The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  His grin is so cocky, I have to retaliate.

  “Well, there are a lot of stories. Some start with 'Let there be light.' Others think there was a great Big Bang at the beginning of time and—”

  “Very cute, smart-ass,” he blurts out, chuckling so much his chest rumbles. “I’ve heard those beginnings.”

  “Have you?” I ask, secretly enjoying the good-natured way he flings my humor back at me. Some people don’t get it. Heck, sometimes I don’t get it either.

  Also, he called me cute.

  Sort of.

  “Yes. And I deserved that one,” he tells me, shaking his head.

  I touch my finger to the edge of my lips and hold it up in the air.

  He bows his head, signaling his acceptance of the score.

  Sassy Chick in Peril: 1.

  Big Daddy Hotness: 0.

  “Start with Bruce,” he says, his tone turning serious. “What made you steal him?”

  “Love,” I answer instantly. “Seriously. It was love at first sight. He was my baby since the day I started at the refuge. I took extra time to treat him well, always making sure he got everything he needed. I don’t care what he is. I think he appreciates it, too.”

  I have to press a hand to my heart, feeling a flood of adrenaline, love, and anguish for my poor lost tiger.

  “When was that?” Grady prompts, taking another pull off his coffee.

  “A few months ago. Jobs with big cats are hard to come by, so I was floored when one of my old professors forwarded me a job announcement for the rescue in Minot.” I don’t mention the fact that it arrived on the very day Dad told me he’d secured me a position with a prestigious wildlife group he’s affiliated with overseas.

  That job wasn’t working with cats, though. The Minot job was. I followed my heart to flyover country and one big beast who still needs my help.

  “I sent off my application that morning. Within an hour, I had a phone interview, and the rest was history.” I shrug. “They hired me practically on the spot.”

  “Impressive. But?” He holds his coffee in the air, waiting for the catch.

  “I’m getting there...”

  I swallow hard.

  There are so many things I wonder about now in hindsight...

  Like I thought it was weird when I searched the rescue’s website and there wasn’t a job announcement on it. There wasn’t even a posting archived in a Google cache.

  “Of course, they had to do some background checks, but in a week, I was packed and on my way to Minot. I met Bruce my second day there. That was also when I noticed that their actual cat facility was lacking, nothing like what I’d been told.”

  “Yeah? How?” he urges, leaning in, those eyes like mocha swirl as the morning light hits them.

  “Well, I started noticing other odd, quirky things. Pretty minor at first, almost forgettable to a normal person. Lights I was sure I’d turned off the night before glowing in the morning, markings around the cages...when I asked for maintenance logs, I was told the database crashed. We recorded everything electronically. They said their IT person was still working on recovering everything.”

  I look away, taking a deep breath, before I fall back into Grady’s eyes.

  “But when animals started appearing and disappearing—always in the middle of the night long after my shift ended—and little blue stickers started showing up, I pushed harder for answers.” I close a fist on the table and squeeze. “I knew something stank to high heaven.”

  “Let me guess—they didn’t give you squat,” he growls, his brow cutting down like my anger is contagious.

  “Everything got weirder. Creepier. I started seeing my name on things like work orders, purchase orders, transfers...documents I never authorized. I didn’t have the authority.” I sigh, shaking my head. “When I showed an order to the owners, they didn’t see the issue. They swore it was an honest mix-up, and since it was all feed and supplies, I should just let it go.”

  “Bullshit,” he bites off. “Sorry. Go on.”

  “That’s what I said. My name on those orders made me responsible. The one liable. My gut said panic time and told me if something went wrong, the owners would blame me. That was why my name started showing up in these stupid 'mix-ups.'”

  I pause for another breath because whoa.

  The look on Grady’s face takes my breath away. He’s bowed up, tense, a human thunderhead charged with righteous indignation for me.

  “Anyway...” I continue slowly. “I knew I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. So I contacted a state conservation officer at the Game and Fish division after I stumbled across some animal permits that also had my name on them.”

  “Game and Fish oversees exotic animals?” Grady leans back in his chair, clenching his mug tight.

  “Not quite. It’s confusing because laws vary between states, even counties. In North Dakota, the actual license for a rescue facility comes from the North Dakota Department of Agriculture under non-traditional livestock. But lots of Class Three animals—your big cats, primates, bears, reptiles, and more—require permits to possess for every animal. Those come from Game and Fish. The state can get things mixed up between the two departments pretty easily.”

  I look down at my coffee, tapping my finger against the ceramic cup, gathering my words for the rest.

  “Maybe it was stupid, wishful thinking, but a small part of me wondered if that explained the errors. I hoped I was wrong to be suspicious. So I met the conservation officer, sure he could tell me how to change the name back to Priscilla and Niles Foss, the actual owners...”

  My throat tightens. My tongue feels like cotton. I don’t know how to go on.

  After several long, silent seconds, Grady stands.

  “More coffee, Willow? Can I get you some water?”

  He’s too good.

  “I’m boring you, aren’t I?” I joke.

  “No. I’m intrigued, but you need a break and I want more coffee. Keep going while I grab us a refill. What did the conservation officer say?” he asks over his shoulder.

  I shrug, watching him walk across the room.

  Digging at the truth lodged in my gut hurts, but I owe him that much.

  “Nothing. He never got back to me. I called him, sent him texts, emails, even called his supervisor. His boss told me Wayne was the one in charge of those permits, and he’d have him contact me. He said other people were on vacation and Wayne was busy covering them, but it was just...” I look up at him as he fills my cup with coffee. “Nothing but excuses.”

  “You got a full name for this dude?” Grady asks, walking back to the counter.

  “Officer Wayne Bordell.” I take a drink of fresh coffee and wait for Grady to join me again. “Those permits to possess I questioned were for animals that disappeared. Some were for animals I’d never seen show up at the sanctuary. Several jaguars and leopards, mostly. Then, a couple days ago, I saw one for Bruce. I have it in my suitcase, so legally, I’m the only one who can possess him.”

  “Glad you did your legwork,” he says, stroking his thick, dark beard. “But your boy has to be in a licensed facility, doesn’t he?”

  I sigh, flustered that he’d catch on so quickly.

  “Unfortunately, but I had to get him out of there!” I hiss. “Yesterday morning, I noticed his paw was hurt. It looks like it was burned, branded, and maybe the iron had stuck to his pad and torn it. He kept oozing blood. I called the vet, insisting on a visit. It wasn’t a total emergency, so he said he’d be out the following day. Then, toward evening, when I went to check on Bruce again, I saw it. A little blue sticker above his cage.”

  Never, for as long as I live, will I ever look at a simple little sticker the same way.

  To me, they’re omens, the darkest kind.

  “Sticker? I don’t follow,” Grady says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well...I’m not sure. Not completely. But I know it’s nothing good. I have the one I peeled off Bruce’s enclosure in my
suitcase. They have some kind of odd numbers embedded in a different shade of blue. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I can’t figure it out. Every animal that’s disappeared had one above their cage before they went MIA, though. I knew what was coming. I swear to God, I couldn’t let that happen to him, so I...”

  “You jacked him,” Grady says with a nod.

  “Basically. I waited until everyone else left before I loaded him up. The closest sanctuary without any ties to Minot is in Wyoming, so I figured if I could just get him there, he’d be safe while I sort out what’s really going on.”

  He holds up a hand, as if he has a question.

  I wait, taking a sip of strong black coffee.

  “Hold up. Am I assuming correctly that the truck and trailer are also stolen?”

  Uh-oh. There go the wheels turning behind that handsome face again.

  I nearly choke on my coffee but manage to swallow it ungracefully without making a mess.

  “Um...maybe?” My throat burns and it comes out like a low squeak.

  “Shit!” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, grasping the bridge of his nose before sweeping his hand away and leveling a razor-sharp gaze on me. “What else did you steal?”

  I swallow another boulder.

  It hurts because my throat is locking up.

  “Just a laptop. Honest. That’s the end of it.”

  “A laptop,” he echoes coldly, his entire demeanor shifting as his thick hand flops against the table. Not quite slapping it deliberately, but the effect is just the same. I wince. “We both know it’s not just a laptop, Willow. It’s data, probably the incriminating kind that’s gonna piss off a whole lot of people who’ll want to keep it under wraps.”

  “Grady, I know!” I throw back, worried by the lines showing on his forehead.

  He stands up in a quick, angry burst.

  “Dammit, woman, I’ve got two kids! They’re just little girls. I can’t be roped up in—”

  “I know!” I shout again, this time louder, pulling at the ends of my hair.

  He sounds so worried, so stunned, my heart is pounding. Harder than it was when I’d left the rescue last night in a stolen vehicle with a stolen tiger.

  “Grady, I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I won’t. As soon as my truck gets fixed, I’m gone. No one ever has to know I was here with Bruce. You’ll never hear from us again. I swear. And...and I’ll still give you a reward for helping me. Every penny I can muster.” My voice cracks.

  Dad won’t be happy to have me come begging for money from my trust fund after blowing my life savings on rescuing Bruce, but I know he’ll understand.

  Who knows, if I’m lucky, maybe there’ll be some reward for turning in the Fosses, if it gets that far.

  But Grady stops pacing, pushes his hands behind his back, and turns to stare at me.

  “For the thousandth time, Willow—I don’t want no damn reward.” He grabs his phone out of his pocket.

  I leap to my feet, ready to do the same desperate snatch and grab as I did last night.

  “Oh, no. Please, Grady, please don’t. Don’t call the sheriff. Please.”

  I have to think fast. Searching for a way to convince him, I circle around his massive shoulders to face him.

  “One paw! Just one freaking paw of Bruce’s is worth over a thousand dollars on the black market. Did you know that? His bones are worth over a hundred and fifty dollars a pound, and if they’re made into wine...it’ll sell for over thirty thousand dollars a case. It’s sick. His hide is worth twenty thousand dollars, and his eyes—”

  “Wine?” Grady stops in his tracks, flaying me open with a look.

  Here come those tears.

  “Y-yes. Tiger wine is a specialty, highly sought for its supposed medicinal benefits.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I know! That’s why I couldn’t leave him there. I couldn’t let him disappear to be killed and harvested or...who knows. I’m sure Priscilla and Niles are connected to the black market. There are just too many shady things going on there for them not to be. So please...please, just let me get my truck fixed and I’ll be off like a rocket! I promise you’ll never hear a peep from me again.”

  He’s back to pacing the floor, much like a big cat does, slowly and angrily moving back and forth, turning his head to look at me every now and then.

  Court is in session, and something tells me I did a bad job pleading my case.

  But I bite my lips together, standing there, holding my own just like I would with a pissed off tiger in a cage.

  Like Grady, they’re strong, silent when mad, and don’t like to be told what to do.

  He stops in the middle of the floor. My heart freezes, because whatever he decides to do, I won’t be able to stop him.

  My fate is in this stranger’s hands.

  One way or another, I’m doomed.

  He could turn me in. He could get Bruce confiscated. But he’s also the only one who can help me right now.

  With those bourbon-dark eyes locked on mine, he squeezes his thumb against his phone and swipes the screen.

  My heart goes crashing down in a flaming heap of loose knees and breathless prayers.

  4

  It’s a Jungle (Grady)

  Willow watches me the entire time I’m on the phone, but I rip my eyes away.

  I can’t look at her anymore.

  Can’t let her tears affect my judgment.

  Can’t put my girls in danger.

  That’s the bottom line.

  No woman, no corruption story, and no crazy-ass tiger is worth more than Sawyer and Avery. The things she’s talking about are fucking Twilight Zone territory.

  Black-market bones, eyes, tiger wine?

  Ludicrous.

  Still, I don’t have the heart to turn her in and leave the tiger to state officials. Not yet, anyway.

  This nagging pulse in my petrified lump of a heart says, Wait, you idiot. Help her.

  So that’s why I press the phone against my ear, ignoring her longing looks and stalled breaths, trying to do my damnedest to save both of our gooses from being cooked for Christmas.

  “Tomorrow?” I grunt.

  My mind stops to clarify what Weston just said.

  “Yeah, Uncle Grady,” he says. “Tomorrow at the earliest. I had to order the part from Bismarck and you know how it goes shipping things from there. Rain, sleet, snow, and timeliness don’t apply here in Dallas.”

  Fuck!

  Too bad he’s right. I keep the curse silent as Weston talks up the condition of the truck, how he spent time giving it an oil change and tuning it, then went looking for other issues that could trip any driver up.

  “All right, man. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” I click off the phone and set it on the counter.

  “So will my truck be done today?” Willow asks, hope gleaming in her wet, shiny eyes.

  She’s stopped freaking out for now, after she realized I wasn’t calling the cops.

  “No,” I say, as disappointed as she is. “Weston’s got your part on order, and he found a few other issues.”

  “Oh.” She freezes and casts me that helpless look again. “Like what?”

  “Bent tie-rod, for one. He can tell by the wear on the driver’s tire.”

  “A bent what?” She shakes her head, giving me a skeptical stare. “Wait, wouldn’t I have known if something was bent?”

  “How does it steer?” I ask, mainly because I’m trying to process what the hell I’m gonna do with this chick and her man-eater being holed up here longer.

  “Fine, I guess. I never had any trouble.”

  “Even turning corners?” I ask.

  “Yep. It turns just fine.” Her face falls, and then she does the thing where she touches the end of one long lock of chestnut hair to her lips.

  Her nervous tic sends an instant rush of fire to places it damn well shouldn’t.

  I pinch my jaw.

  Yeah, I need her gone as fast as possible, along with that t
iger, and it’s not just the danger they pose.

  The longer they’re here, the more I realize it’s not even a question—bad things will happen.

  I’ve got half a mind to load up her cat and offer to haul them both down to Wyoming myself, except she looks at me again. The girl’s a blue-eyed medusa, and my train of thought is already flying off the cliff as she opens those pert strawberry lips.

  “Well, come to think of it, the truck sorta jerks whenever I’d turn left on ramps or streets going through little towns. I just figured that was the trailer or something. If it’s not that...” She huffs out a breath. “Crap.”

  “Told ya. Classic case of bent tie-rod if I ever heard it.” I’d already believed Weston. Having her confirm it was just for her benefit.

  I wish like hell it wasn’t.

  I really need her out of here, dammit.

  “Call me crazy, but here’s a thought,” she says, brightening and snapping her fingers. “I’ll buy a truck! There must be somebody around here willing to part ways with wheels able to pull a trailer?”

  My brows go up.

  “Using your unlimited spending credit card?” I try to soften the blow.

  “Yes,” she says matter-of-factly.

  It’s hard not to groan.

  Instead, I level a solid stare on her. “So anyone looking for you can track your purchase nice and neat, huh? Find out what you bought and when?”

  For a second, her mouth opens, then closes again into a thin frowning line.

  Her eyes grow as round as quarters before her shoulders droop.

  “Oh,” she mutters sadly.

  My heart doubles over for the poor girl. She obviously has no clue about the weight of the situation she’s put herself in—the same trouble I’ve stepped in by helping her.

  She also doesn’t know the first damn thing about keeping a low profile.

  Not good.

  “Tell me this. Did you use your card on your way here?” I ask, studying her closely.

  Sighing, she runs a hand through her wavy brown hair, making her bangs bounce as they fall back in place.

  “No. I’m sure I didn’t. The truck had a full tank of gas. I never stopped until it up and died at your place.”