The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  If those pictures were there to make him happy, to give him a window into another world where he didn’t have to trade and murder helpless creatures for a living, they hadn’t worked.

  He always looked miserable, a permanent scowl plastered on his face.

  And he certainly did that day, too.

  “So, we might have a problem. I can’t find Churchill anywhere, Mr. Foss,” I say, every part of me going numb. “It’s like he’s just...gone.”

  I didn’t think anything could hurt worse than my panic over that lovely chimpanzee vanishing into thin air.

  Then he gives me that look still branded on my soul.

  He cocks his head, his lips moving ever so slightly, pulling into a cruel line. Niles looks at me like I’ve just lost my mind, and I’m the one who should question my own senses.

  When I push back, sure of what I saw, sure that Churchill the chimp is truly gone, his mood shifts.

  “The transfer must’ve happened early then, Miss Macklin,” he says in that stilted, ticking-time-bomb tone that always makes my skin crawl. “These things happen. Now that you mention it, yes, I do recall the schedule being somewhat flexible for his pickup. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.”

  “But...but you’re saying they transferred him in the middle of the night?” I ask, my bones feeling like fragile ice.

  His gaze darkens at my impudence.

  Like just asking is this awful cardinal sin.

  Like no one else ever dares to ask questions—and I’m beginning to realize why.

  “It’s normal. You’re still fairly new to our operations, so I can’t fault you for wondering,” he tells me in a tone that says he faults me very much. Big-time. “Animals come and go all the time. Period. If we can’t give them the best permanent home and care, we relocate them promptly with folks who can. That’s how the system works, and you just have to trust it.”

  Trust us, is what he really means.

  I never will again.

  I’m about to bring up that weird blue sticker I saw on Churchill’s pen, when Priscilla blows into the room, wearing another designer dress and high heels. Her wardrobe looks more suitable for an evening out in Times Square rather than the backwoods of North Dakota.

  If Niles Foss is a scummy kind of good cop in their nasty duet, then Priscilla is Office Satan to her core.

  “You nosy, ridiculous little ingrate. I heard everything. I’ve also heard about you asking around, bothering the rest of the crew over this nonsense,” she snarls, crushing the distance between us, backing me against a corner.

  Oh, God.

  “Mrs. Foss, please, I was just asking—”

  “No. You were snooping. I’m only going to say this once, and I want you to listen good. We don’t lose our animals, Miss Macklin. Exotic Plains is not amateur hour. We’ve been doing this for over a decade and, frankly, we’re awfully damn good at it. However, if you really feel so strongly that things are so disorganized here, if you think we’re such blundering idiots we’d lose a darling chimpanzee, you can clean out your locker and get the hell out this instant.”

  “I...what?” Her ferocious defense makes me question my own sanity.

  “You heard me. You’re welcome to leave anytime, and encouraged to, really, if you don’t trust how things work here. I have no doubt whatsoever you’ll have no trouble finding dozens of other sanctuaries who’ll welcome you with open arms. You’re Peter Macklin’s daughter, for God’s sake!”

  Whoa.

  She throws me on the spot. I never used my father’s name.

  Not in my resume. Not in my interview. Not since the day I arrived at the rescue for work.

  Sure, it would’ve come up in my background check or a quick search, but the way she’d used it...it was utterly full of scorn.

  Weird, out of place, and scary.

  She prattles on then about the job market for big cats.

  A not-so-subtle threat.

  I know exactly what she means. That I should hit the floor and kiss her feet for giving me this job.

  Oh, I hadn’t wanted to lose it, but that day, I find a bigger reason to stay on at Exotic Plains for just a little while longer.

  I make it my mission to unravel what the hell is going on and why.

  Priscilla doesn’t stop—do psychos ever know when to quit?—of course she goes on about how it’s such a high and mighty privilege to work with rescued animals, and how sad it is that they can’t stay at the sanctuary forever, but sometimes they just have to move on to their “happy places.”

  That’s what she calls them.

  And knowing what I do now?

  It’s a small miracle I don’t barf on Grady’s couch.

  I push a clammy hand against my forehead, drop my phone in my lap, and will myself to stop thinking about them.

  As the memory fades, I lean my head back against the sofa and close my eyes.

  I hadn’t wanted to lose the job, and I left the office then like a coward, desperate for answers.

  Definitely ashamed that I felt so powerless.

  Priscilla’s parting shot still echoes in my head.

  “You’ve got a whole heaping lot to learn, dear lady. Less time blabbing, more time hitting the books. That’s what’ll do you good.”

  Oh, yes, I had a lot to learn.

  I’m still receiving a brutally twisted education.

  * * *

  My eyes snap open.

  A tiny, muffled grunt of surprise pulls me from a dream. For the first time in weeks, it’s not another nightmare about Exotic Plains, the Fosses, Bruce, or the many dark and scary things with sharp teeth in my life.

  It was a good dream. The kind that makes you want to sink back into it, even though you can’t remember what was happening.

  “Sorry!” Avery sputters, standing next to the sofa.

  “Hey, you,” I say, smiling at the girl as I yawn. “Guess I fell asleep. Your couch is just too comfy. I didn’t even hear you girls come home.”

  “Uncle Hank just dropped us off!”

  “Yeah? Did you have fun?”

  The way she clenches her little hands into fists and gives them a shake tells me heck, yes.

  “It was so cool. Babe had puppies and Uncle Hank has a new baby horse!” She waves a hand at the door separating the lower-level stairs. “Dad’s in the basement. He said he wants to show you something.”

  “Will do.” I stand up and quickly stretch. “Where’s Sawyer?”

  “Upstairs. We mucked out the barn, so we kinda have to take a shower and change. Dad says we smell like horse poo,” she tells me with a giggle.

  “You smell fine to me,” I tell her as we walk to the stairs.

  Eyes shining, she smiles at me again. “Me, too. And don’t worry, we won’t wash our hair yet.”

  “You can go right ahead,” I tell her. “It’s been over twenty-four hours.”

  While she goes upstairs, I head into the basement.

  It’s completely finished downstairs with a large playroom area, an exercise room, and past that, what I have to call a man cave, including a bar and old-timey bar lights.

  That’s Grady’s lair and it’s where I find him, busy staring at several computer screens on a table in the far corner.

  “Is this the bat cave?” I ask.

  “We’ve already got a Bruce and I’m no Wayne.” He smirks and spins his chair around. “You’re finally up. Wondering what year it is?”

  Heat flows into my cheeks as I shake my head.

  I’m not sure if it’s because he caught me napping midday, or if the heat in my cheeks is a memory. That lovely dream Avery woke me from?

  It was starring Grady McKnight.

  No doubt about it now.

  “Um, yeah, sorry about that. I crashed harder than I wanted to after we came back.”

  “Sorry I had to send you a pint-sized wake-up call. Had to show you this while the girls are still occupied. Take a look.” He spins back around in his chair to face the dual com
puter screens on his desk.

  “What is it?” I ask slowly, stepping forward for a better view over his shoulder.

  “The cameras we installed are working. We’ve got nearly three hundred and sixty degrees of vision, and a couple of them even rotate.”

  “Nice.” I’m amazed that something went right. “Those are pretty clear pictures.”

  “They’re set to stream back steady feeds, but they’ll only record interesting movements. The cameras are smart enough to sense humans and animals. Faulk still hasn’t gotten much out of your laptop, no way he’s giving up till he does, though. You said the animals disappeared regularly?”

  “Yes. They started to,” I say, choking back sadness.

  “How often? Are we talking weekly? Nightly?”

  He turns and we lock eyes.

  I swallow.

  “No, it wasn’t nightly, more like...a couple of times a week, maybe? Some weeks were quiet stretches, nothing out of the ordinary. No weirdness for a week or more. There was no real schedule—not one that I figured out, anyway.”

  “We’ll see. The cameras should be a big help.”

  “But it could be days before anything happens. Bruce and I—”

  “Hold up, darlin’. We need to talk about that, too.”

  I nod slowly, knowing that even with the barn strapped up with new locks and strong enough to hold Bruce, the two of us can’t stay there long.

  Avery and Sawyer will figure out something’s afoot sooner or later.

  Grady leans back in his chair as he faces me, his shirt stretched over washboard abs that warm my blood. “I can’t keep lying to my daughters. You feel me? I’ve taught them that’s wrong, and my ass is grass if I ever wind up getting caught in a lie this deep. That’s setting an extremely poor example.”

  I’m silent, confused where he’s going.

  In principle, he’s right, but have no ideas for a good solution.

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I say. “What do you want to do?”

  “We’re coming clean,” he snaps off. Like it’s totally ordinary to admit we’ve got a Bengal tiger lurking around.

  “C-come clean?” I stutter.

  He nods. “I’ve decided to tell them the truth, or at least enough of it.”

  Holy crap.

  Shell-shocked, I stand stock-still for a moment, a lock of hair frozen in my fingers, mid-twirl.

  “How? You mean you want to tell them about me and...” I trail off, my mind floating.

  “Yep. About Bruce in the barn.”

  “What about Bruce in the barn?” I shake my head. “I mean, yeah, sure, tell them Bruce is here, I guess. If you think it’s safe. But are you thinking about telling them that he’s...stolen? That I took him?”

  For the first time since I crashed here, I’m genuinely afraid.

  I like his girls.

  I don’t want Sawyer and Avery thinking I’m a thief or that I’m just so freaking reckless I make it a habit to run off with wild animals. Would they even understand it’s for a good cause?

  “Willow?” he purrs my name softly. “What’s got you so worried? You’re safe with me. The girls are old enough to keep a secret, especially something this serious.”

  “It’s just...talk about poor examples! That would be me. Stealing a tiger to save him with nowhere to go besides your place. And I know you’re sticking your neck out, showing far more hospitality than any sane person should. Ha.”

  Blood surges to my cheeks, leaving me an awkward bundle in cherry-kissed skin.

  His slow-burn grin nearly knocks my socks off as he stands, and next thing I know, those huge arms wrap around me.

  Dear God.

  He’s such a handsome, warmhearted guy, especially when those mahogany eyes sparkle with humor and whisper quit worryin’.

  He doesn’t need to say it.

  I read his face so loud, so clear, I desperately want to believe it.

  “We won’t tell them everything. They don’t need the dirty details about the place you came from or what animal trading psychos do. So we’ll tell them he was endangered, threatened, and now we’re working to find him a good home. Somewhere he can live out his days in peace and comfort. How’s that, darling girl?”

  I’m shaking when I smile, my hands pressed tight to his back.

  “I think you’re making dumb decisions sound righteous and respectful.”

  “Because yours aren’t dumb. You put that big cat first, tried to do what’s best for him, for all of those poor critters the assholes still have locked up.” His face slips closer to mine. My breath stops before he says, “Trust me on this. You’re a good person trying to do a damn good thing. No shame in that, and no need to hide it from folks you can trust.”

  I watch him for a breathless minute, wondering about his change of heart.

  Hopefully my recklessness isn’t infecting him.

  It’s easy to appreciate his honesty, his need to keep his girls on the straight and narrow, but this is about his ten-year-old daughters and a full-grown tiger.

  Something else strikes me then.

  “Oh, no. You’re worried they’ll notice the new padlocks and get curious sooner or later, aren’t you?” I whisper. “Your kids are roamers.”

  He leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “They’re brilliant girls, no question. It’s only a matter of time till they wonder. I don’t think they could ever pick the locks, but shit, I’m not rolling any dice I don’t need to.”

  I’m trying hard not to laugh.

  This isn’t a laughing matter.

  The girls could get hurt if they somehow snuck in the barn and surprised Bruce. But it’s how he’s worried about the slim possibility of being one-upped by his precocious ten-year-old daughters that makes it kinda funny.

  People never give kids the credit they deserve until there’s trouble.

  Grady just might be saving himself some major heartache.

  As our gazes remain locked, I sense that wildfire tingling under my skin.

  His eyes are these glowing fires, brown eyes lit like flaming coals. I can’t ignore the intensity, or the fact that his touch feels like a furnace.

  If I hold on too long, if I get closer, he’ll burn me right now.

  “You’ve raised them well,” I say, desperate to shift the subject.

  “If you say so.” Eventually he grins. “I’ve also taught them not to lie.”

  Relieved, I let my laugh out.

  “I’m sure you have, and I agree wholeheartedly that they’ll come skulking around the barn sooner or later. I know I would at their age if my dad started installing locks that weren’t there last week.”

  “Same,” he admits, finally peeling away from me.

  “When do we tell them? And how?” I ask, walking with him through the man cave.

  “You tell me. When’s Bruce going to be up for some company with his hurt paw?”

  Oof.

  I act like I’m considering my options, tapping my chin with one finger. Honestly, I’m buying time because I hardly have a clue.

  He’s watching me as we walk, and I have to admit, I haven’t felt so nervous in a long time. I haven’t spent a lot of time dating, not with a full load of school, internships, and fieldwork, but if I had the time, if I wasn’t just complicating his life...yeah.

  He’d be a breathtaking man to enjoy alone.

  Over a nice glass of wine or completely naked.

  “Well?” he asks, nudging me along.

  Half afraid he’s been reading my mind, I say, “How about after supper? As long as we keep a safe distance, I think his paw’s on the mend. New people won’t freak him out. There were visitors all the time at the sanctuary.”

  “Our dinner or his?” Grady asks with a smirk.

  “He’s already had his, so ours.”

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  “A little bit, why?”

  “Just thinking that goes along with being a nanny.” He shrugs. “Aunt Faye cook
s for us.”

  “I thought we were coming clean?”

  “We are, darlin’, but look...I still need a nanny. I’ve got a bar to run, kids to raise, and the big fat mess with finding a tiger a home.”

  I’m not offended, and it’s given me an opening.

  I bite back a smile. “You sure about that? Part of me thinks it’s just because you don’t want Hailey Wood’s mother taking the nanny job.”

  “Hell no!” he snaps.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m never getting married again, and I don’t fancy beating her off me with a stick,” he growls, a defiant scowl on his face.

  I burst out laughing. Is it really that bad?

  When I look at him again, I have my answer: yes.

  Not that I can blame Miss Wood. Grady has strongman good looks and a fierce attitude that invites lust to make logic into roadkill.

  “Her mom’s that desperate?”

  “Yeah. Buckshot to the face would be less subtle than Linda Wood trying to stake her claim on yours truly.” He thumbs his chest and gives me a frustrated grin.

  I laugh again.

  We’re almost to the stairs, so I slow my pace.

  “Poor baby. Should I feel bad for you?”

  He stops and looks at me for several heated seconds.

  “Will it make you be a nanny for my girls?”

  My lips turn up again.

  “Probably.”

  “Then, yeah, woman. Feel sorry as hell for me. I’ll be your lion with a splinter in its paw.”

  Holy Toledo.

  The urge to kiss him flares right down to my toes.

  It must be those wild eyes like melted chocolate rolling down a sundae, or the way he towers over me, or the patchwork of military ink and intricate tattoos running down his arms.

  Or maybe I’m just on the verge of being dangerously smitten.

  The verge, I said.

  Don’t take that as a confession that I already am.

  Because I know what happens if we start crossing lines that should be carved in stone.

  If I let myself get closer to this lunk, if I start treating him like he’s more than just a kind small-town stranger who came to my rescue...

  It won’t end well.

  It’ll probably end with my smitten heart blown to smithereens and all seven winds.