Kit felt the uneasy quiver in her stomach grow with each mile. Frankie’s man had three brothers, and their houses were together on an isolated bunch of acres. “So why is the place called the Hermitage?”

“Mako—the guy who raised Bull and his bros—was basically a hermit. He did his twenty years in the military, but when he retired, sounds like his PTSD and paranoia caught up with him. He was a total survivalist.” Frankie grinned. “The Hermitage will make your gardener heart happy. We have a huge vegetable garden and a greenhouse, and everything’s growing like crazy.”

Kit smiled. Gardens were the best pain medication. “I can’t think of anything nicer. Aric’s told me so many stories about the lake and the gardens. And the chickens.” And Hawk.

She’d asked Hawk to care for her son—and he was. How could a mother repay the gift of keeping her boy safe? Every few days, he’d brought Aric to Anchorage to see her, and she’d have been lost without those visits.

“Aric loves the Hermitage—although he sure misses you.” Frankie glanced over. “You’re stewing about something though.”

“It’s just… It’s not my house, and no one knows me, and it feels wrong to simply move in.”

“I guess it’d bother me too.” Frankie shook her head. “But really, it’s fine. Bull’s more of a people person than I am; he’s the one who suggested that you and Aric stay with us. And hey, your room is downstairs, and our bedroom is upstairs, so you won’t be hearing our sexy times.”

Startled, Kit laughed and grabbed her side with the stab of pain. “Okay then.” After a minute, she laughed again.

“What was the second laugh for?”

“Just feeling grateful for the busted bones.”

Frankie’s jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

“Being hurt so badly meant I was stuck in the hospital and rehab and pretty much got pushed into counseling. A lot of counseling.” Her grin faded. “I never thought my behavior with men wasn’t normal, but…I learned a lot about myself in the last three weeks. Like why my choices in men, even before Obadiah, were so lousy.”

“Huh. In that case, I’m glad too. Your counseling will continue, by the way.” Frankie glanced over. “Caz—the nurse practitioner who runs the health clinic—talked to the rehab discharge planner, and you’re booked for physical therapy and counseling at the clinic.”

“That can’t be right. I told the discharge planner I couldn’t afford any outpatient therapies.” Kit frowned. “Frankie, I don’t have insurance or money. I can’t—”

“Um…”

Kit narrowed her eyes. “You look as guilty as you did after you ate all my Death by Chocolate ice cream—right before my period and finals, no less. What did you do this time?”