What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,40
“Although, I do say, being shot at has quite reduced my sense of adventure.”
Bull’s deep laugh sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.
Chief MacNair grinned at her, then left the way he’d come in—across the deck to the courtyard.
Frankie turned to Bull. “Don’t tell me, he has a house here, too?”
“’Fraid so.”
“How many brothers do you have?” Remembering how they’d just strolled in, she eyed the deck door. Her city paranoia was outraged. “Don’t you lock anything up?”
“Just us four.” He grinned and tugged a lock of her hair as he answered her second question. “Anything that faces the outside is battened-down. Doors into the courtyard, not so much. Usually only at night.”
She’d noticed how their tall wire fencing connected the houses together and then continued down to the lake on either side, totally enclosing the semi-circle, leaving it open only to the water. “Why does the fencing around the PZ compound feel like a prison but yours feels like safety?”
Bull tucked a hand under her undamaged arm and pulled her to her feet. “Because our fence is to keep out moose and bears and intruders, but not to keep anyone inside. If someone wants to leave, they can.”
The Patriot Zealot fencing really was a prison, holding Kit inside.
Frankie frowned. Today had sure been one major setback. How dare the bastardi shoot at her.
But she’d located the compound and knew more of what she was up against now. Like guards in those watchtowers. Her foray hadn’t been a complete failure.
To Frankie’s surprise, Bull didn’t lead her toward the garage and his pickup but took her between the two kitchen islands into the living room area.
He had an interesting home. The back half of the big two-story house had a hallway to the garage. A staircase led to the second floor. The entire front of the house, open to the ceiling rafters, had windows facing the lake. She could even see her cabin across the water.
Inside, the room’s warm brown and cream colors were echoed in the river-stone-lined corner nook that held a black wood stove. Rather than a traditional couch and chairs, a U-shaped leather and suede sectional curved around a big-ass television. Far too inviting. “Um. I should go home.”
“No, you should have a seat and relax for a while.” He smiled, but his arm around her waist was unyielding as he seated her where she could see out the huge display windows. On the deck, planters held cheerful pansies that brightened the gray day.
“Bull, I really do appreciate all your help, but—”
“Caz wanted you to stay here for a while to make sure you’re recovered. And I want you here.” Bull sat beside her and took her hand. “Caz and I have been in combat. Even if you deal well at the time, the shock of getting shot will catch up with you.”
His black eyes trapped hers. “If you have trouble, I want you here with me.”
“Listen, I’m perfectly—”
“Is the yorkie yapping at you?” The sandpaper-rough voice made her jump.
Hawk walked in from the deck.
“She’s a mouthy one, yeah.” Bull smiled.
Hawk had remote blue-gray eyes in a scarred face. Thick blond hair was yanked back in a tie. His beard was short. Full sleeves of tats and more scars decorated his arms. This fair-skinned brother certainly didn’t resemble Bull or Caz. Neither did Gabe.
“It’s good to officially meet you, Hawk.”
He gave her a quick assessing look, nodded approval at the dressing on her arm, then handed over her car keys. “It’s in Bull’s driveway.”
“Thank you. I really, really appreciate it.” She caught a half-smile on his face before he glanced at Bull and jerked his head toward the deck.
Bull rose and followed him for a talk outside.
When he returned, Frankie asked, “What was that Hawk called me when he came in?”
Bull flashed a smile. “Ah, he’s a bit sparse on words. He shortened New Yorker to yorkie.” Plucking the keys from her hand, Bull tossed them into a coffee table basket that held his wallet and keys.
“Yorkie? Like the fluffy dogs that bark all the time?” Yappy dogs. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced toward the door.
“Mmmhmm, soft, fluffy dogs with big dark eyes. Known for being bold and brave despite their size.” His fingers danced over her hair, fluffing it.
She looked up to object, and he took her mouth, kissing her so gently, so carefully, so…thoroughly, that she melted back into the couch.
Ooooh, such a kiss, even better than the one she’d gotten on the trail.