However, even if she had to hide her complete reason for being in this state, an employer deserved as much honesty as she could give him. “I doubt I’ll stay permanently. Do you hire seasonal workers?”
“Yes, we do. Absolutely.” Wylie was clean-shaven, had a bit of a gut, typical of chefs, but otherwise was in fair shape. “Right now, we’ve barely begun hiring for the longer summer hours and will have more positions open in the restaurant in a couple of weeks. If you don’t want to wait until then, I currently have an opening for wait staff at the bar, Wednesday through Saturday nights.”
Exactly where she wanted to be. Frankie grinned. “Sold. When do I start?”
“How about tomorrow night?”
Chapter Four
Sometimes it’s not the people who change, it’s the mask that falls off. ~ Haruki Murakami
On Saturday morning, Bull’s family was hard at work. Winter on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska was winding down with spring on its way. Seemed like breakup came earlier every year, and the lakes and rivers were almost ice free. Time to assess snow damage and put things to rights.
It was also time to inventory the freezer and pantry so he could finish off last year’s meat and fish before the new harvest season. They’d all dealt with their own freezers, but Bull had volunteered to go through the one at Mako’s cabin.
Stopping on the deck, Bull took off his muddy, Xtratuf rubber boots. “Yo, Gryff. Come on in, buddy. You might as well get familiar with this place, too.”
Still favoring his sore paw, Gryff bounded up the steps into the big two-story cabin. Bright, open, and all one room, the house was vastly different from the tiny, off-the-grid log cabin where the sarge had hidden after his discharge from the military. A decorated Green Beret, Vietnam vet, and drill sergeant, Mako had put in his twenty years, then disappeared into the wilderness to deal with his PTSD and paranoia on his own.
Bull shook his head. No one in their right mind would’ve approved a crazy survivalist for adoption—not that Mako had wanted kids. However, nearly twenty-five years ago, when the sarge was in LA for a teammate’s funeral, he’d heard screams from the next-door foster care home and entered to find an unconscious man with his pants around his ankles and four terrified boys. Caz was still holding the baseball bat. Figuring no one would take their word against their foster father’s, the four had planned to run and live on the streets—where most of them had been before. Mako offered to take the boys to Alaska and raise them himself.
Bull shook his head at the memory. That pretty much summed up Mako’s core belief—a man protected the weak.
The sarge kept his word and raised them to stand on their own. To be strong and honorable. To fight together as a team and then as brothers.
After his “sons” left to enlist, Mako’s PTSD and paranoia worsened, and eventually, they’d convinced him to move to Rescue where he had an old military buddy. His paranoia wouldn’t let him live in town, so they’d pooled their resources and bought up a good portion of the lakefront. Their five homes formed a half-circle around a communal space that faced the lake.
Mako built his place, planning to live upstairs and use the downstairs for family. He’d wanted room for them all to gather for meals and evenings. The equipment in the weight room and dojo rivaled some gyms.
He ruffled Gryff’s fur. “I miss that tough old guy.”
Gryff whined in sympathy and licked Bull’s hand.
A year and a half ago, Mako had chosen a quick death rather than a slow one to cancer, but damn, Bull would’ve liked to have said goodbye. To have told the sarge how much he meant to him. To all of them.
But hell, Mako had known. He might have been a crazy survivalist, but he could also read people. Miss you, Sarge.
Time to work—Mako’s answer for all ills.
A couple of hours later, Bull had a list of what needed to be eaten soon and what should be restocked. Odd how all the packages of salmon steak and chicken were gone, leaving less popular items like soup bones—which, come to think of it…
He pulled out a package and grinned at Gryff. “Guess what you get after it thaws a bit.”
“Hey, Bull. You in here?” That was Gabe’s voice.
“In the pantry,” Bull called.
Gabe’s footsteps approached the kitchen. “The chickens are laying like crazy. Maybe you could make deviled eggs? Audrey and I have older eggs in the fridge.”
Because hardboiled eggs from fresh eggs were fucking impossible to shell.
“Sure, I can do that.” Bull left the walk-in pantry, followed by Gryff.
Gryff stopped dead at seeing Gabe.
Even without wearing a uniform, Gabe had the appearance of the law—short brown hair, clean-shaven, hard-set stern jaw. And a cop’s wary cynicism in the sharp blue eyes staring at the dog. “I think you have something to share, bro.”
Bull grinned at the order for information.
The oldest of Mako’s sons by a year, Gabe had always been their leader. Even as youngsters, Gabe would give the orders, then Bull would muster the troops—the other boys—and resources. Sneaky, tender-hearted Caz would handle recon and deal with injuries. Always more of a loner, Hawk was their pilot—and sniper. The years in various military forces had only strengthened those roles.
And speaking of the devils, there came his two other brothers, across the deck and into the house.
As Hawk and Caz stepped in, Gryff caught their attention—and backed up until his hind end was against Bull’s legs.
A year younger than Bull, shorter and slenderer than the others, Caz smiled at Gryff, his brown eyes kind. “There’s a pretty boy.”
Bull glanced at his last brother. Beneath the scars and tats and blond beard, Hawk wore a scowl, of course, since he reacted to change the way he would a bunch of insurgents breaking into his home.
Not a problem. There were ways to scale Hawk’s guarded castle.
Catching the dog’s eyes, Bull made a high, almost inaudible ooo-ooo-ooo whine.
Raising his muzzle, Gryff imitated the sound with a most pitiful, mournful howl.
“Ay, pobrecito.” Caz went down on one knee and held out a hand. Trained as a medic by the Special Forces, now a nurse practitioner, Caz had an especially soft heart for pets.
Still pressed against Bull, Gryff started to wag his tail.
“Go say hi, buddy.” Bull motioned toward Caz, and Gryff advanced…carefully. A sniff, a caress, and Caz had himself a new furry friend.
“Where’d he come from?” Gabe also knelt and held out a hand to be assessed.
“In the park. Some assholes were trying to get him to fight another dog—and Gryff wasn’t into it. The one who bought him was told he was a great fighting dog.”
“He’s neutered,” Caz pointed out.
“Yep. When I broke up the fight and busted the humans up a little”—his brothers grinned—“the owner left Gryff behind. I couldn’t leave the pup there—and we could use a dog.”
Hawk snorted his disagreement.
Rubbing his jaw, Gabe scowled. “I’ll check around. Make sure we’re not having any dog fights around here.”
Bull had counted on that. Rescue’s Chief of Police took his job seriously.