The Hero I Need by Nicole Snow
Tiger Fight (Willow)
Even though the clock beside the bed said it was after three when I’d climbed between the sheets that smell like freshly cut flowers and sunshine, by seven o’clock, I can’t stay in bed a second longer.
I’m too worried.
My mind keeps spinning in all directions simultaneously.
Priscilla and Niles Foss must know Bruce and I are gone by now, along with the laptop. I’d snatched that, too.
A damning indictment of everything wrong at Exotic Plains.
That’s what I want to believe, anyway, if I can find someone who can break through the password encryption for proof, hopefully.
And I’m going to need plenty of rock-solid proof to save my own butt from a prison cell when—not if—the law steps into this.
Right now, I’m running on pure jittery instinct. Too wound up to sleep and too worried to try.
I climb out of bed, make it up real quick, and then tiptoe into the bathroom.
Once I’m showered and dressed, the reek of adrenaline gone, I head for the barn to check on Bruce.
He’s still sleeping inside the trailer Grady backed into the barn through the big sliding metal door, but I can see paw prints. He was up during the night, pacing, without putting much weight on his injured front foot.
I should’ve waited until this morning to feed him, but I hoped if I could get some food into him last night, then he’d sleep like the huge baby he is.
The ache in my heart makes me look away.
This is way out of the ordinary for him. Other big cats wouldn’t adjust nearly as well. They’d be pacing all the time, anxious and growling and afraid, hurt paw or not.
But Bruce? He takes it in stride, trusting the situation as long as I’m with him.
Trusting me.
One more reason why I can’t let him down, not for anything.
He’s such a unique animal. Personable, tender, and entirely gorgeous. Even his markings are a living masterpiece, from the layered orange and creamy white fur to the charcoal-black stripes cutting through his coat in sharp, slashing intervals.
He groans in his sleep, opening a lazy eye, glancing at me for a second before he’s out like a brick again.
“Sleep, big guy. Just a little longer until we sort this crap out,” I whisper.
Huffing out a worried breath, I walk to the gate that separates the center of the barn from other areas around the old, empty farm.
No exaggeration, the building is put together like Fort Knox. Even while I’m terrified my luck could run out any hour, I have to admit I couldn’t have picked a better place to crash-land for the night.
Or a better stranger to crash into.
Grady and his fortress of a barn are a double miracle.
The center of the building, where he backed the trailer in, is a large space that runs the length of the barn with big, heavy sliding metal doors. On both sides of the area are walls of cement blocks, broken up with metal gates every five feet for entrances into cement block stalls.
There’s also a sweeping storage room, which is where I left the ice chest, my next worry.
It’s got just enough meat for one more feeding before I’ll have to scramble for Bruce’s meals. Next to the storeroom is a set of stairs leading to the loft overhead.
Yeah, I couldn’t have dreamed up a better place to house Bruce overnight. I’m also happy about the row of windows near the ceiling, where plenty of sunlight spills in.
A tiger needs natural light, and lots of it. The lack of it at the refuge bothered me from the start.
His pen there was cave-like and cramped, and they barely gave the poor cat enough caged-in space to step on the grass in his minuscule enclosure outside. It was more mud than anything else.
I worried about muscle atrophy from day one, and that’s not counting the effect on Bruce’s moods or the other poor animals there in similar condition.
Opening the door leading outside, I exit and make sure the latch is secure before walking back to the house.
If the barn is an unexpected fortress, the old farmhouse is almost too normal—and I mean it in the best way.
The place looks picture-perfect by day.
All stark white with a green metal roof, a huge front porch, and gabled dormer windows on the second floor.
Those cute windows are framed with wide shutters, each painted a rustic red. There’s even a tall brick chimney running up one side.
The room I slept in must’ve been a back porch once from the looks of it. A sliding glass door off the dining area is how I’d walked outside, and I use the same door to reenter. Very quietly, because the handsome owner must still be sleeping.
I can’t help smiling because Grady reminds me a little of a big cat himself.
Silly, I know, but the comparison kinda hits you in the face.
He’s big, tough, totally built, and a little scary on the outside...but deep down?
I already sense a walking teddy bear.
That’s where the similarities end, though.
Because if I’m being honest, Bruce doesn’t scare me one bit. And Grady’s intimidating good looks and snarlypants style are only scary because he’s scary hot.
Back in my room, I peel off my boots and socks, but decide lying back down would be useless now that I’m wide awake, so I return to the kitchen instead.
The house is clean enough despite its discord. No cobwebs, dirt, or trash piled up, but it’s a bit cluttered, like things just haven’t been put away for several days.
I smile, remembering how Grady’s skin had a hint of red behind his thick scruff last night when we’d first walked in. I saw it out of the corner of my eye.
He shouldn’t be embarrassed.
I know all about single men raising daughters. It was tough on my dad, and I can only imagine how much harder it would’ve been if he’d had two of me to deal with.
A tiny giggle burbles up my throat, knowing the damage double Willows could’ve done to Dad.
I raised plenty of teenage hell all by my lonesome, thank you very much.
Double trouble would’ve sent him to the nuthouse.
Orderly to a fault—as my father describes me—I walk to the sink that’s piled high with dishes.
Cleaning up a few plates is the least I can do to thank Grady for his hospitality, taking me in after midnight along with—you know—a freaking full-grown tiger.
Dad also says I’m impulsive and too stubborn to know what’s good for me. Maybe so, but he loves me anyway.
I also know that had I called him, told him to send Grady thousands of dollars, Dad would’ve questioned me up and down. But in the end, he’d send the money.
Not because it’s ever happened before, of course, but because he trusts me. I don’t make a habit of running off with exotic beasts without one hell of a good reason.
And thank the holy stars this is a first. I don’t want Dad involved.
Sure, I’ll tell him when it’s all over, someday when he’s knocked back a few glasses of good wine and my life is awesome. He’ll be drunk and laughing so hard he’ll always wonder if I’m making the whole thing up...
But until then?
I shake my head.
Priscilla and Niles Foss were way too interested in my father to begin with. They knew I was the Peter Macklin’s daughter, and if I’d had my head screwed on sooner, I should’ve seen them chasing after the connections I had right from the start.
Even when they started fishing, I’d made it a point to say I don’t have any connections to researchers or wildlife refuges around the world.
My father does. Not me. Being his daughter doesn’t work like that.
A cold chill whips up my spine, making me work faster to chase the bad thoughts away.
I keep finding things to do like a domestic goddess.
Bye-bye, dishwasher. You’re unloaded, reloaded, and started.
Spotless dishes dried and put away—with everything located where I’d expect.
That tells me a woman organized this kitchen once upon a time. Perhaps his wife’s style stuck around, or maybe his mother stepped in?
My heart sinks.
Big Daddy hasn’t had an easy run, that’s for sure.
I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him.
Been there, done that, and seen what it does to a man.
After wiping down the counters and appliances, I take glass cleaner to the little fingerprints on the sliding glass door and then sweep and damp mop the tile floor.
I hit the living room last and fold up the clothes piled in a chair, all little girl stuff. I stack them in sorted heaps and then give the room a quick dusting before mopping the hardwood floors.
All in all, the house is in great shape for one growly man and two likely rambunctious little girls.
Even for its age, the place is structurally sound and looks like it’s been beautifully kept up over the years.
Yes, I appreciate old things. I love their souls and I like to see them taken care of.
The fireplace on the far wall of the living room completes the whole scene, and the marble around it makes me think it, too, was refurbished recently. It’s flipping gorgeous.
Black-and-white marble makes up the hearth, and the bricks going up the wall have the shimmer of a white oil-based paint.
The mantle for this fireplace is a large slab of wood, a foot or so square.
When I check my dust rag after swiping the top, I’m once again convinced this home is normally very neat and tidy. Hardly any dust at all turns up from the mantle.
Yep, Grady was telling me the truth when he said things were messy because he hasn’t been home much lately. Not that I’d thought he’d been lying, but...it’s nice to confirm what I already suspected.
He’s an overall decent small-town guy who offered to help me out.
Thank God. Who knows where Bruce and I would be right now if he hadn’t been at the bar last night to bring us home.
I plump the pillows on the furniture, and then satisfied with the room, I walk back to the kitchen. Having discovered the laundry room a few paces away earlier, I rinse out the dust rag and hang it over the edge of the laundry sink.
Back in the kitchen, I look at the microwave.
Cool. I’ve done all I can and it’s only nine o’clock. I suppose I could start opening doors, cleaning other rooms, but that would be intrusive even to my impulsive, stubborn, must-make-everything-spotless mind.
Still, I can’t resist opening the pantry door.
It could use a little reorganizing, but I tell myself to chill, ignore it. I’m on my way out as I notice the canister marked COFFEE.
I could use a pick-me-up, and I bet he wouldn’t turn down a fresh pot as soon as he’s up, so...
Maybe I take a few seconds more than I really need when I drop the can back off after getting our coffee on.
Maybe I can’t stop myself from grinning when I enter the large walk-in pantry, flanked with lovely shelves on both sides.
Maybe I stare longingly at an antique pie-tin cupboard on the back wall.
No judging.
I’m only snooping a teensy bit, and only with my eyes.
The cupboard makes me smile. It’s a gorgeous old piece with glass upper doors, a porcelain counter, complete with a pull-out wooden rolling board, a flour bin, and punched tin doors on the bottom. It feels like a crime to hide away a piece of furniture this unique.
No, I’m not insane enough to move it.
But I do straighten things up a bit so its beauty is more noticeable.
I’m busy organizing the canned goods by variety, when I sense I’m no longer alone.
Eep.Last I checked, that’s the sound a woman makes in her own head when there’s a tall, dark, and insanely hot slice of man nearby.
Heat fills my cheeks as I slowly turn and see Grady standing in the pantry doorway, very much the lord of this manor.
His hair is damp like he’s just stepped out of the shower.
Oh, he definitely has.
I can smell a spicy soap mingled with raw testosterone from several feet away. He’s wearing black jeans over those lethal hips and a white-and-blue striped button-down shirt, which only makes him look more handsome than the tight, black t-shirt last night.
Sweet mother of alpha pearls!
“What are you? Some kind of witch who sweeps and mops with her broomsticks instead of throwing around curses?” He smiles, then glances behind him. “Looks like a whole platoon of maids came through here on a mission. You got a few stowaways somewhere?”
Is he for real? His silly, unexpected humor makes me laugh.
“I’m sorry,” I say hurriedly as I finish arranging the canned goods. “I had to keep my hands busy. Couldn’t sleep.”
“At all?” He lifts an eyebrow. “The room wasn’t comfortable?”
Those eyes like dark-brown amber almost glow when they’re open wide.
I’m not sure if he’s joking or not.
“No, I...I slept for a few hours. The bed was perfectly cozy.” I don’t tell him the nerves were all my fault.
He backs out of the doorway and opens a cupboard.
“How long have you been up?”
“About an hour and a half, probably. I’m not the kind to lie around. Once I’m up, I’m ready to rock and roll,” I say, looking at the ground. “And honestly, when I’m nervous, I like to clean. It takes my mind off the things I’d rather not think about.”
No easy confession, and I don’t tell him I think I could clean ten more of his houses right about now.
I walk out of the pantry then, closing the frosted glass door before looking at the clock on the microwave again. Grady looks up, beaming a warm smile at me.
He’d taken two cups out of the cupboard and finishes filling them both. Handing one off to me, he asks, “You did all this in an hour and a half?”
“I mean, there wasn’t that much. Just a little dusting and—”
“Dusting? You dusted, too? Shit. Because I see you did dishes, folded clothes, swept, mopped, organized the pantry, and made coffee. You must be a morning girl on steroids.” He sits down at the table near the sliding glass door and does a double-take that makes me grin.
“It was nothing. Really.”
“Jesus. You even got the fingerprints off the door, too,” he says slowly, his eyes flicking over the glass in awe.
“Guilty,” I whisper, nodding as my cheeks flare with heat.
I swallow a long sip of coffee, amazed by how observant he is, before saying, “The dishwasher’s still running. There’s some work I can’t take credit for, if it makes you happy.”
“Happy?” Grady tosses his head back, releasing a laugh that shows off his straight white teeth. “I owe you an hourly wage, woman. My crew at the Bobcat doesn’t work half as fast as you.”
“Keep it. I think I owe you, remember? Bruce is sleeping like a kitten, by the way,” I say, slurping more coffee.
“Had time to check on your cat, huh?”
“That’s the first thing I did. Well, after I showered and made my bed.”
He chuckles again, a deep, resonate, weirdly pleasant sound.
“My girls could take lessons from you.” A frown forms as he stares at me. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And you’re a zoologist? Licensed and educated?” He nods at a chair across from him, motioning me with his big hand to take a seat.
I cross the room and do it.
“Yep. I have my master’s degree. I was going to keep going and snag my PhD, but my father suggested I should spend a few years in the field. Practical research working full time with animals before I commit myself to four more years of college.”
“You already did four years?”
“Six. My first four were for the bachelor’s, and the next two the master’s. I doubled up on courses that would count toward my PhD, so it’ll only be four more years instead of five to finish it.”
If I ever get the chance with an arrest record,I think glumly.
Grady lets out a loud whistle.
“That’s commitment. Major respect,” he tells me.
I shrug. To me, it was just life. I did what I had to.
He traces a thick, calloused finger around the top of his coffee mug, intermittently staring at me.
God. His gaze alone feels like an interrogation—or else I’m just primed to go to pieces around single men carved out of pure boulder.
“So, with that education, how the hell did you wind up in North Dakota?” he asks gently.
I hold in a sigh and set my coffee cup on the table, wondering where to start.
“I’ve called Weston, by the way. He’s checking on an alternator now,” Grady says.
Oof. Does he think he needs to guilt me into telling him?
“Thanks,” I say, then add, “I appreciate it. And I wasn’t trying to avoid telling you the dirty details. I was just trying to figure out where to start.”
“How about at the beginning?”
His grin is so cocky, I have to retaliate.
“Well, there are a lot of stories. Some start with 'Let there be light.' Others think there was a great Big Bang at the beginning of time and—”
“Very cute, smart-ass,” he blurts out, chuckling so much his chest rumbles. “I’ve heard those beginnings.”
“Have you?” I ask, secretly enjoying the good-natured way he flings my humor back at me. Some people don’t get it. Heck, sometimes I don’t get it either.
Also, he called me cute.
Sort of.
“Yes. And I deserved that one,” he tells me, shaking his head.
I touch my finger to the edge of my lips and hold it up in the air.
He bows his head, signaling his acceptance of the score.
Sassy Chick in Peril: 1.
Big Daddy Hotness: 0.
“Start with Bruce,” he says, his tone turning serious. “What made you steal him?”
“Love,” I answer instantly. “Seriously. It was love at first sight. He was my baby since the day I started at the refuge. I took extra time to treat him well, always making sure he got everything he needed. I don’t care what he is. I think he appreciates it, too.”
I have to press a hand to my heart, feeling a flood of adrenaline, love, and anguish for my poor lost tiger.
“When was that?” Grady prompts, taking another pull off his coffee.
“A few months ago. Jobs with big cats are hard to come by, so I was floored when one of my old professors forwarded me a job announcement for the rescue in Minot.” I don’t mention the fact that it arrived on the very day Dad told me he’d secured me a position with a prestigious wildlife group he’s affiliated with overseas.
That job wasn’t working with cats, though. The Minot job was. I followed my heart to flyover country and one big beast who still needs my help.
“I sent off my application that morning. Within an hour, I had a phone interview, and the rest was history.” I shrug. “They hired me practically on the spot.”
“Impressive. But?” He holds his coffee in the air, waiting for the catch.
“I’m getting there...”
I swallow hard.
There are so many things I wonder about now in hindsight...
Like I thought it was weird when I searched the rescue’s website and there wasn’t a job announcement on it. There wasn’t even a posting archived in a Google cache.
“Of course, they had to do some background checks, but in a week, I was packed and on my way to Minot. I met Bruce my second day there. That was also when I noticed that their actual cat facility was lacking, nothing like what I’d been told.”
“Yeah? How?” he urges, leaning in, those eyes like mocha swirl as the morning light hits them.
“Well, I started noticing other odd, quirky things. Pretty minor at first, almost forgettable to a normal person. Lights I was sure I’d turned off the night before glowing in the morning, markings around the cages...when I asked for maintenance logs, I was told the database crashed. We recorded everything electronically. They said their IT person was still working on recovering everything.”
I look away, taking a deep breath, before I fall back into Grady’s eyes.
“But when animals started appearing and disappearing—always in the middle of the night long after my shift ended—and little blue stickers started showing up, I pushed harder for answers.” I close a fist on the table and squeeze. “I knew something stank to high heaven.”
“Let me guess—they didn’t give you squat,” he growls, his brow cutting down like my anger is contagious.
“Everything got weirder. Creepier. I started seeing my name on things like work orders, purchase orders, transfers...documents I never authorized. I didn’t have the authority.” I sigh, shaking my head. “When I showed an order to the owners, they didn’t see the issue. They swore it was an honest mix-up, and since it was all feed and supplies, I should just let it go.”
“Bullshit,” he bites off. “Sorry. Go on.”
“That’s what I said. My name on those orders made me responsible. The one liable. My gut said panic time and told me if something went wrong, the owners would blame me. That was why my name started showing up in these stupid 'mix-ups.'”
I pause for another breath because whoa.
The look on Grady’s face takes my breath away. He’s bowed up, tense, a human thunderhead charged with righteous indignation for me.
“Anyway...” I continue slowly. “I knew I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. So I contacted a state conservation officer at the Game and Fish division after I stumbled across some animal permits that also had my name on them.”
“Game and Fish oversees exotic animals?” Grady leans back in his chair, clenching his mug tight.
“Not quite. It’s confusing because laws vary between states, even counties. In North Dakota, the actual license for a rescue facility comes from the North Dakota Department of Agriculture under non-traditional livestock. But lots of Class Three animals—your big cats, primates, bears, reptiles, and more—require permits to possess for every animal. Those come from Game and Fish. The state can get things mixed up between the two departments pretty easily.”
I look down at my coffee, tapping my finger against the ceramic cup, gathering my words for the rest.
“Maybe it was stupid, wishful thinking, but a small part of me wondered if that explained the errors. I hoped I was wrong to be suspicious. So I met the conservation officer, sure he could tell me how to change the name back to Priscilla and Niles Foss, the actual owners...”
My throat tightens. My tongue feels like cotton. I don’t know how to go on.
After several long, silent seconds, Grady stands.
“More coffee, Willow? Can I get you some water?”
He’s too good.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” I joke.
“No. I’m intrigued, but you need a break and I want more coffee. Keep going while I grab us a refill. What did the conservation officer say?” he asks over his shoulder.
I shrug, watching him walk across the room.
Digging at the truth lodged in my gut hurts, but I owe him that much.
“Nothing. He never got back to me. I called him, sent him texts, emails, even called his supervisor. His boss told me Wayne was the one in charge of those permits, and he’d have him contact me. He said other people were on vacation and Wayne was busy covering them, but it was just...” I look up at him as he fills my cup with coffee. “Nothing but excuses.”
“You got a full name for this dude?” Grady asks, walking back to the counter.
“Officer Wayne Bordell.” I take a drink of fresh coffee and wait for Grady to join me again. “Those permits to possess I questioned were for animals that disappeared. Some were for animals I’d never seen show up at the sanctuary. Several jaguars and leopards, mostly. Then, a couple days ago, I saw one for Bruce. I have it in my suitcase, so legally, I’m the only one who can possess him.”
“Glad you did your legwork,” he says, stroking his thick, dark beard. “But your boy has to be in a licensed facility, doesn’t he?”
I sigh, flustered that he’d catch on so quickly.
“Unfortunately, but I had to get him out of there!” I hiss. “Yesterday morning, I noticed his paw was hurt. It looks like it was burned, branded, and maybe the iron had stuck to his pad and torn it. He kept oozing blood. I called the vet, insisting on a visit. It wasn’t a total emergency, so he said he’d be out the following day. Then, toward evening, when I went to check on Bruce again, I saw it. A little blue sticker above his cage.”
Never, for as long as I live, will I ever look at a simple little sticker the same way.
To me, they’re omens, the darkest kind.
“Sticker? I don’t follow,” Grady says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well...I’m not sure. Not completely. But I know it’s nothing good. I have the one I peeled off Bruce’s enclosure in my suitcase. They have some kind of odd numbers embedded in a different shade of blue. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I can’t figure it out. Every animal that’s disappeared had one above their cage before they went MIA, though. I knew what was coming. I swear to God, I couldn’t let that happen to him, so I...”
“You jacked him,” Grady says with a nod.
“Basically. I waited until everyone else left before I loaded him up. The closest sanctuary without any ties to Minot is in Wyoming, so I figured if I could just get him there, he’d be safe while I sort out what’s really going on.”
He holds up a hand, as if he has a question.
I wait, taking a sip of strong black coffee.
“Hold up. Am I assuming correctly that the truck and trailer are also stolen?”
Uh-oh. There go the wheels turning behind that handsome face again.
I nearly choke on my coffee but manage to swallow it ungracefully without making a mess.
“Um...maybe?” My throat burns and it comes out like a low squeak.
“Shit!” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, grasping the bridge of his nose before sweeping his hand away and leveling a razor-sharp gaze on me. “What else did you steal?”
I swallow another boulder.
It hurts because my throat is locking up.
“Just a laptop. Honest. That’s the end of it.”
“A laptop,” he echoes coldly, his entire demeanor shifting as his thick hand flops against the table. Not quite slapping it deliberately, but the effect is just the same. I wince. “We both know it’s not just a laptop, Willow. It’s data, probably the incriminating kind that’s gonna piss off a whole lot of people who’ll want to keep it under wraps.”
“Grady, I know!” I throw back, worried by the lines showing on his forehead.
He stands up in a quick, angry burst.
“Dammit, woman, I’ve got two kids! They’re just little girls. I can’t be roped up in—”
“I know!” I shout again, this time louder, pulling at the ends of my hair.
He sounds so worried, so stunned, my heart is pounding. Harder than it was when I’d left the rescue last night in a stolen vehicle with a stolen tiger.
“Grady, I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I won’t. As soon as my truck gets fixed, I’m gone. No one ever has to know I was here with Bruce. You’ll never hear from us again. I swear. And...and I’ll still give you a reward for helping me. Every penny I can muster.” My voice cracks.
Dad won’t be happy to have me come begging for money from my trust fund after blowing my life savings on rescuing Bruce, but I know he’ll understand.
Who knows, if I’m lucky, maybe there’ll be some reward for turning in the Fosses, if it gets that far.
But Grady stops pacing, pushes his hands behind his back, and turns to stare at me.
“For the thousandth time, Willow—I don’t want no damn reward.” He grabs his phone out of his pocket.
I leap to my feet, ready to do the same desperate snatch and grab as I did last night.
“Oh, no. Please, Grady, please don’t. Don’t call the sheriff. Please.”
I have to think fast. Searching for a way to convince him, I circle around his massive shoulders to face him.
“One paw! Just one freaking paw of Bruce’s is worth over a thousand dollars on the black market. Did you know that? His bones are worth over a hundred and fifty dollars a pound, and if they’re made into wine...it’ll sell for over thirty thousand dollars a case. It’s sick. His hide is worth twenty thousand dollars, and his eyes—”
“Wine?” Grady stops in his tracks, flaying me open with a look.
Here come those tears.
“Y-yes. Tiger wine is a specialty, highly sought for its supposed medicinal benefits.”
“What the fuck?”
“I know! That’s why I couldn’t leave him there. I couldn’t let him disappear to be killed and harvested or...who knows. I’m sure Priscilla and Niles are connected to the black market. There are just too many shady things going on there for them not to be. So please...please, just let me get my truck fixed and I’ll be off like a rocket! I promise you’ll never hear a peep from me again.”
He’s back to pacing the floor, much like a big cat does, slowly and angrily moving back and forth, turning his head to look at me every now and then.
Court is in session, and something tells me I did a bad job pleading my case.
But I bite my lips together, standing there, holding my own just like I would with a pissed off tiger in a cage.
Like Grady, they’re strong, silent when mad, and don’t like to be told what to do.
He stops in the middle of the floor. My heart freezes, because whatever he decides to do, I won’t be able to stop him.
My fate is in this stranger’s hands.
One way or another, I’m doomed.
He could turn me in. He could get Bruce confiscated. But he’s also the only one who can help me right now.
With those bourbon-dark eyes locked on mine, he squeezes his thumb against his phone and swipes the screen.
My heart goes crashing down in a flaming heap of loose knees and breathless prayers.
