Orion barked a laugh. “Ensuring you get the right colors?”
“Duh. The yellow would clash with my décor.” Felix leaned against Orion and batted his eyes. “As you know.”
Milo’s mouth twisted as if he’d stepped in dog shit. After a glance at Hawk, he told Orion, “I got something to do. I’ll grab food from Dante’s.”
As he walked away, Orion snorted. “Not like I wanted to eat with him anyway. Gotta say, boss, he’s got some skills, but every time he opens his mouth, I want to punch him.”
Felix snickered. “Since Orion’s a pacifist, that’s saying something.”
It was hard-held truth that some people improved after a few punches; Milo might be one of them.
No. Bad boss.
Hawk sighed. “I’ll try to find you someone else to work with.” And at the end of the month, he’d hand Milo his walking papers.
The door of the restaurant opened. Bull came out with Frankie and stared at the hanging pots. “Give me a minute.” He walked down to the parking lot entrance and stood there, studying the roadhouse.
When he returned, he was scowling.
“You’re upset?” Frankie put her hands on her hips. “How in the world can you be unhappy with flowers?”
“It’s not that. Those yellow blooms brighten the place up and would catch people’s eyes from the road.” Bull ran his fingers down his goatee. “I have a feeling telling the staff to leave their plants here might cause a mutiny.”
“Don’t you touch my flowers, boss. Uh-uh. Mine’s already marked.” Felix pointed to his tagged plant before hurrying into the building.
Frankie laughed. “I bet he’s warning everyone to claim their plants before you confiscate them.”
“Figures.”
Bull did have a point, Hawk decided. The bright blooms were more effective than any welcome sign. He pointed to the horizontal log between the posts. “I could put hooks in that beam.”
Arms crossed over his chest, Bull considered and nodded. “Do it. I’ll bribe Kit to macramé the right length of hangers for pots.”
“No bribe needed.” Kit startled Bull, who obviously hadn’t seen her come out. “I owe you and Frankie far more than I can ever repay.”
The sincerity in her soft voice was heartwarming…because this was who she was. The woman held up her end. Paid her dues.
The sarge would’ve liked her.
Chapter Twenty
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Kit hadn’t been to bed long when something roused her from sleep.
Was that music? It was soft. Haunting. Like a violin. As she sat up in bed, it stopped, and she heard the faint sound of men’s voices before it started again.
Someone was playing a violin.
All of Mako’s sons played an instrument. Hawk was the one who played the violin.
Pulling on the long, fluffy robe Frankie had given her in the hospital, Kit tiptoed down the stairs, across the living area, and out onto Mako’s deck.
To listen.
Oh, such a lie. Partly to listen. Partly because simply looking at Hawk made her pulse quicken.
A bit before midnight, the only light came from the thin crescent moon overhead. But she could see him just fine.
He was standing, facing the lake, not even wearing a shirt. Probably barefooted too. The temperatures had dropped into the 40s, but Alaskans seemed to think if there wasn’t snow, it wasn’t cold.
She leaned against the railing. The music was slow and mournful in the way only a violin could achieve, singing of losses and a sadness so deep it made her chest hurt. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over.
Silhouetted against the pale sliver of a moon, an owl flapped over the lake with the soft whup-whup-whup of wide wings.
When the music halted, she straightened to go inside.
Catching the movement, he turned his head. Looked at her.
Rising, he walked inside.
Her throat tightened painfully. She shouldn’t have intruded on his solitude. On his music.
Her head bowed. She’d been thoughtless. Unkind.
Then she heard footsteps. With a flannel shirt on, but unbuttoned, and wearing shoes, Hawk came down his deck steps and strode across the courtyard.
Toward her.
Her wish to flee faded as he grew closer. The moon glow lightened his hair and short beard to blond, shadowed his eyes, and streaked the scars on his forehead, his neck, and the side of his face.
His expression was unreadable as he climbed the steps onto Mako’s deck.
She straightened. If he was angry, well, she deserved it.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She laced her fingers together. “The music was so beautiful, but I’m sorry for—”
“Intrude?” He frowned, then shook his head. “If I cared who listened, I’d fiddle in the forest.” His gaze swung across the semi-circle of houses filled with people.
A long exhalation of relief escaped her.
His eyes narrowed. “Worried, huh?” He cupped her chin and gently brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “You should complain I woke you up.”
Her gaze went past him to the dark, quiet lake. “That would be like complaining about moonlight on the water.”
He studied her for a moment. “Is Aric asleep?”
“Um-hmm.” His unbuttoned flannel shirt gave her glimpses of a very muscular chest.
“Kit.” His palm under her chin lifted her head. Her gaze met his. Was that laughter in his eyes? “You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”
“Right.” Disappointment rose as he opened the door for her. She turned to bid him goodnight and realized he’d followed her in.
Realized he’d said, “let’s go inside,” not “you go inside.”
Her heart started a heavy, suggestive beat. “Um, can I get you something to drink?”
“No.” He opened his arms. “Hug?”
She couldn’t think of anything she’d like better. Stepping forward, she put her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest—his bare chest.
Shock froze her for a moment, then she inhaled. His skin smelled clean, but of the woods rather than citrus or sage.
His hands settled on her waist, waiting…until she rubbed her face against him. Just the right amount of short, curly chest hair covered his warm skin and hard pectoral muscles.
He looked and smelled nothing like Parrish or Nabera. She tried to push the thought of them away. “Can you talk to me?”
His laugh was wry. “Not much for talking.”
Against the warmth of his skin, her lips curved up, because whenever he spoke, his deep gravelly voice somehow firmed the ground up beneath her feet, giving her a stable place to stand. As the shadows of the past dissipated like fog in the morning sun, she tightened her arms around him. “The sound of your voice is all I need.”
What the fuck? His voice? She was hugging him harder, so Hawk slid his arms around her waist. She was so damn breakable. “No one likes what I sound like.”
His parents sure hadn’t, maybe because the broken sound was their fault.
The women he’d bedded would complain. “You have a horrible voice.” “Don’t say anything.” “I can’t stand it when you speak.” “Just shut up and don’t talk.”