Free A Bear In the Honey (BBW Unintentional Mail-Order-Bride Paranormal Shifter Romance) by Viola Notte

 

     
    A BEAR IN THE HONEY
     
    Sebastian
     
    I was beginning to think the elders were right: that bears weren’t meant to keep honeybees.
     
    But for the life of me I couldn’t understand why.
     
    I mean, humans have had great success keeping them, so why couldn’t I? But now, at the start of my third season, I was beginning to agree and lose patience. The cantankerous little buggers seemed to hate me, stung me continuously whenever I was near, and swarmed often. Of course, the history of the bears and bees has never been a harmonious one, but I treated them well, did everything I could to keep them healthy and safe, and in return all I got was stung. I was at the end of my rope. All I wanted was to gather of bit of honey at the end of the season—was that too much to ask?
     
    On the verge of giving up, I did what I thought was the next best thing: I placed an ad for a beekeeper to come to my place and inspect my hives. Hopefully someone would answer it and show me what I was doing wrong. But never in a million years could I have imagined what was about to happen next.
     
     
    Sara
     
    The ‘Beekeeper Wanted’ advertisement was notable not only for its unusual request, but also for its desperate presentation. Clearly the individual who wrote it was at wits end, and it gave all of us at the monthly Beekeeper’s Association meeting a good laugh. My best friend, Carol, happened to stumble upon the humorous ditty in the classified section of our local newspaper, and was so tickled by it that she decided to share it with all of us.
     
    “It sounds more like a cry fer help than a want ad,” chuckled the Association’s eldest member and patriarch, Jim Thompson. Jim was an invaluable resource and loved by everyone. His family had kept bees in Western North Carolina for five generations, and in his 83 years had witnessed many beekeeping mishaps, and certainly his fair share of novice beekeepers who couldn’t keep a hive going for even one season. “The poor soul probably doesn’t know his hive tool from his smoker,” he said in his good-natured, grandfatherly voice. He was always joking and laughing and smiling, and never had a bad thing to say about anything or anyone.
     
    “Sara,” he said, looking my way, “why don’t you reach out to this feller up in Bear Gulch and offer him some assistance. You live the closest.”
     
    “Yeah, I guess I could,” I replied, forcing a smile; I wasn’t thrilled about being put on the spot in front of everyone. I’m a single woman, a professional beekeeper in fact, who has to attend to about a hundred hives all by myself.  The first spring bloom was drawing near and I had plenty of work to do in preparing my hives for the big honey flow that was to come. I certainly didn’t need the extra responsibilities, especially this time of year.
     
    “Just bring some bear repellent—them bears are somethin’ dangerous up that way!” He winked at me and laughed again, holding his belly.
     
    Jim, besides being the revered, knowledgeable old-timer, was hard to say ‘no’ to. He resembled Santa Claus, except that instead of the red suit and hat, he usually wore tattered overalls, a t-shirt, and a grimy old baseball cap. Of course, I agreed to help out the individual in need and I knew it was for the best--we were all encouraged to reach out to the public and educate people on bees whenever the need arose.
     
    “Okay, Jim. I’ll make sure to contact the person and see what I can do for him.”
     
    ****
     
    “So anything new with you, Sara,” Carol asked as we grabbed our coffees from the barista and sat down at a quiet corner table. We often get coffee after the Association meeting, just to chat about things other than bees.
     
    “No, not really. Just really really busy with the bees, getting honey supers on my hives, making sure my girls have what they need to make honey.”
     
    “So no new men in your life?”
     
    “Ha! No, no new men. I’ve just been too