Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
We mended broken boards and scrubbed years of dirt and old paint off the walls. A fresh coat of paint in a cheery yellow with bright white trim was applied and new furnishings now filled the rooms. When we were done, I knew it was the perfect solution and could feel Grammie O and Grandpops clapping in approval. We’d turned it into a getaway of sorts. A home away from home while the four of us shared the farmhouse on the hill. As couples, we could each take some separate time away and come to the little yellow house tucked into the woods. A playhouse where adults could enjoy all sorts of the naughty and delicious games that kept a Daddy and his Little girl connected in incredibly special ways.
Finally, there was but one thing left to do. We rebuilt the hives using both my drawings and those we discovered in the pages of the journal. I’d also found instructions on weaving a skep and enticing the bees. Her notes were far more helpful than any computer search and had given me the trust in myself to retrace that path I’d taken on my first trek until I found the tree the bees had moved to once their hives had begun to fail at Grammie’s death.
It had taken me a few tries, but I’d finally captured the queen and watched her colony follow her into the skep I’d woven. I wrapped a new sheet around the treasure and carried it to the clearing where the new hives had welcomed them home again.
Now it was time to reap the reward of so much hard work.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Lincoln asked for what had to be the millionth time.
“Yes, Daddy, it’s perfectly safe.” When he still didn’t appear to be convinced, I sighed and added, “Do you honestly think Grammie O would have ever put me in danger?”
“Of course not,” he answered as if affronted I’d even ask.
If I rolled my eyes, I figured he didn’t see it as I was in the process of pulling down the net to cover my face. “Then it’s safe. I’ve been a beekeeper since I was a baby!”
“That’s two,” he said as he lowered the net from his own hat.
“Two? How did you get two? I only rolled my eyes once, though how you saw that!”
“Daddy knows and sees all, little girl. As for the count. It’s one for trying to sneak an eyeroll past me and one for telling a big fat fib. You were at least five before you risked life and limb for honey.”
I reached out and gave him a quick hug. “You’re right, but still I promise, I’ll be fine, but I will totally understand that if you’d rather not—”
“Oh hell no. No way am I allowing my Little girl to walk into the jaws of death by herself.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Daddy. The most that will happen is that they may sting you but only because you scared them.”
“Do I get to sting them back, because they are scaring me?”
I laughed before stepping back and offering him my hand. “Trust me?”
“Always,” he said and placed his hand around mine.
“Then let’s dance,” I said and slowly led my Daddy toward the hives.
I knew Kate and Luther were standing a safe distance away, witnessing this first dance as Lincoln and I slowly moved among the bees, opening hives and withdrawing one panel at a time. As we danced, I sang and the bees buzzed while the scent of honey wafted on the breeze. It was everything and so much more than I’d remembered as I made new memories to write about in my own journals that someday perhaps our children would read.
“Are you stung?” Lincoln asked after we’d scraped the last of the liquid gold into a pail.
“No, why?”
“Babygirl, you’re crying,” he said, slowly lifting my veil.
“I’m just so happy I can’t hold it all,” I said and reached up to lift his so I could see his eyes. “You were very brave.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I was scared shitless. I’m afraid my denim might be tarnished, pixie.”
“Oh, Daddy, I sure hope so.” I ran my fingertips over that denim as I said, “You know what I like even more than denim, Daddy?” I asked, loving the way his pupils were beginning to dilate.
“What is that, pixie?”
Having reached my destination, I hooked my thumbs into his belt. “Leather.”
This time it wasn’t only his pupils that grew, not just the color of his irises darkening into the blue-violet of a storm cloud, but the bulge beneath that lovely denim. I squealed as he bent and scooped me up into his arms and I giggled when he strode past Luther and Kate with a simple, “Time to play.”
“Tell me your story,” he said as he took the stone path we’d laid.