What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,9

now wouldn’t be nearly as fun as when she was a college student.

But she wasn’t here for fun now, was she? This place would serve her purpose, since the postmistress said the PZs were often at the bar.

Time to hit the runway and walk the walk. Pulling in a fortifying breath, she crossed the lot, pulled open the door, and stepped inside.

The place was nicer than it appeared from outside, and she was glad she’d worn nice black slacks and her favorite royal blue sweater.

The restaurant and bar were spotless, and the air held the tempting aroma of grilled meat. With golden-stained log walls and wagon wheel chandeliers, the rooms held an Alaskan hunting-lodge ambiance. The nightclub took up about half of the right side of the building with a glossy, wooden bar along the back and distressed-wood tables and chairs in the center. Mounted on the log walls were huge antlers interspersed with wild animal photos.

Although only mid-afternoon, there were a couple of guys at the bar, and a few people seated in the restaurant.

Frankie stopped at the hostess station and waited for someone to notice her arrival.

“Oh, hey.” A slim, young man in a pink button-up shirt walked over. His nametag said Felix. “Bar or restaurant?”

“Actually, I saw the help wanted sign in the window.”

His face lit up. “Awesomeness. We’re already short-handed. The ski season might be ending, but the summer tourist season will be kicking in soon. Help we need.”

She smiled. “Perfect. Do you have an application or—”

“Wylie can talk with you now.” Felix motioned her into the room. “He’s a good guy. Maybe a bit grumpy today. Night owls hate working lunch shifts. Given the choice, I don’t think he’d get up until mid-afternoon.”

Great. An interview with a grumpy guy. Ah, well, this Wylie couldn’t be worse than diva models, screaming photographers, and irritable event organizers.

A few minutes later, she sat across from the middle-aged chef being interviewed. Thankfully, she’d already worked out her evasions about why she was in Rescue and could answer the question he’d asked.

“It’s one of those things. I’ve only lived in cities”—true enough except for her summers in rural Italy—“and I want to try something different for a while.” If she was here for reasons other than rescuing Kit, she would’ve been delighted to visit Alaska. And meeting new people was always wonderful.

However, even if she had to hide her complete reason for being in this state, an employer deserved as much honesty as she could give him. “I doubt I’ll stay permanently. Do you hire seasonal workers?”

“Yes, we do. Absolutely.” Wylie was clean-shaven, had a bit of a gut, typical of chefs, but otherwise was in fair shape. “Right now, we’ve barely begun hiring for the longer summer hours and will have more positions open in the restaurant in a couple of weeks. If you don’t want to wait until then, I currently have an opening for wait staff at the bar, Wednesday through Saturday nights.”

Exactly where she wanted to be. Frankie grinned. “Sold. When do I start?”

“How about tomorrow night?”

Chapter Four

Sometimes it’s not the people who change, it’s the mask that falls off. ~ Haruki Murakami

On Saturday morning, Bull’s family was hard at work. Winter on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska was winding down with spring on its way. Seemed like breakup came earlier every year, and the lakes and rivers were almost ice free. Time to assess snow damage and put things to rights.

It was also time to inventory the freezer and pantry so he could finish off last year’s meat and fish before the new harvest season. They’d all dealt with their own freezers, but Bull had volunteered to go through the one at Mako’s cabin.

Stopping on the deck, Bull took off his muddy, Xtratuf rubber boots. “Yo, Gryff. Come on in, buddy. You might as well get familiar with this place, too.”

Still favoring his sore paw, Gryff bounded up the steps into the big two-story cabin. Bright, open, and all one room, the house was vastly different from the tiny, off-the-grid log cabin where the sarge had hidden after his discharge from the military. A decorated Green Beret, Vietnam vet, and drill sergeant, Mako had put in his twenty years, then disappeared into the wilderness to deal with his PTSD and paranoia on his own.

Bull shook his head. No one in their right mind would’ve approved a crazy survivalist for adoption—not that Mako had wanted kids. However, nearly twenty-five years ago, when the sarge was in