Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

GEMMA

While waiting for Dean to arrive, Gemma puttered around inside the shed. Her business wasn’t booming, but she’d won awards and it kept her afloat. Between that and bee removal, she paid her bills.

What more could anyone ask for?

Her phone kept buzzing from the other side of the room. It was Parker. She didn’t have time for his excuses. So, what. She asked Dean to fix her extractor. He needed to get over himself.

She’d never seen him act so weird.

The only time he’d shown an interest in her love-life was when he’d found out Billy Prattler had cheated on her. He’d been royally pissed, but that was different.

Sighing, she forced Parker out of her mind and she shoved another clanking box of jars onto the shelf.

“Alright, let’s get to fixing this honey machine,” Dean announced from the doorway behind her.

Turning, she grinned, spotting the tools around his waist and the coffees in his hands. The weight of the belt tested the fit of his jeans. They hung lower on his hips than they were the night before.

If he moved the right way, she’d definitely get a glimpse of his happy trail again.

She licked her lips as she headed toward him with her hand out for the coffee. Yes. Definitely the coffee and nothing else. “Good morning.”

He dipped his hat before taking a sip of his own steamy brew.

“Did the bees give you any trouble?”

“Nah. But they’re still in the back of the truck. I wasn’t sure where you wanted them.”

She nodded. “I’ll introduce you to Buford.”

He arched a brow.

Smirking, she gestured to the steel drum on legs. “This is Buford, my defunct honey extractor. He’s worked a lot of years, but I think he’s got a few more left in him.” She winked.

He cleared his throat. “So, it’s a timing thing?”

She pointed to the block on the lid. “Yeah, it spins too fast. When I load it, if I leave it unattended, it breaks my frames.”

Pulling a screwdriver from his belt, he got closer. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great.” She stepped back to give him room. “I’ll go take care of the bees.”

Dean

After he’d poked, prodded, and replaced some wires, he tested the spin inside the drum. It rocked as it got faster, but it seemed less than before. So, he had to be on the right track. Thankfully, he had the foresight to bring some replacement wires.

When Gemma came back, he was confident he’d repaired it. With his chest puffed, he sheathed his screwdriver back in his belt and faced her. “Buford is ready for a test drive.”

She squealed. “Really? That fast?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

Hopping up and down, she clapped her hands.

He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way her body moved as she did it. It hadn’t been that long since he’d gotten laid, but being around Gemma, he felt like a sixteen-year-old virgin on prom night.

“Let me go get some combs to harvest.”

Quickly, Gemma to returned to the building with a white box identical to the ones that had been in his truck. Hell, it might have been one from his barn. He’d never be able to tell the difference. Well, except for this one seemed to have significantly fewer bees buzzing around it.

She placed it on the ground near the extractor.

“Can I help?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nah. I got a system.”

Holding up his hands, he stepped back and found a stool to perch upon.

From the box, she pulled out a rectangle that looked like it was solid wax. If he looked closely, he could make out a hexagon pattern in the yellowed wax. She brought it over to a bin and scraped at the wooden sides. The rough wax on the edges fell into the bin.

He tilted his head, fascinated with her work. She reached for what looked like a long narrow pie server, or maybe a spatula. She held what looked like a blow dryer to it.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A heat gun. I need this to be hot so I can uncap these combs.”

She waved the blow-dryer thing a few times over the metal before she brought it to the rectangle frame. Slowly, she pressed it into the wax, making it curl as it melted. Shifting it back and forth, she worked her way down.

He leaned forward as she revealed the amber colored honey. “Can’t you let it drip out?”

She grinned. “If I wanted to wait a year, sure.” When she was done, she loaded the rectangle into the metal holder in the extractor’s drum. “But this way is so much faster.”

He couldn’t argue with speed.

After she’d repeated the process a few times, she secured the lid on Buford and checked the tap at the bottom. “Okay. You ready?”

He stood and folded his arms over his chest. “Yep.”

She flicked the switch, and the extractor hummed as the frames inside spun.

Dean held his breath. It’d been ages since he’d fixed anything.

As it picked up speed, it rocked a little.

It got harder, and the lid shook.

“I probably should’ve tightened the lid more.”

“Can you do that now?” he asked.

“I could try.”

As Gemma reached over to adjust the clasps, the top slid.

“Shit!”

“Damnit.”

Both Gemma and Dean tried to catch the extractor before it fell. In doing so, they collided, and it toppled over. The inside, still spinning, flung honey out through the opening.

As the sticky amber globs landed in his hair, on his nose, his shirt, neck, and chin, he fumbled to find the switch to turn it off. After what felt like hours, he finally got it. The racks inside slowed to a stop.

Defeated, laying on his side beside Gemma, he sighed.

“At least my frames didn’t break,” she offered. “So, you fixed it a little.”