What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3

by Cherise Sinclair

  “That’s a different way to look at things, but, yeah, okay.” Harvey eyed Bull. “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to the servers. You okay with that?”

  Bull nodded. “I learned something, too. Make it right with the staff, treat them with respect, and we’re good.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  Frankie smiled. Bull really was a good boss.

  “Yeah, just don’t start calling me Skull.” Bull rose, then bent to give the dog a rib scratching that made it wiggle happily.

  What was there about a man who’d take the time to make a dog happy?

  “Time to get cooking, Frankie. Try to impress me with your Italian menu.”

  Frankie rose, winked at Harvey, and said, “Sure, Skull. Let’s go.”

  When Harvey laughed, she had a feeling things were going to be all right.

  As Bull pulled into a garage, Frankie parked her little Toyota in the driveway. And sighed. In the PZ compound, Kit was probably going through hell, and here Frankie was, planning to feed people.

  Cazzo, I hate waiting.

  The book club had given her the last piece of the puzzle—how to mark a trail at night—as well as the idea about mercenaries. She’d check into the mercenary stuff with her friends back in New York. Just in case she ended up having to call in help.

  If everything went to hell, she’d ask Bull for assistance. She’d sparred with him, and he was scarily competent. A military veteran. He’d help; she knew that right down to the bottom of her soul.

  Nonetheless, she still had ten more days to practice everything, and hiking in and cutting the fence—just her alone—was the best plan with the least risk to others. Gambling with her own life was her choice. She’d pull in others only if she couldn’t manage on her own.

  Sliding out of her car, she walked over to his pickup. “I’ll have you know that my Toyota had a few nasty things to say about your road.”

  “Sorry. To discourage people from using our private road to get to the lake, we keep the section near the highway in rough condition.”

  “That almost makes sense.” The “Hermitage” was well named.

  She frowned. Hadn’t Bull’s cabin been near the other end of the semi-circle of five houses? “This isn’t your place, is it?”

  “Nope. This house belonged to the sarge.” Grief filled his dark eyes for a second. “The upstairs was his private quarters, and the downstairs is the communal area for all of us.”

  Frankie put her hand on his arm for comfort. “How many is all of us, then?”

  Before he could answer, the interior door to the house opened.

  “Yay, you’re here. I’m hungry.” Regan, Caz’s daughter, bounded down the three steps, her brown eyes shining. “Hi, Frankie and Uncle Bull. I can carry stuff.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Bull tousled the girl’s hair, then picked up the heaviest box and headed for the door. He called over his shoulder, “You can give the kid all the heavy stuff to cart—she’s strong.”

  “Hey!” But the girl’s expression said she loved the compliment.

  Laughing, Frankie eyed the boxes of food and pulled one forward. “Why don’t you take in the antipasto.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s an Italian appetizer. If you put the platter out on the table, we can all nibble on it as we unload the rest. And you’ll be first to have a sample.”

  The girl’s face lit. “Awesomeness. I got it.”

  Regan disappeared into the house.

  As Frankie pulled the next box forward, someone reached around her to take it. “Got this one.” It was the tall, hard-faced chief of police. “Welcome, Frankie.”

  Gabe gave her a smile and headed away, clearing the space for Audrey.

  “Audrey.” Frankie smiled. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

  “It’s good to see you again.” Audrey held out her hands for the insulated lasagna container. “In case no one told you, everyone’s thrilled to have something new to eat, both at the restaurant and here today.”

  “That’s great to hear.” Frankie hesitated. “Bull said to figure on around eight people for the taste test, only he didn’t mention exactly who they would be.”

  “Men.” Audrey rolled her eyes. “There are the four brothers, JJ and me, Regan, and you. How’s that?”

  “Perfect. I know almost everyone.” Pleased, Frankie dragged out the freezer box as Audrey moved away with her load.

  “Got it.” Hawk, the dangerous-looking blond guy from when she’d been shot hefted the container and walked away.

  Huh. Still just as talkative as before.

  With a snort, she leaned into the truck bed to pull out another box.

  Regan ran back into the garage.

  Caz followed. “Frankie, it’s good to see you.”

  She smiled, remembering how his smooth Spanish-accented voice had been so calming when he was dressing her gunshot wound. “Hi, Doc.”

  He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Mija, Bull said there was another kind of appetizer. Why don’t you talk the chef out of that one?”

  Regan gave Frankie a pleading gaze out of eyes the same dark brown as her father’s. “The ant-ant-pasta is super, but Uncle Bull said I’ll like the other one, too.”

  “I bet he’s right.” Frankie picked up the box with the crostini. “Your papa needs to carry this dish since it’s heavy.” And the bread toppings wouldn’t survive being tilted.

  Caz took the box and grinned when Frankie handed Regan the basket filled with garlic bread.

  As they disappeared, an athletic-appearing woman with short, curly auburn hair and turquoise eyes came down the steps. “Hi, Frankie. I’m JJ, and I live with Caz and Regan. I love Italian, so you’re my new best friend.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Frankie grinned and offered a box. JJ would be an easy person to like.

  With a smile, JJ took it and disappeared back into the house.

  Bull strode across the garage and joined Frankie. “I put the garlic bread in—there’s a timer set for that.”

  “Perfect.” Every cook in the world knew the secret to good food was using timers.

  Bull leaned into the pickup to drag out the last box.

  As his arm rubbed against her shoulder, the awareness of his body sizzled across her nerves like wildfire. She sighed.

  Too loudly.

  Abandoning the box, he straightened. As he looked down at her, heat stirred in his midnight-dark eyes. “I missed working out with you this morning, woman,” he murmured. “And missed everything that usually follows.”

  Oh, so had she.

  His fingers tangled in her hair, his thumb brushing her cheek.

  Her breathing stopped, and she leaned in, every skin cell tingling and anticipating his touch.

  He bent an infinitesimal amount, then paused. “No, this is not the time. I won’t want to stop.” He made a sound of masculine frustration. “Do you have any idea how many times I had to step back while you were cooking today? You’re hard on a man’s control, woman.”

  She laughed. “Me, too. I was annoyed you were so very professional in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll make it up to you…later.” He tapped her chin and stepped back. “Come, my chef. Let’s feed the hungry masses before they begin to howl.”

  He handed her the smaller container, took the last big box, and led the way into the house. They went down a hallway and out into a huge open room beneath a high vaulted ceiling. The design was similar to Bull’s home. The kitchen area was to the right. Past it, a long dining table stood in front of the two-story wall of windows facing the lake. To the left was the wide sitting area with a long U-shaped sectional, one even bigger than Bull’s—as was the television that took up much of the wall.

  Hawk was setting the table. The rest were opening wine and unboxing the food with teamwork as coordinated as in the finest of kitchens.

  And…she felt awfully like a stranger.

  A low whuff caught her attention a second b
efore Gryff barreled out from behind the island. He slid to a stop in front of her.

  “Hey, you! I missed you this morning.” His enthusiastic greeting made her feel at home, and she bent down. As he snuffled her cheek, she gave him a good back scratch.

  There was a moment of silence around her, and she noticed several people were giving Bull…and her…speculative looks.

  Perhaps he hadn’t mentioned he was banging his new server. She almost laughed when Bull winked at her.

  “Frankie, we have wine, soda, iced tea, milk, and water.” Caz stood by the fridge. “What would you like?”

  Most of the adults appeared to have wine—totally her preference. “Wine would be lovely.” She set her box on the counter.

  “What happened that made you set dinner back an hour?” Gabe asked Bull.

  “Nothing of note,” Bull said.

  Frankie liked him all the better for not talking about Harvey and Amka. No matter how much she loved gossip—she blamed Nonna for that trait—some kinds shouldn’t be shared.

  “Not that we’re complaining about the delay. It actually worked out better.” JJ gave Gabe an amused glance. “The chief is just snoopy.”

  Audrey snickered and elbowed JJ, before telling Frankie, “JJ and Gabe are both snoopy. It must be a cop trait.”

  Frankie froze. “Excuse me…cop? I know Gabe is the Chief, but…?”

  “Guess you didn’t get much time for introductions,” Bull said. “JJ is Gabe’s one and only patrol officer until he hires an additional temporary LEO for the tourist season. JJ’s been away for the last couple of weeks at a law enforcement class in Sitka.”

  JJ was a police officer. The only other police officer. The warning in Kit’s letter played in Frankie’s head: One of the Rescue police is a member of the Patriot Zealots.

  Bull set his hand on her shoulder in concern. Both the chief and his officer were watching her, their cop instincts obviously on alert.

  I’m an idiot. “Sorry, I was trying to seem innocent in hopes you guys hadn’t noticed my lousy driving.”

  Gabe blinked and glanced at JJ. “No, can’t say we have. Did we miss an accident?”

  Whew, he bought it. Frankie shook her head. “No, I’ve escaped that fate. So far.”

  “New York drivers are almost as aggressive as Bostonians but lack any experience to go with it.” Audrey grinned at Frankie. “Do you even own a car?”

  “No way. The subway and taxis, even the buses, are far less stressful.”

  Such appalled stares. She started laughing, partly in relief that she hadn’t gotten more questions.

  JJ seemed awfully nice and not like some wide-eyed fanatic. Could Kit be wrong? Frankie would have to be careful about what she said.

  “Here, chiquita.” Caz handed her a glass of wine.

  She took a sip. It was a traditional chianti, rich and fruity with an edge of tannin. “Perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” His voice softened. “The family is a bit overwhelming, sí?”

  Oh, dear, she’d let her distress show. Bull was also watching her with concern.

  Down, emotions, down. This was supposed to be a fun dinner. She managed a smile. “You are all actually making me a bit homesick for my Nonna’s house in Italy. Only she was a very traditional Italian, and her gatherings were even bigger. I have cousins out to the nth degree and aunts and uncles…and there were a lot of raised voices.”

  “The guys don’t shout much.” Audrey motioned with her glass toward the door. “They just go outside and pound on each other.”

  “Seriously?” She glanced at Bull.

  His dimple appeared. “Flattening someone is more effective than yelling.”

  Madonna.

  Urged by a hungry Regan, they were soon seated around the big table. Even though Frankie knew she was an excellent cook, she still worried. Even the best chefs could mess up—and somehow, today, it mattered more than normal.

  This was Bull’s family.

  Moving the food around on her plate, she pretended to eat as she watched.

  Bull sampled each dish slowly, making a sound that was almost a purr, before digging in with open enjoyment.

  Caz ate with a smile, urging his daughter and JJ to try this and that.

  Regan went back for seconds on the lasagna before finishing anything else on her plate.

  Gabe stole an extra bite of lasagna off Audrey’s plate with a wicked smile, then fed her a bite from his herbed trout, whereupon she dished herself a helping of the fish.

  Hawk showed no expression and made no appreciative—or disgusted—sounds. Having been the least attractive daughter, Frankie wondered what it’d been like to grow up with three “brothers” who were each man candy in different ways.

  Gabe was roughly handsome with a commanding presence. If he gave an order, probably every person in town would obey. Caz was as gorgeous as any Latino movie star she’d ever seen—with an equally deadly charm.

  Bull was…more. Totally hot in an over-the-top tough guy sense. Huge and powerful. Deep voiced. Maybe he didn’t have Caz’s charm, but he was a magnetic extrovert with an easy-going personality. He enjoyed people—and they liked him back.

  Hawk was scarred, tattooed, taciturn. How could the guy compete with his brothers? After watching her male cousins, Frankie had learned brothers could be incredibly competitive. Then again, she’d learned appearances were deceiving. His brothers loved and respected him—that was very clear.

  He must have felt her gaze. Catching her eye, Hawk glanced down at his plate—which was now empty—and gave her a nod. Approval.

  When she smiled back, his expression changed to one of masculine interest.

  Oops. How awkward was this? She averted her gaze.

  “Frankie, everything is amazing,” JJ said. “And now I have to ask, if you can cook like this, what are you doing in this little place—Rescue?”

  “Tesoro, no.” Caz shook his head at his woman.

  “Why are you frowning at her?” Frankie realized the others held the same disapproving expressions.

  “In Alaska, it’s frowned on to ask about a person’s past. In some ways, our state is like the old west that Hawk loves.” Bull shot a smile at his brother. “Quite a few people are here to escape something in the Lower 48.”

  “Interesting. In New York, people come for the size of it, or they want Broadway, or the jobs.” Because they were searching for something.

  It was a relief she wouldn’t be asked more questions about what brought her to Rescue. However, she could reassure the law enforcement types. “I’m not fleeing from anything.” She grinned at JJ, then the chief of police. “I have no crime or Mafia connections or whatever in my past, either.”

  Amusement lit in Gabe’s blue eyes. “I know.”

  “What? You ran a background check on me?”

  He grinned. “I’m taking the Fifth.”

  That stronzo.

  She eyed Bull.

  Framed by the black goatee, his mouth tipped up at the corners. He knew what his brother had done. Not that there was anything to find, but still.

  She gave him a frown, too.

  “Wasn’t it hard to leave New York? And come here? Rescue’s so little.” Regan’s nose wrinkled.

  Such an intelligent girl. Bull said the child lost her mother last year, and Caz had brought her to Alaska. For someone coming late to the parenthood game, the doc seemed like an amazing father.

  Frankie smiled at the girl. “Aside from Italy, I haven’t spent much time outside the city.” Seeing the worry in Caz’s eyes, she asked for him, “Don’t you like living in Rescue?”

  “Oh, yeah, I do. It’s a lot cooler than LA. But I’m a kid.”

  Caz gave Frankie a grateful nod.

  “I was ready to explore somewhere different,” Frankie said, “so I took a couple of months off from my job and came to Alaska.”

  “For the summer, like we do in school.” Regan nodded. “What’s your job?”

 
Oh, merda. An executive wouldn’t be likely to pick up a minimum wage job. Well, a vague answer never hurt anyone. “I work in a modeling agency, but not as a model. I’m kind of a helper, not a booker or manager, but I smooth the path between the models and their managers and photographers and stylists.”

  Bull was studying her. “That sounds like a rather high-powered occupation.”

  He wasn’t buying her helper spiel.

  “Is it fun?” Regan asked.

  Frankie dug for a truth she could use. “In a way. I like making sure everything flows well, but I don’t like the advertising industry. Everything they do—using stunningly beautiful models and photography tricks—is to make regular people feel inadequate so they’ll buy more clothing, accessories, makeup, or hair products.”

  “Oh. Huh.” Regan sat back, obviously needing to think about what Frankie had said.

  Frankie might need to do the same. Her words had come from a truth that had been stewing for a while. One that felt dismayingly valid.

  A well-paying job wasn’t necessarily a rewarding one. But it was also what her family expected of her. A Bocelli worked for the company.

  “Whatever brought you here, we’re glad, and we love the meal you made us today.” Audrey raised her glass. “To Frankie.”

  The chorus of appreciative comments set up a glow inside Frankie. “Thank you. And…it sounds as if this is the right time for dessert.”

  The delighted “yay” from Regan made her laugh.

  * * *

  In the kitchen a while later, Bull was pleasantly full, having topped off the excellent meal with a helping of tiramisu.

  The Italian theme night was going to be a success at the roadhouse.

  “She’s an interesting woman,” Caz said.

  Bull put another plate into the large dishwasher. It was good they’d overruled Mako and installed it when the building was constructed. “Frankie, you mean?”

  “Sí.” After handing Bull more plates, Caz glanced toward the giant U-shaped sectional where the women were. “I was tempted to let JJ dig for the story of what brought her to Alaska.”

  So was Bull. He closed the dishwasher door and started the cycle. “She’s allowed her secrets, bro.”