“Not if she has little seedlings to play with.” Bull grinned. Gabe’s woman, Audrey, had fallen head-over-heels in love with gardening. Lillian—whose arthritic knees weren’t happy with kneeling on cold ground—loved the young woman’s help and had taken the city girl under her wing.

“Since you’re all here, and since I found a surplus of moose steak in the freezer, and we have too many eggs, how about chicken-fried steak and eggs?” Bull asked.

“I’m in,” Hawk muttered. He loved everything country, from the food to the music.

“Can I help?” Regan asked hopefully.

Bull’s heart turned the consistency of pudding. As if anyone could say no to those big brown eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of cooking for a group without my junior sous chef.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “Let me introduce you to the wonders of cream gravy.”

Before Regan could rise, Gabe bent over and whispered in her ear, “See if you can talk him into making biscuits.”

Bull smiled because…no persuasion needed. There was nothing as satisfying as feeding people—especially his family.

That night, Bull pulled into the back parking lot at his roadhouse, got out, and did his usual quick scrutiny of the surroundings. An itch tickled his monkey brain—someone was watching him—but whoever it was didn’t feel dangerous. Then again, maybe he was paranoid simply from lack of sleep. Fucking PTSD. He’d left the military a good seven years ago. Shouldn’t an escape from nightmares accompany the DD-214 discharge papers?

At least Gryff woke him up before he’d descended too far into the abyss. Good dog.

With narrowed eyes, Bull checked the area for movement. Seemed quiet enough. By the roadhouse, the patio area overlooking the lake wasn’t open for dining yet. Movement caught his attention. Near the forested path to the town park, two people stood hand-in-hand, watching the water.

Music from the bar trickled out into the night along with the clamor of voices inside. Sounded as if it was getting busy. Time to rev up to tend bar.

Owning the roadhouse suited him, since he could alternate bartending with being a chef, or not do either on the days he needed to be in the office. Damn paperwork. Owning two other restaurants and a brewery, plus managing Mako’s trust, was getting to be too much.

Maybe he could re-enlist?

Off to the right, a car door opened with a creak. “Bull!”

His muscles tightened. Oh, hell. Guess he knew who’d been watching him.

His ex-wife Paisley hurried across the slushy, gravel lot. Her blue eyes were alight, her smile big. She clasped her hands together. “Honey, it’s so good to see you.”