by Snow, Nicole
Her cheeks turn pink as she looks everywhere but at me. “I pressed his paw into the clay...”
“Damn, isn’t that against your own rule? Never getting too close unless it’s absolutely necessary?” I bite back a smile.
She gives me a shaky nod, twirling her hair pensively.
“Yes, but I wanted the girls to have something to remember him by. I took a risk and I’m kinda glad I did...” Her eyes drift to the house. “I can’t believe this, Grady. How all these people turned out to help. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I shrug. “Good people live here. Neighbors who still act like neighbors.”
“You’re a lucky man to have this many wonderful people in your life,” she says, a whimsical smile on her face.
“No argument.” As we start walking to the house, I broach a subject I’ve been putting off too long. “So, after Bruce is settled in Wyoming and this FBI crap ends, I was thinking...if you’ve got no other plans, you’re welcome to come back here and stay till you—”
“No! Oh, I mean, I...I can’t do that. But thanks. Thank you, Grady. I just have to get home and figure out...well, everything.” She flushes, never meeting my eyes, and increases the speed of her walk. “Granny’s leaving. I want to say goodbye.”
I don’t even follow her into the house.
I just stand there, gutted, watching her disappear inside, feeling like a boulder just dropped on my head.
19
Ride the Tiger (Willow)
I’ve had rough nights, where my mind just won’t shut off, but last night was a bottomless freaking abyss.
I wake up with my pillow soaked and my eyes sore.
After everyone left yesterday, Grady and I avoided each other—there’s no nice way to put it—and the mood lingers the next morning.
We’re both like hurt, fragile things.
Every soft kiss and urgent moan we ever shared feels like it’s been stolen, my heart murdered and dragged out of reach, cast out of this strange temporary paradise we shared.
Foolish?
Absolutely.
I knew from day one I’d only be here for shelter. Even on our hottest nights, when we spent so much time locked in fevered kisses and hushed cries, I never stopped planning my post-Grady life.
Now try telling my heart that.
I’m so torn about leaving I can barely slug down a cup of coffee, looking away every time he’s in the room. Trying and failing to hide the redness in my eyes.
For the first time in my life, my sadness, my worry, my loss has nothing to do with big cats, much less my own future.
It’s losing the present, everything I was never meant to share with this rock of a man.
Don’t get me wrong.
I still want to work with exotic animals and pursue my dream. I’m just wondering if I’ve been wrong in thinking that’s all I ever wanted.
Living here has shown me what I was missing by not having a big family, never being truly connected to a loving community.
This swift detour through madness also revealed what it’s like to fall in love.
Before Grady McKnight, I was clueless.
Sure, I know what love is with Bruce, with Dad, with family...
But with the big tall drink of growliness who’s still messing up my head?
Love is a whimper of pain.
A heart rending in half.
A brief, all-devouring passion that whispers false promises and turns hearts to salt.
All because love is also this sharp, jagged shape that just won’t fit into the neat round hole of my life, and our love is so twisted and unexpected and impossible it can’t squeeze into Grady’s life-mold, either.
At the sound of the front door opening and banging shut, I squeeze my eyes closed, holding back another flood of liquid misery.
After last night, you’d think the well would’ve had to run dry.
Nope!
Lucky me.
I’m smoothing out the last picture Avery drew for me, the one she said I could take. It’s almost identical to the drawing hanging on the fridge with the four of us and Bruce.
I tuck the lovely memento away in a notebook, close my bag, and zip it shut.
Yes, I’ve already put the letters I wrote to each girl in their bedrooms.
The one I’ve penned for Grady is resting on my pillow, together with my tiger-striped bracelet in gold and onyx.
The bracelet is decently valuable, and once I’m able to access my bank account, I’ll send him cash instead. Faulk advised me not to use my credit or debit cards until they’re cleared for use by the FBI.
Call it collateral because that’s better than what it really is.
A splintered, sad fragment of my heart that will always belong to him. The bracelet just gives it substance.
“Weston’s here.”
At the sound of Grady’s voice, I draw in a deep breath to ease the erratic pounding of my heart, then pick up my bag and turn around.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
It’s early, dawn is barely breaking, and the number of vehicles in the driveway is a bit overwhelming. I still can’t get over how many willing and able-bodied people turned out.
No, not just willing.
Actual heroes.
“How should we get Bruce in the trailer?” Grady asks. “The new ride’s too tall to back into the barn.”
His gaze is like a sweet brown honey I’ll never taste again.
I thought about the move this morning while feeding Bruce, and decided the easiest way would be for me to just lead him. “I’ll use a leash.”
“A leash?” His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re shitting me, right?”
“Well, I’m sure you country boys call it a lasso. You have one, don’t you? It’s only a short distance into the trailer once it’s pulled up, and I’ll just walk him inside.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’ll work.” I walk down the steps and see Weston standing near a truck with a huge trailer hitched to it, his eyes sharp and focused.
“Hey, Weston. Go ahead and back up to the barn door,” I tell him.
“Yes, ma’am.” He snaps off a crisp salute and sets to work.
Once he does that, I put my bag on the back seat of his pickup. Grady is at my side when I close the door, holding a rope in one hand.
“Thanks.”
He holds the coil out of my reach. “At least let me rope him.”
“Okay. We’ll need to do that before opening the door.”
Faulk, Drake, and Hank are all here, too, along with their wives. Grady gets them all in position before we enter the barn.
Bruce is snoring near the concrete block wall, his whiskers twitching in his slumber. The sight makes me smile, and also feel a little sad.
He’s gotten used to this big old barn. I hope he’ll tolerate Let’s Roar just as well.
“Looks like you aren’t gonna need to lasso him after all. I can just drop the rope around his neck,” Grady tells me.
I don’t argue. We make our way around the brick wall to where Bruce is sleeping and climb up on the concrete base blocks.
“He’s going to lift his head when I say his name,” I whisper. “Just make it quick. Drop the rope around his neck, but don’t pull it too tight. We don’t want to startle him.”
“Will do,” he whispers, positioning the rope in his hands.
“Hey, big guy,” I say to Bruce. “Wakey-wakey. We’re going on a road trip. Hope you’re well rested...”
Just as predicted, Bruce lifts his head, letting out a mighty yawn.
Grady releases the rope over his head—a perfect catch—and thankfully it doesn’t faze Bruce at all in his groggy state.
We hear the door unlock. Grady steps out and tells whoever he’s positioned there to open it, just wide enough to expose the open end of Weston’s trailer.
I walk along the top edge of the concrete wall, then jump down and stand next to the ramp leading into the trailer, waving at Bruc
e.
If he wasn’t so tame, so content, so gentle, he could bowl me over and be on the loose in a flash, even with Grady holding the rope.
Luckily, Bruce is a gentle behemoth, and after standing, stretching, and yawning for what seems like forever, he comes plodding over to me and walks onto the ramp.
Just a few more steps. Come on.
I don’t release the breath I’m holding in until he’s safe inside.
Boom.
“Let’s roll!” I hear Grady yell out.
The men are quick to lift the ramp and Grady slides the loose rope off Bruce’s neck in one quick jerk. It tugs up over the cat’s smacking lips before the men close the trailer.
“Got everything you need?” Grady asks me after he double-checks the latches on the door.
I have the cash from Ridge for the donation, cash and a pre-paid debit card from Grady, all my belongings, and one big sleepy tiger.
Yep, I guess I’m good.
Never mind the fact that I’m leaving half of myself behind.
“Willow,” Grady says, laying a hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head, then slowly nod before pulling away from him. His touch ignites my skin and I can’t walk out of here on fire.
“I have everything, and for what it’s worth...thanks for all you’ve done. Have a nice life, Mr. McKnight.” I step away briskly, because if I don’t...
Disaster. I’d throw myself into those big arms wider than the sky and never let go.
Knowing I don’t dare look back, I walk to the passenger side of Weston’s truck and climb in.
“Time to fall out, people!” Faulk shouts.
I know the plan.
At precisely seven a.m. on the dot, every decoy truck not already on the road will hit the highways, giving the goons Priscilla and Niles sent into town, plus any incoming Federal agents, ample prospects to follow.
The truck and trailer I stole from Minot will also be leaving.
Weston drove it here last night, and it’ll soon be hooked up to the empty trailer parked next to the barn. Grady will drive it to the airstrip later, followed by Faulk.
Fear fills me at the danger they’re putting themselves in by driving that truck and showing up at the airstrip.
Then again, anyone helping me today is in deep doodoo.
I’ll just have to pray no one gets hurt.
Jacob Cook from Wyoming responded to my texts last night, confirming he can accept Bruce today.
I try to focus on that, on Bruce and his happy new home, as Weston pulls away from the barn and we start winding down the long driveway.
We’re part of the tactical line of vehicles leaving the yard.
I’m already numb when we reach the highway.
“So, Grady said I’m your company as long as you need me,” Weston says, an awkward note in his voice as he tries to make conversation. “Any clue how long that’ll be?”
Staring out the passenger window, I turn and say, “You can go as soon as we unload Bruce. I don’t think I’ll be needing anything beyond that.”
“You sure? Uncle Grady said you’d have to make sure he’s settled.”
“Oh, I will,” I answer. “But you don’t have to wait around for that. You’re going above and beyond just by chauffeuring us there.”
“Well, how you planning to get back home if I don’t? Figured you’d at least need a ride to the airport or something.”
“There’s not really a home to go back to,” I say glumly.
My heart clenches at the truth of that.
My dad’s empty place in San Diego hasn’t felt like home in years.
After a long silence, Weston asks, “So this is permanent? You aren’t coming back to Uncle Grady’s?”
“I can’t go back,” I say weakly, more to myself than to Weston.
“Damn,” he grunts, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess I didn’t realize that. Seemed like you two hit it off like a barn on fire. I figured you’d be seeing Dallas again, at least till you’ve sorted out the rest.”
The ding of his phone saves me from having to say more.
A message flashes on the blue screen on the dash. Heads-up. A black SUV just closed in and a man inside used binoculars to check what’s in my trailer.
Me, too. Flashes on the screen next.
“Shit’s flying from decoys already,” Weston spits, his blue eyes narrowing in focus. “We started a private channel so we can stay in touch. Hang on to your butt; this might get nuts.”
Awesome.
I should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy.
The texts become our discussion topic during our drive for nearly the next hour, especially when a message from Bella says a vehicle tried running her off the road.
“They chose the wrong target,” Weston growls, shaking his head. “Drake will have their asses locked up over that.” He laughs then. “Did you see what Bella had in her trailer?”
“No, what?”
“A bale of hay covered with a tiger-striped blanket.” He grins, showing off his white teeth with the sun slashing across his face.
Something that feels awfully rare for this man, even if I don’t know him.
“Really?” I ask. “Good thinking!”
“Yep, she’s a brainiac.” He gestures to the trailer we’re pulling with a nod. “This is one of Joyce’s trailers. No one can see in it because the vents are too high, mostly around the roof. It’s my truck, but her trailer.”
I nod, thankful for some good news.
More messages come swarming in. This time about a squad car in hot pursuit of the SUV that tried knocking Bella off the road.
Weston laughs again. “Told ya.”
The messages peter out then. Weston asks if I’ll stay in Wyoming with Bruce, and I explain that I will for a few days before booking a flight back to San Diego to regroup.
It’s all I can think to do before mashing a big fat reset button on my life.
I tell him a few fieldwork stories for the next hour, until he mentions the cooler in the back.
“Granny Coffey packed us some lunch,” he says. “I’m starving. You?”
“Sure.” I’m not hungry, but it’s something to do so I unbuckle and lift the cooler into the front seat and open it.
“What’s in there?” Weston asks, his eyes flicking urgently to the top.
I smirk. He looks a lot like his uncle when his stomach’s growling.
“Sub sandwiches, chips, fruit, cookies, bottles of water, and looks like some jerky.” I hold the stick of dried meat up, confirming.
“All of the above,” he says. “Thanks.”
That makes me grin. He’s a nice guy and certainly very helpful. I open a sandwich and set it out along with chips, an apple, and a cookie on the console, plus a water bottle for his cup holder.
“Thanks for all you’re doing to help me with Bruce,” I say, unwrapping a sandwich for myself.
“No problem. Happy to help.” He takes a bite of his sub. “If Uncle Grady asked me to go to the moon for him, I’d make myself into an Apollo astronaut.”
“Because he’s your uncle? Family?”
“Nah, well...that too.” He takes another bite, then chews and swallows, his thoughts shifting in his eyes as the sun catches them. “Thing is, Grady helps everyone, including me. When I got back from serving overseas, I had a few issues...he helped pull my head out of my ass and set me straight. I owe him. Besides, this is the first time he’s ever really asked for help. Like you saw back there, he had a small army ready to join in, no questions asked.”
His words make my heart flutter because I know just the Grady he means.
A proud, lion-hearted man who turned himself inside out just to let his friends into his life.
“Yeah. I noticed,” I whisper, straggling out the words before my throat closes.
“He’s always been too proud to ask for anything, even when he damn well should have,” Weston tells me, taking another Bruce-sized bite off his sub.
> I’ve still got a mouthful of mine, so I just look at him, unable to form words.
“I’m talking about when Brittany was sick and dying... Uncle Grady never asked anyone for help, and he sure could’ve used it. That shit ripped him in half. She didn’t even know who he was by the end.”
Food gets stuck in my throat and I have to swallow extra hard to push it down.
“She didn’t?” I finally get out.
“Nope. Poor lady didn’t remember nothing. Not him. Not the girls. Not her own frigging name. It was horrific. She had a feeding tube and Grady had to do everything for her. Everything.” With sad eyes, he pauses, raising a fist from the wheel. “Seemed like it went on forever. I can’t even imagine what it was like for my uncle. The end was a blessing in disguise when it came, putting her out of her misery, but not for him. Grady always thought he should have done more. He never realized he just...he couldn’t have. He’s a helluva guy but he’s not a miracle worker. There was nothing anyone could’ve done, and he ran himself raw caring for her. He was kind and faithful to the bitter end.”
“Wow,” I mouth numbly, feeling my pulse slowing to a crawl.
Ah, hello pain.
There’s that pesky heartache again, determined to make me spill a few more tears for the incredible man I left behind. The handsome man with a desperado’s soul I couldn’t even give a proper goodbye to.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Weston takes a drink of water, slugging it back like a whiskey shot. “Shit. I was just hoping he was snapping out of this funk he’s been in for years, finally getting over it and moving on with his life, y’know? The dude deserves a little excitement. A real date or two with a nice woman, if it’s in the cards.”
He turns that sad smile on me.
I wasn’t that hungry before, but now, I can’t take another bite and tuck the sandwich back in its wrapper. I had no idea Brittany’s death was so awful. So sad.
I’d never asked Grady directly, never pried into what he’d gone through.
No wonder he’s so viciously protective of Sawyer and Avery.
Of himself.
Watching someone he loved die like that gives a new definition to torture.
“If I had two wishes, Willow, I’ll tell you what they’d be,” Weston says darkly. “For one, I’d wish I could finally get my life back on track, bring in steady business at the shop, and stop looking over my shoulder.”
