The Burbs and the Bees

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… Kissing Lessons

  The Mistletoe Trap

  The Wedding Date Disaster

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Cathryn Fox. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Tracy Montoya and Candace Havens

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover photography by LuckyBusiness/Getty Images

  ISBN 978-1-64937-087-7

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For my daughter, Allison, who faces every challenge with courage and grace, and every success with humility and quiet pride. Allison, I am proud of everything you represent, and I’m so lucky I get to call you my daughter.

  Chapter One

  Alyson

  My father was right. There is a dumbass born every minute.

  Standing on the gigantic rocks at Peggy’s Cove, a gorgeous Nova Scotia tourist destination, I wave my hands and yell, desperate to get the attention of the elderly gentleman creeping toward the dangerous black rocks near the water’s edge. With his young granddaughter hoisted up in one arm, and his fist grasping the hoodie of his small grandson, who happens to be tripping over his untied laces, the man walks closer and closer to the surf.

  Cripes, they’re all going to slip and slide right in.

  “Hey!” I scream, but my words are carried off in the brisk summer breeze blowing in from the choppy Atlantic Ocean.

  What the hell is he thinking? There are signs everywhere, warning tourists to stay back from the rocks. People have died here. Heck, I’m from New York, a visitor to the fishing village myself, and I know better than to venture too close.

  “Stay back!” I yell, but once again, the wind carries my words away. I hop along a few more rocks and hold my arms out to keep my balance. My skirt almost rips as I hurry forward, and holy hell, I can barely catch my breath by the time I finally reach the guy. Yeah, it’s true: I seriously need to get back on the treadmill. My fingers shake, partly from lack of oxygen and partly from worry, as I tug on the back of the man’s T-shirt.

  “Slippery,” I say, working hard not to sound too winded as he turns to me. “You can’t be on these rocks. People have died here.” His dark brow furrows, and for a minute, I think he’s going to spin back toward the ocean and ignore me.

  Wait, maybe he doesn’t speak English. Maybe he’s one of those Quebecois who will only speak French.

  “Rocks. Slippery. Dangerous.”

  I point downward, then throw my hands up, mimicking the motions of one flailing during a fall. He stares at me like I’ve just escaped some institution. Yeah, I get it. I suck at charades.

  “Okay, enough of this.” I extend my arm to the young boy. “Please take my hand,” I plead, but the child tucks himself behind his grandfather’s leg and tugs on his pants, dragging them closer to the water. Dear God, I’m making this worse. My racing heart crashes against my chest as adrenaline floods my veins.

  “Please, you have to—”

  “Maybe you should mind your business,” the man says, and my head rears back like he just slapped me in the face. So he does speak English. He’s just a real…

  Don’t call him a dumbass. Don’t call him a dumbass.

  “Do you need me to talk slower, use smaller words so you can understand what kind of danger you’re putting your grandkids in?’’

  “I am not—”

  I point to all the warnings. “Look around. Read the signs. There’s even little painted rocks scattered around to warn visitors.”

  He glances over my shoulder as a gust of wind races over us. “I read them.”

  I shake my head and spit a strand of hair from my mouth. Attractive, I know. But that’s hardly my concern at the moment. “Then why are you ignoring them?”

  “We just wanted to put our feet in the Atlantic Ocean,” he says, looking at me like I’m an idiot for not understanding. Yeah, I’m the idiot. Sheesh.

  “Then go to the beach,” I say softening my plea, hoping to drive the point home.

  His eyes narrow in on me. “We were being careful.”

  I point to a higher elevation. “How about being careful over there? Please,” I beg, my eyes darting to the squirming boy. My heart thumps, wanting to grab him but too afraid he’ll jump back and fall in. “The ocean is unpredictable.”

  He snorts, an obvious attempt to mock me. “What are you, the ocean police?”

  Keep it together, Alyson.

  “Yeah, that’s what I am,” I say and shake my head. “I’m the ocean police, and I patrol these monstrous rocks in fashionable heels.” I stick my leg out to showcase my Louboutins. “Lovely, aren’t they? Now go. Please. The waves are getting higher.”

  Sneering at me, he shifts his granddaughter on his hip and reaches for his grandson’s hand. “Let’s go check out the gift shop,” he says, and I exhale in relief, until he pushes past me, nearly knocking me into the surf.

  Asshole.

  I wobble a little in my heels but manage to balance myself. All those early morning sessions holding the tree pose for hours on end has finally paid off.

  Go me.

  I resist the urge to fist pump as I take a fast look at the ocean, then spin back around to see some guy waving at me. I poke my finger into my chest and cast a slow glance over my left shoulder.

  Really, Alyson? Who else could he be pointing to? A gorgeous mermaid rising from the abyss, perhaps?

  Okay, now who’s the dumbass?

  Wind whips my hair over my face, and I push it back as the guy hops on the rocks, hurrying toward me. Dressed in a short-sleeved plaid shirt, jeans, and boots, he’s cute in an outdoorsy, rugged fisherman kind of way. Hey, maybe this place is a pickup joint for the local lobster crew. Now I’m sort of glad I’m in my heels and mid-thigh skirt. Although men are not on
my radar, not right now anyway. I have a point to prove to my family—and myself. A relationship of any kind will only distract me from my goals.

  Wait, what is he saying to me?

  I put my hand up to my ear and cup it. “I can’t hear you.”

  He comes closer, and for a second, I’m a bit breathless, but it has nothing to do with the wind stealing the air from my lungs. The guy is smoking hot. He closes the gap between us, and I catch his scowl as his whiskey-brown eyes narrow in on me. Pissed off much? Well, alrighty then. I guess this isn’t a local pickup spot. Even if it were, that’s not why this guy has his sights set on me.

  Wait, he doesn’t think…

  Oh, crap.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “It’s not what you think.”

  “You can’t be down here.” He hovers over me, his big body crowding mine. “Goddamn tourists,” he mumbles. “You’re all the same.”

  I glare at him. “Jeez, are all Nova Scotians this bad-tempered and quick to jump to conclusions?”

  “When tourists put themselves at risk, yeah.”

  He reaches for me, and the fast, jerky movement of his hand takes me by surprise. I flinch backward, and my heel slips on the wet rock. I windmill my arms and try to regain my balance.

  Dear God, this can’t be happening.

  “Oh, shit,” he says, the anger in his tone changing to panic as I manage to grab his outstretched hand, tugging him off balance with me.

  Oh shit is right.

  I gasp, and before I know what’s happening, my legs go out from underneath me. I land on the rock with an undignifited thump and slide straight into the ice-cold ocean, two hundred pounds of muscle tumbling in on top of me. Frigid water seeps into my clothes, under my skin, into my bones, and I kick and scream and struggle to reach the surface. But with this guy weighing me down, I might as well be wearing cement boots. A strong arm wraps around me and tugs me upward. I suck in a fast breath when we break the rough surface.

  “Are you okay?” the guy asks.

  I spit water, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Of course I’m not okay. Are you okay?” Despite what I know about the slippery rocks, my first instinct is to push away from him and swim toward the embankment. Using my fingernails, I claw the eel grass covering the rocks, but the action proves futile. A powerful wave hits me and tosses me against the unforgiving boulder. Lord, I hope that cracking sound wasn’t my rib. I have no time to think about how much pain I’m in, as a new kind of fear takes hold.

  I’m going to freaking die out here.

  “Come here,” the guy says and drags me from the edge. With my back against his chest, holding me like a lifeguard rescuing a petulant child, he swims farther and farther out to sea, dragging me along for the ride.

  “What are you doing?” I kick and try to get away, but he’s too damn strong.

  “I’m trying to help.” He loosens his hold, and I spin to face him. I tread water and kick my legs hard. I’m sure I resemble a bobblehead, and my erratic movements are going to attract all kinds of curious sea life. This is so not my finest moment in life. Wait, are there sharks out here?

  “Easy, lady. You’re going to drown us both.”

  “The name is Alyson,” I blurt out, even though my name is the single most unimportant thing at the moment.

  “Alyson, listen to me. There’s a fishing boat over there.” Water drips from his hair, as his dark eyes seek mine and lock on. “We’re going to swim to it,” he says, his lips turning a strange shade of purple as his gaze moves over my face, assessing me. “It’s the only way we’re getting out of this water.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, barely able to move my arms as the ice water slows my blood to molasses, going uphill, on a winter day—in Canada.

  His brow furrows. “Can you do this?”

  I nod and, through chattering teeth, ask, “How…how…long does it take to freeze to death in this water?”

  “I am not going to let you freeze to death, and something tells me you’re not the kind of girl to go down without a fight, anyway.” Despite the situation, his steady composure and belief in me calms my jagged nerves. It’s sad, but that’s about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

  “Thank…thank you,” I say.

  “You’re ready to get moving?”

  “Yes.” Even though I’m not a strong swimmer, I kick my legs out. This might be easier without my Louboutins, but I don’t have time to unbuckle them, and let’s face it…Louboutins.

  “Have…have you done this before?” I ask.

  His head jerks my way, as we push through the choppy sea. “You mean fall off the rocks?”

  “Ye…ye…yes.” I grow breathless, fast.

  “No.” He pauses for a second. “Here.” He drags me to a jutting rock and holds me there to give me a minute to catch my breath.

  “Thanks,” I say again and gulp air. “Maybe this wasn’t so bad.”

  Water clings to his lashes as he blinks at me—like I’m insane. “Not so bad?”

  “You did seem a little hot under the collar a bit ago. An icy swim was just the thing you needed to cool you down.” I’m not sure why I’m trying to get a smile out of him.

  “What I’m hearing is that I should be thanking you.”

  “Yup, and now your day will be all uphill from here.” I force my frozen lips into a smirk. “I probably should have said upstream. With us being in the water and all.”

  This time he does laugh but takes in a mouth full of seawater while he does it. He coughs, clears his throat. “We need to stop talking and use our energy to swim again, okay?”

  He scans my face a second time. Despite the frigid water, a measure of warmth races through me. His visual assessment, combined with the genuine worry marring his features, hits like a shot of determination and prompts me to shut up and swim faster.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

  We head toward the boat, which has turned toward us, and even though he’s bigger and stronger and could get to the fishing vessel a whole lot faster than I can, he stays by my side, and for that I’m grateful.

  A big wave splashes over my head, and it’s my turn to cough. But the slap to the face is a good reminder that I can’t let anything distract me. I blink to clear my blurry vision, and by the time I can see again, the boat has reached us.

  “You two okay?” the captain of the vessel asks as he hauls us onboard. I reach the deck and nod, my teeth clanging too hard to talk.

  My swim mate peels his shirt off, and for a second, I think I might have actually died in the ocean because ohmigod… His body is like a damn Plinko game. I could drop a quarter between his pectorals, and it’d hit all the hills and valleys as it made its way to the V leading to damp pants that hug his hard thighs.

  “Take your clothes off,” he commands in a shaky voice as he continues to strip.

  My gaze flies to his. Yeah, I might have been checking him out and got caught in the act, but I’m not about to get naked with him. Not with the captain watching, anyway.

  Really, Alyson?

  I plant a hand on my hip, but the effort of moving costs more than the effect I was going for. “Excuse me?”

  “Clothes.” His icy fingers fumble with the button on his jeans. “Off.”

  “Do what he says, lady,” the captain pipes in.

  “Her name is Alyson, and I’m Jayden Andrews. My friends call me Jay,” the man says. A crewman comes up from below deck with blankets. “Listen, you need to get out of those clothes and get warmed up,” Jay adds in a softer tone.

  “O…kay. Right. I…I wasn’t thinking. My brain is frozen.” I glance around. I’m not a prude, but getting undressed in front of these three men… I don’t know. It’s all weird. Then again, after the day I’ve had… “Can you turn around?”

  “Lordy, girl,” the fishermen c
arrying the blankets says in a crusty voice. “Ain’t no time for modesty when hypothermia is nipping at your heels.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Just don’t look.”

  “Ain’t nobody looking,” the fisherman says.

  I reach for the hem of my soaked Lululemon shirt to peel it over my head, not an easy task when my body is shaking and my damn clothes are glued to my wet skin. I mumble curses under my breath and writhe and move like a contortionist on crack. I expect a round of laughter at the circus sideshow I’m performing, but instead, Jay steps up to me, and I become acutely aware that he’s only sporting a pair of black boxers.

  “Here,” he says, his fingers brushing my stomach, creating new goose bumps as they linger a moment too long. A hard shiver that may have nothing to do with our dip in the water races through me as he helps me remove the stretchy cotton from my body. He gets it off—and sadly, I nearly get off, too, as his big, calloused hands touch me in the softest ways. Dressed in my lacy bra, hard nipples poking out, I work on my skirt as he wrings out my top.

  “What were you doing so close to the rocks?” His tone holds a measure of accusation.

  “I… I was—”

  “Can’t you read?” he asks before I can answer him. I try to push the words past my numb lips, but he continues with, “You could have gotten your entire family killed.”

  “I… They…weren’t my family,” I inform him as I gratefully accept the blanket from the fisherman and wrap it around my near nakedness. “I…can’t stop shaking.”

  “If you want,” the crusty-voiced fisherman with the weathered skin begins, “I’d be happy to give you some of my body heat. It’ll help warm you up quicker.” He’s grinning and toying with the button on his flannel shirt when I glance at him, but I’m pretty sure it’s a legit offer to help. He’s clearly fished people from the water before.

  “We’re good,” Jay says, and in a protective way positions himself between me and the men as he runs his hands up and down my arms to create heat with friction. Damn, that shouldn’t feel so good. But it does. I almost snort. I’m frozen half to death yet taking pleasure at the way this fisherman is warming me. If that doesn’t prove it’s been too long since I’ve been touched, I don’t know what does.