Page 18 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

And she was kind of glad for the excuse to see Brandon. Maybe she wouldn’t even need to talk to him. She could just sneak a peek at him, hustle into the barn and deal with the wasp nest, then head out. He wouldn’t need to know she’d even been there.

She grinned at the thought. “Okay, I’ll go now.”

Jo smiled at her. “Don’t forget to wear the suit. You don’t want to get stung before we go dancing tomorrow.”

Oh, right. Allie had forgotten. She, Jo, and Cash, her five cousins, and a few other folks in town were heading to Charleston to go swing dancing at a new club for the twins’ birthday. Allie had been so excited all week, though the women in the party far outnumbered the men. “Hey, have Cash ask the Slades to come. We need more men.”

Jo raised one brow. “Why don’t you ask Brandon?”

Allie hucked a pack of purple Post-its at Jo as she ducked out the back door.

* * *

Brandon stood in his kitchen at his white-marble-covered island, with a large blueberry muffin in one hand and the remote to his small TV in the other. Another fire had taken out a building near Fort Bragg—also deemed an accident. That building had had military records in it of some sort.

He frowned, thinking about who he’d need to contact to learn more about what was going on. His gut told him it wasn’t as innocent as the news reported it to be, and he’d learned to trust his gut over the years. The fire in December had made him wary; this one made him downright uneasy.

He set the remote down and started to peel away the wrapper on his muffin.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of red zipped past, catching his attention. He went on high alert. He was more than halfway through March, and none of his friends had made a move for B.O.T.s. They’d never waited this long to send someone in. He spun to the window and went stock-still as he watched Allie tiptoe to the barn door, in an aqua tee over fitted jeans that sent his blood boiling. She had a white bee suit draped over her arm.

He scowled. Anger seized him like insurgents on a caravan—this was ridiculous. What was she planning on doing? Climbing up to the rafters by herself? Was he so horrible that she couldn’t even ask for help? And was she so naive as to think she could sneak past him with her red hair blowing in the breeze like a beacon in capture the flag?

Not bothering to grab his jacket, he marched outside and into the barn. He passed his vehicles and headed to the back, where the horses were. He’d placed a ladder up to the nest in preparation for their visit, and Allie was already up it, inspecting the nest. She hadn’t even bothered to put on her protective suit.

She leaned a little away from the ladder to get a better look.

He crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

She jolted back and away from the ladder, making it tip. Scrambling for purchase, she grabbed on to the beam above her as the ladder tilted out from under her and dropped to the stalls, barely missing Scout. He made a blasting sound with his nostrils and jumped back.

Allie dangled from the beam by her fingers.

Brandon rushed to the gate separating him from the horse area and hopped over, but not in time. Her fingers slipped, and he was helpless to do anything but watch.

“Ah!” she yelped. She hit the tallest pile of hay, rolled off and down to the next, then rolled out over the smallest bale, coming to a stop on her back. She stayed there, staring up.

Brandon watched her a moment, frozen where he stood by the gate, taking in the up-and-down movement of her chest as she breathed hard, and the way she bent her knees without sitting up.

She lifted her hands and started rubbing the back of one frantically. “He stung me!”

Brandon let loose the breath he was holding and grasped his chest as it beat out a rat-a-tat-tat. She was okay.

This woman was going to be the death of him. He’d served overseas, been in gunfights, and had nearly been blown up by an IED, and this had scared him more than any of that. He shook his head, walked over to where she lay rubbing at her hand, and plopped down next to her.

She stopped rubbing her hand and held it to her chest.

“You okay?” he asked, only now realizing he still held his muffin.

She sat up and nodded. Hay stuck out of her hair all over. She yanked a piece in front out and kept her eyes on her feet.

His heart still thudded loudly, so loudly he was sure she could hear it. He broke his muffin in half and handed it to her. She glanced over at him. It was all he could do not to say a word as dozens of them crashed through his head.

Once she was sure he wasn’t laughing at her or reprimanding her, she took the offering. “Thank you.”

Silence enveloped them for a moment, and for the first time in a while, it was a comfortable silence. He could wait. He was used to silence.

Halfway through her muffin, she spoke up. “Can I ask you something?” Her cheeks went a little rosy in her pale complexion.

---