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.