The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  They get sprayed for good measure while I take my turn laughing it up.

  The sweet surprise ends a second later when a blast of water hits my back.

  What the? I pivot around, spraying Willow again, who’d snuck off and found another hose from the other side of the house.

  We’ve got ourselves an old-fashioned water war in no time.

  The girls try their best to join in when they’re not doubled over. Sawyer and I on one team, Willow and Avery on the other.

  We chase each other around the house, retreating only when we run out of hose, and then fly back in the other direction. When I notice Sawyer’s leg caught on the hose, I twist to pull it away so she won’t trip—

  Only to slip on the wet grass and go down myself.

  Timber. Bang. Ouch.

  So maybe I’m not as spry as I used to be on a battlefield in Babylon, okay?

  Avery, in charge of their hose, sees her chance and pounces, dousing me in the face so hard I’m shaking my head like a dog.

  “Hey, hey!” Willow says, reaching for Avery’s hose. “No waterboarding your dad allowed. It’s part of the rules to keep it fun.”

  I’m too fucking soaked to call out a warning as she moves, heading toward me.

  Willow slips on the same slick grass and goes down hard—right on top of me.

  A cheesy romantic comedy couldn’t have written the script any better.

  Though there’s nothing funny about feeling the last tether of my sanity snap as I’m down on the ground with a mess of country girl heartbreaker on top of me.

  My entire being leaps to life the second I make contact with her wet, slick body, suddenly pressed dangerously close to mine.

  Shit.

  The girls can’t help taking advantage, drowning us in endless sprays of cold water shooting from both hoses.

  Laughing, shrieking, and breathless, Willow buries her small face in my wet shirt as I bellow, “White flag, ladies! We give up. Mercy!”

  The water stops and Willow rolls off me, still laughing so hard she might break.

  She lets out another squeal after realizing she’s rolled into a big mud puddle.

  Then there’s a sound like Thor dropping thunder down on our heads. A miniature explosion that takes me a second to figure out it’s not some huge machine breaking down, but something alive.

  Bruce.

  Our good vibes and ham laughter come to a screeching halt.

  His raging growl—no, his roar—rips our world in half, leaving behind dread silence.

  My eyes go to the kids first.

  Sawyer and Avery are pale and boneless.

  “Oh, crap.” Willow leaps to her feet, hands up, shouting, “It’s all right! It’s all right, big dude.”

  A wicked chill lashes my spine. My eyes flick from her to the barn and back again, a reminder of just how deadly serious this situation is.

  “He...he just heard me scream. It’s instinct. He thought I was in trouble,” she says quietly, forcing a grin for the girls.

  Then Willow takes off running for the barn.

  “Stay here! Run for the house at the first sign of trouble,” I call behind me to the girls, leaping to my feet in hot pursuit, half expecting Bruce to come blasting through one of the barn doors like a wrecking ball wrapped in orange and black stripes.

  She’s working the locks by the time I find my footing on the wet grass and catch up. My heart’s fit to pound right out of me, worried as hell at the thought of her facing him alone.

  “Willow,” I growl, clasping her shoulder.

  She puts a hand on my chest, her touch soft and sure.

  “Stay out here. He won’t hurt me. He’ll calm down as soon as he sees I’m okay.”

  She looks like something from another world, a place that’s pure beauty, somewhere without demonic men and women who enjoy butchering innocent creatures.

  Water drips off her hair like a mythic siren who’s just emerged from the depths. Between the smear of mud and water mingled with sweat, her shirt is plastered against her like a second skin.

  “I’ll be fine,” she insists again, her voice hitching. “He just needs to see me, Grady. Be right back.”

  Snarling, I let go.

  Whatever, I’ll trust her, and hope to every god that ever existed this isn’t a fatal mistake.

  A second later, she slips inside the barn while I’m holding my breath.

  I grab the door, ready to rip it open at the slightest provocation, the tiniest hint this could go wrong.

  Yeah, she knows more than I ever will about tigers.

  Yeah, she’s all soft curves, taunting hips, laughter and eyes like gems and bubblegum-pink lips I want to bite. She’s every fragile sweetness a man knows he’ll die to protect, and hopefully I’m not about to have Bengal fucking tiger on my death certificate.

  I count for ten seconds.

  It’s eerily quiet.

  “Come on. Come the hell on, Willow Wisp,” I mutter to myself.

  Can’t help it. I open the door a crack and peer inside with one eye.

  “Nice and easy, you big baby,” she’s saying softly, just feet away from where he stands at the edge of his trailer. The woman’s a portrait of surreal calm, beauty and the beast brought to life.

  “I’ve never been better, Brucey. See? We were just messing around in the water, playing, just like I know you’re gonna love to do at your brand-new home.”

  The monster cat snorts, as if he wants to deny he’d ever be caught splashing around like a baby. Or maybe he’s just impatient as hell for the home she mentioned.

  “Yeah, buddy. That makes two of us,” I whisper.

  “It’s a scorcher today!” Willow continues, so close I’m expecting her to reach out and stroke his chin. “You’re so lucky. The bricks in this old barn keep it pretty cool in here. Nice and dark and cool as a fall breeze—just what a big old tiger needs, huh?”

  Bruce moves then.

  For a second, I’m about to hurl the fucking door open, even if I know I’d never catch him in time. Not before he’s on her and—

  Oh.

  The beast slinks by her like an overgrown tabby waiting for a can of tuna, rubbing its owner’s heels. Only, this fat cat almost bowls her over when his entire furry bulk brushes her side.

  A low purring rumble echoes through the barn.

  Okay. Shit. I’ll relax.

  Barely.

  “That’s it, buddy boy,” she says, watching as he walks into the hay. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all just fine and dandy.”

  I watch her back out slowly, putting a little more distance between her and our unbelievable guest.

  Soon, Willow stands near the brick divider wall. Bruce paces around the inside pen. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up and moving this much, and again, I’m struck by his size. That kitten could eat a buffalo for breakfast and still have room to spare.

  She shocks and awes me all over again by diffusing the crisis, whispering more encouraging words, willing him to take a “nice, long nappy time.”

  Huh.

  Looks like dealing with pissed-off tigers and upset kids has a lot in common.

  Bruce’s pacing slows, and standing in the center of the pen, he lets out a huge blustery yawn.

  “Sorry, Bruce. We didn’t mean to interrupt your nap,” she says. “Go on back to sleep. There’s nothing to worry about here. See ya later.”

  Bruce sinks into the straw, batting his eyes, and once she’s safely away, I push the door open, urging her to exit.

  Instead, she waves a hand for me to enter.

  “He’s chill now,” she tells me. “Honest.”

  I’m about to take a step inside when the girls ask if everything’s okay, both of them maybe five feet behind me. Too close for comfort in this situation.

  Willow hears them. “Tell them yes, let them have a peek. He’s half asleep. Not going to do anything.”

  I don’t trust easily, especially this, but I wave the girls over
, urging them to stay put behind me and look through the tiny crack in the door I open, too small for a tiger to shove a paw through.

  I wrap an arm around each one of them, and just like that, we stand at the edge, taking his royal highness in as he snores on his straw pile.

  Bruce lets out another purry groan, smacking his lips as he drowses away.

  What the hell do tigers dream about, anyway? I wonder if Willow rules his sleeping mind as much as she’s owned mine this past week.

  Willow steps out with a sunny smile, and I seal the door, triple-checking the lock.

  “Is he hurt?” Avery squeaks.

  Willow shakes her head.

  “That was so awesome!” Sawyer says with a laugh. “Can we see him a little longer? Please?”

  “Mind your father, girls. He was just making sure everything’s okay. He gets extremely worried when I scream, and unlike people, he can’t really tell a scary scream from a fun one. So, no roller coaster rides with Bruce. Ever.”

  I snort. The girls giggle.

  “Would he attack if someone was hurting you?” Sawyer asks quietly, a weirdly adult curiosity in her little voice.

  “Yes,” Willow says without hesitation. “If he could, he’d come charging to my rescue. But this barn is way too solid. He can’t escape, not even if he wants to.”

  “So stinkin’ cool,” Sawyer says, scrunching her nose. “I wanna have a tiger for a bodyguard.”

  “You have one,” Willow says, turning and giving me a side-eye. “But I think you call him Dad.”

  My throat thickens, and before I know what’s happening, I’m grinning like the biggest idiot on Planet Fool.

  This woman is imperfect perfection.

  A living, breathing, achingly beautiful contrast I want to keep in my tapestry of life.

  She has a way of taming everyone and making them feel like they haven’t felt in years.

  Exactly why she just might ruin me a whole lot faster than a brush with that tiger would.

  11

  Mating Call (Willow)

  Whatever it is that’s happening right now, I can’t put it into words to save my life.

  We had...a moment.

  No other word fits for an occurrence that isn’t meant to be put into language.

  It’s supposed to be felt, deeply, and this mysterious thing with Grady positively rocked me to my core.

  My toes are still curled in my drenched sneakers.

  He’s so, so...

  I don’t even know.

  All man, I guess.

  Power. Muscle. Good looks. Heart.

  A walking cliché of alpha goodness pressed into the skin and bones of a hero who could hold up the whole sky without breaking a sweat.

  I’ve never been this attracted to anyone else.

  Even when he’s soaking wet, covered in mud and grass, and afraid Bruce was about to eat me up, he’s so flipping handsome. My insides stick like a melted sundae.

  Let’s be real, they’ve been doing that for hours. Days. Weeks.

  Yes, I’ve got a major case of hot single dad-itis and I’m not ashamed to say it.

  While watching him work, laugh, and play with his girls, my admiration only grows. It swells like this steady rising flood. I’m terrified for the onslaught when the dam breaks and I can’t hide it anymore.

  Yes, that’s coming.

  Despite the fact that I’ve done nothing but detonate his life.

  He’d protect either of his daughters as fiercely as Bruce guards me, no doubt about it. He’s a hero in their eyes. It’s sad that he has to be a bigger one ever since I showed up to stomp around in their world.

  But he’s become a big snarly savior in my eyes, too.

  Not just because he’s helping me, but because of the way he loves his girls, his town, his little kingdom of this farm.

  Even with the door to the barn shut, I hear Bruce let out a low growl, another whirlwind of a yawn, and I smile at the girls.

  “Time to let him get back to sleep,” I tell them.

  “He sure sleeps a lot,” Avery says.

  “Tigers do that. You know how much a domestic cat likes to nap? They’re lightweights compared to big cats. Bengal tigers will sleep eighteen to twenty hours a day sometimes,” I say. “House cats sleep about twelve.”

  “Really?” Avery asks, rubbing her eyes like the sleepy talk might be infectious. “Wow.”

  I nod, gesturing to the door behind them.

  Grady joins me, standing patiently by my side, his huge shadow enveloping me.

  “But humans only sleep eight hours, and we still have a lot of work to finish!” I say, swiping at the mud covering my shirt. “At least we’ll be cooler now that we’re all wet.”

  The girls race back to the house, and Grady shakes his head.

  “You’re gonna work them to death, or at least to a good night’s sleep,” he grumbles.

  I bump him in the arm with my shoulder as we walk side by side.

  “Is that a bad thing? Are you saying I’m bossy?”

  He looks at me, and the undercurrent that sears the air between us is undeniable.

  “Don’t know, what do you have in mind, Miss Bossypants?” he asks.

  Trying to hide just how deeply he’s affecting me, I cover my smile and mumble, “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Later.”

  I speed up to a power walk, hurrying into the house.

  His laughter makes my body tingle, and so do his words.

  “Woman, you’d best not be foolin’.”

  Holy crap.

  It’s pure insanity to think anything could ever happen with us...

  ...isn’t it?

  He’s still mourning his dead wife. I have a tiger needing a permanent home. But outrageous complications aside, I have to admit I wouldn’t mind a frenzied romp or two with Grady McKnight one bit.

  I mean, what person with a pulse would turn down pure heaven?

  * * *

  Hours later, the four of us stand back to examine our handiwork.

  Bluish-grey granite stepping stones encircle the house, spaced neatly and almost as good as new. The nearby flowerbeds now host a wild bloom of irises, wild roses, and tiger lilies.

  We were careful where each one was planted, allowing the older roots of past plants room to begin their rebirth in safe new homes.

  “Those tiger lilies are going to look awesome when they start blooming on both sides of the steps,” I say, pressing my hands to my hips.

  “Yeah, they will!” the girls agree in unison.

  “I can’t wait to draw them,” Avery says, a slow smile curling across her face.

  “I can’t wait to take a shower,” Sawyer says, yawning.

  Grady laughs. “Now I know you’ve hit your limit. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before, babe.”

  “Well, you just did,” she answers. “Can I go shower now, Dad?”

  She’d wanted to earlier, but Grady said not till all the tools were put away. He’s such a dad nothing ever slips by, or maybe it’s just the military discipline.

  Whatever it is, it makes Grady a big fat spoonful of alpha-sauce, and it’s getting harder by the instant not to sneak a taste.

  He reaches out, ruffling her hair. “Run along, and make sure you scrub behind your ears.”

  As both girls make a racing dash for the house, he turns to me. “It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?”

  “For what?” I frown, wondering what I missed.

  “The medicated shampoo.”

  Oh, jeez, we’re still stuck on the great lice panic?

  “Yep, plenty of time. I’ve checked them daily up until this week and not a single nit was found.”

  “So it’s over?”

  “Grady. Dude. Have you still been freaking out about lice this entire time?” My eyes stick to his, barely holding in a laugh.

  “Not worried, necessarily, just concerned. They’re my girls,” he growls, as if anyone could forget it.

  “Oh,
Grady!” I laugh, throwing my arms around him in a hug. “The things that freak you out amaze me...”

  With a slow-burn smile that reaches up inside me, he drapes a massive arm around my shoulders as we start walking to the house. “Hardly. Think I’m still freaked that you aren’t scared being up close and personal with Mr. Congeniality in the barn. Does anything rattle you, Willow Wisp? I know huge cats and bug infestations don’t. Neither does hard work.”

  Because it feels too right, I loop my arm around his waist.

  “Nope. I’m like a little samurai-robot I guess. Growing up on safaris and research trips hundreds of miles from civilization makes you kinda tough. Resilience makes us stronger. Just like those flower roots we uncovered...in a few months, they’ll be regular plants, blooming like they haven’t been buried for years.” Leaning against him, I add, “And someday you’ll forget that Sawyer and Avery ever had lice. I think they’ll forget a whole lot faster.”

  “They’ll never forget today,” he says as we climb the front steps of the house. “Not sure it’ll leave my head for a good, long while, honestly.”

  Whoa.

  The depth and emotion in that statement makes me almost uncomfortable, even if it also makes my soul want to do a rock solo.

  So like every awkward turtle ever born, I try to make light of it.

  “It’s been a fun day, and I know how rare those can be. Hell of a workout too,” I say with a huff. “I’ll be eighty and my muscles are still going to be sore from all the gardening today.”

  “A hot shower will help that,” he tells me point-blank, opening the door for me. “You clean up, and then I’ll throw some steaks on the grill.”

  Oh, my.

  Is it the heat that’s making me dizzy enough to see stars...or is it just him?

  “Sounds great! Y-you too,” I stammer like a fool.

  The BLTs we ate for lunch, courtesy of Sawyer and Avery using leftover bacon from breakfast, had burned off hours ago. My stomach growls so loud I’m afraid Bruce might hear and think it’s another tiger.

  “I’ll throw some baked potatoes in the oven before I jump in the shower,” I say over my shoulder, eager to keep my hands and brain busy for a few blissful minutes.