The light knock on the door made him grit his teeth. “Brittany?” Elizabeth whispered.
Zach clamped a hand on Bett’s mouth. She was too busy swallowing to answer, anyway. “She’s asleep, Liz. Need something?”
“Oh, of course not, Zach. I certainly didn’t mean to disturb you. Brittany and I have rather gotten used to sharing a cup of tea when she can’t sleep,” Elizabeth whispered. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
She hesitated. “You don’t know where she keeps the tea?”
The tea was in the same cupboard it always was. In the kitchen, with all the lights turned on again, Elizabeth beamed at Zach, at the same time sending him apologetic signals with her eyes. “You didn’t have to get up, you know; but I have to admit I rarely have the chance to talk to just you.”
His dark robe belted firmly around him, Zach smothered an irritated yawn. Bett was all through with interrupted nights. And when the moment presented itself, Elizabeth was about to get a very tactful lecture on privacy. He forced a smile as he settled in the kitchen chair across from his mother-in-law.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone for some time, anyway,” Elizabeth admitted shyly. Her color was suddenly high, matching her bright pink robe with the ruffles at the neck. “Zach, I feel I can talk to you. I always have. Most sons-in-law…I just don’t think I would have had that feeling.”
Zach lifted his eyebrows, the first puff of wind knocked out of his sails. “If you have some problem, Liz…”
“Not exactly a problem. It’s just-oh, I just feel Chet should have handled this. You know, you and Bett have been married for some time.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth dunked her tea bag, then delicately dropped it in the saucer and lifted the cup to her lips. “I don’t know how to say this,” she admitted with a shy little laugh. “My daughter… I love my Brittany so very much, Zach. She’s not…”
Zach waited, not having the least idea how to help her because he didn’t have the least idea what she was talking about.
“In the beginning of a marriage,” Elizabeth said slowly, “a young couple is so very much in love. But then later, ‘in love’ changes to loving; it’s a very different thing, a much more important thing.” Elizabeth pleated her robe four times, and then took another sip of tea. “Sometimes, it takes work, loving. The thing is, Brittany is rather shy, Zach. Hardly a woman of the world. She never has been. One would like to be sure she is happy.”
Elizabeth leveled a soft, brown-eyed, puppy stare at him that Zach understood very well was supposed to be meaningful. He floundered. “You mean the farm-”
“No,” Elizabeth said swiftly, and lowered her eyes. “Chet would have handled this so much better,” she announced.
Zach had the sneaking suspicion that Chet wouldn’t have initiated this conversation in the first place. His eyes strayed helplessly to the clock. The witching hour was almost at hand.
“You’re rather male,” Elizabeth said nervously.
He blinked.
“And in the beginning of a marriage-well, that’s one thing. It’s later that counts. The years of building. And Brittany’s terribly gentle by nature; that just doesn’t go away. A man doesn’t usually feel…he has to be patient anymore, after a time. Actually, though, it’s the patience that counts long after the honeymoon. Love isn’t just measured in…” Elizabeth paused, taking another gulp of tea, her face poppy-red. “Chet would have handled this much, much better.”
Zach hadn’t missed the theme of the conversation this time, but handling it was something else. Elizabeth was wringing her hands together in her lap, her soft eyes resting on his, communicating how difficult it was for her to discuss the subject. He wished he felt more exasperation. As it was, he felt a swift stir of compassion, and total weariness at the realization that it wasn’t likely they were going to discuss privacy when his mother-in-law wanted to talk about sex. “Look,” he said gently. “If you’re worried about whether Bett and I are happy in bed-”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “I wasn’t trying to get that personal,” she said stiffly. “Honestly, Zach. If you think I would really pry-”
Zach’s hand covered hers. “I don’t necessarily think we need to mention this conversation to Bett.”
“Lord, no,” Elizabeth agreed nervously.
“Bett isn’t unhappy, Liz.”
Elizabeth’s poppy color shaded down to pale pink.
“And she certainly is shy. Terribly shy,” he said gravely, and added, “she’s a good girl.”
The phrase sparked a smile. “I-that’s just the thing. I always knew that. My Brittany is the kind of woman a man wants to marry, not just-”
“She certainly isn’t that,” Zach agreed, praying silently that not an ounce of emotion showed on his face. “Do you think you can sleep now?”
“Yes. I’ve been worried about this for so long. I wish that Chet could have had this little chat with you…”
Zach stood up; so did Elizabeth. “Everything okay now?” he questioned gently.
Elizabeth heaved an enormous sigh. “Fine,” she agreed. “I just knew I could talk to you, Zach. I think we can both go to sleep now.”
Ten minutes later, he was cuddled against his delectably hot-blooded little wife, his disgustingly male instincts appropriately subdued when she murmured in her sleep, sensually curving her limbs around him. He knew damn well what Bett was dreaming about. The same thing he was about to.
Chapter 10
From a distance, Zach watched Bett at the hives. The morning sun was bright and warm, even though the leaves in the orchard had already turned gold and brown; it was a glorious fall day. Bett wore a red flannel shirt tucked into her jeans and the crazy straw hat that she’d rigged up with netting that dropped to her shoulders.
She was humming, a husky, low love song. As she slid a tray from the farthest hive, a hundred bees whirled up and around her, and Zach unconsciously shuddered. She wouldn’t wear gloves, said she just couldn’t work with them.
She transferred the tray of honey to the bed of the pickup, where others already rested. He made an instinctive move forward to help her-and stopped himself. Zach was as familiar with the intricacies of raising bees as Bett was; he was also violently allergic to the formic acid in bee stings.
Bending over, she accomplished the last stage of the morning’s project-transferring brood combs to the new hive in an effort to balance the overabundant population of the insects. It was a sticky, awkward business. Bett whipped off the straw hat in obvious exasperation at its hindrance, and appreciatively Zach shuddered again. Somewhere between five hundred and a thousand honeybees clouded around her.
Finally finished, she very gently brushed them off her shirt and jeans, then walked toward the truck where he waited, the sun glowing on her face.
“You have that look on your face again,” she teased.
“It drives me crazy, watching you. If I had to choose between handling those bees and a vat of boiling oil, you know what I’d choose.”
“The vat.” Bett chuckled, and tucked her fingers into his belt as they ambled toward the truck. “You’d feel differently if you were female. In the meantime, you realize we’ve got at least two hundred pounds of honey to do something or other with this afternoon.”
“I can see that. What I don’t see is what being male has to do with not loving your bees.”
“It’s a lady’s world, obviously. The queen gets warmed, cooled, entertained and fed the equivalent of honey steaks, all at her whim. Who’d want to be a boy bee? The drones get kicked out of the hive in winter to starve; they never get to do anything interesting in the summer.” Bett swung into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut, and regarded her husband demurely. “The boys are only good for one thing.”