Bull took a sip of his beer. Maybe he’d take Frankie out for a long ramble through the forest. It’d worked for Grayson, right?

Mission planned, he glanced over at his brother.

Beer in hand, Gabe was watching the mist floating over the still lake. Over the last hour or so, the lines of tension had disappeared from his face.

“Won’t Audrey notice you’re not in bed?” Bull asked.

“She woke up as I was leaving, which means I have about another hour before she’ll hunt me down.” His smile indicated he liked that his woman would come after him, even in the dead of night.

Bull suppressed a sigh. Frankie had said she’d do that.

No, he wasn’t giving up on what they had.

“Are those new trial beers?” Caz stepped into the gazebo.

“Yeah. Why don’t you try Old Baldy for me?” Apparently, it was a rough night for more than just Bull. He picked out a bottle from the cooler and handed it over.

“You didn’t offer me that one,” Gabe commented.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Bull said. “There’s extra hops and wheat. More fruity and spicy to give a summery feeling.”

“Summery beer?” Gabe snorted. “Yeah, no. I’ll take my fruit salad on a plate, not in my beer.”

After moving his chair closer to the firepit, Caz took a sip and savored it. “Very nice, ’mano. It does taste like summer. This one is a winner.”

The gazebo screen door opened, and Hawk scowled at them. “Noisy bastards.” Obviously not intending to stay long, he wore only a pair of jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt.

“Evening.” Bull studied him quickly. For the past weeks, they’d been doing spring chores—cleaning the chicken coop, turning compost, washing windows, repairing snow damage. It appeared Hawk had also done personal spring cleaning. His blond hair, still shoulder-length, was evened out, and his beard trimmed to hug his jaw.

The sarge would be pleased.

“Try this.” He handed Hawk an Old Baldy.

Hawk sampled. “Not bad. More hops would be better”—he sneered at Gabe—“but it’d work for a sunny afternoon grill.”

“That was the idea.” Bull nodded. “I’ll feature it when I get the roadhouse patio opened up.”

“When you do, then—” Gabe leaned forward. “What the hell is that?”

Bull turned to follow his brother’s gaze. Across the lake, a red light flickered and grew. Another light on the shore grew bright, then another.

“That’s fire,” Hawk said. “More than one.”

“Fuck.” Bull jumped to his feet. “Those are Dante’s cabins.” Frankie.

Gabe started snapping orders. “Caz, call the fire department—and tell JJ she’s on duty. Bull, make sure your New Yorker’s safe. Hawk and I’ll take the rest of the cabins.” He sprinted toward his house.