She hesitated, realized she wasn’t scared, and took a grip.

His hand was warm, callused, strong.

Once she was up, she registered again just how big he was. Not Bull’s height, but their powerful musculature was very similar.

After an assessing look, as if checking that she was steady on her feet, he stepped away and returned to his chair.

Before she checked out the books, she noticed a bowl on one shelf. It was filled with sparkly rocks of assorted sizes, shapes, and colors. Her lips twitched, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Aric’s?”

Hawk nodded.

Uh-huh. Mr. Tough and Deadly had given her son a special bowl and a place to keep his rocks. She suppressed a little sigh.

The books on the shelves were a glimpse into his mind. Louis L’Amour, Zane Grey, Larry McMurtry. Even Tony Hillerman. A gurgle of laughter escaped her. “Why do I get the impression you wish we were back in the days of the cowboys?”

“Westerns are fun to read; not so much to live.” His grin flashed. “No planes.”

Yes, she’d watched him piloting his helicopter with utter concentration and, even more, a deep joy.

He walked over, and as he reached past her, she breathed in the scent of warm male skin and the lingering fragrance of his soap—like the ocean with a hint of citrus. Mmm.

His finger slid over the books, then he pulled out a Louis L’Amour and handed it to her.

“The Cherokee Trail”? She flipped it over. The blurb talked about a woman managing a rundown stagecoach station.

“About a woman,” Hawk said. “She had guts—reminds me of you.”

With a nod, he headed into the kitchen, leaving her standing there, utterly flabbergasted.

Utterly delighted.

Chapter Nine

To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“That’s wonderful. I’ll be there, thank you.” In Mako’s house, Kit set the landline phone down on the end table with a sigh of relief and a bit of anxiety.

Done. Now she could relax. With that in mind, she picked up her book—the third loaner from Hawk in the last three days.

Louis L’Amour—and his Sacketts—had become her favorite occupation for downtime. Maybe because the heroes reminded her of Hawk. The Sacketts were rugged men, their speech blunt, their social graces awkward. More than anything, they were honorable and honest—and treated women with respect. It was wonderful to be reminded that not all men were like the…the pissers.

Back out on the deck, she smiled at the children sitting in the grass and painting the rocks they’d gathered and washed.

Because the garden paths needed some decoration—or so she’d declared.

“Look, Mama.” Aric held up his latest creation. “A rainbow.”

“Perfect choice, honey bear. I love rainbows.”