by Snow, Nicole
“Oh, Willow! Were you scared?” Avery whispers, biting her bottom lip with kitten-like eyes.
I throw back an easy smile.
“I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale if anything bad ever happened. But there was this brush with a herd of forest elephants once in the Congo Basin...they came trampling through our camp, spooked by a Jeep. This huge elephant reared up right in front of me when we came stumbling out of our tents. Dad barely threw me out of the way in time, right before the animal turned at the last second and decided not to run over him.”
The girls are speechless.
Grady gives me a look like granite, a single dark eyebrow raised. “Nice knowing you’ve made it through some close calls before,” he says.
I love how he implies I might make it through one more.
“Yeah. Let’s hope I have nine lives,” I say with a smile.
The memory makes me feel better about my current predicament.
“Seriously, lady. Camping along the Congo sounds unbelievable. You’re lucky to have those stories,” he tells me.
“Oh, no question. They were the most incredible times of my life. And that was the same trip when I fell in love with big cats. A few days on the road and we were up close and personal with a whole pride of lions. I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up.”
“Really? I’m going to be a writer when I grow up,” Avery says, a confidence in her tone that makes me grin.
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna own a farm and have every kind of animal possible!” Sawyer says, desperate to one-up her sister. “Maybe even tigers!”
“You go, girl. I’ll write about a farm with a hundred tigers,” Avery whips back.
“People will come from hundreds of miles to see my cats,” Sawyer replies. “And I’ll call it Sawyer McKnight’s Farm! Everybody’s gonna know the name and not to wear it out.”
“Pssh! You need a better name than that,” her sister insists. “Avery McKnight Zoo has a nice ring to it.”
As they go back and forth, escalating their grand dreams, Grady shoots me a sideways glance and we share a smile.
We both laugh softly at some of the suggestions being tossed around in the back seat.
I wish so badly the rest of my time here could be this easy.
* * *
Back at the house, they ask if I’m going to check on Bruce one more time.
When I admit he needs another quick look before bedtime, they ask if they can stand at the door.
Grady hems and haws, but finally agrees, and while I enter to check on Bruce, they stand at their father’s side in the distant entryway with the metal door cracked a sliver, just enough so he can slam it shut in a flash if necessary.
At the other end of the barn, Bruce stands in his trailer and walks to the edge of it, where I hold up a hand, encouraging him to stop. I’m sure if he takes a single step into the barn, Grady will be shoving his girls back and slamming the door shut.
But my big orange baby doesn’t move. He just stands there looking at me, lazily flicking his tail like a paintbrush.
Well? What’s the plan? he seems to ask.
I don’t know.
I wish I had one.
So I shrug slowly, blowing him a gentle kiss. “Rest easy tonight, big guy. You’re safe and sound and you need to heal that paw. When I know where we’re going, and when, you’ll be the first to know.”
The giant stretches, his hind end bowing up in bright orange. Paws bigger than catchers’ mitts taper out in front of him, and he slowly turns, pacing back into the trailer with a final theatrical flick of his tail.
I smile as he settles into his main nesting spot, as if he accepts my answer for now.
I’ll wait, lady. But not forever, those huge, lidded eyes beam back, more green than gold in the dim light.
“I know,” I whisper into the night. “I’m working hard for you, buddy. Just give me time to figure it out.”
The water trough is still full, and he’s already eaten, so I take my leave, knowing he’ll be fine.
He’s actually very content having his trailer and most of the barn area to roam.
Sadly, it’s more space than he ever had at Exotic Plains.
He was supposed to have a fenced-in exercise area outside most days, but the lions were using it every day since I’d started working there. Sam and Tilda were out there the most, a proud tawny lion couple.
Tilda had just given birth to a litter of two cubs a couple weeks before I left. Both female.
I worry how the babies are doing now.
Both Sam and Tilda were older lions, having lived in captivity their entire lives. I was afraid the pregnancy would be too much for Tilda, but she’d come through it like a tough mama.
Even so, they hadn’t been at the fake rescue for long.
Their papers said they’d arrived only a few months before I had, originating from a zoo somewhere down in the gulf. The place had a storm that flooded the lion’s habitat and they couldn’t raise enough money to fix it, so the pair were sent to North Dakota, where the Fosses conveniently had space.
According to the records, they were supposed to return to the zoo this winter.
I hope that still happens.
I hope we can shut that place down and send all the big cats to better homes, away from the filth and the torture that makes Niles and Priscilla disgustingly rich. Her vast designer wardrobe and his retirement home under endless construction in the Virgin Islands didn’t just materialize out of thin air.
A wave of guilt roils my stomach.
There are so many creatures at the rescue needing help. If only I’d had a small ark to take them all.
Not just Bruce, or Sam and Tilda and the other lions, or Churchill the poor MIA chimp.
The list is growing all the time. The Fosses keep importing animals and flipping them for reasons God only knows.
I have to figure out what’s going on, what to do before it’s too late to help any of them.
And I’d bet my life that those little blue stickers are still being attached to cages.
It feels like this constant nagging timer that’s always running—always running out for some unlucky creature.
With a sigh, I walk to the door and exit behind Grady and the girls. At his urging, they hurry toward the house while I wait for him to lock up.
“So did Faulk text you earlier?” I ask.
He nods, squaring his huge shoulders.
“We’ll talk after the girls are asleep.”
A shiver like an army of spiders flits up my neck, wondering if it’s good news or bad.
I can’t blame him for keeping it under wraps.
Even if the girls know about Bruce, they don’t need to know all the sordid, horrifying details of what we’re up against.
Instead of a movie, the girls decide they want to play a game before bed. They pick Yahtzee, and soon all four of us are sitting on pillows around the coffee table, trying to rack up points as we toss dice around the table.
The laughter, the teasing, the fun, is something I’ve been missing since long nights around campfires with Dad. And even that wasn’t quite like this.
Like a family or something.
Sawyer’s words from supper hit true. I’ve never had a family like this either.
When I was young, I always worried Dad would get married again. He’d find a new woman, maybe a woman with kids, and I’d have to learn to fit my lonely self into the patchwork of their lives.
Back then, it scared me. I liked having just the two of us around, but now, as an adult?
I wonder where those thoughts started.
I wonder why they freaked me out.
I wonder what I missed.
Even though Dad never dated seriously, it was never truly the two of us forever.
Nannies became a lovely, supportive third wheel in my life. When I got older, Dad took to calling them live-in housekeepers. He seemed to fear me getting too close, too confused by anyone, even the kind, energeti
c women and keepers who looked after me during the school year when I couldn’t join him on long trips.
And that’s not counting our travels. We always had good company in fellow researchers, professors so close they felt like kin, and eager-to-impress students on his team.
If his latest research excursion wasn’t finished by the end of summer, I came home on a plane with one of his team members, where our housekeeper was always waiting with a smile, a few soft words, and more cookies than any teenager should’ve had access to.
The lady we’d had the longest was Margo Carlson. Dad hired her on when I was in tenth grade, and she still works for him to this day, even though she just turned seventy-one her last birthday.
We didn’t have a large, tight-knit family.
We had to make do.
So maybe that’s why I wonder as I look around the table, watching how Grady smiles when he reaches across to ruffle the girls’ hair, and then jerks his hand back.
“Dad! No lice, remember? We’ve been shampooed like ten times,” Sawyer reminds him, sticking her tongue out.
“That so, peanut? Guess your old man’s getting forgetful in his old age—or just awfully nervous with cooties.” He sticks his tongue out, eyes crossed, and they laugh.
Behind my giggle, too many questions are swirling.
If I’d been smarter way back then, when I was a kid, would I have hoped my father would remarry so I could’ve had a sister?
Maybe I wouldn’t have grown up so lonely, so driven, too busy for boys or...well, anyone besides big cats.
It’s just adorable how different the girls are. Sawyer and Avery are opposites in many ways, yet deeply connected and concerned for each other.
Sure, they bicker sometimes, like all siblings do. But at the end of the day, they’re sisters until the bitter end, and the love shared in this three-heart family fills whatever gaping hole was left by Grady’s wife.
The rest of the night goes by in a cozy blur.
Avery wins the first game, Sawyer the second, and Grady the third—meaning we’re on for a fourth round.
Of course, I can’t get a win to save my butt.
The other three are flat-out cheating by the end in sympathy, skipping the score, just so I can save face. I’m honored, but no.
“Enough, guys! Luck’s just not on my side tonight. I can barely get a pair, and when I do, it’s not a pair I need. Let’s just call it a draw, okay?” I beam my friendliest smile around the room.
The girls try to convince me to play one more game, but Grady takes control.
“It’s past time for bed, girls,” he says. “You can have a rematch another night.”
“Fiiine!” they slur out together.
Without another complaint, they agree, and after they each give me a quick hug, they head upstairs. He puts the game in the library-office down the hall and then plods upstairs to tell them good night.
I’d left my phone in the kitchen earlier and I check it for messages, holding my breath.
Of course, I haven’t forgotten what Grady’s holding back, and I’m trying to brace myself for bad news.
I just hope it’s bad and not devastating.
But I think he’d have told me if it was the latter, if it was urgent, rather than spending the whole evening enjoying ourselves. My eyes flit over my screen.
Carroll: Is this Willow Macklin? Hi. I’m from North Auckland University and I’d just like to...
Yeah. No. I’ve been to New Zealand and there is no North Auckland U.
Roger’s Pitstop: Congratulations! You’ve got yourself a brand-new thousand dollar gift card to your choice of—
God. Do the gimmicks ever stop? I honestly can’t tell if this is honest spam or another low-effort trap by the Fosses to nail my location.
I see several more fishy texts promising fake giveaways or begging for donations for every cause imaginable. A message from my dentist in California, reminding me my six-month cleaning is due next month, and another text asking me if I’d like to register to vote.
I leave them all unopened.
I’m almost ready to scream and chuck my phone across the room when I see the name Walton on the screen.
Hi, Miss Macklin. Checking in to let you know the blood work looks good. I apologize for the delay. Perfectly average, healthy results for a grown male. No abnormalities. White cell count adequate. I’d attach the full test results, but it appears your carrier’s kicking them back. Call me immediately if he shows signs of discomfort.
Finally, some good news.
As much as I’d love to see the full blood panel, I remember what Grady and Faulk warned me about and won’t take attachments.
There are no issues yet with his paw healing up—other than the sad fact that he’s homeless.
Sigh.
I have no earthly clue how this is going to work out.
By now, the rescue has probably called in help from every other cat sanctuary across the country they can either bamboozle or blackmail. Telling them to be on the lookout for a crazy chick who rocks out like a dorkasaurus at the wheel and one big stolen tiger in a clunker of an unmarked service truck.
I just hope they haven’t also called my father, casting their lures.
Grady enters the kitchen, snatching me from my thoughts.
Biting my lip, I set my phone on the counter, taking a moment to draw in a deep breath. I hold it to calm down the hurried beat of my heart before turning to face him.
“Grady...”
“Looks like you’re ready,” he says, raking a hand through his thick dark hair. “Give me one minute.”
“Ready for what?”
“To check the cameras,” he whispers darkly.
Oh, crap. Right.
“Is that the message you got earlier?”
“Yeah, Faulk gave me an update. He hasn’t cracked your laptop yet, but he’s convinced something’s bound to happen at the site tonight. If there’s one gut instinct I’ll always trust, it’s his. He wants us to touch base as soon as we see something.” He holds up his phone. “I have the app on my phone, but the big screens downstairs can show us in better detail.”
“Right behind you,” I say.
Once we’re downstairs, he fetches us each a beer out of the small fridge behind the wooden bar covered with a thick shellac that reflects the overhead light. He then pulls up an extra chair next to the three wide screens, each with a split screen setting so all six cameras show with good visibility.
It’s dark by the airstrip. No surprise, considering the time.
There’s no movement, an eerie calm, nothing but a bug or leaf blowing across the nightscape now and then.
“Why do you have three computer screens?” I ask, suddenly curious if he makes it a habit to bail out strange, desperate women.
“I don’t. Only one’s a monitor, the other two are old TVs. Grabbed one from my bedroom and the other from the library. I figured I’d set them up so we could see all six cameras at once.”
I take a sip off my beer bottle before asking a question that’s been banging around in my head.
“So, um, while we’re waiting...why don’t you let the girls have pets? You have the perfect place for it.” My breath catches in my throat. “Sorry. I’m not trying to stomp around in your business, but I’m curious...”
“Don’t need the extra work,” he says coldly, leaning back in his chair.
“Sawyer and Avery would help. I’m sure of it after seeing how excited they get with Hank’s animals.”
“Same,” he agrees. “But they’re ten years old, and hopefully any animal I’d get them would have a good, long life. That means they’ll grow up in a flash, run off to college, and I’ll be stuck here with their leftover critters.”
Hmm. That makes sense, I guess, but I don’t believe it’s the whole truth.
Not by the dark edge in his voice.
“Where’s the harm in that?” I venture. “Pets would make good company when they’re gone and you’re
home alone here on this big old farm.”
“Don’t need any four-legged company, that’s what two-legged friends are for. After so many years running my ass off, frankly, I’ll be enjoying my time alone.” His voice slips into a growl, too rigid and annoyed to not be hiding something.
I smile, refusing to believe him for a minute.
I also remember how lonesome my dad was when I went off to college, whenever he wasn’t on his trips. He almost stopped coming home at all except for holiday breaks we’d spend together.
Not like Grady, who’s here every day with his daughters.
I don’t say anything—don’t need to—not with the melancholy, unsure way he’s looking at me, like he’s wondering what I’ll fire off next.
He’s too good at reading my thoughts, and even better at hiding his behind that stoic mask of scruff and eyes like strong whiskey.
“Fine,” he says at last. “You really want to know, huh? Here’s the deal: I don’t want to get them a pet just to have it die.”
Wow, what?
My lips tremble. “I’m not sure I follow. Why would it die?”
“Who the hell knows? Dallas isn’t just the sleepy, quaint little place I’m sure you’re thinking from our outing for dinner. It could get hit by a car, eat poison, have a run-in with a coyote...any number of brutal, fucked up things.” The unexpected sadness in his voice guts me.
“I mean, sure. You live in a rural place. Risks are always part of owning pets.”
“Exactly why I don’t want my girls exposed to that,” he snaps.
For a second, our gazes lock.
His eyes might be hieroglyphics, guarded and unbreakable.
Then I realize what he doesn’t want them exposed to.
It’s not just innocent worries about a pet roaming around with coyotes or speeding cars or any normal kinds of big bad things.
He’s shielding them from death.
My heartbeat quickens.
This is when I should step back and hold my tongue, focus on the cameras, and leave this kind, closed off beast-man behind his barbed wire to brood away in peace.
But if you think I’m that kinda girl, if you think I’ve got that much sense, if you think I’m not hurting like hell for him, wellll...