Which was lovely, but she didn’t want his concern or his attention and was tempted to tell him exactly why.

No, Frankie. She needed this job and letting loose her hot temper would be a quick way to the door. She could be polite and work with this man.

But…why did he have to be so sexy?

“No problems. Everyone has been great.” She added a reluctant, “Thank you.”

Catching the chill, he stiffened slightly, nodded, and returned to his work.

“Whoa, I didn’t know there was anyone on earth who didn’t like Bull,” Audrey clapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s—” There was no way to explain. Frankie shrugged.

Amusement in his dark blue eyes, Audrey’s guy held his hand out. “I’m Gabe MacNair, Chief of Police here—and I won’t arrest you for not liking the bartender.”

Frankie stiffened. Kit’s letter had said a Rescue cop was in the PZs. “Well, I’m glad I won’t get locked up. It’s good to meet you, Chief.” She managed to smile and shake his hand. “Now, I’d better get these drinks delivered.”

She picked up her tray and headed for her section, hearing Monty Python’s Knights chorusing, “Run away. Run away!” in her head.

After delivering the drinks, she checked her section, cleaned tables, and picked up empties. There weren’t many dirty glasses since the restaurant section had closed, and their busser had moved to the bar.

Spotting three men taking over a corner table, Frankie headed that direction.

One man was a tall, skinny ginger, complete with a long beard. One was short and slim with short brown hair and a trim beard. The third had a black buzz cut and was clean-shaven. All three wore boots, jeans, and work shirts.

As she smiled at the men, she noticed Felix had moved into her section. “Welcome to the roadhouse, gentlemen. What can I get you to drink?”

The red-bearded guy leered at her. “Are you on the menu?”

Mannaggia, did servers have to put up with such tired lines every night?

“No.” She didn’t bother to soften her reply. Lifting her brows, she waited, pen hovering over the pad.

Although the ginger scowled at her, they gave their orders without further wayward comments.

As she left, she heard them talking about women getting above themselves. How women were created to serve men.

She stopped short. Merda. Yes, shit, exactly. That was the same drivel Obadiah had used on Kit. Could those men be Patriot Zealots? Instead of treating them like creepy sexist assholes, she should’ve been polite and exchanged banter. She could have slid in a few questions and gotten a feel for them.

“Frankie, my sweet.” Resembling a California surfer boy, Felix joined her and started to lift the drink orders off her tray.

“Hey.” She slapped her hand on the pad. “What are you doing?”