The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) by Kelly Irvin Page A

but his hands lingered on her shoulders, his fingers moving in gentle circles until they touched the hollow of her neck.
    “There. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time—for years, in fact.” The grin turned self-satisfied. “What better way to start your visit to your new home, don’t you think?”
    He turned toward the house with the flourish of one arm. Abigail swiped at her mouth with her sleeve. He hadn’t had much practice kissing, that was obvious, and she should be glad of that. He kept his affection special and pure by sharing it only withsomeone he really cared about. If he had longed to do this when they courted as youth, he’d never shown it. Would she have responded differently if he had? Her mind’s eye filled with Timothy’s face as he bent his head to kiss her on a moonlit-drenched night on the road that led to her house. Nee, Timothy had made her his with that very first kiss.
    And now Timothy was gone and she had to go on. Stephen was a good man, not unpleasing to the eye. So why couldn’t she respond in kind? She had more practice, but only because she’d been married to a man she loved for more than twenty years. Maybe it was for that reason. She still loved Timothy. She would always love him. Perhaps she simply couldn’t learn to love another. If that were the case, she would be alone for the rest of this earthly life.
    Plain men and women were expected to marry again. Families needed to be complete. Kinner needed mudders, but they also needed daeds to be the heads of their homes. If she were to talk to the bishop, he would tell her as much. She knew it in her head, but how did she get her heart to go along?
    Stephen grabbed her hand again and tugged her toward the house. “Come on, come on, I want to show you everything.”
    In his exuberance, he stumbled in a rut in the road and down he went with a thud. For some reason not clear to Abigail, he refused to relinquish his hold of her hand. Down she went with him. Her knees smacked against the hard earth. Gravel scraped her free hand, and her momentum carried her until her nose banged against the sunbaked dirt road hard as brick.
    “I’m so sorry. I’m such a clumsy oaf.” Stephen scrambled to his feet. He slid his hands around her waist and planted her on her feet before she could protest. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never been so clumsy—”
    “It’s all right.” Abigail brushed at the dirt on her apron, leaving a faint red tinge of blood from the scrape on her palm. “No harm done.”
    “You’re bleeding.” Stephen grabbed her hand and examined her palm. “I’m such an oaf.”
    “Nee. Just enthusiastic.” She tugged her hand from his once again and hid it behind her apron. “Maybe if you slow down a little, if we slow down a little.”
    His face darkened. “If we go any slower, I’ll be too old to have our own children by the time we marry.”
    So that was the rush. He wanted children of his own. “I know it’s been a long haul for you, but you have to remember, it’s only been two years since Timothy passed.”
    “Two years is a long time. Most Plain folks remarry pretty quick.”
    As if he had any idea what it took to get to that frame of mind. “I know and I’m trying. But I’m asking you to give me a little more time.”
    His gaze softened. “If time is what you need, then time you shall have.”
    “Danki.”
    “No need to be all fancy about it. Gott will give me the patience I need and you the courage you need.”
    “Courage? I’m not . . . I wasn’t—”
    “Let’s go in. You can wash your hands and face—you’ve got dirt on your nose.” He swiped at it with his catcher’s mitt–sized hands and missed. Much to Abigail’s relief. Her nose throbbed as it was. “I want you to see the kitchen. I put in a propane stove next to the woodstove. Two ovens. You can get them both going and have bread and pies baking.”
    Abigail trailed after him, her gaze on the spreading