The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “Thank God for that.” Relief escapes my lungs. “Rule number one of not being found: you don’t use plastic to pay for anything. No fill-ups, no fast food, definitely no ATMs. It’s cold hard cash or nothing.”

  She nods slowly, then shakes her head and looks down at the floor. I know a look of shame and I feel for her.

  I’m not here to lecture her into the ground, just help jog her common sense.

  Also wish I could stop fucking noticing her so much.

  Only, my traitor eyes flick down, staring at her bare feet with their pink-painted toenails, shifting slightly apart as she ponders.

  The grey leggings she’s wearing today show off her legs as much as the leggings did last night. The pink t-shirt with a cartoon tiger on it defines the curve of her chest a lot more than the baggy sweatshirt last night had.

  Without realizing it, I suck in a sharp breath and hold it.

  Christ. How much torture can a man take?

  A lightning bolt attraction is the absolute last thing I need in my life right now.

  Actually, make that second to the last. Because the biggest blunder in my entire life would be catching feelings—any feelings at all—for this frayed slip of a woman and her homeless tiger.

  What the hell happened to me last night?

  Is it just a twisted dream?

  Am I gonna wake up without Willow and Bruce and a colossal mess on my hands?

  A man can still hope, even if the sad pout on her lips tells me I’ll never be so lucky to pinch myself and make it go away.

  “Grady, I have to say...I’m sorry. I truly am. This isn’t your problem, and—”

  “Enough. Save the apologies.”

  I hold up a hand, needing her to zip it. If what she says is true, that there’s some sort of illegal black-market animal shit going on here in North Dakota, she could be in real danger.

  Probably already is.

  And that makes me the asshole who should be apologizing for not giving her total assurance I’ve got her back.

  Trouble is, I don’t know how to help her. Not with this insanity.

  I’m a thirty-six-year-old bartender and business owner pushing forty sooner than I’d like. Juggling danger like falling knives ended for me the day I hung up my Army sniper rifle.

  I straight-up don’t know enough about the illegal animal trade to save her bacon.

  I’ve never heard of tiger wine, and I wish I fucking hadn’t when the fact that it exists makes me gag.

  Still, I’ve got connections.

  If anybody would know about this illegal bullshit or where to find out more about it, and would tell me, it’s my buddy, Quinn Faulkner.

  As a former FBI agent married to his best friend, there’s little he doesn’t know and even less he hasn’t at least heard about. Especially after I helped him get that giant freak of a convict off his back when he came to Dallas gunning for Faulk’s head.

  “Grady?” Willow looks up at me.

  “Hang tight. I promise I’m not calling anybody to turn you in,” I say, picking up my phone.

  She turns her back to me and hangs her head.

  “I’m calling a friend. Just give me a minute.”

  She doesn’t turn around, but I can see her shaking her head. “The fewer people who know about this the better, you know,” she whispers.

  Like I don’t know that?

  Right.

  The last thing I want to do is dump this crap in anybody else’s sandbox, but I have to know what I’m dealing with before I decide what happens next.

  Willow needs help, that’s a given, but my kids’ safety comes first.

  “He’s a trusted friend and he knows when to keep his mouth shut,” I tell her, hoping it’ll make her feel a smidge better.

  Without looking back, she walks into the bedroom off the kitchen and closes the door.

  Whatever.

  Let her sulk. Separation works for now. She can sort out her thoughts and pull her shit together in peace while I pull up Faulk’s contact and hit Call.

  He answers on the third ring.

  “Grady! What’s up, my man? Everything cool at the Bobcat?”

  Leaning against the counter, I smile the second I hear his Oklahoma drawl.

  “The bar’s fine. I’m calling ’cause I need some intel. You got a minute?”

  “Sure do! Tory’s down at the new dance studio and I’m getting ready to mow the lawn, which can wait in this heat.”

  Hearing a noise, I say, “Hold on a minute.”

  The door to the bedroom opens and Willow walks in, wearing her knee-high brown leather boots. She skirts past me and then heads out the sliding glass door.

  I have to yank my eyes off her ass, bobbing like a lush fruit in those leggings.

  Pressing a hard fist against my thigh, I dig my knuckles in for focus and ask Faulk, “What do you know about exotic animals and the black market?”

  “Huh?” He lets out a snort. “You gotta be more specific than that. That shit is as deep as the ocean and just as wide. What’s going on?”

  My lips twist and I whip out the first thing that comes to mind.

  “You ever heard of tiger wine?”

  “Tiger wi—fuck, Grady! You don’t want to get caught up in that! Don’t tell me somebody sent a bottle to the Bobcat?”

  “Nah, nothing like that, thank God.” I shake my head and push off the counter to walk across the room and look out the sliding glass door. “It’s not my problem, really, but I might know someone who appears to be getting swept up in something like it. They need help.”

  “Shitfire, dude, you’d better start explaining,” Faulk growls.

  Yeah, he’s got me there.

  I can’t dance around the mammoth in the room, especially when that elephant is actually a wild cat bigger than the tractor I use for plowing snow.

  Willow enters the barn carefully, securing the door behind her. My eyes narrow like a hawk.

  While watching her, I give Faulk a rundown on the last twenty-four hours, and repeat everything Willow told me, hoping I don’t sound like I’m ready for the nuthouse.

  “Dude,” Faulk whispers as soon as I finish.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble back.

  “Okay. Dammit. This is gonna take some thinkin’. Good news is, your barn is the perfect spot to hold a tiger, but we need to get Ridge in on this. He can dig up a good vet considering how many movie stars own exotic pets. Hopefully one who knows about big cats and won’t say a word if we grease the wheels enough with cash. Don’t ask how I know that, I just do.”

  “Done,” I tell him, even if I’m not keen on the idea.

  It’s not a trust issue. Ridge Barnet has been nothing besides a rock-solid friend ever since he left his fancy Hollywood career, took out a few asshole mobsters, and decided Dallas was where he wanted to lay down roots with his wife and kids.

  “Next up, that brand or burn you mentioned needs to be looked at. There could be info. In the meantime, I bet we can get Ridge to butcher a cow or two for you to keep that cat fed. We both know his organic beef business is booming. Buying the amount of fresh meat you’ll need will raise eyebrows anywhere else. Don’t worry, I’ll call Ridge and get the doctor and the grub lined up. You need to take care of her truck. Where’s it at?”

  “Still at the Bobcat. West did what he could in the parking lot, but I didn’t want to bring it home and paint a target on my property if there’s anyone out on the highway, actively looking for it.”

  “Yeah, we need to get that ride hidden right the fuck now. What about the trailer? Is it still in your barn?”

  “It’s inside. I’ll get the truck hidden as soon as I get off the horn,” I say, already feeling better with Faulk’s FBI brains moving at light speed.

  “Cool, after I check in with Ridge, I’ll make some other calls. I’ll keep you posted on whatever I find out about these Foss people and the crooked conservation officer. Whatever you do, keep the tiger thief and her ferocious buddy out of sight.
” He pauses. “By the way, where’s Sawyer and Avery?”

  “Summer camp. Damn good timing on my part.”

  “I’ll say!” He lets out a happy sigh. “Man, I probably don’t need to tell you, but this is some serious crap, Grady. We’re talking devil dealing black-market runners doing things to critters you don’t even want to know.”

  Yeah, exactly what I’ve been afraid of.

  “I’ll be in touch soon,” Faulk says.

  “Thanks for reminding me what friends are for. Drinks are on the house for the next year if you help save my ass.”

  “Nah, you know my money’s good, Grady. And after what you did for me...what are brothers for?”

  I smile and click off, agreeing with that more than ever.

  My friends are like extended family, all of us baptized by the fires that love to visit this little town.

  My gaze lingers on the barn and I exhale slowly.

  Faulk didn’t need to drop that warning, but I read more into it than he’d said.

  If his instincts are right, Willow and her tiger are in grave danger.

  I call Weston to give him the latest. He’s already taken the liberty of towing her truck to his place and guarantees he’ll park it deep in the shed he uses for demo derby stuff.

  Perfect.

  He also assures me nobody else is gonna know about it, much less come sneaking around his property.

  I’ve barely hung up when Ridge calls and tells me to expect a vet before noon, and a massive delivery of carved up meat by tomorrow morning. I thank him and appreciate the way he doesn’t probe deeper. Not that I’d have expected it.

  Right now, I’m feeling damn lucky I’d hauled home an extra deep freezer from the Bobcat when I bought a newer model for the bar’s kitchen. It’s still in good shape and purrs like a champ.

  I head off to plug it in so it can cool down and tell Willow she’s not going anywhere.

  Not for a few days at least.

  She’s in the barn, sitting on one of the short walls of stalls that Dad used for birthing sows way back in the day. I nod at her, then enter the storage room and plug in the freezer.

  It’s a good-sized room but feels small when I turn and see her in the doorway.

  “Grady, look...I truly am sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to storm off after what you’ve done for me, and I never meant for you to get caught up in all of this. I’m just...stressed isn’t even the word.”

  The sorrow on her face could convince any jury.

  “Kitten, I know.” I gesture to a wooden bench along the wall. We’ll ignore that spontaneous kitten falling out of my mouth. “Take a seat. We need to talk.”

  She does.

  Then I lean back against the freezer, keeping as much space between us as possible. For some mysterious and worrisome reason, I want to give her a hug, let her know it’s not her fault.

  I’m also smart enough to know where that leads, though, so I keep my grubby paws to myself.

  “How’s Bruce holding up?” I ask.

  “Fine. He’s as content as ever.” Her face softens as she shakes her head. “He really is a gentle giant, a born sweetheart. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone murdering him for his parts. I only had one chance to stop it from happening. Take him and run.”

  “You’re totally sure that’s the dirty dealing going on in Minot? Black-market tiger stuff?” Redundant or not, I need to confirm.

  Even a little detail or two could mean the world to Faulk’s investigation.

  “I am. And it’s not just tigers.” She sighs, pushing her face in her palms. “The big cats are just worth the most. Everything I witnessed was for show—not for the good of the animals—and that’s why I questioned so many things from the start.” She leans against the wall, arms crossed. “I had a gut feeling right away, but...” Sighing, she adds, “But I didn’t act. I didn’t turn them in quick enough to the right person.”

  “That’s gonna change real fast. The friend I called was an FBI agent once—”

  “No! Grady—”

  “Hold up, honey, don’t jump to conclusions. I said was. He’s more like a retired private eye and farmer now, and he’s damn sure on our side. Another buddy of mine is sending a vet out here to look at Bruce’s paw and get some fresh beef to feed him. I talked to Weston again, too, and he’s busy towing your truck to his shop and will keep it hidden.”

  “Hidden? For how long?”

  I shrug. “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as what takes?”

  “Helping your sweet tiger-saving ass out,” I growl, nodding to the door. “And helping Bruce.”

  She gives me what looks like a real smile for the first time.

  At least these words of mine still do something.

  “I—it’s okay. We just need a ride to Wyoming. To the sanctuary there.” She tucks her arms around her shoulders. “No need to go through more trouble.”

  “Yeah? How do you know you’ll be safe in Wyoming?” I ask, casting her a fierce glance.

  She leans her head against the wall and closes her pretty blue eyes.

  “Honestly, I don’t. It was the only emergency plan I could think of on the fly.”

  Holding my breath, I will myself to keep my distance.

  A hug isn’t gonna make her feel better, or me.

  “We’ll know more after the vet has a look,” I say. “In the meantime, let’s go have some breakfast.”

  She agrees and lets me help her up by the hand. We head back to the house where I fry up an old-fashioned pile of scrambled eggs and bacon with toast.

  After we eat, I spend more time on the phone, following up with Weston, who has her truck securely hidden now. My backup manager at the Bobcat also gets a call, letting him know I won’t be in today.

  He’s just as surprised as I am at the fact that I’m taking a full day off.

  Seems like even when I do it for the girls, I usually manage to swing by there at least once.

  After that, it’s outside for chores around my place, and sweet distance from Willow.

  If only I had a hundred miles more.

  Shit, I know I’m getting in too deep already. Can’t have her or Bruce here when the girls get home.

  I consider calling Ridge, but his barn would never hold Bruce, and asking him to take on a fucking tiger after the trouble he’s had just seems wrong. Plus, he’s got a little one with Grace, not to mention his pumpkin-loving father-in-law, Nelson, always roaming around and looking for trouble.

  Faulk’s place is off limits too when Tory has a baby on the way. Drake’s is full of horses, kids, and has a direct line to the tiny Dallas PD since he’s a cop.

  There’s nowhere for Bruce but my concrete barn, dammit.

  I’m still outside when a familiar truck rolls up the driveway.

  It’s Ridge’s, but he’s not the one driving it.

  Assuming it has to be the vet, I walk over as the vehicle rolls to a stop. The guy looks middle-aged with short black hair and he’s wearing aviator shades.

  “Grady McKnight?”

  I nod.

  “Pleasure’s mine. I’m Mark Walton.” He opens the truck door. “I came straight here after flying into Dickinson.” Shaking my hand, he continues. “I’ve known Ridge for years, and he filled me in on everything he knew, but I might have a few questions after examining our patient.”

  “Of course.” I point to the barn. “He’s in there.”

  Willow steps out of the house and I gesture for her to join us.

  Good timing.

  “Ask her anything. She knows the cat far better than I do,” I say.

  The two of them introduce themselves and we walk to the barn. The vet questions her on Bruce’s temperament before we reach the door.

  Of course, all of her answers make Bruce sound like a harmless kitten. The way the vet looks at her over his dark glasses tells me he’s taking it with a boulder-sized grain of salt.

  Once we’re in the barn with the door sec
urely shut, the vet follows Willow as she enters the center pen and walks up to the side of the trailer. Bruce is inside, and from where I’m standing, I can hear a dull rumble rattling off the metal walls.

  It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s the beast purring.

  Guess that’s how he greets her.

  The two of them talk quietly. I’d have to step closer to hear, but considering that means entering a tiger’s lair?

  Nope.

  I don’t need to know what they’re saying that bad.

  As I watch from a distance, she whispers and croons softly to the tiger through the slats on the trailer while the doctor sets his case on the cement block railing and opens it.

  I don’t know much about doctoring animals, but nobody could miss that needle he pulls out.

  Willow climbs up on the side of the trailer and reaches through the window. She strokes the top of the cat’s wide head the second Bruce sits up in the trailer.

  The vet moves next to her, and though I can’t tell for sure, I’m fairly certain he just numbed up our furry friend.

  A few moments later, the two of them climb down and walk back over to where I’m standing.

  While Doc Walton says they’re waiting for the shot to work, Willow pulls her cell out of a pocket on her leggings and starts scrolling through pictures.

  “Here it is. I’ve got a few on here, you can just scroll left and right.” She passes the vet her phone, then tells me, “Pictures of those blue stickers I told you about.”

  “Have you ever seen anything like them before?” I ask the vet.

  “No, but I’ve heard of something similar. Markers. A few years ago, I worked on a documentary about the black-market trade in exotics. The film never made it to full production because the government stepped in and shut it down. The USDA agents told us we were spilling too much classified info on pending cases still in litigation. I saw right through it, and so did the producer.”

  I fold my arms. “Why?”

  “Because this kind of criminal bullcrap runs deep. They don’t want the general public to know,” Walton says, enlarging a picture, his busy brows furrowed. “Like who’s behind where the money comes from and where it ends up. When it’s a few bumbling clowns running a tiger sanctuary in the sticks, yeah, they’re happy to come down like a ton of bricks. But when the Feds or state officials are getting their cut? Nope. They’re happy to knock out their competition and take illegal kickbacks while pretending to enforce the laws.”