Page 138 of Cowboy Daddies

Granted, it might require a teensy bit more work than I’d planned, but the poor place had been all alone for a very long time. That thought had me swallowing hard and blinking back tears. If I’d known, I would have found a way to help. Not that I actually had a clue as to how I could have managed to do so, but if I didn’t at least tell myself that, I’d be totally unable to get out of bed in the mornings, much less be determined to make the place into a home again.

I blinked hard a few times and practiced taking deep breaths until the aroma of freshly turned soil allowed me to once again picture what I’d be seeing in just a couple of weeks.

Weeks? How about six months? Of course that puts you out of the planting season so you might want to start looking up recipes on pickling weeds. Or perhaps, dandelion⁠—

“La-la-la-la, not listening!” I sang, yanking another weed free and tossing it over my shoulder. I really needed to look into getting a dog. Or a cat. Or at least some pet so that instead of holding conversations with the pessimist living rent-free in my head, I could chat with a living being who’d wag his tail and be very happy as long as I gave him the occasional bone and a few pats on the head.

Or maybe a goat or two to help with the weeding. No, forget the goats. A bee would be better…

Wait? Why in the world would I want a bee? Bees came with stingers and my palms were currently stinging all on their own, thank you very much, Mr. Wheelbarrow. Blinking again, I realized why the insect had pushed itself into the equation. Looking over what I was considering must have once been the garden, I watched a few bees flitting about, occasionally landing on a vine and a memory bloomed as clearly as the wildflowers that had poked their heads out above the weeds.

Hives.

Not the sort that would make me itch like crazy, but the kind that had once stood in a semi-circle beneath the leafy canopy of what I’d always thought of as a climbing tree. The memory was so vivid I could swear I could not only see the pristine white paint on the hives, but could actually taste the sweet, golden honey harvested from the combs inside. I sat there tracing the flight of the bees while attempting to remember everything I’d ever known about beekeeping.

First, I’d have to find the hives, and if they were in anything close to the wheelbarrow’s condition, I’d probably have to repaint a few. When one of the subjects of my musing buzzed close enough for me to hear what sounded suspiciously like laughter, I shook my head. Fine, I’d repair and repaint all of the hives, but that would be the easy part. The hard part would be to lure the bees I was watching back into the hives. In order to do that, I’d need a queen. And where does one find a queen?

In a castle in a fairy tale?

“No, Miss Smarty-pants, well, yes, but I’m talking about the real world.”

Bees lived in colonies and colonies didn’t have to be contained. Nope, there were plenty of places these bees could choose to call home. All I’d have to do was backtrack when they finished pollinating the flowers and headed home for the day. Oh, and I’d need a few other things as well but I was pretty sure I could find them.

Laughing, I pushed to my feet. I took the time to drag the poor wheelbarrow to what was likely to be its final resting place, which was against the shed wall, before cautiously trying to ease the door of the shed open. It only took a few tugs to give up caution. If there was any animal inside, I’d made enough racket to scare it off. With all the holes in the shed, I wasn’t worried that the only way out was the door that I was now using every ounce of my strength to open. I was sweating a lot and perhaps swearing just a bit when the door finally cooperated and gaped open.

“Please don’t let me see a snake,” I prayed, giving any belly-crawling creature time to uncoil and slither away before I dared to stick my head into the shed. I instantly remembered why I’d walked out of the theater when my date thought it would be a great idea to go see some movie about saws and massacres. Granted, I didn’t see an actual chainsaw, but the hoes, rakes, shovels, and pitchforks hanging like drunken soldiers from hooks in the wall and the trowels and gardening shears on the table against one wall would still make any deranged murderer smile in glee.

Good grief. I really needed to get a grip before I scared myself senseless. I forced my gaze away from possible weapons and focused on looking for what I needed. Unfortunately, other than the tools I would need later, I wasn’t seeing anything that rang the bell of my memory. Sighing, I pulled my head back out into the light. It was going to take a little more effort, but I was young and healthy and relatively smart so I was sure I could do it. With that in mind, I headed back to the house.

I now had a mission far more concrete than a garden. And it would require a lot less weeding. Once back at the house, I climbed the porch steps, automatically taking a giant step to skip over the second one from the top. My first day back, I’d learned it was rotten. My ankle still had a scratch as a reminder to look before I stepped. At least I’d found the porch safe to navigate but that might have to do with the fact it was screened in and somewhat protected from the elements.

Pulling the screen door open, I remembered seeing what I’d thought was an abandoned nest of some creature that had put in a change of address with my arrival. However, now that I was thinking about my mission, I was crossing my fingers and toes that I’d been wrong.

I cautiously poked at the pile of thick reeds sitting on top of an old table in one corner of the porch. When nothing attached to teeth, claws, stingers or, god forbid, fangs hissed or snarled, I decided it was safe enough.

“Bingo!” I shouted after I picked up the reeds and gave them a shake. It wasn’t some rodent’s home. At least not that kind of home. I could still hear my grandmother’s laugh while correcting me that it wasn’t a skip, but a skep. While I’d watched with fascinations as she’d woven the reeds together, she’d told me stories about how they were used to move bees from one place to another. The memory made me smile.

“Thanks, Grammie O,” I whispered as I dusted the reeds off before heading inside. I’d only need a couple of other things and then I’d be ready to go. Of course, everyone knew that the best work happened when one was properly fueled. A nice tall glass of lemonade and a cookie or two would be just the ticket.

When I’d set out to track the bees, it had been sunny but as afternoon wore on, it seemed to be turning darker earlier than usual. Or else, I’d been trekking far longer than I’d thought. I paused and transferred the backpack from one shoulder to another. Its weight wasn’t the real problem but the fact that it only had one strap instead of two made it impossible to distribute the weight properly on my back. Instead, I’d been slinging it over first one shoulder than another while following the bees.

I was ready to admit that my memories of bee tracking might be a bit skewed. Turns out bees did not fly in a straight line. I could also confess that humming “The Flight of the Bumblebee” wasn’t the least bit helpful as there didn’t seem to be any discernible pattern to their flight at all.

“Any suggestions?” I wasn’t asking anyone in particular. At this stage I would be grateful to hear from Miss Know-It-All if she had any helpful tips.

I squealed and almost jumped out of my skin when I heard someone telling me to move. With my free hand pressed to my chest, I momentarily froze and when it came again, decided I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Aaiieee!” I cried as I swung the pack off my shoulder and spun in a circle ready to swipe whoever had spoken off their feet. Once they were prone I’d figure out what to do or, more likely, run for my life. Only there was no one there. Panting, I repeated the rotation, far slower while searching the shadows.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I lied, hopefully with enough force to be plausible. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat! Come out and fight like a man.”

Please, Universe, if you don’t let a man step out of the woods with a cleaver, I’ll be forever grateful.

Either the fates believed me or were extending me grace because after rotating until I was dizzy, I was still alone. I plopped down to sit on a log and dropped my head between my spread knees. It took several deep breaths before the world stopped spinning and I was ready to admit I hadn’t heard anything other than some animal walking about.

“Mooooo…”

“Jumping jelly bellies!” This time my scream might have been a little louder and a lot longer but I didn’t care. I was ready to scream my bloody head off if I kept hearing disembodied voices. Other stories suddenly flooded my mind along with images that I really, really did not need to be visualizing right now. Not out in the middle of the woods!