Free The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) by Kelly Irvin Page A

since arriving in Bee County, seemed fascinated.
    Susan slid in next to her. “Go on, go watch. I know you want to. I’ve had enough honey stories to last me a lifetime. I’ll take care of this.”
    Wiping her hands, Abigail turned to watch as Mordecai flipped the frames and did the other side. “There you have it.” He opened the extractor and tipped it so the girls could see. “Smell that? What does it smell like?”
    Deborah leaned forward, eyes closed, and took a big whiff. “Flowers.”
    “Yep. The honey will always smell like whatever flowers the bees take the nectar from. Gott’s fragrance.”
    Hazel attempted to stick a finger in the pot. Deborah grabbed her back just in time. Hazel wiggled, arms outstretched. “Want honey.”
    Mordecai shook a finger at her. “We have to strain it first.” He made quick work of that step, demonstrating to the girls what to do, and then poured a small amount in a bowl and set it on the table. “Susan, we’re ready for your bread.”
    The canning frolic temporarily on hold, Susan sliced thick hunks of white bread and covered it liberally with homemade butter supplied by Naomi Glick. The girls took turns letting Mordecai pour a dollop of honey on their slices. Abigail waited until last. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers as he ladled a spoonful in the center of her bread, golden, sweet-smelling, and thick. Why be shy now? Or maybe that was her own heart fluttering in her chest. Silliness. Pure silliness.
    “Danki.” Her voice sounded high and silly in her ears. “For this.”
    “It’s just honey. We have it running out our ears around here.” He smiled as if completely at ease, which only made the flutter in her heart turn to a gallop. “Some days we’re sick of it.”
    “Not for the honey.” She glanced at the girls, busy stuffing bread in their grinning mouths, their hands and faces sticky. Even Deborah looked like the little girl she’d once been, back in Tennessee.
    “For what, then?” His voice had turned gruff. “Sharing widely known, useless facts about bees?”
    “For making them feel welcome. Giving them a little treat.”
    “I moved here when I was a teenager.” He stuck his utensils in the tub with their dirty canning utensils and picked up the last of the frames to return it to the box. “I remember what it was like.”
    “From Tennessee?”
    “Jah. My family was one of the first.”
    “You never thought to return?”
    “Once I started raising bees, I found myself content.”
    Abigail sank her teeth into her bread. The sweet honey oozed onto her tongue, the taste like spring in her mouth. “Mmmmm.”
    “Nothing like fresh honey, is there?”
    She nodded, her mouth full.
    “We best be getting back to the house.” Eve spoke up from the chair she’d taken in the corner, a pan of green beans in her lap. “I need to see about supper for John and the boys. Stephen is coming out.”
    The emphasis on Stephen’s name couldn’t have been an accident. “We still need to finish up the pickles and do the green beans.” Abigail cocked her head toward the rows of empty jars. “And help clean up. Plus, I reckon this honey has to be jarred.”
    “The girls can do that.” Eve stood and made a shooing motion. “Hazel, Hannah, you come with us. Frannie, you and Deborah and Rebekah and Leila finish up here. Your mudder and I have work to do at the house.”
    Something about Eve’s tone reminded Abigail of John that first night in the backyard. She’d only been talking to Mordecai, nothing more. Stephen might be a friend of theirs, but wasn’t Mordecai also? Still, she understood how they felt. She’d hurt Stephen once. She didn’t want to do it again.
    Mordecai picked up his box. “I need to get these back out to the apiary.” He clomped toward the back door. Eve held it open for him, her expression sour. He glanced back. “You girls interested in any more lessons in beekeeping, let me know. Phineas is the real teacher when it comes to the