Chapter Thirteen
Lewis
I wasn’t going to suggest shifting this time because I didn’t like pain, and my bear had been very clear about what would happen before mating and marking were completed.
I also was not going to deny Wilder a shift if he asked for it.
But there were a lot of other options for a date in the Oliver Creek area.
Not only did we have restaurants and vineyards and shops that drew tourists, but the countryside around us was stunning and, at this time of early summer, full of trees and blossoms that drew a lot more bees than mine.
I had other ideas, too, however, and I wondered if he would enjoy what I had in mind.
“How about a short road trip?” I asked. “A farmer about an hour away has requested I place a couple of hives in his field because he is concerned about pollination.”
“You want me to come with you to bring the hives?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t often do this service, but when I do, I always go out there first and speak to the farmer in person, check out the scene. Since you’re closed, we can go now if you like and get something to eat along the way?”
He smiled. “I think that sounds like a very nice date. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t been more than a few miles from Oliver Creek in a while. Let me put both of these bouquets in water and we can go.”
When we were in the car and on our way out of town, he rested his head back and sighed. “This is nice. What kind of crop is the farmer asking your bees to help with?”
“Buckwheat. It makes a tasty honey, as well, so win-win.”
We cruised along the road, the late afternoon sunshine cast over the open country around us.
I’d planned to do this a week before but hadn’t felt well enough, and if I waited much longer, the farmer would no longer need my bees, but if it looked good, I could come back in a day or so and bring the hives.
“I don’t think I’ve had buckwheat honey,” Wilder said. “What’s it like?”
“It’s special, and that’s one of the reasons I am willing to go so far with them. The honey is a dark caramel color and not as sweet as the types made from my garden flowers and the fruit blossoms. Nutty and particularly good for healing things like coughs and gut health. Even wounds.”
“It would have been nice if you’d had some when you were sick.”
“Yes. I don’t have time to grow a big field of buckwheat myself, so this is a shortcut of sorts. Or maybe a long cut.”
“But you have the acreage, correct?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“Have you considered seeing if there’s a local farmer who would like to rent some space to grow things you don’t have time for? They’d get great pollination from your hives and you’d get some income and a different variety of honey.”
I turned and blinked at him. “No, but that’s a good idea. I wonder if there are any farmers who might be interested. Growing up, my dads did all the farming with my help but they didn’t have all the other work I do. How would I even find the farmers?”
“There’s the community board. Maybe you could post a notice?”
This omega put me to shame. I should have thought of it.
“It’s too late this year,” I said, “but if I get any interest, it could be great for next.”
“And if not, you could hire someone to manage the fields. I think you have options here.”
“Where have you been all my life?”
He went silent, and I glanced over to see him looking out the window at the passing trees. “Waiting for you.”
My throat swelled with emotion. “Me too, omega. Waiting for you.”
The farmer was also waiting, but for different reasons.
When we arrived, he showed us the field of buckwheat, and we discussed what he needed and how my bees would have to be treated before we reached an agreement and shook hands.
I turned around to ask Wilder what he’d like to eat for dinner, but he was gone.
“I seem to have lost someone,” I told the farmer. “I wonder where he could have gone.”
“Try the sunflowers,” he said. “I think I saw him walking into the field over there. Everyone always likes to go in there and walk around.”
Of course, he was right, and I came upon the omega a few dozen yards into the flowers. They towered over us, at least twelve feet tall with heavy heads bobbing in the last of the sunlight.
“They’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Can you get honey from them?”
“Absolutely. It’s bright yellow, creamy, fresh, although it does crystalize easily, so that’s a downside.”
“Would you grow some of those next year?” He reached up and caressed a yellow petal. “They’re the essence of summer.”
“Are you sure you aren’t just with me for the honey?” But I was joking now. “I’ll grow as many as you like. We can even put in a small patch of them this summer, if you like.”
“I like it very much.”
“You sure you wouldn’t rather have flowers from Australia?” I teased.
“I felt so bad for those flowers, so far from where they belong. What was that lion thinking?”
“He was thinking about you and how special you are.” I caught his hand and strolled between the rows of flowers. “And he thought you might appreciate something showy.”
“That’s not the kind of showy I like.” He tipped his head back to look up at the flowers. “It’s not like this.”