Nothing fancy. But the cabin held a woodstove for heat, a table and two chairs, a couch and armchair, and a bed and dresser. The kitchen had a small fridge and stove, pots, silverware, and dishes. Everything necessary to survive…even if her laundry had to be taken to the downtown laundromat.

And she was still picking up new skills.

The first day, Dante had shown her how to build a fire in the woodstove. She’d started all the rest since then. It was embarrassing how much pride the accomplishment gave her.

Smiling, she walked through the cabin, out the back door, and climbed onto the top of the picnic table. She’d always considered herself a practical person. Living in a rustic cabin with no internet, no washing machine or dishwasher or even air-conditioning was…hmm…an adventure?

And when she sat out here and looked at the sunlit lake and the magnificent mountain range behind it, the need for modern amenities faded into the background.

This was where she wanted to be.

Although… A quiver of worry ran through her. How did a person go about being a waitress?

When she’d been served in restaurants, the job hadn’t appeared too complicated.

Tomorrow morning, she’d have to buy some coffee, pull out her laptop, and find out if there were tricks to waiting on tables in a bar.

Chapter Six

The next night, Gabe pulled his Jeep into the Bull’s Moose Roadhouse parking lot with a rising sense of anticipation.

Bull had hired the newcomer. That was good.

Nonetheless…Gabe was a tad worried, since: (a) He’d recommended her from instinct, not actual knowledge of her character, and (b) She might not be prepared for a bar like this.

At least his brother had managed to find another server—a youngster who’d just turned twenty-one. The young man was hoping for a job at McNally’s Ski Resort, so he might not be around long. Ms. Wilson wouldn’t be stuck waiting the tables alone.

And Gabe would be there tonight to make sure he hadn’t led his brother wrong.

After beeping the Jeep’s locks, Gabe headed for the bar. A “Grand Opening” banner hung between two trees to inform the world that Bull’s was now in business. At least the bar portion was.

Inside, at a table near the door, two men in their sixties were people-watching. Gabe gave one a double take. “I know you. Tucker.”

“Yeah?” Tucker eyed Gabe. His smile was almost hidden in his bushy gray beard. “Yeah, you’re Mako’s kid.”

Kid? After two decades of fighting in one battle or another, he felt ancient. “Good to see you.”

A subsistence homesteader, Tucker lived in an off-grid cabin in the bush. When he busted his leg a couple of years ago, the sarge had drafted Gabe to truck in food and water a few times. It’d made for an interesting vacation.