“The salts were amazing,” I admit, ducking my head a little. “Seriously. Magic.”
She blinks. “Salts?”
“Yeah—the bath salts. Kade said they were your recipe.” I shrug, pushing Aurora’s hair back. “They were on his window ledge.”
Her face lights up. “Oh! Yes. I didn’t realize he had any left. Gemma and I used to make them pretty often for the farmers market. They were quite popular, actually, but…” She sighs. “After she moved, I wasn’t able to dedicate the time it took for the salts, candles, and teas. I spend most of my time with the bees since we cut back on staff.”
Something about her tone makes me pause. I hesitate, then step closer, lowering my voice so the girls don’t hear.
“You said you needed help with the Honey Bea Bash,” I say carefully. “Hazel mentioned that the farm’s struggling…”
Bea flinches.
Shit.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt, heat rising to my cheeks. “That was out of line. I didn’t mean to pry. I just—” I exhale sharply. “It’s probably the social worker in me. I want to help.”
Her expression softens, the sharpness melting away. I ramble on before I can stop myself.
“When you asked me to help, I agreed because I wanted to. Because I think your family is wonderful, and what you’re doing out here is amazing. There’s so much love and community. Ijust…” I tip my shoulders, helpless. “Wanted to be involved, I guess.”
In something.
In everything.
Oh, and I also wanted to get to know you well enough to ask if you know anything about my family.
I don’t say any of that, though, because I’m a coward.
And because Bea Archer, standing a foot away with her kind, motherly eyes and that calm presence, makes it so hard to breathe through the feelings I can’t seem to hold back anymore.
“Well,” she finally says, her voice thick but steady, “aren’t you just a surprise.”
My mouth opens to respond, but she cuts me off with a soft shake of her head and turns her attention back to the potatoes she’s now chopping.
“Honey Bea has been my dream since I was eighteen years old and falling in love. Not the land or the wheat or the big production of it—but a home, a family, bees and flowers.” Her lips twitch like she’s holding something back, but her eyes gloss over anyway. “It was our dream—my William’s and mine. And we had it, for a long time. We grew it, expanded it. We lived on this land. Loved on it. Loved hard.”
Her gaze flicks to her daughters, who are still bustling around the kitchen, and she blinks fast to clear her eyes. “Still do.”
I don’t say a word. I just bounce Aurora gently against my chest and let the lump in my throat burn while this wonderful, resilient woman lays her soul bare in a kitchen that smells like breakfast and safety.
“Anyway,” she murmurs with a sigh, wiping her hands on a towel. “Things were already shifting before William passed. People want quick and cheap now. They want things packaged and shipped and on their doorstep in twenty-four hours. They don’t want to drive out to the country for wildflower honey orcut their own bouquets. They don’t care if the meat’s fresh or the produce local. They care about convenience. And convenience is killing places like ours.”
Her voice tightens. “Then William passed, and not long after, Cooper Ridge moved into Summit, and everything I thought I could handle just… fell apart.”
Cooper Ridge.
My brows pinch. That name sounds familiar.
“Those Ridge Ranch people are all assholes,” she mutters, chopping more aggressively now, the knife hitting the board with a little more force. “Insufferable fuckin’ pricks. Every last one of them.”
And then it clicks.
The asshole from the bar.
The guy Kade nearly went full Hulk on.
“Would it make you feel better,” I murmur, trying not to smirk, “to know your son beat the shit out of their leader the other night?”
