CHAPTER FIVE

"I'll be in touch," Gabrielle said as she and Wyatt walked out of his house and he saw her to her car. Brooke and Justine had already returned home, and Officer Bruce finished questioning Vica, then left. Gabrielle stuck around just a little longer to get a few more details from Vica before taking her leave as well. "But I'll be honest with you, Wyatt. She needs a support system if she's going to get through this."

He nodded. "Of course."

"She's stubborn, has been without anyone in her corner for a really long time, and is now used to fending for herself. So it may take a bit of extra effort on your part to actually get her to open up and allow you to help her."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Her gaze turned shrewd. "My ex did a real number on me. Let's just leave it at that. Turned my family, and his, against me in the process. So I was on my own for a while."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She dismissed it with a flip of her hand and a headshake. "Whatever. That's the past. I'm stronger now because of it, and I have a huge support system in my cousins. "

"What can I do to help Vica? Offer her a job here? Submit a visa application and hire her?"

"It's not that simple. She has an elite set of skills that you'd have to prove are being used here. Otherwise, if you just gave her a serving job it would be argued that she's stealing a job from an American citizen. It gets complicated and messy. She's an engineer, so unless you're looking to start up a solar power company in addition to all the other things you have going on, I'm afraid hiring her as a server or line cook isn't going to work."

"Then how does it work for all these backpacking kids who come here from Australia, and Germany, and shit, and get jobs working in restaurants and as surf instructors?"

"They're on temporary travel visas and can work a certain amount of hours while on their travel visa. And a lot of them work under the table while on a travel visa. I'm not well-versed in this section of law, and I can look into it more if you'd like, but I don't think it's as cut-and-dried as you're hoping for." Her frown said she was equally frustrated with the system as he was. "Trust me when I say I don't agree with any of this either. Both companies have done Vica dirty, and she's going to be the one to pay the ultimate price if we don't help her."

"Anything. Just name it. We'll even cover your legal fees if we have to."

He could hear Bennett's voice in his head. "We? The business does not have that kind of capital."

Gabrielle dismissed him with another wave of her hand. "We'll figure it out. But I'm not charging my normal hourly rate. I don't practice law anymore, even though I still renew my license. And given the circumstances, it's the least I can do for someone who just went through what Vica did."

Wyatt smirked.

"Surprised there's a heart inside this icy exterior?"

"You said it, not me." His lip twitched, and he glanced away for a moment before leveling his gaze back on her. "Thank you though, Gabrielle. We really appreciate it. Even though we're all in competition for Bonn Remmen's land, it's nice to know that when shit hits the fan, we can put our differences aside and come together as a community."

"That's business. This is personal. This is a person who needs help. I am capable of separating the two. Aren't you?"

He reared back a little at her abrupt change in tone. "Of course I am."

She nodded. "Good. Like I said, I'll be in touch." Then she climbed into her SUV and she drove down to the main gate while he walked alongside her vehicle to punch in the code so the gate swung open. Once it did, she pulled through, offered him a cursory wave, and was gone.

Jogging back and already breaking into a sweat under the unforgiving sun, Wyatt entered his house to hear Griffon and Jake arguing upstairs. About what? He had no fucking clue.

He took the stairs two at a time, only to come up empty when he checked both boys' rooms. It wasn't until he got to his room, which was being used by Vica, that he found both boys on his bed with Vica between them. Jake's book—Vol. 1 of The Evans Twins Chronicles—was on her lap and open.

"What's going on here?" he asked, taking in the scene and enjoying the warmth that filled his chest.

"Vica was sad, so we came to check on her. She asked what Jake was reading and so we started explaining it to her—"

"But Griffon had it all wrong—"

"No, I didn't—"

"Yes, you said that their powers get stronger when they're further apart. When their powers actually get stronger, when they're together . And get weaker when they're apart."

Griffon's dark brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms in a huff. "Vica knew what I meant."

Jake rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Vica said, "they were kind enough to show me their book and explain things. Then we started to read." Her eyes softened. "It is a welcomed distraction."

"You're okay with this?" Even though she seemed to be, he needed to double check. "Because I can tell them to take a hike—literally—up the hillside for a bit and leave you be."

" Si. I'm okay. I enjoy their company, and they allow me not to think about all the other things that I really cannot control."

"If they get to be too much, just boot them outside. They'll dig a hole, and make a cave, then eat bugs and wild berries to survive. They're good little wildlings."

"We're free-range, like chickens," Griffon said proudly. " Ba-kaw !" Then he stuck his hands in his armpits and flapped his skinny, chicken wing arms.

Vica chuckled. "Really, Wyatt, we're good."

"I just need to pop down to the restaurant for ten minutes. Clint and Bennett are home. Dom is down at the pub, and who knows where Jagger is. But there are other adults around. So don't hesitate if you need anything."

"And we have the walkie-talkies. Right, Dad?" Griffon said. "Come in, Red Eagle. This is Second Sparrow." He held his hand up to his mouth and made a static noise in the back of his throat. "We have a nine-fifteen in progress."

"What is a nine-fifteen?" Vica asked.

"We've run out of snacks," Griffon said.

Vica tittered a sweet-sounding laugh while Wyatt just rolled his eyes. "All right, you little nuggets, behave. Vica has permission to drop kick both your boney butts outside if you annoy her."

"We will," Griffon said.

"What? Annoy her?" Wyatt teased. "Oh, I don't doubt it."

"Behave," Griffon said with mild irritation. "Dad, go. We've got this."

Rolling his eyes again, he shared one last look with Vica, ignored the pitter-patter in his heart, and headed back outside and to the gate. He was just exiting the man door and making sure it was good and locked behind him when a big, black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows all the way around pulled into the parking lot, taking up two parking spots because it parked across them.

Wyatt was about to walk up to the passenger side window and rap on it to tell them they couldn't park there when the door swung open.

"Hey, bud, this is a busy place of business. Please park the way everyone else is. There's room on the end for larger vehicles. I'm happy to direct you if you need a hand."

"We're looking for Ludovica Vitale, also known as Vica Vitale," rumbled an enormous baritone-voiced man with mirror shades, a black suit, and a crew cut.

Shit. Was ICE already here?

Fuck, he needed to warn Vica.

"I'm going to ask you to park properly, please. I own this establishment with my brothers and we're very busy. Please park with consideration for the rest of our patrons."

With a deep and surly grumble, the man turned to his partner behind the wheel and murmured something to him before he closed the door. The Suburban maneuvered itself in the tight parking lot, doing what had to be a twenty-seven-point turn, before the driver finally pulled into the stall at the end. Meanwhile, the entire time Wyatt and Sir Grunts-a-lot just stood there in tense, awkward silence.

Once the driver turned off the ignition, Sir Grunts-a-lot turned to Wyatt. "Where is Vica Vitale?"

"Who?" Wyatt asked, earning himself another grunt from the West Coast mobster.

"Don't play with me, boy. Where is Vica Vitale? We know this is where she killed Track Croft."

"Okay, but even if that was the case, why would she still be here? Why would she stick around the scene of the crime?"

"We have it on good authority that she is still here."

"Okay. Cool. You still haven't told me who you are or what you want with her. So why would I disclose anything? For all I know, you're a contract killer fixing to give Ms. Vitale a pair of concrete slippers she can wear to a gala at the bottom of the Puget Sound."

Sir Grunts-a-lot grunted. "We work for Wyndham Croft."

"Cool. And?"

"Mr. Croft would like to offer Ms. Vitale a settlement."

If they hadn't been attached to his forehead Wyatt's brows would have flown clean off his face. "A settlement?"

"For her discretion in this matter."

If Wyatt had his say, these men could take their "settlement" offer and shove it up their assholes and tell Wyndham Croft to do the same. But he couldn't make that decision for Vica. She had a right to know what was being offered to her.

Pulling in a deep inhale to calm his nerves, he dug his phone out of the back pocket of his shorts and punched in Brooke's number. "Hey, Brooke. Could you run over to my house and relay a message to Vica, please?"

"Sure thing. Hang on. What's the message?"

"I'm going to text it to you."

"Oh. Covert. Gotcha." The sound of her front door opening and shutting echoed through the phone. There was the knock, then the door opening, followed by her calling out for Vica.

He shot off the text to Brooke as Vica answered.

"Hello?" came Vica's sweet, sexy voice.

"Read the text I just sent Brooke, please."

"O-okay." She gasped. "A-a settlement?"

"Yes."

"Th-they are there right now?"

"Yes."

"I-I'm coming."

She was stammering. This was not good.

"No. Stay there. "

"Meet me at the gate. We can talk with the gate between us."

"A gate doesn't stop a bullet, Vica," he gritted out. He didn't have to see the gun on the guy in front of him to know the man was packing. Wyatt had a sixth sense about that kind of shit. His years in the marines and growing up with a dad in the army had lent him a keen sense of intuitiveness that had yet to prove him wrong.

"Not gonna shoot her," Sir Grunts-a-lot murmured with a bored tone.

"Words and actions are very different, my gargantuan friend."

He grunted again.

"Brooke and Clint are going to accompany me to the gate," Vica said. "I want to hear what they have to say."

"I don't like this," Wyatt said, knowing he'd already lost the argument but figured one last-ditch effort wouldn't hurt.

"And you think I do?"

Fair enough.

"Okay. I'll escort him to the gate."

The call disconnected and Wyatt decided that since it was his property, he had a right to say "no firearms."

"If you're meeting Ms. Vitale, you're going to have to leave all of your weapons in the trunk, and your chauffeur needs to do the same and join us. No surprises. I'll be frisking you too."

"Fucking hell," he murmured, "you're blowing this all out of proportion." But he obliged, removing the gun from his shoulder holster concealed beneath his suit jacket, as well as the blade at his ankle, and the second gun at the small of his back. Wyatt patted him down as well.

"Get out, Monty," Sir Grunts-a-lot said, opening up the passenger side door. "Leave all your weapons behind."

"Why?" Monty asked.

"Just do it."

Monty lumbered around the Suburban looking just as menacing and beefy as Sir Grunts-a-lot. Only where Sir Grunts-a-lot had a brown crew cut, Monty was bald and had a thick, gray beard that hugged his round jaw. Otherwise, they were identical in height and stature.

Wyatt patted down Monty too before he escorted them up to the gate where Brooke, Clint, and Vica were waiting.

"Ms. Vitale," Sir Grunts-a-lot said with a slight bow to his head. "Name's Gino. I represent Mr. Croft Sr., and we're here to negotiate a settlement for your discretion regarding the, uh … situation with Mr. Croft Jr. that took place last night."

"You mean when he tried to rape her, and she acted in self-defense and killed him?" Brooke said.

Gino grunted. "Mr. Croft does not want his family's name or business dragged through the mud. And because this was an unsanctioned work outing involving a Croft Engineering employee, things can get a little …"

"Complicated," Monty added.

Gino nodded. "Yeah, complicated."

"Mr. Croft Sr. would like to negotiate an amount that you both agree is fair, with the expectation that you will not go public with this. All murder charges will be dropped—at least by the family—and we will work hastily with Croft attorneys to put this entire situation to bed."

"Just because Mr. Croft isn't going to press charges doesn't mean the district attorney, or whoever, won't," Clint countered. "Are you making any kind of guarantee that she'll stay out of prison if she takes this deal? Because she's basically agreeing to not charge Track Croft with attempted rape and sexual assault if she takes the hush money. Then her self-defense argument comes into question, and she could wind up in prison."

Leave it to Wyatt's big brother—a hardcore mystery buff—to break out with the details the rest of them hadn't thought of.

And clearly neither Monty, nor Gino, had answers for those questions because they stood there like gaped-mouthed fools .

"What will it cost to keep you quiet?" Monty asked.

" Not going to prison. Not getting deported," Vica said. "Can you or Mr. Croft guarantee me that?"

Again, the goons were silent.

"I did not think so," she whispered. "I will take my chances then. You can tell Wyndham Croft, ‘thank you, but no, thank you.' His son is— was— a predator, and I am not the only victim. We will find others. We will find them and find out that they were paid to keep silent so that Track could continue to hurt, and manipulate, and abuse. Mr. Croft enabled his son to hurt people, and he deserves to pay for his son's crimes too."

Oh, shit!

Wyatt did not see that coming.

Pride surged through him, seeing Vica's strength. Though, he did notice the slight quaver to her voice and the way she bunched and stretched her fingers at her sides. The woman was stressed, and rightfully so. Nobody should have to deal with what she was dealing with. And it wasn't like these two ding-dongs showing up was the end of it either.

"No price is worth what Track did to me. I am not for sale." A muscle ticked on the side of her jaw. She was probably clenching her molars to keep herself from crying.

Monty and Gino exchanged looks.

"You're making a big mistake, lady," Gino finally said. "Going up against the wrong family."

"Is that a threat?" Wyatt asked, heat flaring in his abdomen and racing up into his face.

Neither man said anything, but rather plodded their way back down the hill to their Suburban. Wyatt didn't leave the others at the gate, and the four of them stood there and watched the SUV drive away.

Once the Suburban was out of sight, only then did Vica show any real emotion. Even then, she was stoic as fuck .

Wyatt abandoned the need to go check on the kitchen and how things were managing in his absence. Instead, he punched the code in for the door again and met her on the other side, taking her in his arms before she crumpled to the ground.

She trembled against him as the sobs wracked her entire body.

"Come on," he said, "let's go."

Nodding, she allowed him to lead her back up to the house.

Griffon and Jake were off playing with their cousins on the hillside. Wyatt could see out the kitchen window the six kids roaming through the tall grass, laughing and goofing off. This was exactly what summers were all about, and why he and his brothers worked so hard to get this land and build this kind of life for their children.

He made Vica some tea as she sat at the kitchen table. Her head was in her hands as her elbows rested on the table, and she stared down at the mottled grain of the wood. "They are going to sic immigration on me, aren't they?" she said, her voice riddled with emotion. "I am going to get deported. Or go to jail."

"I won't let either of those things happen," he said, pouring hot water from the electric kettle over a camomile tea bag in the mug.

She glanced at him sideways through the veil of her now chopped off hair. But her gaze didn't hold any kind of hope or belief that he would protect her. It held skepticism. Defeat. And a whole lot of hopelessness.

He put the mug in front of her. "I know it doesn't feel like you have people, but you do. We're here to help you."

Heaving a big, weary sigh, she blinked and sat up. Then stood up. "Thank you for the tea, Wyatt, but right now, I just want to be alone and lie down. I do not know what to do. So instead of doing nothing, I guess I can apply for more jobs. Maybe someone in this country—or Canada—will want to hire an Italian mechanical engineer who specializes in alternative power sources, and is also a killer." Then she took her mug and headed upstairs, her shoulders rounder than he'd seen them since they met last night. Even her gait was different .

"I'm heading down to the restaurant to just check on a couple of things," he called up to her after a moment, realizing he couldn't just sit around the house and do nothing. Yes, he generally tried to take Sundays off, but the kids were occupied and he wanted to check on a couple of supply orders, as well as touch base with Burke.

He didn't like leaving Vica alone in the house, but she wanted to be alone. So he needed to honor that and not hover.

As always, it wasn't a quick visit to the restaurant though, and he ended up being gone about an hour. A big order came in, so he stepped up and helped the line cooks get the food out in a timely fashion. He hated to leave his staff hanging. So if he could pitch in—even if he wasn't technically supposed to be there—he did.

"Get out of here," Burke said, giving Wyatt a playful shove in the arm. "This is your day off, and I'm seriously starting to take it personally that you don't think I'm capable of running this kitchen without you."

"All right, all right," Wyatt said with a chuckle. "And I know you're totally capable. It's just hard."

Burke rolled his eyes. "Maybe I need to break both of your arms so that you can't work for a bit. You need a vacation and to fucking relax. I got this, man. Won't let you down."

"I know, I know." Wyatt scratched the back of his neck. "I promise I won't be back today." He ducked into the walk-in freezer. "But I'm taking this with me." He grabbed a brand-new tub of mango gelato and tucked it under his arm.

"Hey Wyatt?" came a familiar female voice, just as he was about to leave out the back door.

He spun around to see Nadine, one of their summer hires at the front of house standing on the threshold of the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the bar. "Yeah?"

"What uh … what happened last night? I'm hearing all this chatter about somebody getting attacked. Is she okay? "

Wyatt glanced at Burke, but his big muscly friend just shrugged and slapped a homemade burger patty down on the flattop.

"Do you remember that group that came in last night? I think there were nine of them. One guy paid for the whole lot. And he also sent all but himself and one woman, home."

Nadine squinted her light brown eyes for a moment in thought, then finally nodded. "Yeah … I remember them. Awkward bunch. At least the guys were. There were two women and they seemed nice enough." Then her gaze widened. "Why? Was it one of those women?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

Her gaze turned sad and she shook her head, causing her dark, shoulder-length hair to swish back and forth. "Oh, that's so sad. I hope she's okay."

"Yeah … we hope so too." He gave a half-hearted, close-mouthed smile and quick glance at the cold and slowly melting tub of gelato in his arms. Hopefully Nadine knew the conversation was over. She seemed to catch his drift and nodded, then returned to the front of house.

Wyatt glanced at Burke. "I'm sure it'll get out that Vica is staying up at my house, but for now, let's try to keep the tea from spilling too much, hmm?"

Burke grunted. "I barely like to talk as it is."

That made Wyatt snicker. "And that's what I like most about you, buddy."

Burke jerked his strong chin at Wyatt as a goodbye. Then Wyatt finally left via the back door.

By the time he got home, the kids were no longer on the hillside. His boys were wild, but they knew what they could and couldn't do. They were probably over playing with one of their cousins, or playing nicely in the house. He had a walkie-talkie with him at all times, so it wasn't like he wasn't within reach.

The house was quiet when he arrived. He stashed the gelato in the freezer in the kitchen, then headed upstairs. No sounds radiated from the boys' rooms. But that didn't mean anything.

Well, that's not true. Jake was probably reading, but the fact that Griffon was silent wasn't necessarily a good sign. Wyatt's youngest could have easily covered the entire bathroom with shaving cream, or duct-taped himself to the ceiling. The kid was a constant crapshoot.

He reached the landing at the top of the stairs to find both boys sitting outside of Vica's bedroom door, whispering.

"Guys," he said with impatience, "what are you doing? Leave her alone."

He was about to raise his voice when a piece of paper shot out from beneath the door and into the hallway in front of them.

"But we're passing notes," Griffon said. "Vica said it was okay."

"You're what?"

"We're passing notes," Griffon said. "With Vica. See?" He held up the piece of paper where, sure enough, there were little messages and doodles. Half were in Jake's barely legible eight-year-old boy chicken scratch, and the other half were terrible stickmen with also equally bad, barely legible printing.

But it wasn't the printing that stunned him. It was what was written.

Hi, Vica. How are you? How is your lip? Do you like flowers? We picked you some.

Hi, Griffon and Jake. I am sad. I am scared. My lip really hurts. I love flowers. Thank you so much. They're beautiful. How was your day? What did you do? What is your favorite movie?

We had a good day. Played on the hillside. But now we're itchy from the grass. Griffon likes the Cars movies, and I like Jurassic Park. What is your favorite movie?

Oh, I get so itchy from grass too. A cold shower or bath helps. Or a cold, wet washcloth with some peppermint oil is nice too. My favorite movie is Mary Poppins. Have you seen it?

In addition to all their little notes, there were also doodles. Jake drew a few dinosaurs, Griffon drew the pig he loved to draw everywhere and anywhere, and it looked like Vica was trying to draw two little boys who were stickmen carrying flowers .

He chuckled, and the door opened.

"Ooh, are we done passing notes?" Griffon asked, his tone whiny.

"For now," Vica said, a bouquet of wildflowers behind her on the nightstand and in a drinking glass of water. Her gaze met Wyatt's. "I hope you do not mind. They are very helpful distractions."

"As long as you didn't mind."

She shook her head. "Not at all."

He glanced down at the paper again. "I've got to say, I think I like you a bit more seeing this. It means you're not perfect."

Her mouth opened.

His split into a big smile. "Your printing is nearly as bad as Griffon's and you're definitely not an artist."

Her shock made him laugh, but that just brought out her laugh.

"Are you a vegetarian? Any dietary restrictions?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm not picky. No allergies."

"Cool. I was going to make a salad, grill up some veggies, and do some marinated prawn skewers on the barbecue."

Griffon groaned.

"I'll cook up some wieners for you." Wyatt rolled his eyes.

Griffon cheered up. "Thanks, Dad."

"I sure hope you develop a more adventurous palate when you're older. But I'm not wasting expensive-ass prawns on you if you don't like them."

"They look like creepy ocean bugs," Griffon argued. "I don't want to eat creepy ocean bugs."

"Can I help with dinner at all?" she asked. "I like to cook."

Frowning, he shook his head. "I've got it. You and the boys can just hang out and keep passing barely legible notes until I call you."

That made her smirk. "My writing is not that bad."

"It's terrible. Truly terrible."

She was full-on smiling now, and he could tell it hurt her lip to do it, but she also didn't seem to care and grinned through the pain.

He left the three of them and went down to the kitchen to start making dinner. Even if he couldn't stay away from the kitchen on Sundays, he made a point of always being home for dinner on Sundays, and he cooked a nice meal for him and the boys. Usually, he let the kids choose what he made, but tonight he wanted to venture past mac ‘n' cheese, hotdogs, tacos, and spaghetti. It was also barbecuing season. So he was going to make the most of his ridiculously expensive grill.

And no, he was not compensating for something with the size of his grill. He was a chef, so it felt wrong not having a top-of-the-line grill. He was completely confident and secure with what he carried around in his pants.

Dinner took just under an hour to prepare and cook. So by five-thirty, he was calling the boys and Vica down to eat. It warmed his heart to such a pleasant temperature to hear the boys laughing the way they were upstairs, whispering and conspiring, and bringing Vica out of her dark headspace.

"Wash your hands, you filthy animals," he called up the stairs. "And I mean all three of you." He snickered to himself as he cracked open a bottle of beer from the brewery. It was one of Clint's newest concoctions: an unfiltered, Belgian-style Witbier brewed with orange peel and coriander. Wyatt was obsessed with it. It was smooth and spicy, and so perfect for a warm summer evening as the smoke from the grill wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.

His thunder-hooved colts came barreling down the stairs like they were being chased by pumas, blasting into the kitchen with just as much vigor. Vica practically floated behind them with all the grace and beauty of an angel. And she really did look like an angel as she stood there by the kitchen table with the late afternoon sun pouring in, creating an almost-halo around her head. She'd put her hair back in a small ponytail at the nape of her neck, but a lot of shorter strands had escaped to frame her face. She was stunning, and for half a second, Wyatt was tongue tied and unable to blink.

"Dad, you okay?" Griffon asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost. "

That was enough to shake some sense into Wyatt. He blinked and grinned down at his kid, caressing Griffon's head a little. "Sorry, just thinking."

"Can we sit down?" Griffon asked.

"Did you wash your hands?"

Griffon ran his hands over Wyatt's arms. They were still damp. "That's pee, not water." He started cracking up. Even though he was six, he still had that full toddler-like belly laugh, and it got Wyatt every time.

Wyatt set down his beer and grabbed his youngest kid before he could escape, and quickly flipped the kid upside down, which only spurred him to laugh more. "Is that so? You think you're a funny guy, huh? How about I give you a swirly? Do you know what a swirly is?" He jogged to the two-piece bathroom off the living room and hallway to the den, flicked on the bathroom light, and lifted the lid. "It's where I dunk your head in the bowl and flush."

"Ahhhhhh," Griffon cried, though he was still laughing.

"I'll teach you to wipe pee-hands on your dad!" Wyatt flushed the toilet and pretended to lower his son.

"It's water, it's water. I washed them." Griffon could barely get the words out. He was laughing so much now. "Dad, I'm going to pee my pants. I'm laughing so hard. Put me down."

Wyatt set his kid down on his feet in the hallway, pretending to be stern with his eyes.

Griffon was all big, toothy grins and dimples. "Now I have to pee."

"Wash your hands after," Wyatt said, leaving his kid to do his business, and rejoining Vica and Jake in the kitchen. Everything was already on the table. All he had to do was get Vica whatever refreshment she preferred. "I'm having a beer. Would you like one too, or something else?"

Jake had already gone into the fridge and grabbed both him and Griffon cans of flavored sparkling water.

"I'll have what the boys are having," Vica said. "Please."

"I'll get it," Jake said. "What flavor, Vica? I like the blackberry. Griffon's favorite is peach."

"I also like strawberry," Griff yelled from the bathroom.

"And there is lime, grapefruit, and black cherry," Jake finished.

Vica tapped her chin with her slender index finger. "Surprise me, Mr. Jake. I trust you."

Well, the woman may as well have told Jake he was being cast as the next James Bond film, the way the kid lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. His blue-hazel eyes glittered as he returned to the fridge and nearly doubled Wyatt's electric bill with how long he'd held it open for as he deliberated what flavor to choose for the guest.

"This century, please," Wyatt said, which prompted his son to finally make a decision.

Jake snapped to it, emerging with a grapefruit-flavored can. He set it at the other end of the table where Vica would sit.

Everyone took a seat, and although Vica wasn't overly chatty, it was the first time since he brought her home last night that an enormous cloud didn't appear to be hanging over her head.

He liked seeing her interacting with his boys. And the kids seemed to adore her. It was weird seeing someone sitting in Sheila's seat at the table, but he didn't hate it. Clint had moved on; so had Bennett. And it wasn't like they all hadn't taken their time to grieve their spouses. The women died over five years ago in a freak car accident that claimed all four of them. Griffon had just turned one, and Jake was three. Wyatt didn't really have a chance to grieve properly because he needed to be there for his sons. But in his own way, he made peace with Sheila's passing.

It hadn't been easy. She'd been his best friend.

But they'd also had the conversation that if something happened to either of them, they wouldn't want the other person to be alone. He would want her to find love again, and she would want the same for him. He'd only slept with one person since Sheila's death. It was a one-night stand about eighteen months ago. He went over to Seattle for the day to go visit their father in his care home and ended up getting stuck on the mainland overnight because of heavy winds. That was one of the downsides to living on an island served by ferries. You were at the mercy of the weather. If the winds were too bad, the ferries would cancel sailings for safety, leaving people stranded on one side or the other and forced to seek shelter for the night.

Of course, he grabbed a hotel and made the most of it, meeting a pretty woman in the hotel bar and inviting her up to his room. He didn't regret it, but he also knew after that night that he wasn't ready to start anything with anybody. His focus was on his business and his children.

But that was over a year ago.

Was he ready now?

"What's your favorite food, Vica?" Griffon asked, squirting way too much ketchup on his hotdog. "Mine's hotdogs."

Vica smiled as she speared a grilled piece of asparagus with her fork. "Hmmm … I mean, this is going to sound cliché, but there really is not anything better—in my opinion—than a perfectly, wood-fired oven cooked, Margherita pizza."

Wyatt hummed in response. "We have a wood-fired oven at the pub for pizzas. I absolutely agree."

Her smile winded him.

"Will you make us a pizza one day?" Griffon asked.

"I don't know how much longer Vica will be here, buddy," Wyatt said.

"I promise I will before I leave," she said, her eyes sad.

Still holding his hotdog in one hand, Griffon lifted up his sparkling water with his other hand. "To pizza and Vica."

They all raised their beverages and clinked them around the table, smiling.

"To pizza and Vica," Wyatt said, his gaze meeting Vica's across the table. "Welcome to the McEvoy family. It's pure chaos."

Her smile was sweet, but still a little sad. However, her eyes held a twinkle that gave him hope and stirred something in his belly. "This is the kind of chaos I love," she said. "I am here for it."