by Snow, Nicole
Sawyer asks the same question, a little more boldly, and I give her the what and why.
Once they’re both taking turns in the bath, I strip their beds.
It’s doubtful they had lice before camp, but I might as well take every precaution for Grady’s sake.
The whole bug thing wigs him out, and he’s been too good to me.
Thankfully, the girls leave their clothes outside of their bathroom door, just like I’d asked. I bundle the clothes up with the bedding and carry it down to the laundry room to stuff it in the washer.
Grady’s nowhere in sight, probably not in the house.
I rummage around and find a few large trash bags in the pantry, then take them to the front porch, where I dump the contents of the girls’ duffel bags into separate bags before stuffing everything into a couple more huge trash bags. Once they’re all tied off, I leave the contaminated stuff on the porch for later, after the washer and dryer are freed up.
The girls are out of the tubs and dressed when I return upstairs with the stacks of fresh clothes from the living room. They put everything away like the angels they seem to be, and then help me gather new bedding.
Usually, when chores are involved, it doesn’t take long to find out how well behaved kids really are.
So far, I’m impressed.
Grady and his helpers have done their job right with these girls.
The twins are both workers, eager to help and friendly, even if they might still be a little weirded out by my presence.
“Aunt Faye had us change the bedding before she left,” Sawyer says, scratching her neck. “You’re sure you wanna tackle this stuff again?”
“I don’t mind. We’re just going the extra mile for your dad.” I slip the pillowcase onto a pillow and set it on the bed, fluffing it a few times with a smile.
“Yeah, he gets funny with the strangest things. He’s such a dad,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“It’s nothing unusual. I had lice when I was young, about your age, and my father was just as creeped out.”
“What about your mom?” Avery asks, flopping down on the end of the bed.
I slip the second pillow in its case and try not to frown.
“Well, my mom died when I was three, so it was always just Dad and me.”
“Really?” Sawyer stops, leveling a skeptical gaze on me.
I can’t blame her.
She probably thinks I’m BSing just to make friends, but sadly I’m not.
Not with this.
“Yes, really. I don’t remember much about my mother, just what I’ve been told. But my dad’s a great guy. He had to travel a lot for work while I was growing up, so I had tons of nannies.”
Avery sits down on the foot of the bed. “We’ve never had a real nanny before. Only Aunt Faye, but she...she had to go take care of her friend in Colorado this summer. Her friend doesn’t have any family and she’s real sick.”
We’re all in Avery’s room. Sawyer sits down on the white chair that matches the desk near the window. “Aunt Faye said Hailey Wood’s mother, Linda, agreed to take care of us, but none of us wanted that.”
Sawyer sticks out her tongue to make a point.
I laugh.
“Oh, why’s that?” I sit down on the edge of the bed.
“She only agreed to because she wants Dad to be her boyfriend!” Sawyer throws back with disgust.
“It’s true,” Avery says with a sigh. “Hailey’s in our grade and her mama’s a lunch lady at school. She’s always like, ‘Oh, my favorite twins! I can’t believe how much you look like your daddy.’ So annoying.”
“And gross!” Sawyer chirps, making exaggerated kissy faces in the air.
Hilarious.
I remember a few women on the prowl after my dad and how cringey it could get. But I turn the subject to school, wondering what grade they’re in.
“Fifth,” Sawyer answers sharply. “One more year till middle school.”
I smile, knowing they’ll probably be a lot more concerned about their own crushes soon rather than their dad’s romantic life, but I don’t tease them.
I just let them prattle on about their teachers, Aunt Faye, the many times Linda Wood tried to hit Grady with cupid’s arrow, and little hints of their small-town lives.
A short time later, we make our way downstairs.
I’m relieved I can relate to these adorable girls, and so far they don’t hate me.
It helps that I’ve been in their shoes, raised by a single father.
Also, they’re twins, but opposites in many ways. Their personalities define them, and I really like that.
Back in the kitchen, Grady sits at the kitchen table with another man, a green-eyed hulk with tattoos and rakish sandy-brown hair. He looks like he’s only a couple inches shorter than Grady himself.
God, what’s in the air here?
Is Dallas, North Dakota, some kinda weird magnet for the hottest men on Earth?
“Howdy, ma’am. I’m guessing you’re Miss Willow...”
Faulk—which must be a single syllable nickname play on his last name, Faulkner—introduces himself and makes me feel like he’s sincerely glad to meet me. Surprising when he must know by now I’ve brought nothing but trouble to his friend’s doorstep.
I watch as the two men make small talk with the girls until they get antsy, right before Grady says they can go ride their four-wheelers while the adults talk about “boring tax crap.”
If he stumbled over our cover story earlier, he’s become a total smoothie now, and I smile.
“Don’t forget your helmets, ladies!” he belts out after them. “I’ll be watching.”
Then my eyes fall to the table in the eerie silence.
My laptop rests there with all the damning, but hidden data I hope I’ve stolen from the rescue. Faulk has some sort of small black external device hooked up to it that looks like a tiny box. There’s also a second laptop on the table, presumably his.
As soon as the girls are gone, Grady looks at me.
“He’s transferring what he can to an external drive, then we’ll get it on a secured cloud backup and hook it up to my computer,” he tells me.
“Yep, it’ll be a while before I transfer it to the other machine,” Faulk says. “Right now, we’re just aiming to get backups. Can’t let whatever’s on this thing disappear into the ether.”
Faulk rattles off a litany of techno-babble terms that are over my head, all the things involved with securing, storing, and decrypting data.
“So we won’t know what we’ve actually got for a while?” Grady asks.
“Yep, no telling till I get a good look. We could be talking hours, or days.” Faulk’s eyes gleam like emeralds as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Soon as I’m in, you’ll be the first to know.”
Grady stands and takes my arm. I gasp and instantly feel like an idiot. His touch is always gentle, yet here I am jumping like he hit me with a cattle prod.
Seriously embarrassing.
“You need a minute?” he bites off.
“No, no, I just...you surprised me. I’m fine.” I pause for a breath. “I’m ready for this, guys. Lay it on me. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“And we will, just as soon as we check on the girls. They never go messing around the barn, but I want to make damn sure,” he growls. “Be back shortly.”
Faulk nods at us as Grady escorts me out the sliding glass door.
“The four-wheelers get parked in the pole shed when they’re not using them,” he says as we round the corner of the house.
The barn is to the left of the house and the pole shed, as well as a wood shed, and two other metal storage units are up ahead, directly on the other side of the driveway.
“Are they real four-wheelers?” I ask, knowing the girls are only ten.
“Yep. Both Hondas that are better for kids. They’ve been riding them for a couple years with me, and now they’re old enough to stick to the trails around my place, where I k
now it’s safe.”
“They’re such nice girls, very polite and—”
“Talkative,” he offers. “I’m sure they’ve told you everything about our lives.”
“Not everything,” I say. “Just enough. I know your Aunt Faye went to Colorado to take care of a sick friend and set up a woman to help you with the girls...but it sounds like all three of you said no to that idea.”
His grimace says it all and I try not to laugh.
Apparently, the girls weren’t exaggerating about how much Hailey’s mom chases him. No need to look hard to find out why.
He’s a bearded Hercules, sociable and nice, growly and guarded in a sexy way I can’t describe. But I also know that just like my dad, Grady’s daughters are his life.
Period and end of story.
If he wanted a woman, he’d have no trouble finding her and moving her in. The fact that he hasn’t means he has zero interest in romance.
“Sorry again about the nanny thing, even if it was your idea,” he grinds out. “My only other option would’ve been to say you were a new employee from the Bobcat, but they’d have seen through that one easy. I don’t invite waitresses to stay at my house.”
I laugh. “You wouldn’t have wanted me to pretend I’m a waitress. I couldn’t pull that one off if I tried, but a nanny...” I shrug. “I had enough of those growing up and I’ve seen what they do.”
The overhead door on the pole shed raises, and before it’s all the way up, two identical lime-blue four-wheelers come roaring out with Sawyer on one, wearing a blue helmet, and Avery with a lime green helmet on the other.
“See? Helmets!” Sawyer yells, tapping the side of her head.
Grady holds up a hand and they wheel up next to him, stopping, but don’t turn off their ATVs.
He checks the helmet straps on each girl, then their gloves and knee pads, and what he calls the kill strap that each girl has strapped on their wrists.
“Stay on the short track, girls,” he tells them.
“We will,” Sawyer says. “We know the rules. Sheesh.”
“We’re going to pick some flowers near the creek,” Avery says. “I want to press them in the notebook with the poems I’ve written.”
My heart softens for her. She’s a really sweet kid.
Sawyer is a bit harder, more serious, more impatient, but she has an explorer’s heart. I’m glad that they balance each other out. I remember how tough being alone with nobody but Dad could be.
“All right,” Grady says. “I expect a check-in within the hour. Don’t make me come looking.”
“We know!” they say at the same time.
He gives them a final nod and off they go, zooming around us, onto a well-worn trail between the house and a wooden split rail fence.
“How far away is the short track?” I ask, watching the girls disappear in the distance.
“About a quarter mile. It circles that pasture and runs on roughly three miles.”
“Three miles?” My eyes are still on the dust being kicked up by the ATVs. “Is there a long track?”
“Yes, it goes around the circumference of the property, and then onto other farms. About ten miles, give or take.”
“Wow. You trust them a lot.” He’s their father, of course, and seemingly a good one but I still have to ask, “Do you think it’s safe to let them out there by themselves?”
“They aren’t alone. They have each other and their phones. They always check in like clockwork every half hour, or I wouldn’t let ’em run off.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But they’ve been doing it for over a year, Willow.” He gives me a sharp look. “I know how old they are, and I trust my girls. I also know I damn well can’t let them find a stolen Bengal tiger in our barn. So we’ll keep them away from the house for a little while, okay?”
Ouch.
But he’s right to push back at my doubts, too.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude or nosy,” I tell him as we continue walking.
What do I know about parenting, anyway? Or about ten-year-old girls when it’s been a long time since I was one?
Come to think of it, when I wasn’t much older, Dad let me drive a Jeep with his help during a safari in Kenya. If that isn’t putting a big fat leap of faith in your underage daughter, I don’t know what is.
Honestly, he probably spoiled me more than Grady does his girls.
Humbled, I shut it and follow him back to the barn, where he stops and holds out his arm.
“Here. Take it,” he growls.
I glance at his hand and the small metal object flickering in the sun.
“What’s that?”
“A key,” he tells me.
“Well, yeah, but for what?”
“It fits all of the new padlocks I put on the barn doors this morning. We have to make sure those doors are sealed tight as long as we’re letting a guest like your boy crash inside.” He gives me an easy smile.
Holy hell.
Here comes the guilt trip, and it’s totally my own.
He’s doing all of this for me, and I was questioning his daddy skills.
Hardly a smart move on my part, but ever since he agreed to help me last night, I’ve wondered why.
What the hell motivates a man to take a gamble on a girl in distress with a tiger?
Maybe he’s just got a heart ten times bigger than most. He mentioned the Army a couple times, and so did his daughters, and I wonder if that’s part of it, too.
I know some people are absolutely fearless after a stint in the military. Or else the armed forces just attract natural heroes.
No fooling, this man would make a gold-star hero or ten. For the hundredth time since I landed here, I’m so grateful I could break.
My arrival in Dallas could’ve gone down worse in so many ways.
“Just one key for all the locks?” I ask, forcing my squirrel of a brain back to the subject.
“All the padlocks are keyed the same on the entire place. I put hasps and locks on the sliders and the side door of the barn.” He glances at the pasture, where plumes of dust are visible, indicating exactly where the girls are driving. “Should keep curious little people from sneaking inside if they hear anything out of the ordinary.”
I bite my lip, nodding.
His gaze grows serious as he looks at me.
“I can’t take that chance. Not once. Can’t have my girls sneaking in here, you understand?” His hands fall to my shoulders, squeezing, and finally I don’t freak out.
I might be a little starstruck, staring into those eyes so much like dark-brown honey pools in the pale sun.
Yep.
He’s a hero, all right.
All fathers are, but Grady? One long look tells me he’d die ten times over for his precious dolls.
And I get it, too. I don’t want to see them in danger.
“Bruce would never hurt them,” I assure him, hoping to ease his fears. “But you’re right to take every precaution.”
“He’s a wild animal with teeth and claws and storm-force that could stomp a grown man’s head into mush. A caged wild animal. No telling what he might do if they snuck in there.”
“He’s gent—” I stop.
His look tells me that he’s not going to believe another word.
Fair enough.
If I was in his shoes, and those were my daughters, I wouldn’t either.
“Sorry, you’re right. You don’t need my promises. I don’t want to see them get hurt any more than you do. I just need my truck fixed and then Bruce and I will be history.”
His thick, dark brows inch up slowly.
“It’s not that simple, darlin’. Faulk says your cell’s been ringing off the hook.”
Oh, crap.
My heart sinks clear to my toes.
I remember I’d left it in the kitchen when the girls came home.
“The rescue?” I ask, knowing and dreading the answer.
He nods sternly. “From at
least five different numbers, some with area codes out of state. Faulk installed blocks so nothing can ping your location remotely. Hopefully they haven’t already done it. Whatever you do, don’t turn your GPS back on. They might have all kinds of tricks to track it, or pull that info out of the wireless company if they’ve got an in with the law. He also suggests ignoring all texts. Depending on their carriers, they might know if you’ve ever read the messages.”
“I haven’t. Never opened a single message since I left Minot,” I promise, right before my gut goes into a falling spiral.
Guilt, shame, and remorse twist in my belly like something clawing its way out.
With Faulk busy in the kitchen, that’s one more innocent person I’ve dragged into this crap.
My steps feel like lead as we walk to the house.
Faulk is still there studying his computer screen when we enter the kitchen.
“Update: we’ve got ourselves a location we need to check out,” he says, looking up. “Everything’s encrypted, but there’re a few coordinates and time stamps coming up pretty often from what I’m seeing in the history. I was able to pull a few pics and examine the details. It ain’t too far from here, right near the Montana border. From Google Maps, it’s in the middle of state land, with nothing around for miles. Trouble is, I can’t zoom in too well. This place is out in the sticks and the public satellites only make a pass of those places every few years. I’ll have to drive out there to get a good look on the ground.”
“No,” Grady snaps. “You’re doing enough with this computer shit. I’ll drive out there, Faulk.”
“No, you won’t,” I cut in. “I’ll go myself.”
“In what?” he asks.
Dammit, he’s right. My face falls.
I hate this. Hate how helpless I feel.
Maybe it’s time I should give up and call Dad for advice. He’s somewhere in Africa and not always easy to reach, but I know I could get in touch with him if I need to.
He’s the only person I can totally trust besides these men to call in help. I don’t want to, though, because I know how disappointed he’ll be by what I’ve gotten into.
There’s a part of me that believes my father will understand.
Another part of me fears he’ll be furious.
I just want to make him proud of me.
