Page 42 of Three Reckless Words

I shrug.

I guess they do.

Truthfully, I haven’t involved myself in the day-to-day beekeeping crap. That’s why I have a maintenance crew.

“Winnie, do you know what you’re doing?” I demand.

“Yes. Trust me. I checked and you have an extractor.” At my blank look, she sighs. “It separates the honey without damaging the comb. That way, the bees don’t need to rebuild after we mess with anything.”

“I see.” Barely, but that’s not the point. “I don’t feel fully comfortable with this.”

Am I being unreasonable?

She might be mad about bees, but I don’t know enough about her to trust my son and this strange woman around a whole active colony, all armed with stingers and bad attitudes.

Colt was stung a few times as a kid, so I know he’s not allergic. Still, I’ve heard stories of people who become allergic after being stung too many times, or just as life happens.

No way do I want to risk any nasty surprises.

“I get the hesitation,” Winnie says brightly, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “No need to worry, I’ll do it myself. You guys can keep your distance.”

“Yeah!”

With Colt’s enthusiasm, there’s nothing else to do but follow her outside into the balmy evening sun. There’s a reason we called this place ‘Solitude’ and it lives up to its reputation.

As promised, there’s a shed tucked into the corner of the garden. She disappears inside before reemerging in a white suit complete with hood. There’s black mesh around her face and she’s wearing bulky gloves. She gives us a big thumbs-up.

“This is the super,” she explains, tapping the top of the first bee box she comes to. “Any excess honey the bees make goes in here.”

“Why there?” Colt asks.

“Most hives make extra honey, but we don’t want to grab too much. Did you know the average worker drone only lives for six weeks and makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in his entire life?” She tilts her head toward us but it’s impossible to see her expression behind the hood.

I’m sure she’s giddy.

Colt nods, awestruck.

My lips curl with irritation.

Just to check that she’s not talking out of her ass, I pull out my phone and do a quick search.

Dammit, she’s right.

Of course, she is.

I decide not to stroke her ego by telling her and shove my phone back in my pocket, folding my arms as I watch her.

Beside me, Colt stares like he’s watching the greatest show on Earth.

“It’s so cool how she isn’t scared,” he whispers.

I don’t know Winnie, but I know her well enough to say, “Cool or absolutely bonkers. Time will tell.”

“Dad, she’s just passionate. You could learn a thing or two. But what if she gets stung?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” I bite off.

Colt cups his hands over his mouth as she removes the first frame, which is so thick with gold bees it’s impossible to see anything underneath.

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