“My job requires late hours.” She added a scowl to keep him from asking about her face.

He huffed a laugh. “You could complain to your boss—except he knows you were off last night.” Despite her grumbles, he spoke with his usual good nature.

“I guess that excuse won’t work then.” Pushing away her mood—whatever odd mood she was in—she chuckled. “Sorry for grumping. And thank you for bringing wood. What do I owe you?”

“No charge. We have plenty and owed Dante a favor.” As he walked past her to the truck for another armload, his big dog bounded over.

We. Did that mean Bull had a girlfriend? And why was she wondering about that? She bent down to pet the shaggy dog and he leaned against her legs so hard she almost toppled over. “Good morning, dog.”

“Gryff—that’s his name.”

“Gryff.” Such a sweetie.

“Say hi, buddy.” Bull said to the dog. “Bark.”

Gryff let out a loud woof, then trotted to Bull, obviously expecting a compliment.

“Good job, boy.” Bull bent and petted the dog until Gryff spun in happy circles.

Dammit, she didn’t want to like the man. “Well, thank you for the wood. I do appreciate it.” She could enjoy her first cup of coffee by the woodstove. “I never realized how comforting a fire is. The heat is…I don’t know…warmer?”

“Seems that way to me, too.” His smile tugged at her.

But a gusting wind blew her hair in her face, again making her aware of her bedhead, unwashed face, sloppy clothes, and lack of underwear.

Cazzo. She took a step back. “Thank you again. Have a nice—”

“Frankie.” He leaned a shoulder against the shed’s post and pinned her with a black gaze. “You don’t like me. That’s your prerogative, but if I’m doing something that’s annoying you, it’d be a relief to know what it is.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?” She threw her hands into the air, her voice rising. “Were you raised in a barn? If someone dislikes you, you’re not supposed to comment on it. Or question it.”

That dimple appeared again, so incongruous in such a hard face. “Not a barn—a log cabin. By a Green Beret veteran. Lessons on manners were few and far between.

A log cabin. That explained sooo much.

He folded his arms over his wide chest. “I have heard it mentioned that answering a question is considered polite.”

Her chin lifted. If he wanted the truth, then fine. That’s just what he’d get. She’d tried to be polite—okay, no, she hadn’t, but she hadn’t called him a stronzo to his face. She hesitated and mentally ran through the past few days. No, no, she hadn’t. Whew. “All right then.”

But how was she supposed to even start explaining?