Bull nodded approval at how she’d taken the kid down with humor, not aggression. That was one guy who’d be more careful with his off-color remarks.

When she returned to the bar and handed her drink orders to Raymond, Bull walked over. “That could’ve been awkward. Nice job of handling the situation.”

Her face lit, then her expression turned cool. “Thank you,” she said politely.

Orders filled, she moved away.

Raymond glanced at Bull. “What’d you do, Boss, piss in her beer or something?”

“Damned if I know.” Admittedly, his size bothered some people, but she didn’t appear intimidated. Bull watched her, irritated that the smile she gave so freely to everyone else was never turned in his direction. She had a beautiful smile, warmer than a wood fire on a snowy day.

Raymond studied her. “She must be the only female in the world who doesn’t think you’re a sex god.”

Bull snorted and returned to bartending.

Still irritated.

It was such a human reaction that he had to laugh. He’d complained about women pushing themselves on him. And when one didn’t? He sulked like that college student.

The music in the bar was the soundtrack from the original Footloose movie. Smiling, Frankie did a little spin as she delivered drinks and headed for a newly filled table.

Would Bull sing tonight? Even when he wasn’t performing for the crowd, she’d noticed how he hummed or sang along with whatever was on the playlist. He had such a deep voice—a bass—the sound rumbled right to her bones.

What must he sound like in bed? “More, sugar.” The words were imaginary; the heat streaming through her veins sure wasn’t.

Bad Frankie.

She shook the sound of his voice away and put her attention where it belonged—on the people waiting to order. “What would—”

A shriek of pain came from the back of the roadhouse where the kitchen was. Someone shouted.

What in the world?

Abandoning the bar, Bull headed there, walking…but moving incredibly fast.

I hope whoever that was is all right. Needing to help, she took a step that direction and shook her head. They didn’t need her, but how odd it seemed not to be the one fixing everything.

“Let’s try this again.” She smiled at the older couple. “What can I get you to drink?”

After collecting a set of orders, she headed back to the bar.

“Frankie.” The chef Wylie hurried up to her, white hat still on his head, ruddy skin flushed from the kitchen. “You mentioned you did line cooking in the past. Any chance you could fill in for that position? It’s mostly grill and fry backup. Our regular got burned and needs to see the doc.”

Little scorches were common on the line, but the noise had implied more. “That bad?”