The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  The crowd erupts with laughter.

  “Gotta tell you, folks, I’ve been surprised several times since then because of her.” I look at Willow and chuckle along with the crowd. “Turns out, I’ve started liking those surprises, and I’ve made a big decision today. I’ve decided I don’t ever want ’em to end.”

  Willow stops laughing and looks at me, her eyes bright-blue gems, wondering what I’m doing as I step away from the mic.

  Let’s roll.

  I wave the girls over next to me, then pull the box out of my pocket, kneeling down on one knee.

  The crowd falls silent, half the womenfolk staring with their mouths hanging open.

  My Willow Wisp covers her mouth with both hands as she looks at me.

  With a single flick of my thumb, I pop the box open to show off the black onyx and diamond engagement ring. Several hushed gasps float over us, but they won’t stop me. A freight train barreling down on my head couldn’t.

  “Willow Macklin, will you marry me? Will you be my wife, my other half, my soul, and mother to my daughters? Will you keep surprising us every day of our lives?”

  Long dramatic pause.

  My heart stops a few times and restarts as her beautiful face twitches, completely frozen.

  Then she floats toward me like the wind, laughing and crying and nodding her head, a chestnut mane of hair spilling out behind her.

  “Yes, yes, yes, and yes! Yes to all three of you. Yes to you, Grady. Yes to us. Yes to forever.” She loses it as she throws her arms around my neck, and she’s not alone.

  I’m holding back my own man tears. They’re so hot and ferocious it might fucking break me, especially as she looks at me and says, “Talk about surprises! I love you.”

  The crowd cheers like some shit from a movie, and after several kisses, I slide the ring on her finger.

  Then comes the big family group hug.

  Willow and I first before we’re joined by the girls.

  Peter wraps his long arms around us last.

  I don’t think there’s a dry eye or a mouth not bursting with laughter when a loud roar splits the air. Our last family member joins in.

  Bruce.

  Who the hell knew cupid was a tiger?

  25

  Tiger Bride (Willow)

  Months Later

  “A girl’s wedding should be everything she wants it to be,” Dad says, fussing with his collar for what must be the millionth time as he tries on his tux.

  “It already is, Dad. This is a fairy tale come true,” I say, fluttering my lashes. “Look at this place. It’s gorgeous, it’s alive, and I get to be princess for a day.”

  We’re standing inside the new visitor center that was just finished and opened last week.

  The construction crews kept going all through the long, cold North Dakota winter to have the place ready by spring.

  Grady was there every day, too, a guardian angel ensuring it came to life just as I’d wanted when we’d drawn up the plans.

  With the help of many friends—mainly Grace Barnet and her fantabulous eye for decoration and design—we’ve turned the center into a one-day wedding marvel.

  An artistic ode to our love and to Grady McKnight.

  The man I’m marrying tomorrow.

  “I want your honeymoon to be fit for a spoiled princess, too,” Dad says with a laugh. “And suitable for Prince Charming incarnate. I asked him if I could plan and pay for your honeymoon, by the way. He agreed, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with a lavish trip to anywhere worth going.”

  I look at the folder in my hand, my heartbeat quickening.

  “Dad, this is more than a honeymoon.”

  “Indeed, Willow girl, it’s the beginning of your lives as man and wife, and our lives as a family.” He kisses my forehead and I suddenly feel so warm I could scream. “I’m picking Jelly and Beans up from school, and then we’re going over to visit Joyce to make sure we’re ready for your big day. So you take that folder up to the house, show it to Grady, and try to get some sleep. Use this time alone to pack so you’ll be ready for your escape ride after the reception.”

  He leaves with a parting wink.

  I take the four-wheeler up to the house, where I find Grady on the couch.

  “You look relaxed,” he says with a wink.

  I’m glad one of us is.

  Sitting up, he laughs. “Think I’m still hungover. Your old man knows how to throw one hell of a bachelor party. Poor Weston made the mistake of challenging him to a drinking contest and lost.”

  Smiling, I sit down next to him. “Speaking of my dad...he said you let him help with our honeymoon?”

  He winces. “Yeah, he insisted on throwing money at it, and I’m not looking to do battle with my future father-in-law over it. Figured he’d know where you always wanted to go for a few ideas, too. Why?”

  “Have you ever heard of an extended honeymoon?”

  He frowns. “How extended?”

  I open the folder. “Dad spends seven or eight months a year traveling, so his itineraries cover everything.”

  “Okay,” he grunts, hiding a smile. “Wait. You’re not talking about spending almost a year away from—”

  I laugh.

  Shaking my head, I start flipping through pages. “Just one amazing month, roughly. He has the bar completely covered with West, the rescue center running like clockwork, and he’ll stay with the girls here at home for two weeks before flying to South Africa. If you’re down for it, I’m hoping that’s where we’ll spend some time before they join us. And from there, all five of us can visit several countries for the next two weeks before coming home by summer.”

  “Damn, woman. You sure the Land of Oz isn’t on that trip?”

  I grin and set the folder on the coffee table.

  “Shit,” he rumbles, hooking me around the waist and lifting me onto his lap. “Whole weeks together, alone in places where we’ll be lucky to even have cell service? Whatever will we do?”

  The knowing glint in his eye has me laughing like a schoolgirl.

  “Not until tomorrow, handsome. Remember what you promised.”

  His teasing smile sinks. “Yeah, fuck. I said three days without getting busy so we’d be explosive on our honeymoon. Remind me to never make that promise again.”

  Falling against his chest, I run my fingers through his beard, gazing into his eyes. “It’s a one-time deal, mister. Less than twenty-four hours to go.”

  “Guess forever has its price,” he grumbles. “Let’s at least practice the sendoff, after our vows.”

  I have no objection.

  I never will when the man who moves heaven and earth brings his searing lips to mine and reminds me how deeply I’m about to be his.

  * * *

  Most weddings are a recipe of big promises, hot tears, and endless laughter between kisses.

  Ours is mostly endless kisses between promises, so many shameless tears, laughing until my sides hurt, and yes, tigers.

  No, we’re not crazy enough to dress up Bruce and bring a Bengal tiger strolling through a massive crowd in his own little tux.

  Yes, we’re just the right kinda crazy to say our I do’s in front of his fenced-in enclosure, where he sprawls out on the huge rocks, sunning himself and wondering why humans are so unbelievably strange.

  Another thing nobody tells you about weddings, even the ones with huge happy tigers—time breaks down into this intense, warm fizzy blur that feels like forever and not nearly long enough.

  It’s over before it starts.

  One minute, I’m lost in my own gaze, my eyes stuck to my epic beast of a husband as he’s standing at our makeshift altar, waiting for the pastor to finish in the sexiest old-fashioned brown suit ever.

  I barely remember walking up the aisle through at least a hundred friends, relatives, and smiling Dallasfolk. How my creamy bell plume of a dress floated behind me, feeling every bit the princess riding a cloud.

  I don’t even know what happens when I
hear kiss the bride.

  Because the first kiss with my husband—my husband!—rockets me right into the stratosphere on hungry wings of his lips, and then I’m gliding back down in this wonderful giddy mess I’m proud to call mine.

  Now and forever.

  Mostly, time is measured in my pulse, my heartbeat, every freaking second I get to hold Grady’s hand.

  And that huge, masculine grip unlike anyone else’s never lets go for a second as we’re making our way out after dinner. It feels like the heat death of the universe might happen before throngs of smiling people stop wishing us well, and before Sawyer and Avery let go of Grady’s legs before saying their goodbyes.

  As soon as they’re skipping back over to a gaggle of my dad, Joyce, and a very lovely and attentive Aunt Faye, our chariot awaits.

  The Barnets’ valet, Tobin, insisted on doing the honor of taking us into town with several magnificent black steeds pulling our white coach. It’s like something out of the Wild West as we clomp away, make-believe made real, and we kiss like there’s no tomorrow the whole ride...

  Of course, tomorrow will come, and with it the rest of our amazing lives.

  We’re just spending our first night as man and wife at the finest hotel in Dallas. It’s this beautiful place full of old-world charm and modern details that tickle my soul.

  I can’t stop laughing as the front desk gives us two bubbly glasses of champagne in a salute, while bellboys appear from nowhere to snatch our bags, and my husband—oh God, will it ever feel normal?—carries me into the elevator, down the hall, and over the threshold to the Executive Suite.

  “What’s so funny, Willow Wisp? Don’t tell me you’re already that drunk on champagne,” Grady says with a smile.

  I’m busy working my hands under his vest, obsessed with the moment he tumbles me down on the huge Victorian-style bed.

  “It’s hitting me now. A few weeks traveling sounds heavenly. Alone with nobody but you.”

  He sinks down on top of me and pulls me up by both hands, a second before he begins unwrapping me. Until today, I always thought the phrase 'blushing bride' was just a saying, and not something I’d ever become.

  My face feels hot. It’s cherry-red by the time I slide out of my dress, naked before his hungry eyes. They ignite so hot I feel braised the second he sees what I’ve been hiding under my wedding dress.

  “Fuck. Tiger print?” he rasps. “You’ve got to be shitting me, gorgeous.”

  I grin, folding an arm around his neck and bringing my hand down to start working at his buttons.

  “I’ve been dying to show you all day. You have no idea,” I whisper, ending my words with a lingering kiss that feels downright sinful.

  “Bull. You know what I’m eager for?” he growls, his fingers sliding into my orange-and-black-striped panties, forcing a moan from my lungs as his thumb rakes my clit. “Being married to you for the rest of my life, for one. Also, ripping this the fuck off you right now,” he says, fisting the fabric and throwing it down my legs in one jerk. “Love you, darlin’.”

  “I know,” I say, locking eyes as he frees himself from his suit. “And that makes me love you even more.”

  With hurried breaths, we finish stripping each other, then take our sweet time in languid kisses and caresses that might never end. Each and every inch of my exposed skin bristles under his touch, his kiss, his pitchfork of a tongue.

  God.

  Tonight, I’m determined to give him every bit of paradise right back.

  I definitely focus on one thing, dropping to my knees and taking him deep in my mouth. His loud growl is all the reward I need, using my tongue to play with the head of his dick while pumping the steel it crowns.

  He’s a man who can’t stand keeping his hands idle.

  I love it when he eases me up, pushing me onto the bed.

  His fingers find me soaked and so wanting it hurts. And fine, so maybe I’m the one who finally has to give in.

  I throw myself back, thighs pinching his fingers that know me better than I know myself. “Grady McKnight...I need you. Now.”

  My legs open.

  “You ever heard of patience?” he teases, pushing his fingers against my walls, his thumb still working my clit to sweet insanity. “Good things come to those who—”

  “Grady!” I spit. “Right now.”

  Laughing, he removes his hand, this dark heat entering his russet eyes as he positions himself above me with his cock pulsing in his hand.

  “You know how many days I’ve dreamed of this and nothing else? Sliding into my wife for the first time?” he whispers, rubbing his swollen head against my entrance, so close yet so flipping far.

  Oh. My. God.

  “No? Then let me show you,” he rumbles.

  Then those piston hips plow forward, and I take every inch of him in one steady, beautiful stroke.

  Holy yes.

  Yes.

  It’s a miracle my eyes stay open, but I’m so thankful they do.

  I fall in love in a brand-new way with the stricken look on his face, brown honey napalm in his eyes, the way his groan mauls the air.

  There might never be a sexier sight than my husband claiming me for the first time.

  At least, that’s what I think before feeling every inch of him as he goes hard, delving deep, his hips stroking me to an ecstasy so pure it scares me.

  Grady damn McKnight is a hammer, and he forces our future with every lightning stroke between my legs, every smoking kiss, every sharp, guttural cry drifting out of him as his pleasure builds.

  “Willow. Darlin’. Yeah. Fuck,” he growls, and even though I’m screaming my lungs out, I smile.

  You know it’s something special for a man when he’s down to one-word caveman talk.

  Folding my legs around him, I run my ankles up his strong ass and push, adding a plea when I say, “Come in me, Grady. I want to be full of my husband tonight.”

  The seething hot rush of air against my throat and the scrape of his beard tells me he’s happy to oblige.

  His pace quickens, his body coming down like a whip.

  Yes, yes, a trillion times yes.

  I love him so much, this sexy, amazing man who makes love to me every single time with more passion and life than he showed me our very first time.

  His warrior-like friction curls my toes as I feel myself tighten, hugging his magnificent cock, greedy for his release and mine.

  His climax hits first, triggering mine. The second I see his head snap back and his teeth bared, fully in rapture, perfectly synced to the swelling heat inside me and then the molten flood, I’m gone.

  We come together, I cling to him harder, and we both reach a level of delicious madness I never thought was possible before worshiping this man and receiving his love in return.

  “Holy shit,” he growls later, flopped down on his back, pulling me into his arms. “Can we make love like that in a tent all over the ends of the earth?”

  Straddling him, I wiggle my hips, loving how hard he’s getting again, if he ever went soft. Whatever it is, I’m hooked.

  “As often as you want. Try not to break me,” I promise, bringing my lips to his and my soul to those eyes far stronger than the finest bourbon.

  His smile happens in slow motion, this perfect imperfection.

  Will our kids have his adorably messy bed hair? I wonder.

  And I also wonder what I did to have Grady sent to me, a fallen angel who found his way as he led me to salvation.

  How did I get so lucky?

  How could I ever wish for more?

  I shudder, overflowing with this gratitude on the razor edge of insanity as his thumb traces my cheek, and his gaze captures me forever.

  “Remind me when we leave again?” he asks, an eternity of mischief beckoning in his eyes.

  * * *

  Thanks for reading The Hero I Need! Look for more Knights of Dallas coming soon.

  Curious what's in store for the McKnights and Bruce?

 
See what the good life looks like for human and tiger alike years after the wedding in this special flash forward short story. - https://dl.bookfunnel.com/ds2iti7fz8

  Then read on for a preview of another Dallas romance whirlwind, The Best Friend Zone with Faulk and Tory!

  The Best Friend Zone Preview

  Here We Goat Again (Tory)

  When I look back at my seventeen-year-old self, there are exactly seven minutes and twenty seconds forever burned into my brain.

  That’s how long it takes to get out of Granny’s little red Nova I’d driven over to Farmer Faulkner’s place, carrying a freshly baked peach pie smelling like heaven.

  How long I bite my lip on their doorstep, unsure if Quinn would even be home, much less receptive to a decadent dessert at ten o’clock in the morning. But Granny did give it her ringing endorsement, swearing it’s the best I’ve ever made from her recipe.

  How long I exhale in relief as a tall, handsome boy who looks a thousand times better than this pie smells opens the door with his trademark grin.

  How long I stand there speechless, staring up at him, and forget how to form words.

  Thankfully, Quinn remembers for me, holding the door open and waving me inside with a bewildered look. Even though we’ve been friends for years, I still get clogged full of butterflies when he shoots me that smile.

  “Don’t just stand there teasing me. Get in here,” he says with a laugh like a song.

  “Okay! I just baked it this morning,” I mumble, shocked I can speak with my cheeks in flames. “Granny’s recipe. We thought maybe you’d be in the mood for—”

  Record screech.

  Stop.