Susan Wiggs - The Beekeeper's Ball

“Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just taking in the atmosphere.”

They came upon a crew of workers with long-handled pruners. Speaking in Spanish that sounded smooth and natural, Isabel asked one of them where Magnus was.

One of the guys gestured at the end of a row of trees and waved. “He’s over by the new trees from the nursery beds.”

They headed down another row of trees. At the end of the row, Mac could see an old man silhouetted against the hillside, a ladder on one shoulder and a cane in his other hand. Tall and slender, in overalls and a work shirt, white hair sticking out from under a flat cap, Magnus Johansen moved with the ease of a much younger man.

Isabel called out to get his attention and he stopped, setting the ladder on the ground. He took off his cap and waved it at them.

Mac paused to take a candid picture while Isabel and Tess walked ahead, framed by the rows of arching trees in bloom. A timely breeze created a flurry of petals that filled the air like an unseasonable snowstorm. The camera lens captured the tableau of the old man and his two beautiful granddaughters, the moment gilded by sunshine filtering through the leaves. Nice.

Mac put the cap back on the lens and approached him. “Cormac O’Neill,” he said, shaking hands. “Good to meet you in person.”

Magnus’s grip was firm but brief. “I’m very glad you’re here, and on such short notice,” he said with a subtle lilt in his speech hinting at his Danish heritage. “Welcome to Bella Vista. I see you’ve met my granddaughters.” Though his face was pale, there was a glow of pride in him when he looked at Tess and Isabel. “I hope they gave you a proper welcome.”

Cutting a glance at Isabel, Mac thought about the knee to the groin and the attack of the killer bees. “Yep, she made me feel right at home.”

“You’ve come at a busy time. But the springtime is my favorite.”

“The scenery here is amazing,” Cormac said. He surveyed the area. The weather was almost unbearably perfect today, a stark contrast to the scorching deserts, barren tundras and steamy jungles he often had to visit on assignment. In addition to the construction crew at the house, there were people in every section of the orchard, some working alone, some in teams. Farming was as foreign to Mac as picking out draperies. “And your home is beautiful.”

“Yes. I have enjoyed much good fortune in my life.”

It was a startling statement, given what little Mac knew of the man. Magnus Johansen had lost his family in the war, and had outlived his only son and his wife. He had survived a head injury not so long ago. And yet here he stood, elderly but still proud, beaming at his granddaughters. Mac was suddenly more interested in Magnus, anxious to find out how the man had endured all that, yet could still call himself lucky.

“So,” said Magnus. “We must get to know one another.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I’ve read some of your books. I’m honored that you’re going to be writing about me. I warn you, though. I have a very long story to tell.”

Mac’s gaze kept straying to Isabel. She clearly didn’t like him, and despite what his libido was telling him, he didn’t like her, either. Still, there was something about her, not just the slender ankles and the pretty dark hair, but some vibe that drew him, even as he told himself she was a complication he didn’t need in his life.

“I’ve got time,” he said.

Chapter Five

“So how do you prepare for your first interview with your subject?” asked Isabel the next morning.

After dragging himself out of bed, Mac needed coffee, not questions. He noticed a soft hissing sound coming from the espresso machine. “So that magic cappuccino you made me yesterday—was that a one-time event or can I get another?”

“Depends on how you ask.”

“Please. Begging here. Charge me anything you like. Put it on my tab.”

“I might just do that.” She didn’t smile, but her eyes were light as she ground some coffee beans into a one-shot filter.

Mac inhaled the aroma and watched her expertly pull the shot and then steam the milk with a wand. He liked watching her work, each movement economical, efficient. He liked watching her, period. What the hell? If he was going to be stuck in paradise for a while, he might as well enjoy the view.

“You and Grandfather can have coffee on the patio, and then get to work on your project. It’s quiet out there until the workmen arrive. After that, he can show you more of Bella Vista.”

“Thanks. Will you and Tess be joining us?”

She hesitated, glanced back over her shoulder at him. “It’s Grandfather’s story.”

“You’re part of it. Just figured you might want to hear what he has to say.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose....”

“Sure we do,” said Tess, coming into the kitchen. She was wearing some crazy headpiece, a white net thing with a big fake flower made of feathers. Noticing his stare, she said, “Do you like my fascinator?”

It looked weirdly similar to Isabel’s beekeeping veil. “Your what?”

“My fascinator. I’m trying out different looks for the wedding.” She turned her head this way and that. Tess was a pretty woman—and who didn’t like a redhead—but the lopsided headgear didn’t do much for her.

“I never give fashion advice before I’ve had my morning coffee,” he said.

Isabel set a perfect bowl-shaped cup of cappuccino in front of him. “Good answer.”

“Bless you,” he said, savoring the first creamy sip.

Tess picked up a painted serving tray. “Let me help you carry.”

“Thanks.” Isabel held the door leading out to the patio. Mac followed with his coffee and his cane, and a satchel of files and photographs he’d stayed up late studying last night. Magnus sat at a wrought iron and tile table with his coffee, the two cats swirling around his ankles. “Grandfather, is it all right if we join you for a bit?”

“Of course. Particularly since you’ve brought sustenance.” He eyed the tray of food.

It looked like a food magazine layout, featuring a variety of cheeses with fresh berries on brightly painted Italian pottery, and a tiny glass container of honey with the smallest spoon he’d ever seen.

Isabel laced a thread of honey across the cheeses. “These are my favorite honey and cheese pairings. Comté, Appenzeller and ricotta. I had my first honey harvest last summer—a small one. That’s when I realized I needed expert help with my beekeeping.”

“Sorry I wasn’t your guy,” said Mac.

“Please, sit down and let’s enjoy the morning.” Magnus gestured at the chairs.

It was all Mac could do not to wolf down the whole snack tray. But he’d been trained by the best, his redoubtable mother, who had taught her six sons diplomatic protocol and etiquette as if it were her job. He made himself a small plate, sipped his coffee and settled in, curious to find out more about Magnus, his beauteous granddaughters and the place they called home.

Magnus smoothed his weather-beaten hands over the legs of his trousers. “So. Here we all are. It is hard to conceive of, my life in a book. I don’t know where to begin.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mac said. “Whatever crosses your mind.”

“Bella Vista,” Magnus said without hesitation. “This place is always on my mind. Perhaps I even imagined it before I realized it was quite real.” He flexed his fingers, resting them on his knees, and said, “When I was a boy in Denmark, we would go to the cinema on Saturday afternoons, and naturally my favorites were the films about cowboys and Indians in the Wild West. I always envisioned America as this vast, unsettled land, a place of endless opportunity. It never looked like this in the picture show. My schoolmates and I yearned to come here, but I never thought I would. It was more like a place of dreams.”