Even with Hawk’s minimalist preferences, the room felt unfinished. Unlike Caz’s cabin with glossy cherry wood furniture, oriental carpets, and light upholstery, this rustic-style room had rough-finished dark beams, reclaimed wood for the tables. Dark. No pillows, no carpets. Hawk had never indulged himself with anything soft.
He could break a brother’s heart.
Caz held a beer out.
Face unreadable, Hawk took it, drank some, and set the bottle down.
They sat for a few minutes, watching the fire.
“She’s yours, huh?” Hawk’s steely eyes were hard, his tone almost belligerent.
Caz smiled slightly. “She looks like me, yes?”
After a long pause, Hawk sighed. “Yeah. Fuck. I never figured on kids here.”
Caz got it. His brother’d never planned on children for any of them. Because the pilot who could dance a plane through turbulent winds, the sniper who could traverse any land was the same one who rejected any change in his personal life. He’d always wanted his home and family to stay the same.
“Hearing I had a daughter came as a shock to me, too.”
“You keeping her?” The edge in Hawk’s voice told how he felt.
“Sí.” Caz ran a finger through the moisture on his bottle. “Her mamá is dead, and there is no one else. I took her from a foster home. Should I have left her there?”
Hawk’s experience with foster homes had been ugly. His jaw tightened. “No.”
“Regan is only nine, ’mano, and her mother wasn’t a good one.” Caz softened his voice. “She’s had no stability. No one who truly loved her. I can give her that.”
“A kid will mess up your chance of fucking every female in the state.”
Caz chuckled. “True enough. However, with JJ, I lost my interest in other women.”
Hawk’s hand tightened on the bottle.
“I intend to keep her, too.”
The look Caz got held anger. “Maybe we should just open the damn doors and let everybody in.”
Caz crouched in front of the woodstove and put in another chunk of firewood. The wood sat for a second on the sullenly glowing coals before bursting into flames. “The sarge didn’t like people. Wanted to stay as far from them as possible.”
“Smart man.”
“Yet he ended up with four children. He changed our lives.” Caz straightened.
Silence.
“And we changed his. Read his letter to us again, Hawk.” Caz waited a second, then laid a hand on Hawk’s shoulder. Reminding his brother that he was loved. “Our family has grown by one little girl. Someday also, a tough cop with a big heart. Can I ask you to be nice to them, ’mano?”
The muscles under Caz’s hand tightened before Hawk exhaled. “Yeah. Sorry. I was…outta line with your kid.”
There it was, the apology and promise he’d known Hawk would give. Caz squeezed his shoulder. “Our kid…Uncle Hawk.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. ~ Act II, Scene III, Othello, Shakespeare
* * *
At Mako’s cabin on Thanksgiving, after nibbling on salmon pate and crackers, Bull had declared the turkey ready, and everyone had helped carry platters and dishes to the big dining room table.
Caz shook his head in amazement. The amount of food there would induce terror into anyone who worried about calories. Bull had made the traditional turkey, mashed potatoes, alder smoked reindeer sausage dressing, and gravy. Then they’d all added a few of their Alaskan favorites. Stuffed moose hearts. High bush cranberry sauce made with cranberries they’d picked this fall. The goose he’d had in the freezer had been turned into nigliq soup, one of his favorites.
Lillian had been invited, but the motherly Brit was hosting her own dinner for a batch of family-less men like Tucker and Guzman. She and Dante would stop by later for drinks and desserts. In anticipation of their visit, pies and sweets lined the counter in the kitchen.
Caz smiled as everyone settled around the big table. All seven. His family.
As the oldest son, Gabe had given in to pressure and taken the head of the table. They all felt the sarge’s loss, but this was right. Death happened. Change happened.
Why had Caz been arrogant enough to think he could prevent it? Could keep people from getting sick, from being in accidents or burglaries or explosions? As Regan leaned over to whisper to JJ, Caz smiled. Hell, he couldn’t even keep his loved ones out of snowstorms.
Rather than fighting the inevitable, he would simply appreciate and cherish his loved ones for as long as he could.
Bending, he kissed the top of Regan’s head.
She looked up at him, nose wrinkled in a quizzical expression. “What was that for?”
“Because I remembered how much I love you.”
“Oh. Okay.” She leaned into him and whispered, “I love you, too.”
JJ was watching, her expression tender.
Caz touched her cheek, to give her the sentiment silently because neither of them had said the words yet. Maybe her heart would hear.
Gabe cleared his throat and lifted his glass of wine. “To Mako. We miss you, Sarge.”
Everyone touched their glasses together in a myriad of clinking and then sipped. Regan was beaming because she had a wine glass, too, although it was filled with apple juice.
Picking up the turkey platter, Gabe held it for Audrey. She took a slice, and he took one, then started it on its way. That was the signal for everyone to do the same. Caz took turns with JJ in helping Regan get food.
Observing Mako’s protocol for meals, they went around the table, telling about their highs and lows since the last time they’d gathered.
Bull was having trouble keeping chefs. Rescue didn’t have enough social life for the city-raised bachelors.
Gabe and JJ had tangled with a couple of PZs, found the men had outstanding warrants in Anchorage, and sent them away to spend the winter in a nice warm jail. The two cops were so pleased, and everyone had laughed.
Audrey, who balanced running the library with being an internet researcher, had been digging up information on grizzly bear attacks for a thriller writer. She rolled her eyes and told them, “It’s not a good dinnertime subject.”
Seeing Regan’s wide eyes, Caz diverted the conversation with his own offering. “I’m collecting a list of people with medical and first-aid training. Kenai Peninsula didn’t have many fires this year, but it’s getting drier. We need to be prepared.”
As his brothers nodded, he caught JJ and Audrey exchanging grins. Audrey added, “Boy Scouts are taught ‘Be Prepared’, but Mako’s sons take that a dozen steps further.”
“True enough.” Caz looked across the table. “Hawk, what’ve you been up to?”
Hawk gave him an annoyed stare. He’d undoubtedly hoped they’d overlook him—as if.
Everybody waited.
With an irritated grunt, Hawk said, “I was working for the government with my last job—the one where I got hurt. But the contract is finished, and I’m done.”
Gabe eyed him and interpreted, “You’re home for good.”
“So it seems.”
Grinning, Gabe and Bull gave a hooyah—the SEAL’s battle cry. Caz met Hawk’s gaze and lifted his glass.
Although Hawk’s expression didn’t change, his gaze softened.
Time to let him off the hook. Caz smiled down at his daughter. “How about you, mija? Do you have anything to say?”
“Uh-huh.” She set her fork down and pulled in a breath. “Uncle Bull?”
“Yes, little mite.” Bull lowered his fork, giving her all his attention.
“Will you teach me to make turkey and dressing an’ gravy and potatoes?”
“You bet. You’ll be my official junior sous chef.”
Regan’s grin became even wider with the congratulations from around the table. Bull seemed pleased, as well, probably because Regan jumped into everything w
holeheartedly. She would be an asset in the kitchen.
Hawk didn’t speak, although Caz’d been pleased to see him give his semi-smile at Regan. It’d take a hard heart not to smile, and Hawk’s heart wasn’t hard—far from it. When Caz had complained about his brother’s behavior, Mako pointed out that, oftentimes, injured animals were aggressive to hide their vulnerability. Hawk’s bad temper covered soul-deep wounds. Someday, perhaps, his brother would heal.
But it meant that Hawk didn’t like change, especially with home and family. He could, eventually, be won over. Sometimes.
Audrey had succeeded, probably because she’d saved Gabe’s life. Then the clever librarian had found Hawk’s favorite authors and started bringing him books from the library.
JJ, though? Getting her and Hawk to accept each other? God help him.
Regan was still awful full. After Miss Lillian and Mr. Dante arrived, everyone sat around, talking and having dessert. The pumpkin pie was pretty good, but cherry pie slayed.
Now, she sat on the couch beside Miss Lillian—no, beside Grammy. Since Miss Lillian didn’t have any kids, she’d said Mako’s sons were hers now and that made her Regan’s grandmother.
A grandmother. How chill was that? Back when Regan was a baby, they’d lived with Mom’s mom. But that grandmother died, and Regan didn’t remember her hardly at all.
Having Miss Lillian instead was…really okay. Grammy’d been an actress in England, and when she got upset, she said Shakespeare stuff like scurvy varlet. Way more dope than calling someone a stupid butthead.
This afternoon, she’d listened to Regan’s speech for tomorrow’s winter festival and said it was great. A real actress liked her speech. Regan had grinned, like, really big.
The deck door opened, and Uncle Gabe and Uncle Bull came inside, all dressed for cold weather.
“Why are you wearing glow sticks?” Regan pointed to the bright red glow bracelets circling their coat sleeves.
“The night has come.” Uncle Bull motioned to the window and the darkness outside. His voice got even deeper. “We wear the red light so you can see your doom approaching.”
A chill ran down her spine, and Regan edged closer to Papá.
He put his arm around her. “What doom?”
“Foolish inhabitants of the Hermitage,” Uncle Gabe folded his arms over his chest. His face looked mean. “Killer Bull and I need a cave for the winter. We will take the Hermitage for our own.”
Papá’s lips twitched in that way that showed he was trying not to laugh. He gave her a squeeze before he stood up and crossed his arms over his own chest. His face turned mean, too. “You can’t have the Hermitage. We live here.”
Bull’s laugh was scary. “Not for long. We’re taking Mako’s cabin—and will kill everyone in our way.”
Regan shivered, but maybe she wasn’t really, really scared. Not when Papá turned and winked at her. JJ had her hand over her mouth, and her eyes were all crinkled up. Audrey was biting her lip.
Grammy leaned over and whispered, “It’s all in fun, my sweet. Mako’s sons grew up playing games and today, they’re going to let us play, too.”
Well, okay. Regan jumped to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t have our place.”
There, she was going to play, too.
Papá grinned down before he told Uncle Gabe, “The brave people here will defend the Hermitage to the death, but it will be your death. This is war.”
Bull nodded. “War.”
Uncle Gabe pointed to Hawk. “As the noncombatant, you’re judge. Yell out when someone is put out of action.”
Hawk looked like he’d rather fight, too, but he nodded.
Then Gabe scowled at Papá and nodded. “War.”
* * *
Outside, Papá had sent everyone to different places—the “likely approaches”—and said to stockpile grenades. He whispered to her, “That means make up extra snowballs to throw from your hiding place.”
Foster care had taught her a lot about hiding, and she found a dark place to scrunch under at Mr. Hawk’s deck.
Where were the others?
JJ had wrapped a black scarf around her head and was hard to see. She was behind the chicken coop.
Audrey’s light hair showed up real good where she was hiding behind Papá’s cabin.
Miss Lillian had pulled her hood up to hide her white hair, and she’d taken one side of Mako’s house with Mr. Dante on the other.
Not hiding, Mr. Hawk sat on Mako’s deck. Papá said if Gabe and Bull made it onto the deck, they won.
No way. Regan shook her head. Her team was the good guys. They wouldn’t lose. She’d make sure of that.
As she patted together snowballs—grenades—she saw a glimmer in the darkness. It disappeared. Edging out of her hiding place, she stood up a little.
There. Uncle Gabe had burrowed into the deep snow so his glow stick couldn’t be seen. Farther away, another glow stick moved. Uncle Bull.
A snowball sailed across the compound toward Uncle Bull, but it landed short. Two more followed. Still short. It was a really long way. Too far.
Uncle Bull threw—awful hard—and a shriek rang out.
“Right arm out of action, Audrey,” Hawk announced.
“What?” Audrey yelled back.
“You can only use your left arm now,” Bull explained in a loud voice. “Too bad for you, champ.”
“Well, eff-it-all.” Audrey’s blonde hair disappeared back behind the deck.
Hands over her mouth to keep the giggles from escaping, Regan crouched down, making like a mouse. Bull had sure thrown that snowball a long way. She’d have to wait till the bad guys got closer.
They did. Taking turns running forward and then disappearing into snow banks and behind stuff.
Papá stepped out from behind the gazebo—when had he gotten over there?—and threw a grenade at Uncle Gabe from behind.
Only Uncle Gabe must have heard it. He turned and smacked the snowball away with his arm.
“Gabe’s left arm is out of action,” Hawk yelled. And Uncle Gabe dove behind the grill, and she couldn’t see him at all.
Uncle Bull charged toward Mako’s cabin. He was fast.
Audrey’s snowballs were totally missing. Standing, Regan threw and missed and missed and then hit his leg. Even as he was falling, JJ jumped out from behind the chicken coop and her snowball got Bull in the right shoulder.
Regan was giggling, because he was pretending so good. Like he was really hurt. He even moaned.
Hawk called, “Bull, loss of right leg and left arm. A third hit anywhere will kill you from blood loss alone.”
“Shit, bro, seriously?” came from Bull’s snowbank. And Regan giggled harder.
Picking up her next grenade, she stepped out—and a snowball smacked into her left shoulder. Cold snow flew up into her face, and she shrieked.
“Regan, left shoulder is gone,” Hawk yelled.
Not using her left arm—because that was part of the game—she moved back farther. And scowled, because now the bad guys knew where she was.
Papá said in a fight a person had to keep moving. She needed a new spot.
The deck had an overhang in front of the trellis stuff that kept animals out from under it. A big drift had piled in front of it. She pushed her grenades in front of her and crawled along the bare earth, hiding behind the high snowbank.
Crawling on one arm was hard.
On the other side of the deck, she flattened the snow in a little window in front of her so she could look out.
Uncle Bull was moving, creeping with his unhurt leg and one arm. He was awful sneaky the way he dragged his other arm through the snow so the glow stick was covered.
Regan stood up and threw and hit him right in the back.
“Bull, you’re dead,” Mr. Hawk called. And he looked right at her and made a kind of salute with two fingers.
Grinning, she dropped back down—and then a snowball hit right over her head.
&
nbsp; Uncle Gabe was good.
The good guys had won and everyone had returned inside to “conduct an after action debriefing”. In other words, to replay all the highlights of the battle. JJ grinned. She hadn’t had so much fun in forever. The fighting had reminded her of being in paintball tourneys with Dad. So long ago.
She wiggled into a more comfortable place on the sectional—and off the bruised shoulder she’d banged against the chicken coop when jumping out of harm’s way. Caz put his arm around her and…okay, it felt good to be claimed in that way.
“You guys grew up doing this?” she asked. Mako’s sons were impressively skilled at war. At stealth. Bull was damned good. Gabe—well, she’d caught glimpses of Gabe only a few times.
She’d never seen Caz at all.
“At least once a week in various forms.” Caz chuckled. “Forest battles, a team assault on a fixed target, attacking a moving threat. Different weaponry, different obstacles.”
“Whenever dealing with energetic boys got to him, Mako’d revert to drill sergeant mode and send us off on some exhausting scenario.” Bull nodded at Lillian and Dante. “Excellent takedown there at the end.”
JJ lifted her glass in agreement. The older couple had been amazing. Gabe had almost reached the deck, but the snow had been packed down, and he’d lost his cover. So he charged.
Caz had lunged up from behind him, knocked the chief down, and rolled out of the way. Lillian and Dante—and JJ—slaughtered Gabe with a barrage of snowballs. The two people might be older, but they were dead shots.
Lillian was such a blast. The Brit brushed her clothes off with regal nonchalance and walked over to the groaning, dying Gabe. “Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; The worst is death, and death will have his day.”
She’d nudged him with a boot, smiled, and called, “Come along, my team. Let us celebrate our victory with tea and biscuits.”
Not that hot chocolate and second desserts had settled people down that much, especially Regan. The girl was still vibrating with adrenaline. She’d done so well—definitely her father’s daughter.