“He’s torn up a bit.” Caz was already checking the dog’s injuries as Gryff nosed Gabe’s hand for more petting.
“Yeah. The other dog ripped up Gryff’s paw, got him a few times on the neck and shoulder. He’s hurting, Doc.”
“Sí. I’ll give you some ointment for him,” Caz said.
“Hell. Let me know if you see the bastards again.” Hawk’s blue eyes softened, and he went down on one knee for his own introduction.
Leaning against the kitchen island, Bull grinned at his deadly brothers. Gabe—a retired Navy SEAL like Bull and master of all weapons. Cynical, damaged Hawk—army sniper and pilot for anything that would fly. Cazador—Special Forces medic, silent and deadly with blades.
And all three hardasses turned to putty in a dog’s fuzzy paws.
“That whine-on-command is pretty effective,” Gabe said, having noticed that Bull instigated the I’m-a-poor-puppy sound.
“He’s damn smart,” Bull said. “Whoever had him before the asshole did some training. It won’t take much to teach him to bark on command.”
Caz groaned. “Don’t tell Regan how to—”
As if summoned, Caz’s daughter trotted across the deck in a flurry of light footsteps. All of ten years old now, she had long, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and light brown skin—like a mini-me Cazador. Her mother died last fall. Discovering he was a father, Caz had brought her to the Hermitage—and now she owned all their hearts.
“That’s a dog.” She stopped in the door.
“Sí, mija.” Caz rose and held his hand out to her. “Bull rescued him. He has some sore spots, so be careful when you’re petting him.”
“Oh, he’s all fluffy and pretty.” Regan walked forward cautiously—and damn, Bull hadn’t realized just how big Gryff was. The dog probably outweighed the girl by ten to twenty pounds.
“Look to one side, not directly at him, and hold your hand out,” Caz murmured.
When she did, Gryff walked over, tail already waving because…yeah, he could tell she was just a pup.
Regan grinned as the dog sniffed her hand, and she squeaked with the lick of the tongue, then set to petting the happy mutt. “What’s his name?”
“Gryff—short for Gryffindor.”
When the Harry Potter fan squealed in delight, Bull didn’t miss the narrow-eyed stare from her father who recognized the manipulation.
Ha. Grinning, Bull watched as Regan and Gryff bonded. Her smile was huge.
There were days he really envied his brother. Caz not only had Regan but had found himself an incredibly strong woman with a big heart. Speaking of …
“Where’s JJ?” Bull asked Caz, then glanced at Gabe. “And Audrey?”
“JJ’s starting the packing process.” Caz was amused. “Two weeks away apparently requires a lot of forethought in what to take.”
“Ah, I forgot she was leaving on Monday.” The officer was headed to Sitka to learn all the nuances of Alaska law enforcement.
“Lillian offered Audrey a bribe of her special fertilizer mix to get help transplanting seedlings into bigger pots,” Gabe said. “She won’t be back for a couple of hours.”
“Not if she has little seedlings to play with.” Bull grinned. Gabe’s woman, Audrey, had fallen head-over-heels in love with gardening. Lillian—whose arthritic knees weren’t happy with kneeling on cold ground—loved the young woman’s help and had taken the city girl under her wing.
“Since you’re all here, and since I found a surplus of moose steak in the freezer, and we have too many eggs, how about chicken-fried steak and eggs?” Bull asked.
“I’m in,” Hawk muttered. He loved everything country, from the food to the music.
“Can I help?” Regan asked hopefully.
Bull’s heart turned the consistency of pudding. As if anyone could say no to those big brown eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of cooking for a group without my junior sous chef.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “Let me introduce you to the wonders of cream gravy.”
Before Regan could rise, Gabe bent over and whispered in her ear, “See if you can talk him into making biscuits.”
Bull smiled because…no persuasion needed. There was nothing as satisfying as feeding people—especially his family.
That night, Bull pulled into the back parking lot at his roadhouse, got out, and did his usual quick scrutiny of the surroundings. An itch tickled his monkey brain—someone was watching him—but whoever it was didn’t feel dangerous. Then again, maybe he was paranoid simply from lack of sleep. Fucking PTSD. He’d left the military a good seven years ago. Shouldn’t an escape from nightmares accompany the DD-214 discharge papers?
At least Gryff woke him up before he’d descended too far into the abyss. Good dog.
With narrowed eyes, Bull checked the area for movement. Seemed quiet enough. By the roadhouse, the patio area overlooking the lake wasn’t open for dining yet. Movement caught his attention. Near the forested path to the town park, two people stood hand-in-hand, watching the water.
Music from the bar trickled out into the night along with the clamor of voices inside. Sounded as if it was getting busy. Time to rev up to tend bar.
Owning the roadhouse suited him, since he could alternate bartending with being a chef, or not do either on the days he needed to be in the office. Damn paperwork. Owning two other restaurants and a brewery, plus managing Mako’s trust, was getting to be too much.
Maybe he could re-enlist?
Off to the right, a car door opened with a creak. “Bull!”
His muscles tightened. Oh, hell. Guess he knew who’d been watching him.
His ex-wife Paisley hurried across the slushy, gravel lot. Her blue eyes were alight, her smile big. She clasped her hands together. “Honey, it’s so good to see you.”
Sure, it was. His mouth flattened. Once upon a time, he hadn’t been a cynical bastard, but his first wife and various girlfriends had introduced him to disillusionment. His second wife, Paisley, had put the icing on the cake.
Unable to avoid her hug without pushing her away, he turned his head to escape her attempted kiss. Even the wind off the snow-pack-fed lake couldn’t cool down his annoyance. “What do you want, Paisley?”
“Oh, darling, don’t be angry with me.” Ignoring his step back, she patted his arm, then his chest.
Irritation bit into his self-control. “For fuck’s sake, woman, when a person moves away from you, it’s a polite way of saying don’t touch. What part of that don’t you understand?”
She stared at him with hurt on her face. “You love my touch and always want my kisses and to make love.”
“Not. Any. More.” He took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest. Fucking-A, they’d been divorced for over two years.
“But…”
“Why are you here?” The struggle for patience felt as though he was slogging through the endless sands in Afghanistan with a full pack.
She curled a strand of hair around her finger and looked up through her lashes. “I miss you, Bull. I want to get back together.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I think we made a mistake.”