The Beekeeper's Daughter (Harlequin Super Romance) (9 page)

“What’s her name?” Annie asked, her voice cracking in the silent room.

“Sorry. I ought to have mentioned that first. Cara.”

“Cara.” The name rolled around on her tongue, unfamiliar yet pleasant at the same time. “A nice name.”

“Yes. I think it means ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart’ or something like that.”

Or precious. Something close to the heart. Sud
denly, Annie liked the adoptive parents a whole lot more. She took one more look at the photograph before holding it out to Sister Mary Beatty.

“No,” the woman said, shaking her head. “It’s yours. Cara specified in her letter that if you agreed to make contact, she wanted you to keep it.”

So my daughter is thoughtful and sensitive. Unexpected pride welled up inside her.

“When you leave, I’ll give you Cara’s home and e-mail address. I spoke to her on the phone and she understands that meetings can’t be rushed. Sometimes, it’s best to take these things slowly.”

Annie scarcely heard what Sister Beatty was saying. “I…uh…have to talk to some people first,” she stammered.

“Of course you do, Annie! I should have asked, but are you married or engaged?”

Annie shook her head.

“Just that sometimes other relationships present challenges.”

Annie immediately thought of her father. She looked at the photograph again and knew he would be enchanted.

“Cara is also looking for her birth father, but so far hasn’t had much luck. His name is on the birth certificate, but there’s nothing else on file. I don’t suppose—”

“I have no idea where he is. We…split up as soon as I learned I was pregnant.”

Sister Beatty frowned. “That’s often the case.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking. He never knew I was pregnant. His father had a heart attack a few weeks after we…well…after Cara was conceived and he left university. We never contacted each other again.”

“Oh dear. I know Cara will be disappointed if she can’t locate him. What was his name again?” She opened the file folder.

“Adam Vaughn,” Annie said quickly. “Perhaps through the Internet?”

Sister Beatty closed the file and shrugged. “Perhaps. The thing is, well, I can’t tell you too much but Cara has a deep need to find her birth parents. She’s had such a tragedy already in her young life.”

Something caught in Annie’s throat. She swallowed hard and asked, “Something to do with her parents?”

Sister Beatty nodded. “Her adoptive father is dead. He was murdered, actually, almost a year and a half ago.”

The information stunned Annie. “Oh my God,” she whispered. She was overwhelmed with the urge to protect this young girl she didn’t know at all and yet shared a deeper connection with than any other person alive.

“The family lives in Raleigh. Perhaps you read about the case. Their last name is Peterson.”

“No, no. I was still in New York then.” She tried to digest what she’d learned, but with the image of Cara—now a real live person with a face—she could assimilate nothing more.

“Cara didn’t say, but perhaps the tragedy spurred her search for her birth parents. I don’t doubt that the affair has shaken her sense of security and with just her mother and herself…” There was very little either could find to say after that.

After a few minutes, Sister Beatty rose from her chair. “I’ll let Cara know you’ll communicate with her. I know she’ll be thrilled. What would you prefer? E-mail? Telephone?”

Annie’s mind was swirling. “Uh, maybe e-mail? The next few weeks are busy ones for us at the apiary—my father’s farm, where I’m now working—and there won’t be anyone to pick up the phone. I wouldn’t want her to get discouraged by constantly hearing voice messages.”

Sister Beatty smiled. “How good of you to consider that. Here’s Cara’s address but I think the next move has to be up to her now, don’t you think?”

Annie got up slowly. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She hadn’t taken it all in yet, but reached out for the piece of paper, her other hand still clutching the photograph. Dazed, she said goodbye and suddenly found herself behind the wheel of her Ford Focus, staring blankly through the windshield.

She eyed the dashboard clock. Two o’clock. If she left for Garden Valley now, she could be there by dinnertime. Home was the only place she wanted to be. Even more peculiar was the realization that Will was the one person she looked forward to seeing.

A
T SOME POINT IN THE LONG DAY
, Will wondered when Annie would be coming home. Not that it mattered, because there weren’t any other job prospects on his personal horizon. And besides, he was actually enjoying working with the bees. He no longer felt so claustrophobic wearing a beekeeper’s white jumpsuit and hat and the adrenaline that shot through him every time he lifted up the cover of a hive was manageable.

He’d spent the entire morning setting bee excluders in the hives or colonies, as Annie called them, on the McLean acreage. Bob McLean drove up once to check things out, more out of curiosity, Will thought, than suspicion. He’d been surprised at how quickly the other man had accepted not only his presence, but his work.
Either I’ve finally got a grip on this job or McLean knows even less about it than I do.
Then he drove back to the Vanderhoff colonies to extract the frames he and Annie had set up.

He was beginning to see how beekeeping involved basic tasks endlessly repeated. He spent the afternoon trucking supers laden with honey back and forth to the barn, running the extractor, then returning to collect more. During one of these trips, Marge Vanderhoff had popped out of her kitchen with a glass of cold lemonade for him.

By six o’clock he was locking up the barn and contemplating a shower and a cold drink—the order of which he hadn’t yet determined—when he heard a car coming up the driveway. When he saw the glint of sil
ver, he was filled with such pleasure it startled him. Will waited for Annie to climb out. Ever so slowly, the door creaked open and she stepped out.

He saw right away that something had happened. There was uncertainty in her face and she moved al most in a trance. “Annie?” he asked, closing in on her. “Are you okay?”

She made a funny half laugh and half sob, before bursting into tears. Will swiftly wrapped his arms around her, tucking her against his chest, placing his palm on the top of her head to keep her there for as long as necessary. Her face fell into the crook of his arm and her arms tightened around his waist. Will closed his eyes, wishing he could make everything better for her.

Pulling away was difficult. Annie could have stayed wrapped in Will’s embrace for hours. When she did pull back, his hands remained on her shoulders while he studied her face.

Finally his hands dropped to his side. “Tell me that wasn’t about the traffic,” he said, his voice oddly hoarse.

She shook her head. “It’s a long story,” she said, struggling to smile.

After a light pause, he asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I drove straight through.”

“I’ve got some food here in the van. How about if I cook us a light supper, as my mother used to say?”

“Are you sure? I hate to use your supplies. I’m sure there’s something in the freezer.”

“Hey, I’ve got eggs, tomatoes and cheese. Do we need anything more than that to whip up a great omelet?”

Annie knew he was trying to lighten the mood and played along. “Can’t think of anything except maybe a glass of wine.”

“Got that, too. You go on inside while I rustle up some victuals.” He started toward the van. “See? I’m getting into the local lingo now that I’ve been in the valley for a couple of days.”

Annie smiled, indulging him. She wasn’t certain where his lingo actually belonged, not having ever heard it in the valley, but let him keep his illusions. By the time she’d finished in the bathroom and changed her clothes, she could hear cupboard doors and drawers being opened and shut in the kitchen. She paused in her bedroom doorway. Was he whistling?

When she reached the kitchen, the table was set and two wineglasses were already filled with white wine. He turned from the stove. “I had a nice bottle of Sauvignon in the van, waiting for the right occasion.”

The fact that he considered making her supper an occasion was both flattering and disconcerting. She picked up her wine and sipped. She was home, in her own kitchen. An attractive man was cooking her dinner. Or supper. A wave of emotion threatened again and she blinked back tears.

He came over to the table with the frying pan and carefully slid the fattest omelet she’d ever seen onto her plate. It was golden brown, crisp around the edges.
Tomatoes and melted cheese oozed out from the fold. The rich aroma that wafted up from her plate made her realize how hungry she was. She watched as he set a bowl of salad on the table. Annie smiled, recognizing the crockery mixing bowl from the cupboard.

“Salad, too?”

“Had a bag of that premixed stuff from the grocery store. Good thing you came along. I’d never have been able to eat it all myself before it went off.” He served his own omelet, plunked the frying pan on the counter and settled into his chair. He picked up his wineglass and, holding it aloft, said, “Cheers! Welcome home.”

Annie clinked her glass against his. It was, she thought, one of the best homecomings she’d had.

They ate without talking. Annie was grateful for his silence. It gave her a chance to let her visit with Sister Beatty shrink to something she could think about without tearing up again.

She pushed her empty plate aside and moaned. “That was the biggest omelet I’ve ever eaten! And delicious. Hardly what I’d call a light supper. Is that what your mother would have called it?”

Will set his fork down. “No. It was an expression she used for the few days before every pay. Her idea of a light supper was usually crackers and peanut butter, or sardines on toast.”

“Was there just the two of you?’

“Yep. Never met my dad. I believe he took off sometime in the nine months before I was born.”

“And your mother?”

“She passed away a few years ago. Breast cancer.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She didn’t say anything for a long while. “It must have been difficult for your mother being a single parent.”

“It was. She didn’t have a college education and few skills. Most of her jobs were waitressing or working as a cashier. That type of thing. But she made do.”

It explained something about his fastidious ways. He’d even rinsed the plastic wrap from the package of cheese and hung it over the faucet, to reuse later.

Would she have been the same kind of struggling mother, if she hadn’t given her baby up for adoption?

“Hey.”

She raised her head, her watering eyes scarcely focusing.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice soft.

Annie took a deep breath. She knew it wasn’t his problem, but she was desperate to tell someone. Besides, she’d promised to call Auntie Isobel as soon as she got home to give a full report and if she didn’t have a run-through, she knew she’d simply dissolve again and would be totally incomprehensible on the phone.

“I…uh…something happened while I was in Charlotte,” she began.

“I gathered as much from your arrival. Your father?”

His concern took her off-guard, but also gave her the courage to go on. “No. It has to do with me. A long story.” She gave a faint smile.

“I can relate to that. We’ve got all night.”

Annie ran her fingertip along the edge of her plate. “When I was in my first year at the University of North Carolina—in Charlotte—I was very foolish one night. Had too much to drink and—” she paused “—got pregnant.”

She glanced at him, but his face was impassive. She continued, giving him a summary of that August as if it had all happened to someone else. When she finished with the details of her visit to the adoption agency, she detected a change in his expression. A softening.

He waited a moment before asking, “What about the baby’s father?”

“We’d only dated a few times.”

“So he didn’t want the baby?”

“I never got the chance to tell him.”

“So he doesn’t know that you got pregnant?”

Annie stared into the empty wineglass clutched in her hand. She shook her head. “Around the time I found out, he was called home for a family emergency. I tried to contact him, but didn’t have much success. Finally, I left him a note, but I never got a response.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “How do you feel about your daughter making contact with you?”

“I’m not sure yet. Obviously I made the decision to open up that door, but to be honest, I’ve no idea how I’ll feel if and when it happens. The whole thing is still pretty overwhelming.”

“Of course it is.” He stretched his arm across the
table and gently released the wineglass from her grip to take her hand. “It sounds like you’ve got a supportive family when the time comes.”

“That’s just it. My father doesn’t know. There never seemed to be a good time. After my mother died—”

“When was that?”

“I was fifteen. She was in a single-car crash. On the highway going into Essex.” Annie stopped.

“So when you found out you were pregnant, there was some distance between you and your father that made it difficult—”

“Impossible,” she interjected. “After my mother died, my father and I went our own ways. I stayed with my aunt the summer I had the baby.” She paused again, thinking of her aunt’s worried face as she’d driven off that morning. “She’s been wonderful. And don’t get me wrong. I know my father loves me more than anyone else in the world. He’s a lot different now, especially since he met Shirley.”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“I know he’ll fret and have a ton of questions and likely feel bad that I hadn’t told him years ago. It’ll be easier when he’s home.”

“So I guess you have no idea when your daughter is going to call.”

“No.” Annie withdrew her hand, tucking it under her chin and resting her elbow on the table. She suddenly felt drained of all energy and emotion.

“Why don’t you go to bed while I clean up here?”

Her eyes cut to his. There was no innuendo or invitation in his face. Merely a friend offering some help. “Thanks. I’d like that.” She rose shakily from her chair. “How did things go, by the way?”