Regina chuckled. “There are days it’s more like trying to steer a batch of grizzlies.”
Kit laughed. “Yet you’re enjoying it.”
“You betcha. It sure beats sitting at home. Or it used to. My daughter and her husband moved back here from the Lower 48 last winter.” Regina’s eyes were all alight. “They presented me with my first grandchild last month. My days have gotten lively.”
“Congratulations on the new baby.”
“Thank you.” Regina beamed. “If I might ask, what do you do for a living when you’re not laid up?”
Kit smiled. Regina reminded her of the Hermitage guys. Right to the point, but with no malice. Just interest. “Before I married and got pressured into the Patriot Zealots”—a nod showed Regina understood—“I worked in a garden nursery and did landscape design with an emphasis on natural systems.”
“Interesting. Did you like it?”
“Yes. I miss it so much. It’s the best of all worlds, really. Helping the earth to be more beautiful and productive. And helping people too. I like people”—Kit half-grinned—“um, in small numbers.”
“I hear you.” Regina laughed. “Put me at a party where I have to make small talk in a group, and hell, I’d rather go bare-ass ice swimming. But this”—she waved at her reception desk—“it’s like you said. Helping people. Keeping things working right.”
The phone at Regina’s desk rang. She gave Kit’s knee a quick pat, then bustled across the room to answer.
Kit returned to people watching.
A person went into the police station, two more into the health clinic. Not a busy day. After studying the receptionist desk, the off-white walls and hardwood floors, she was bored silly. Next time, she’d bring a book and a thermos of coffee.
She eyed the glass-fronted doors to the street. Wasn’t there a coffee shop around here?
No, girl. Coffee isn’t in the budget. No. She was being extremely careful with the money Frankie had loaned her. It had to go a long way.
To her right, a man said, “Kit” in a smooth, dark voice.
She jumped and squeaked when she twisted too fast.
“Dios.” Caz held up his hands and took a step back. “Sorry, chica. I forget to make noise when I walk.”
“It’s fine.” She’d been watching the front door, not thinking about someone coming out of the clinic. Blindsiding her.
From now on, she’d know better.
He went down on his haunches, relieving her anxiety of being at a disadvantage before it had a chance to register. “I’m taking a break and getting us both some coffee. Do you want your coffee here or would you like to join me across the street?”
She almost smiled. Caz’s Spanish-accented voice was the auditory equivalent of melted chocolate. So different from Hawk’s.
Her brows drew together at the way he’d phrased his question. She would be getting coffee. Joining him was optional. He must have realized she’d refuse if he’d asked her if she wanted coffee. “Were you born tactful and sneaky, or did you learn that in school?”
He laughed. “I will answer your question across the street.” Standing, he stepped back so she could rise.
As they walked across the room toward the door, Regina tossed Caz a satisfied salute.
“She called you, didn’t she?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Sí. She knows I enjoy company with my break.”
Charm like his should be considered lethal. Yet there was something even more satisfying about Hawk’s completely blunt, whittled-to-the-minimum kinds of answers.
The bell over the coffee shop door clanged lightly as they entered. With a sweet, old-fashioned décor, the room had wooden pews rubbed to softness forming booths along the front window and right side. A few people sat at tables and chairs in the center.
Behind the glass-fronted pastry display to the left, a lean brunette waved a latex-gloved hand. “Doc, your usual? And we have apple empanadas. Want one?”
“Yes to both, please. A drink and pastry for Kit, here, too.” When she started to shake her head, he simply smiled. “After being tortured by our physical terrorist, you deserve caffeine and something sweet.”
His charm was a thin mulch hiding a very stubborn personality. She wasn’t going to win.
He leaned an arm on the counter. “Sarah, this is Kit, who is staying with us out at the Hermitage. She’s Aric’s mother. Kit, this is Sarah. She and her husband own the shop.”
“Aric’s mama?” Sarah clapped her hands. “He must be happy you’re on your feet again. He’s simply adorable.”
Anyone who liked Aric had to be a wonderful person. Kit beamed. “He really is, thank you.” After a quick study of the handwritten menu on the chalkboard, she picked a plain coffee and indulged in an old-fashioned apple fritter. Because Caz was right; she deserved it.
But somehow her list of people she owed kept getting longer. How ever would she pay everyone back?
Drinks and food in hand, they sat down at a table at the back.
Caz studied her for a moment. “Can you share what has you worried?”
Darn it. With Obadiah, she’d grown skilled at hiding her emotions. Free of him, it’d felt painfully good to drop that mask. But now…
A denial was on her lips, but no. She didn’t want to be a person who wasn’t honest in words or expressions. Even if it required being brave enough to drop her defenses.
After a moment, she realized Caz had leaned back, simply sipping his coffee and waiting.
“It’s like this,” she said. “I can’t work just yet, and Obadiah gave all our money—including my savings—to the PZs. You folks are putting me up, and although Frankie loaned me some money, I’m going to need it for food, future rent, and getting a car. So, although I needed this coffee more than life itself”—she smiled at him—“it’s eating at me that I can’t pay my own way. Or pay anyone back for quite a while to come.”
He took a bite of his hand pie and considered her words. “Comprendo. I’m not as prickly at receiving help as Gabe and Hawk are, but none of us enjoy feeling dependent on others.”
That he understood was incredibly comforting.
Relaxing, she nibbled on her fritter. The pastry had a lovely fried crunch. There were pieces of apples in the sweet glaze. So yummy.
And it would be her last treat for a very long time, she figured. Her mouth tightened. How soon before she was healed enough to get a job?
“Hey, Hawk, what would you like?” Sarah called from the counter. “Black coffee and…?”
Kit startled and winced at the jab of rib pain before turning to look.
Hawk stood near the door, his intent blue-gray eyes meeting hers. His thick hair was all the shades of caramel, his beard trimmed close to his jawline. He wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans—no pretenses there—yet the well-worn fabrics, which clung to his muscular chest and thick biceps, gave hints of washboard abs and molded over hard thighs.
He frowned at her before turning to Sarah. “Yeah, coffee and…” He half-turned, revealing Aric behind him. “Kid, pick a—”
“Mama!” With a delighted cry, Aric darted across the room and dodged a customer. At the last minute, he remembered her ribs and skidded to a stop.