The Hero I Need by Nicole Snow
Easy, Tiger (Grady)
That does it.
Trying to pretend like having a woman in my house is normal is enough to tip me over the edge.
No, fuck, this scenario is so completely not normal.
Neither is keeping Shere Khan happy and fed in the barn—or knowing that the choice I’d made last night might put all sorts of friends and family in danger.
Trying to keep my girls’ curiosity under wraps isn’t easy when it comes to anything, but this whole situation has them both asking a lot of questions.
Luckily, I keep them busy with chores, cleaning everything in our kitchen Willow didn’t get to. That keeps them distracted while she sneaks out to check on her beast again.
I have Aunt Faye to thank for their well-organized chore list on the fridge. It hasn’t changed much for years except a little rotation, plus adding new tasks for them as they’ve gotten older.
Alone, I might not have realized just how important chores are for developing responsibility.
Faye sure taught me plenty about parenting.
Later, when we’re all in the living room, gathered around the TV, my phone rings. As if my aunt’s ears are burning several states away, I see her name lit on the screen when I lift it off the coffee table.
I pick up the phone and step away from the teeny-bopper movie the girls picked out. While they’re watching the show, Willow runs a tiny comb through Avery’s hair, checking for bugs. She’d already checked Sawyer.
“Hello,” I say into the phone as I enter the small library that doubles as my office off the living room and close the door behind me.
“Grady, my dear, how are you holding up?” Aunt Faye starts. “I have a question...”
I can almost see the disappointment in her eyes just from the way she says my name.
She’s my ma’s sister, and they sound so much alike, at times her voice takes me back decades. Especially the way she can reprimand me with a single word in just the right tone.
“Anything. Shoot,” I tell her.
“I know the girls are coming home from camp tomorrow so I called Linda. She said that apparently you declined her help?” Faye asks.
Shit.
Busted.
But can you blame a man when taking favors from Linda Wood means inviting her to dry hump my goddamn leg?
“You’re right, I did. Everything’s under control, Aunt—”
“Grady!” she says sternly, cutting me off. “You know you can’t take care of them all summer by yourself. Linda works at the school, so she has summers off. It was the perfect solution. Why would you ever say no?”
My jaw pinches shut.
Because I don’t want any shit with that woman or any woman.
Because the juice is so not worth the squeeze, I’d rather stick with my hand for life.
Because I’d rather stay a sexless, overgrown monk than play with a stick of human dynamite.
Yeah. I’m only exaggerating a little.
If I had a list of Hell Noes, Linda Wood would be a solid second. Right after Carolina Dibs, the town’s resident thief and queen of shady hookups.
And at least with Carolina, you know there are a dozen ways you might get fucked over. Linda hasn’t even pretended to hide the fact that she’s on the hunt for a new husband.
I don’t tell Faye any of that, of course.
“How’s Gennie doing?” I try changing the subject.
I think it works, but I’m not exactly happy about it. She lets out a pitiful sigh.
“Not good, dear. She doesn’t have much time. The cancer’s everywhere.”
“Damn, I’m so sorry. I’m glad you’re there with her,” I offer, sincere as ever.
Gennie was a schoolyard friend of Aunt Faye’s and they’d stayed close for over sixty years. They’re as tight as family, which is a good thing because Gennie doesn’t have much. Her husband died years ago. Long before Brittany had.
Just like me, Gennie only has daughters, but they haven’t been the closest.
“Listen, if there’s anything I can do, you tell me,” I say.
“You’re sweet, but you already know the one thing I’ll ask,” Aunt Faye says. “Focus on you and the girls. That’s why I arranged for Linda to help out. Her daughter’s the same age as the twins, so they’d have someone to play with while she’s there. You can’t take care of them and run the bar at the same time.”
“I’ve taken a few days off. We’ll be fine,” I insist.
“A few...days? Did I hear you right?” Her voice bristles with surprise, knowing how rare it is for me to take time off. “Don’t tell me it’s because of me?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I just needed help renovating the old barn, and Faulk had time off, so...”
“Oh, no. Not more work. Listen, sonny, I’ll see if I can hire someone to take care of Gennie so I can come home sooner and—”
“No way,” I interrupt. “I also took a few days off to train in the new nanny. I posted an ad online and hired someone today.”
“You did? Who? Online? A stranger? Oh, Grady.” I can hear her worries ramping up to turbo.
Too many questions for comfort, and her tone seeps pure disappointment.
“Faulk knew her. She’s trustworthy,” I say.
I’m fibbing, obviously, and playing on my aunt’s mad respect for Quinn Faulkner—mainly because he married the granddaughter of another close friend—and his approval of Willow will go a long way in calming her near-grandmotherly butt down.
“Really?” Faye croons. “My, my. If Quinn trusts her, then I suppose—”
“Exactly. Don’t you worry, and don’t even think about coming home a second sooner. Gennie needs help and you ought to be with her.” I hear a doorbell in the background. “Sounds like you have someone at your door?”
“That’s the hospice nurse,” she tells me with a deflated sigh. “But this conversation isn’t over. I’ll call you later so I can hear all about this nanny.”
“Will do, Aunt Faye. Take care.”
She clicks off, and I have zero doubt she’ll be dialing me sooner than I think.
I open the door and head for the living room, not expecting the scene on the couch.
The girls are packed in close to Willow, one on each side of her. They’re all laughing at something on the show they’re watching.
Interesting. My girls don’t normally take to strangers this fast. It’s also the perfect medicine for my aunt’s jitters.
Opening the camera app, I carefully snap a picture from around the corner and open my messenger.
See? New nanny’s working out great. Everybody’s happy as a lark,I text her, adding, no reason at all to worry.
I hit send before walking to my recliner, wishing that last part were true.
I’ve got to make damn sure it stays that way, once I’ve figured out how to get a big mess of teeth and claws off my property.
The girls are still laughing like chipmunks, glued to the TV.
I don’t get it. What’s so funny about the girl on the screen washing her hair?
“Oh, Dad!” Sawyer says, no doubt catching my frown. “You just missed it. She tried putting some green stripes in her hair with food coloring—look at it!”
I manage a smile, but I still don’t see the humor.
The girls try to explain it a few more times, but I’m just fucking lost and glad when the show finally ends.
On their way up to bed, Avery and Sawyer help Willow carry the last of their clothes, including the freshly washed stuff from their duffel bags. She’s been busy washing and drying their camp clothes all day.
When she comes back down, I head up to say good night to my girls.
What I don’t expect—what hits me like a bullet—are the hugs.
Hugs and sweet praise for “finding Willow” in their words.
Shit.
I’ve tried not to notice how much they’re already connecting to her. Hadn’t dwelled on it with everything else going on.
Not till I close their doors and plod back downstairs.
Willow’s just walking in the sliding glass door when I enter the kitchen.
“How’s he doing?” I ask, ignoring the emotional shock in my gut.
“Sleeping like the big fat fluff he is,” she says with an impish grin.
I have to fight not to smile back.
She’s goddamn cute by default, yeah, but when her eyes sparkle with so much easy blue-tinged humor...their shine reaches down inside me and touches something buried.
Something it shouldn’t.
Something that’s been black as night for a long time like a starless sky over a beach with onyx sands.
“Don’t worry, I double-checked the locks. Everything’s secure.” She locks the sliding door and walks toward her room. “I’m going to hit the hay myself.” She yawns, stretching her arms overhead. “The lack of sleep is really catching up with me...”
“Good night, darling,” I whisper, hating how I stare when she stops and turns.
“’Night, Grady. And for what it’s worth, thanks again. I can’t possibly repay all you’re doing.”
I remain silent.
Once the door to her room closes, I release the fierce breath I’d held in and start moving.
Shut off the kitchen light. Lock the front door. Then go kill the rest of the lights before making my way up to my room.
The thirty-hour exhaustion should be catching up with me, too, but even as I settle into bed, my mind won’t shut up.
Snarling, I roll over, cupping my hands behind my head and crossing my legs at the ankles.
It’s not like the first time there’s a guest under my roof. Aunt Faye slept downstairs for years in the same converted porch when she was here for heavy duty babysitting, or we were hit with bad weather.
Guess it’s just different knowing it’s a blue-eyed angel with sinful wine lips and a body I’d like to turn my inner Viking loose on.
Damn.
Yeah, it’s different, and I’m an idiot for letting it be.
Knowing my daughters have already made friends with the tiger thief doesn’t sit well.
In fact, it’s pretty damn disconcerting.
Unleashing a slow sigh, I brace for the avalanche of shit pouring through my head.
* * *
The girls were soyoung when Brittany died.
They don’t remember how her illness stole her memories, her mind, her soul...
They don’t remember how she didn’t know who they were, how the disease took that from her, or how she didn’t know who I was, either.
The disease obliterated our love.
Neurological conditions are no fucking joke. Hers hollowed her out, left her little more than a brittle shell of a person when she finally passed.
I say finally because it was a long, grueling road for her.
For us.
A road lined with hell and the sickest emotional torture known to man.
It left me alone with a husk of the woman I pledged my life to—every last bit of her gone—devoured from the inside out by an invisible demon no one in their right minds would ever summon.
She barely weighed ninety pounds when she died. Hadn’t been able to eat for weeks. Her body couldn’t function in so many ways.
In hindsight, I blame myself for keeping her alive longer.
I was the jackass who insisted on the feeding tube, still praying for a miracle, not fucking ready to lose her.
If I hadn’t been so selfish, if I’d just let her go, she might have died with an ounce of dignity.
Instead, thanks to me, she’d withered until there was nothing.
I’ve saved dozens of lives overseas, faced down foreign enemies in Iraq and domestic criminals back home, and survived a slug in my shoulder that nearly killed me on a sweltering street in Baghdad.
I got used to hearing the word miracle in the service more times than I can count. I started to believe in them and that’s what set me up for a fall.
But the one thing I couldn’t survive, couldn’t accomplish, was save my wife.
Brittany hadn’t gotten out of bed for over two months before the end came.
The memories still break my heart all over again like a jackhammer.
She was so alive, once upon a time.
So charming and beautiful and fun.
The day she stepped out of the bathroom screaming with the positive pregnancy test in her hand, waving her arms, she’d leaped on the bed and jumped up and down like a five-year-old.
We did it!
We made ourselves a baby, times two.
Two endlessly gorgeous, talented, whip-smart little girls.
I think the smile I wore after I heard the news lasted for months.
Several years later, she didn’t even know who Sawyer and Avery were.
Didn’t remember how she’d changed her mind a hundred times before choosing those two names, because they had to be a thousand percent perfect.
We wanted to give them names they could be proud of, gifts from a loving mom and dad that’d always remind them how special, how precious their lives are.
She didn’t remember my name, either.
Or even her own name by the killing end.
The last words she said to me, a month before she’d died, were simply, “Thank you, doctor.”
They came out so faint and so slurred it was hard to comprehend, but I’d understood them, all right.
I understood she didn’t know me enough to love me anymore, didn’t know where she was, who she was, but in her own, sweet way, she still found the energy to say thank you for helping her.
Thank you and goodbye.
Unfair doesn’t begin to describe it.
Unfair is what happens when you just miss the jackpot in Vegas, or when you’re passed up for a promotion because you didn’t kiss enough ass.
This was a fucking murder.
Of her. Of us. Of the future we should’ve had.
All I have left now are memories, and I’ll protect them with everything I have. Keep them front and center, sealed up behind a mile of treacherous barbed wire in my heart.
I’ll hold them tight and cherish them because losing Brittany broke me for love.
Losing her meant losing my heart forever.
* * *
The memories strikecloser to home the next morning when Hank arrives to pick up the girls.
At one time, he was one of my best friends. He was Brittany’s older brother—her only brother—and the greatest uncle in the world to Sawyer and Avery. Not like my own brother who moved out of state years ago and left Weston here.
Hank adores them, too.
No surprise.
He was a strapping human rock for them in good times and bad, ready to help out at the drop of a hat since the second they were born.
Do I appreciate it?
Hell yes.
I appreciate him.
Good family is the only thing that’s harder to find than good help.
It’s just that I struggle to look him in the eyes.
Seeing my brother-in-law is fucking torture. Even after all these years.
He’s never said anything to me, no deep tearful conversations. There’s nothing but warmth behind his smile. But all the shit that goes unsaid?
That shows up in subtle movements and awkward glances when he thinks my back is turned.
I have to believe he blames me for dragging out Brittany’s death, for letting her waste away to papery flesh stretched over frail bones, a living ghost.
Why shouldn’t he blame me as much as I blame myself?
Call it collateral damage.
The kind that poisons a relationship when someone passes, rather than bringing them together.
Fuck it.
Some things can’t be fixed in life, and this is one of them. And on the dark, restless nights like the one that just passed, when I hold up a mirror to my soul, I know the truth.
Hank should hate me.
I don’t blame him for it.
So I try to forget the last five strained years of our life as I walk to the center of the driveway where he’s stopped his old, slightly battered blue-and-white Dodge. The windows are already down.
“Thanks for coming and taking them today, Hank. I should be back by early evening.”
“No problem, man. I have a new colt I’ve been wanting them to see.” His brown eyes, as dark as Brittany’s had been, twinkle as he opens the door. “Oh, and Babe had her pups! Nice big litter, all six of them healthy and barking up a storm.” He laughs before leveling me a look. “Take that as fair warning. You’re gonna hear a lot of puppy begging from the duo real soon.”
“Great,” I mumble. More begging from the girls for an animal.
They don’t get it.
They’re too young to understand. It’s not just about the responsibility...I can’t get them an animal and risk having it die.
After Brittany, after growing up without a mother, I can’t have them experiencing that shit again.
Another crippling, unexpected, soul-stealing visit from the Reaper.
Another loss they can’t get back.
“Uncle Hank! Uncle Haaaank!”
I smile. They always shout his name twice as they come flying out of the house. Two at a time, just like most things that happen around here.
The third person with them is what makes me do a double take.
Sawyer and Avery each have a fierce hold on Willow’s arms, pulling her toward Hank.
“You have to meet Willow!” Sawyer chirps. “Uncle Hank, look, here’s our new nanny.”
Hank’s smile grows, but so does the gleam in his eye as he looks at me, one brow raised. I can already feel the punch to my stomach.
“Nanny, huh?” Hank asks.
“Nanny,” I echo dryly. “Had to hire one. Didn’t have much choice with how crazy it’s been around here lately, plus the bar—”
“Come on, man,” he cuts me off. “You don’t owe me no explainin’. There’s nothing wrong with a little hired help, Grady. Or with anything else, you know. Hell, Britt would’ve wanted you to—”
“Not now, Hank,” I snap, more harshly than intended.
His brows arch up.
I can’t deal with this again, here in front of the girls and Willow.
Yeah, he’s told me a hundred times how Brittany would want me to get on with my life, not stay mired in the past.
Let him think that.
Let him tell me everything’s just fine and dandy, and we don’t think about how she died every time our eyes meet.
Fuck.
We both know the truth.
I know what Brittany would’ve wanted, and so does he.
She didn’t want to die.
She wanted to be here, raising her daughters, plus the other kids I’ll never have a chance to make.
She damn sure wouldn’t want me to start over—much less with some random pixie blown in by an ill summer wind, carrying the kind of trouble that could literally swallow up our family alive.
I’m already defying the past, spitting in the face of what my dead wife would’ve wanted.
No ifs, ands, or buts about it, and it sucks.
“Hey, friend. Willow is it?” Hank says merrily as Willow arrives at his truck with a girl still hanging on each arm.
He’s always been a people pleaser.
“You got it!” she answers. “And you must be the infamous Uncle Hank? I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things.”
“Aw, careful what you believe now. These little meerkats exaggerate everything,” he says, using both hands to rub the top of each girl’s head through the window as they laugh.
“I, uh...I wouldn’t do that, Hank,” I tell him. “Summer camp shut down a day early because of head lice.”
Hank throws back his head and roars. “Oh, Grady, Grady...there are days when I don’t know if I should feel sorry for you, or just laugh, because there’s nothing else I can do. Good thing for you little ladies I’m cootie-proof.”
I frown, not sure what he means.
“I don’t know what he thinks lice are, but it has him a little freaked out,” Willow tells Hank under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear.
My shoulders bow up.
“You never had cooties growing up, Grady?” Hank asks with another barrel-like chuckle.
“No,” I say coldly, wondering if I’m the only person who never had lice growing up.
One thing’s for sure—it’s an experience I don’t care to have as an adult.
“I did. Every frickin’ summer,” Hank says, looking at Willow with a smile. “My mama shaved my head until I was as bald as an eagle’s egg. To top it off, I got sunburned on the top of my head and it peeled for weeks.”
“Oh, dear,” Willow says, trying not to laugh. “Why didn’t you wear a hat?”
“That’s what happens when you’re a kid who loves swimming more than thinking,” he says, overexaggerating his hand movements like he always does.
“Will you take us to the lake, Uncle Hank?” Avery pleads, her little hands grasping his. “The big one Edison always likes to drink from?”
Hank laughs again, his permanent state of being.
“Sure thing, munchkin, after we get those chores done your daddy drafted you two for,” he says, then turns his eyes to me again. “Man, Drake and Bella are gonna lose it if that damn Einstein of a horse makes another break for Big Fish Lake. They had to catch him two times last week.”
Even I can’t resist smiling at that.
It’s a running joke around here how often the Larkin’s iconic horse, Edison, manages to break into town, the lake, or other people’s barns no matter how much they escape-proof their property. The old horse always finds a way to have some fun traveling, along with his mare, Edna.
“Like I said, we should be back by early evening,” I remind him before there’s another walk down memory lane from Hank. “Willow’s truck broke down, so I’m taking her to pick up her stuff.”
That’s the story I’d fed him when I asked if the girls could spend the day at his place, anyway.
“No problem,” he says. “We have lots to do.” He winks at the girls. “Roberta was making chocolate chip cookies when I left. And I just might’ve mentioned some big important guests coming over who might like them.”
“We do, we do!” the girls exclaim together.
For a split second, I envy what Hank has going.
His life is neat, happy, and peaceful.
It makes sense.
Roberta’s been his girlfriend for years, yet the two still have no plans to tie the knot.
Maybe he learned caution after seeing what happened to me.
I’ll damn sure never tie the knot again, either.
Hank opens his truck door. “Come on in, Thing One and Thing Two. Hurry, so we can eat some cookies while they’re still piping hot!”
After quick hugs, the girls pile into his truck. I wait till they’re out of sight before I get busy loading my four-wheeler in the back of my pickup.
Willow helps me with the ramps, and after one final check on Bruce, we head out.
As we start down the driveway, a shiver nips at my spine.
Not counting the brief drive the other night when I hauled her home, it’s been years since I’ve been alone in a vehicle with a woman.
Damn. I can’t help hoping that helping her won’t wind up being another epic regret.
The silence in the cab is too intense, so I turn on the radio after a few miles.
Good call.
We talk a little as the miles drift by, but for the most part, the radio fills in the silence. Then her singing starts, adding to the muted rock lyrics pouring out of the speakers.
My brows go up at first when she closes her eyes and starts jamming like she’s the only one here.
It doesn’t bother me, I’m just...surprised.
I can tell she’s nervous. On edge. Wondering what the hell we’ll find at the coordinates entered in my phone.
If she can’t clean like a whirlwind to help her nerves, this must be another coping mechanism.
And it’s hard not to grin when “Africa” by Toto comes on and she starts belting out the lyrics. I’ll never know if it’s her inner zoologist or she’s just a freak for karaoke.
Whatever it is, I’m laughing like hell as she holds her little fist out like a fake mic, screaming into it.
“You always sing like you’re on stage in a strange man’s car, or what?” I ask, rubbing at my face.
“Nope. Just when I’m jittery as a bee and you look like you could use a laugh,” she tells me as the song ends, looking at me with a dimpled smile. “You should do it more often, Grady. You’ve got a nice laugh.”
Fuck if I know what to say to that.
And happy distractions aside, I wonder what’s up ahead, too, wondering how this is all going to end.
I haven’t told her everything Faulk suspects. This shit is waist-deep, dangerous territory, the kind that makes him call in some outside help.
His top-secret connections to a mashup of active Feds and retired ones like him working for big security agencies always make me nervous.
In this case, though, it’s absolutely necessary.
It also gives me hope that it’ll be over and done before anyone else in Dallas discovers I’m harboring a fugitive tiger inside my barn.
About half an hour from our destination, we turn onto a low maintenance road, and I start looking for a place to pull over and park.
Without thinking, I switch off the radio while she’s still humming along.
“Sorry,” she says. “One of my bad habits.”
“What?”
“Singing to the radio. Always terribly and I don’t really care—music takes my mind off things.”
I chuckle. She hadn’t sounded that off-key, even if people might’ve wondered how many drinks she’d had if it happened in my bar.
Frankly, her singing voice blended in too well with the background music.
“That’s not the reason I turned it off.” Shrugging, I say, “Call it age or habit, but I turn it down whenever I’m looking for something. Like it’ll help me see better.”
She lets out a soft giggle.
“I’ve been known to do that, too. It’s one of those weird quirks I think a lot of people have.” She glances out the window, staring at the brush-lined ditches and wooded areas along the sides of the road, before turning to me again. “So, are we there yet?”
“Not the question I thought I’d get without my girls along for the ride,” I snort. “According to my phone, yes. I’m looking for a discreet place to park. Then we can use the four-wheeler.”
“You sure? This road doesn’t look very well-traveled.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “But the satellite image on the computer showed another road north of here that ends at the coordinates.”
“That’s why we’re taking this one?”
“Yes. We’ll look like a couple of run-of-the-mill ATV riders, just out for an adventure.” I nod for emphasis, hoping like hell this plan works.
She points to a grassy area a short distance ahead.
“How about there? That looks like a place to park. Right by that Bureau of Land Management sign.”
“It’ll work.”
I park and she helps me unload the four-wheeler in no time. With its compartments filled, alongside the saddlebags attached to the front rack, we head out.
Willow sticks close behind me. I think I’d need a hammer to the head not to notice.
I can feel every inch of where her body touches my back, hips, and the backs of my thighs.
It takes focus I haven’t summoned up since my Army days to ignore the hot sensations every flick of her body against mine causes. To ignore how bad it hurts to suppress my raging hard-on.
“What did you do in the military?” she asks.
“Area reconnaissance in Iraq, mostly,” I answer. “Checking to make sure the coast was clear in caves and buildings. Then it was active combat. They couldn’t ignore the fact that I’m one hell of a shot and dropped me in a sniper unit.”
I say no more.
That was a long time ago, and like other jagged parts of my life, shit happened overseas that I really don’t want to remember. Some of those stories are still classified, too.
“Wow, that’s impressive! How long were you in?”
“Four years of active duty, two of non. I joined while I was still in high school for the post-secondary aid, and was sent overseas as soon as I was eligible. Didn’t reup after my parents died. Then I got married, the twins were born, and...” My voice fades away.
“Your wife got ill,” Willow urges softly.
“Yeah.” Thankful for the terrain ahead, I say, “Hold on, there’s a stream we have to cross. The water doesn’t look deep, but it’s gonna be rocky.”
I hold my breath just before we cross.
Nothing to do with the rocks in the stream.
I’m trying not to react to the way her body rubs against my back as her arms hug my waist. Her tits are so flush against my skin I can feel them, even the taut peaks of her nipples through her shirt and bra from the pressure.
Shit.
I haven’t been physically responsive to a woman in ages, and sure as hell don’t need it now.
“What was her illness? If it isn’t too personal, I mean...” Her breath is warm on the back of my neck.
“A rare, aggressive neurological disease. Something closely related to Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or CJD, I think. It took her down quickly.” Too fast, I think to myself, biting my lip. “Within a few years, she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Grady. That must’ve been awful.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I snarl, pinching my lips together, wondering what’s gotten into me.
I don’t share Brittany’s illness with strangers.
The girls don’t even know the name of what killed her.
They’ve never asked, and I’ve never offered.
Am I really letting my mutinous dick loosen my tongue this much?
Am I really fucking having a heart-to-heart talk with a tiger thief?
“Life has a way of throwing hidden punches that just don’t seem fair...” she whispers again, her voice rubbed raw.
It’s almost worse that she isn’t faking sympathy, that she actually feels shredded over my clusterfuck situation.
“Sure does. All we can do is keep moving forward.” Steering down the small embankment to a creek, I add, “Hold onto your butt. This is gonna be steep.”
She hugs me even tighter and stays silent till well after we cross a second creek and climb up the other bank. “Don’t you wonder about that sometimes? Life. How things work out?”
“Don’t know. Do you?”
I think I’m done with question time today.
“I have to. My mother died of an aneurysm when I was just three. She and my father were eating in a restaurant. She suddenly got a headache, and before the waiter arrived with their check, she was gone. Right there at the table. My dad blamed himself for years.”
A shiver tickles my spine. “Why? Doesn’t sound like he could’ve done anything different.”
“No, he couldn’t have, but he felt like he should have done something. Get her to the hospital faster or maybe demand an ambulance. I don’t know, really. I just know it weighed heavy on him for years. When I was young, I was afraid he’d get remarried again, foolishly. But that’s how kids are. Now, I wish he had. He was so young when it happened and he deserved to be happy.”
Unsure why she’s spilling her guts to me, I just nod, holding my tongue.
“Sorry to make things awkward. That was...a lot. A load I didn’t even know I had,” she says. “Sorry. Must be because of all the talking I’ve done with Sawyer and Avery. Yesterday they had a lot of questions about my mom dying when I was young, and I’ve tried to be honest. You know, explain how everyone’s situation is different, yet there’s always comfort, especially for kids. Life isn’t over if they find people they can relate to.”
I nod again, sharply, having never thought about it in her terms.
The girls don’t remember Brittany, yet I’m sure they’ll have more questions coming the older they get.
“How’d you know your father shouldered so much guilt? Did he tell you?”
“No, not quite.” She lets out a shaky sigh. “My dad wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Especially me. He was my dad, my protector, my hero. But I just knew the way kids know sometimes.”
I stop the ATV so I can look over my shoulder at her.
“Did Avery and Sawyer say something? Do they think that I’m—”
“No! God, no. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Grady. Not at all. They were just asking me about my mom. The illness—the one your wife had—was totally different. You took care of her, from what I understand. Remodeled your house and everything. There was nothing more you could’ve done.”
Now she sounds too much like Hank.
I grip the ATV tighter, trying not to grind my teeth.
This isn’t the time for heavy shit.
Also not the place to have this angel clinging to a ticking bomb.
“They haven’t said anything like that,” she whispers in my ear. “And...I’m sorry if it sounded that way. Like I said, I didn’t mean for all of that to come falling out. I’m sorry to have dumped on you. Must be my nerves. The stress with Bruce wearing on me because I...I never do deep talks with anyone.”
We stop for a second and I look back at her. The sincerity etched on her face makes me believe she’s telling the truth.
Hell, hadn’t I just admitted the same thing? Spilling secrets I’ve never told anyone.
“You’re right,” I growl back to her. “It’s the stress of this weird crap getting to us.” I turn around and shift our ride back into gear. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she says, wearing a sad smile I can hear in her voice without seeing it. “Do you think we’re almost there?”
Glad to change the subject, I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.
“Check and see. I need both hands for the damn prairie dog town coming up. Keep holding on.”
I’m hardly exaggerating. The big-ass rodents out in these rural parts make their mounds in big clusters, what they call a town. Looks like the area ahead of us is covered with mounds and critters chirping warnings to each other.
“Looks like it’s two more miles,” she says, reaching around me to drop the phone back in my breast pocket before grabbing a tight hold on my waist again. “Ever gone prairie dog hunting?”
What North Dakota boy hasn’t?
I’m not sure I want to admit to that, her being Miss Zoologist and all.
She laughs, must sense me tensing up, and punches me playfully in the arm.
“Hey, you’re holding out on me, aren’t you? You don’t have to be scared to admit it, you know. I believe in wildlife management, especially when it’s not an endangered species.”
“You do, huh?” I crack a grin.
“Duh. Overcrowding any species causes freaky diseases and cannibalism. Mother Nature knows when certain numbers are getting too high.”
“Have you gone prairie dog hunting yourself?” I ask, going slow over the mounds so we aren’t jostled off.
“No, I haven’t spent much time in North Dakota, but I’d like to someday. Dad took me hunting for plenty of elk and deer when I was little, though. Mostly in Montana.”
Interesting.
So the Tiger Princess gets a hankering for a little blood, just like her boy, Bruce.
I don’t respond because I’m still trying to decipher that, make it jibe with the Willow Macklin I know.
“Just because I’m a zoologist doesn’t mean I’m against hunting,” she tells me, her tone insistent. “I’m no vegetarian either. I like a good Palak paneer or potato curry just as much as anyone, but...you won’t see me at a meat market putting flowers on packaged meat.”
“Come again?”
“That happens in California all the time. Impromptu funerals for all the animals in a meat market. Those rowdy protests make the news every week.”
I snort and shake my head, having never heard of it.
There are times when I’m glad Dallas is a small place tucked away from the outside world.
“It’s true!” she says. “You didn’t see me pitch a fit when you and Tobin carried in that mountain of beef, did you? Animals need to eat. Bruce needs to eat. But everybody has an opinion, just like I do, and I’m not going to hold theirs against them.”
“Knock it off, lady. You’re talking too much common sense,” I say with a chuckle. “Sure would be nice if the world worked that way, wouldn’t it?”
She squeezes my waist tighter in agreement, and I remember why I need to keep these conversations controlled.
If I’m not careful, my dick will be the main casualty of this excursion.
Something gleaming in the sunlight catches my attention.
“What’s that?” Willow must see it too.
“Looks like a strip of pavement,” I say, half wanting to rub my eyes.
Make that a very out-of-place paved strip that shouldn’t be here in the middle of nowhere.
I shift into a higher gear now that we’ve made it through most of the prairie dog town.
We arrive in a couple minutes and start speeding along the strip of pavement. Even stranger, it feels like it was pressed down recently under my wheels.
“It’s a landing strip, all right. See those short poles?” I pause and point, slowing our speed to a crawl. “Portable lights to be set up along the strip.”
“Freaky,” she says. “We are still on the Bureau of Land Management turf, right?”
“Yep, and there’s no good reason for them to have a frigging airstrip out here.”
I slow down as we come to the end of it, this wide paved area, large enough for smaller planes to turn around. A gravel service road comes in from the north. One that looks fairly well used and maintained.
I recognize where we are completely.
How many makeshift runways did I cover with my rifle like this overseas?
“Oh. Oh, hell. This a pick-up and drop-off point. The perfect place for planes and vehicles to meet and exchange cargo.”
“Cargo?” She climbs off the four-wheeler. “What kind, do you think?”
I stroke my beard.
“Well...my first guess would be drugs, but in this case, I’m gonna bet it’s exotic animals.”
“God!” she gasps out. “But there’s nothing here!”
Willow tilts her head, walking around and scanning the area like she needs to convince herself I’m right.
“No proof for us to confirm that, I guess,” she whispers.
“You mean not yet.” I walk to the front of the ATV and open the saddlebag. “Once we get these cameras set up and hidden, we’ll have ourselves a live feed to find out exactly what happens here.”
“I love how you think.” She grins, all sunshine and teeth so white I wonder what they’d feel like nipping at my skin. “What can I do to help?”
“First thing’s first, let’s scope out locations.”
