“Absolutely!” Mary said, pushing away from the table, getting up and pacing, her face filled with anger. “Can we hire you, Theresa?” she asked the Hispanic woman. “We need your help. Just name your price. We’ll pay it.”
Theresa sat up, surprise in her expression. “Señora Mary, you have helped out our family so much that I could not take a dime. We will work hard to save the other five hives.”
“Well, we’ll pay you, anyway,” Mary muttered, scowling. She turned to her son. “Chase, I’m gonna run down some possible candidates to replace Court. We have to get a real expert in here, pronto.”
Chase grimly nodded. “Like yesterday . . .”
Mary finished off her last sip of coffee and stood up. “We did not trust Court.”
“Wish I’d listened to you, Theresa,” Chase said, shaking his head, giving her an apologetic look.
Patting his shoulder, Theresa said, “If you hire someone who knows what they’re doing, me and my family will do the weekly and monthly work to keep your hives healthy, safe, and strong. We will never feed your bees anything but their own honey. That way, they will winter successfully. They will live because they are getting the nutrition they need. Honey has many properties, even vitamins and minerals, and the bee people need them in order to survive.”
“I’m going to learn a whole lot more about bees,” Chase stated flatly, rising. He pinned his gaze on Theresa, who was five-foot-two-inches tall, the same height as his mother. “Would you help us sort through résumés and come work for us temporarily? To care for the beehives?”
Giving him an adamant nod, Theresa said, “We will help you, Señor Chase.” She crossed her heart with her hand. “Your family has been more than good to us. We owe you in return.”
“Well,” he grumbled, “you’ll be well paid. All of you.”
“Yes, this bee business must take off,” Mary agreed. “The most important thing we need to do is hire the right person.”
May 25
Cari finished packing. She was still in Mill Valley, having never gone back to her loft for fear that Dirk might be there, waiting for her. A cold feeling overcame her as she zipped up her second suitcase. The last weeks had been unending, brutal stress. Law enforcement had not found Dirk. She knew they wouldn’t because he was so cunning and a primal animal with the survival instincts of one.
Her fingers trembled as she closed the zipper. She was a mess. She was hunted. And Dirk would murder her as easily as he had killed his girlfriend. Straightening, she tried to get herself together. She was flying to Silver Creek Airport in Wyoming. Her résumé had been chosen for an in-person interview with Chase Bishop, owner of the Three Bars Ranch, who wanted to hire someone with her credentials. Nothing in her résumé hinted that Dirk was hunting her. Conscience pricking her, she wondered just how desperate she was to hide from him. Scared enough to involve people who knew nothing of her private life? How could she, if she was hired, put all of them at risk? Dirk would stop at nothing to take her down. He’d kill whoever stood in the way of getting to her. It was plain wrong not to tell her possible new employer.
Why hadn’t she said something when she talked to Mrs. Mary Bishop last week? It was a long, exhausting, and searching phone call. And after that, Theresa Sandoval, a third-generation beekeeper, called her, delving deeply into all aspects of beekeeping to the last detail with her. Obviously, the ranching family wanted to make sure she was more than just paper credentials; that she knew the ins and outs of hive management in all four seasons, the health of a hive, and so much more.
Shaking her head, Cari knew she had to tell Mr. Bishop the truth. The whole truth. And she was sure when she did, he would scratch her off the list of applicants to hire, in a hurry. No one wanted a murderer endangering the people around their ranch or harming their employees. Turning, she looked at the cell phone. She should call him now. They were, after all, paying for her roundtrip flight.
Torn, she sat on the bed, leaning down, hands hiding her face. Her whole life had been upended. Desperate to disappear, Wyoming seemed the most remote, the last place Dirk would think to look. It was hell to be stalked.
Something told her that Chase Bishop would understand. But what did she expect him to do? She had enjoyed her chat with Mary, a spunky older woman who owned a hugely popular grocery store in Silver Creek. No, she couldn’t do it, but what should she do? She’d start out the in-person interview with the truth. And then, the cards of her life would fall where they may. She had enough money saved up to reimburse Mr. Bishop for the round-trip flight and would immediately do so. Honesty had served her all her life and she wasn’t about to start by lying or hiding important life-and-death information from him. No one deserved to be blindsided.
May 26
Chase waited impatiently at the small regional airport for the passengers to disembark. Outside the large, clean windows of the airport lounge waiting area, the sky was a light blue, the sun shining brightly. It was a beautiful May morning.
On his cell phone was a photo of Cari Taylor. By anyone’s imagination, she was stunningly beautiful, seeming to have more a model’s figure to go with her shining black hair that was loose and free around her shoulders. Maybe it was her cinnamon-gold-colored eyes that entranced him so much, or those long, thick black lashes that framed them. She wore absolutely no makeup, but she didn’t need any. He’d gone over her very impressive résumé. His mother told him he had to hire her. She was that sure of Cari. Having Theresa Sandoval’s thumbs-up approval on this woman made him feel less worried about the possibility that she would be a female version of Court. Theresa swore this woman knew beekeeping inside out, upside down, and right side up. Chase didn’t want another twenty-thousand-dollar loss. His ranch was solvent, doing well, but taking hits like that was deadly to his bottom line and to the other up-and-coming growth ideas he wanted to institute to keep Three Bars viable and robust as a company.
“Mr. Bishop?”
Snapping his head up, he saw Cari Taylor standing in front of him. He grinned apologetically, quickly sliding his phone into his pocket. “I think I have nose-glued-to-the-cell-phone disease,” he said, holding out his hand toward her. “My mother raised me better than that. Call me Chase. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Taylor,” and he shook her long, slender hand. He expected her skin to be soft but firm. Instead, he felt small calluses on the inside of some of her fingers, and it was a bit sandpapery on the heel of her hand, which told him she worked outdoors a lot. “Welcome to Silver Creek,” he added. “And thank you for coming. Do you have some luggage with you?”
She shook his hand and smiled tentatively. “Yes, I do, but before we get to that? I’d like to be able to sit down and speak to you about something very important that wasn’t on my résumé.” Hesitating a moment, she added in a lower tone, “And you may not want to think about hiring me because of a . . . situation in my life . . .”
Surprised, Chase released her hand. “Well,” he said, “my ranch is only ten miles away. Would you agree to sit down at the kitchen table over a cup of coffee and talk about it?” He was confused. What wasn’t on her résumé? She looked stressed, a bit pale, perhaps. It wasn’t easy to ignore that she wore a tailored navy-blue pantsuit with a ruffled collar of white silk. The white pearl earrings certainly brought out her femininity.