and Auntie Isobel began making inquiries about where and how to place the unborn child, Annie had immersed herself in school work. Success was now more important than ever. Not telling her father had never been a plan—more a fallout of the mental and emotional chaos she was experiencing at the time.

The last trimester had coincided with the apiary’s busiest time of year. Annie knew her father would leave for Charlotte right away, had he known, but their hired man would never have managed on his own.

After the birth, Annie was out of commission for a few weeks. Post-natal depression, without the joy of a baby to help pull her through. Once again, Isobel came to the rescue and by the time classes resumed in the fall, Annie was ready to start over. More or less. She’d made it—but not unscathed.

Her thoughts leapt to Will. They were alike in some ways, though his scars were both tangible and invisible. Annie checked the time on the computer monitor. He’d said midmorning at latest and it was eleven already. She didn’t want to greet him in an emotional upheaval a second time. She ended her e-mail to Cara and promised to write again in a few days.

After washing her face and a quick change from T-shirt to tank top, Annie jogged downstairs and into the kitchen just as Will’s van pulled into the yard. Although they’d smoothed out the rough edges of their misunderstanding, she still felt awkward.
As if my life isn’t complicated enough. Now you’re going to stir it
up even more, in true Annie fashion, by falling for this complex, mysterious man.

She found him in the barn, inspecting the buckets for the bakery order. When he turned at her footfall, his smile disarmed her. The other day at the pond might never have happened.

“You’ve been working hard this morning,” he said. “When is this lot going to be picked up?”