The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page B

project, she hadn’t mentioned hostile women and swarms of bees. In fact, she’d characterized it as a working vacation of sorts, a way for him to recover from his bum knee by soaking up the charms of Sonoma County.
    In contrast, Bella Vista was lush and seductive, the landscape filled with colors from deep green to sunburned-gold. Gardeners, construction workers and farm workers swarmed the property. Isabel Johansen was in charge; that had been clear from the start. Yet when she’d shown him to Erik’s room, she’d seemed vulnerable, uncertain. Some might regard the room as a mausoleum, filled with the depressing weight of things left behind by the departed. To Mac, it was a treasure trove. He was here to learn the story of this place, this family, and every detail, from the baseball card collection to the dog-eared books about far-off places, would turn into clues for him.
    And holy crap, had Isabel looked different when she’d given him the nickel tour. Unlike the virago in the beekeeper’s getup, the cleaned-up Isabel was a Roman goddess in a flowy outfit, sandals and curly dark hair.
    Mac reminded himself that meeting Magnus Johansen was the whole point of this trip. At the moment, he didn’t feel like meeting anyone. The meds he’d been given, combined with the letdown after the shot of epinephrine, made his brain feel like cotton candy.
    Rummaging through his duffel bag, he broke out the cream from the pharmacy and dabbed some on the itchy welts covering his arms, legs and hands. There were bites on his back he couldn’t reach, so he scratched himself on the bedpost, seeking relief.
    He hoped the bees were not an omen of mishaps to come. He could always hope this morning’s disasters were an anomaly. His plan was simple. He would gather information about Magnus Johansen, a war hero turned orchardist, then settle in and write the story. It was what he did, what he was good at—telling other people’s stories.
    The PR people who worked for his publisher liked to make much of his background. He’d been raised with five brothers by parents who worked in the diplomatic corps, traveling to the far corners of the world, their mission to spread peace and understanding. It all sounded exotic and glamorous, although for a kid, the reality had been far different—an endless succession of airports and foreign hotels, stifling tropical heat and painful immunizations and a new school every other year. The upbringing had taught him much about the world; he’d learned a few languages and had figured out how to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. But his way of life had never taught him how to stay in one place. The concept of home was foreign to him.
    He went into the immaculate bathroom and took a quick shower in the old-fashioned claw-foot tub. There were perfumed soaps and fancy shampoo and lotions. Damn, it felt good to shower off the travel and the jet lag. He wanted to stand there all day, but he was here for a job. He put on clean shorts and a shirt, then put the knee brace back in place. The zipperlike surgical scar wasn’t pretty, but at least his knee didn’t feel as though it was on fire anymore.
    He was supposed to be taking care of himself after his injury. The doc said his knee would never heal if he didn’t follow a program of physical therapy and exercise.
    There was a knock at the door. “Hey, Mac,” said a voice. “It’s me, Tess.”
    Leaning on his cane, he hobbled over and let her in.
    She was as pretty as ever, red hair, tall and willowy. Actually, she was even prettier than he remembered. He didn’t recall the brightness of that smile. “Tess Delaney. Fancy meeting you here.”
    “It’s great to see you,” she said. “We didn’t know when you’d get here.”
    “I caught a flight from Taipei on standby. Borrowed a set of wheels in San Francisco and here I am.”
    “Wow, that was quick. Oh, my gosh, it’s been too long.” With that, she gave him a brief hug. “I’m really glad