by Snow, Nicole
I fight the urge to shake my fist at the sun for the vision it left me with.
Sweat glistening on her sun-kissed skin, especially around the neck of her white tank top, a skimpy thing barely holding in her tits. It showed off just enough cleavage to glue my eyes to her body, kicking up a pulsing awareness below my beltline I couldn’t shake half the morning.
Don’t get me started on those faded jean shorts.
Proof positive this woman owns a magical ass, and with a single switch of her hips—abracadabra!—she could have me eating right out of her damn palm.
She was heading for her bedroom, telling me she’d cleaned out the area Bruce was using as his giant litter box and laid down fresh hay.
I told her she should’ve waited for my help.
But she just laughed and said that it was part of her job.
Right.
If only she knew the help I had in mind wasn’t just playing assistant janitor to a wild beast.
Lucky for me it didn’t happen. My inner Neanderthal might’ve made his last mistake, trying to take Willow Macklin for a roll in the hay with a frigging Bengal tiger for an audience.
Who needs to worry about an overprotective papa with a shotgun when she’s got herself a monster eager to shred idiots into human jerky?
The worst part is, I couldn’t get her out of my head till I’d headed for the meeting with the boys. All because I’d heard water running in her bathroom...
The image of her stepping into the shower in nothing but her birthday suit lit every damn inch of me on fire, left me dribbling coffee on the counter from a hand that never gets the shakes.
Shoot me right now.
I don’t know who or what the fuck I’m becoming.
This whole having a pretty lady under my roof is taking its toll, carving more out of me every day, breaking down barriers I need to hold.
And my mind is still on Willow, naked and glorious, when I’m in the meat department.
I’m picking out steaks as big as my head when a shopping cart bangs into mine, shoving it against my hip.
I turn to apologize for being in someone’s way, but the sparkling eyes on the old woman’s face make me grin.
“Hey there, handsome!” Granny Coffey belts out, overcaffeinated as ever.
“Hey yourself, Granny,” I reply.
She’s a charming old gal, the kind who stands in like a grandmother for half the town, and the sort who acts likes she’s eighteen instead of—hell if I know.
It’s mighty hard guessing her age when she’s so youthful and still able to run circles around men as young as Weston.
The green-and-pink flower in her wily grey hair matches the bright-pink of her shirt and lime-green pants. It flutters as she strolls around her cart and steps up next to me.
One thing you find out fast about Granny Coffey is that personal space doesn’t exist for her.
The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder, and she tips her head back to continue gracing me with those ever-twinkling eyes.
“So? How’s it going with Linda taking care of your girls?” she whispers conspiratorially.
Dammit.
Five seconds in and I’m already boned.
I appreciate her discretion, though I’m not pumped at having to think about the woman who could’ve taken Willow’s place as temporary nanny.
“It’s not going. I politely declined the offer,” I say, just as quietly.
“Whaaat? You selfish rascal, don’t you know she’s over the moon with you and easy pickings?” She doesn’t even try to hide her smile as she pats my arm with a soft slap. “I mean, yeah, Linda could use a little more discretion in her pursuits, but here’s my concern: who’s helping you with the girls?”
“I’m staying home with them as much as possible this summer. Weston picked up a few extra shifts at the bar.”
“The whole summer?” Her eyes light up. “Grady, dear, you’ve worked so hard on that bar! And that’s exactly why Faye went on a wild goose chase looking for just the right help while she went off to care for poor Gennie. She’s not doing so hot, you know.”
“I’m aware, I talked to Faye. Sad as hell,” I say, ignoring the rest of her statement.
I also know not to breathe a word about the nanny I have found, or else I’ll probably get Granny showing up on my doorstep, scheming to play matchmaker. She rekindled the childhood crush Faulk had on her granddaughter in no time not so long ago.
“She’s such an angel for being there with Gennie in her last days. The poor thing doesn’t have a big family. We all went to school together, you know,” Granny says with a sigh, her eyes somewhere far off.
“I heard,” I tell her with a smile. “When was that, ten years ago?”
She slowly turns, catches it, and winks at me like the sun going out.
“Oh, you wicked rake of a man! It was over fifty years ago, and you know it, but...I won’t turn down your gracious compliment. Just wish you’d save some of that for the younger ladies.” Again, she winks.
Where’s that hole in the ground when I need it?
“What you need is a good woman in your life, Grady McKnight. Haven’t you noticed all your bachelor buddies dropping like drunk flies lately? Drake, Ridge, Faulk—all married off now!” She gushes, clasping her hands in front of her. “And you know how crazy the weddings around these parts can get. Remember what happened with Owl and Hellboy when Quinn and Tory tied the knot?”
“How could anybody forget?” I chuckle. “Only you Coffey girls get to have your weddings crashed with a keyed-up goat and a bull of a dog giving chase.”
I’m not exaggerating.
The legendary insanity of that wedding, plus the fact that it even happened, still has Granny tickled pink.
“Seeee?” she whispers, elbowing me gently. “You had fun. I’m telling you, son, we’d all have a lot more if you’d just give some little local girl a chance. Or if you don’t like the pickings around here, I hear a nice, tall drink of bourbon like yourself can find a mail-order beauty queen at the click of a mouse! Why, my friend Mary Mauffet said last week that her son—”
“Granny. Thanks, but no thanks. I already have two wonderful girls in my life,” I tell her, trying to ease out of this gently.
“Don’t I know it!” She presses a hand to her chest as her eyelashes flutter. “Sawyer and Avery are dolls, you lunk, which is why you ought to share them with some lucky lady in your life. Say, why don’t you bring them to stay with me for a day or two this summer? Or I could come out to your place.”
Worry rises up inside me. Having this whirlwind dropping in on my head is the last thing I need with Willow and Bruce laying low at my place.
“Been a little busy on the home front lately—got Hank helping me with a few projects, but thanks. We’re fine, Granny, and I’ll let you know when things settle down for a visit. Maybe once Aunt Faye gets back.”
She frowns slightly. “You sure? You’re acting a little funny, mister. Do you have someone else at your place? A guest? A woman?”
Unfortunately, yes, and she drives me fucking batty.
Plus, there’s that whole frustrating stolen tiger thing.
I almost consider cracking and telling Granny because she’d get the hoot of her life out of it. Only, this definitely isn’t the time or place.
“Nah, just trying to make it through summer and this heat,” I say, wiping my brow for emphasis. “It’s also been a while since I’ve taken some real time off and I’m enjoying it.”
“Amen to that! I think I’m gonna take an ice bath if we don’t get a break soon.” She gives my arm a restless squeeze. “Well, if you change your mind, you have my number. I’d better get my groceries and go home. Andrew says we could have our first hundred-degree day of the year. It’s a little early for that, but I do like him, don’t you? Channel Six Andrew? He’s the best weather man they’ve ever had, even when he forgets to comb his hair some mornings.”
I bark out a laugh. Andrew the Weat
her Man has become an idol for women of all ages around these parts.
The kid’s in his early twenties with a slick tongue. He’s good-looking enough to catch a lot of eyes and spikes his hair with gel. Sawyer and Avery have pointed that out more than once.
No complaints here. Let him fight his admirers off with a stick. Fewer ladies who’ll come gunning for me.
“Already hot as blazes out there,” I say with a groan.
“Oh, I know! I rode my bike in.” She blows me a kiss while grabbing her cart and scurrying off.
I have to chuckle, even if I’m a little worried about heat stroke at her age.
Her tandem bike’s built for two. She’d bought it when Tory, her granddaughter and now Faulk’s wife, first came to stay with her last year so the girl could work her injured knee.
Ever since Faulk and Tory shacked up, Granny keeps riding that big-ass bike all over town whenever weather permits. With her flowered, pointy bike helmet, she’s a pint-sized riot, always pedaling fast enough to keep up with traffic.
Back to meat shopping and some peace—hopefully—I add some ribs and hamburgers to the pile of steaks. If we’re in for this damn heatwave continuing till kingdom come, I’m gonna grill my way through it after sunset.
Then I check out and head home.
On the way, I will myself a thousand different ways to ignore Willow.
I don’t want a repeat of this morning.
Yeah.
Good fucking luck.
The instant I’m home, my eyes whip to her like she’s magnetic, and that’s when I know.
I know how hard I’m about to get whacked by ignoring that manic voice in the back of my head, jumping up and down and screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.
About as hard as I already got smacked by Granny’s words, her plea for me to lay claim to a good woman.
Every damn part of me tingles like a dowsing rod over a geyser.
My body knows it better than my mind: I’ve found one.
* * *
As I pull into my long driveway, I see what’s keeping Willow busy today besides staying pretty.
The girls are hauling shovels, and she’s pushing a wheelbarrow around the side of the house.
I park my truck and climb out.
“What are you three up to, now?” I yell, wondering if this is their latest project. They’ve cleaned and reorganized every closet in the house over the past few days.
The girls have always been good helpers and handle their chores well, but Willow’s influence on them is next level. I’m almost expecting them to start busting out hard hats and toolboxes for home remodeling.
“Planting flowers, Daddy!” Avery tells me, beaming with delight.
A bolt of guilt knifes my stomach.
She loves flowers more than oxygen.
I think Avery was born to spend her summers hunting down perfect specimens, picking wild colors fresh off the stem, and then drawing them in her notebooks. My mother used to have flower beds surrounding the house, but over years of half-assed effort and neglect from yours truly, they became overgrown. I let wild grass take over, finding it far easier to just mow everything rather than weed and tend to flowers Avery would love.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Willow says, separating herself from the girls. “Avery was showing me some of her flower drawings and told me they were growing wild along the fence near the short track.”
She’s wearing a pair of my work gloves and reaches up to brush a splash of chestnut hair out of her eyes, leaving a thin streak of dirt on her cheek.
Fuck, I’m ended.
The Army never taught me how to resist being flayed open by one look from a woman too gorgeous for life.
“Don’t mind what?” I ask absentmindedly.
“The flowers, I mean. If we transplant a few closer to the house, they’ll probably grow beautifully. We found a few old stepping stones that were overgrown, too. Looks like they used to separate the yard from the flower beds near the foundation. So far, we’ve found wild roses, irises, and tiger lilies.” She pauses and snickers. “The girls thought the last ones were extra fitting.”
“I’m sure they did,” I say with a growing smile.
“Don’t worry. We only cleared out a small patch near the side of the house so far, so if you don’t like it—”
“I don’t mind, it just sounds like a lot of work in this heat.”
Her blue eyes ignite, pulling me apart by the second. Her hands go to her ample hips, causing a deadly sudden weight in my pants.
“So you’re saying you’re willing to help out?”
Damn. Knowing I’m being duped, I shake my head.
It’s got nothing to do with the ferocious summer heat rays, either, and everything to do with her playfulness.
That shit awakens a part of my anatomy I’ve kept leashed for far too long.
Undaunted, Willow steps closer and touches my bicep with her gloved hand.
“We could use the extra muscle if you’re not busy. Please?”
The teasing tone makes me laugh.
Her touch annihilates my instinct to make up excuses.
“Will do, Willow Wisp. Just let me get the groceries inside first.”
“Great idea.” She gives a knowing nod. “Fresh food to make sure I don’t kill you.”
I flash her a wink before my head pops off.
Hours later, I step out from a break in the shade, delving the shovel deep in the ground and staring at the long line of granite stepping stones we’ve uncovered. My ma’s old path was buried so long I’d totally forgotten about it till now.
Willow works on her hands and knees, using a hand trowel to even out the freshly churned dirt between the stones and the house, clearing stray grass and weeds.
“So you’re a horticulturist, too?” I ask.
She sits down on the ground and looks up at me with a smile that rivals gold.
“No, but my father’s housekeeper is plant crazy. Thanks to Margo, I’ve weeded a whole lot of flower beds in my life, and I know the difference between what to pluck and what to leave growing. You actually have a lot of nice plants still trying to thrive.”
My brows go up. “After all these years? Damn, lady.”
“They’ve just gone dormant, waiting for someone to come along and give them a little TLC.”
Plants, I remind myself. She’s talking about the frigging plants, man.
Not you.
It’s all too easy to forget.
Her upturned face and soft, sweet words make something of mine sprout, that’s for damn sure. Shifting my weight awkwardly, I try to hide the sledgehammer in my pants, angry and throbbing and ready to take her.
A little more rage-digging at the ground sets me right again.
I pull my eyes off her, looking at the girls as they scamper over. They’re just as dirtied up as we are, loving this whole mini-landscaping endeavor.
They’re also sweaty and red in a way that worries me.
“You know you picked the hottest day of the year for this project? I want you both drinking at least four cups of water by supper,” I say.
“H2O break time!” Willow says, climbing to her feet and pulling the thick gloves off.
“Okay!” Sawyer says. “I’ll grab some bottles out of the fridge.”
“What?” Willow asks, shaking her head. “We’re in the middle of the country, aren’t we?”
She walks over and turns on the spigot for the hose with a lingering look back at me, waiting for my input.
“Should be safe. The water’s drawn from old wells running deep underground around here. Go ahead and give ’em a drink,” I call back.
“Gather round, everybody,” she says with a wicked grin.
Then I watch as Willow lets the water run long enough for the hose to push out the hot water from the sun before she dips those heart-shaped lips to the spray for a drink.
“Delicious!” She smiles, wiping her chin.
She’s too right for all the wr
ong reasons.
I think my blood warms to a hundred and twenty degrees.
Thankfully, she can’t read my filthy mind.
She just holds up the hose with more water burbling out and calls out to us.
“Neeext!”
The girls totter over laughing, and I’m right behind them. They drink their fill from the hose before passing it to me. Just as I bend over to take a drink, the water stops.
Glancing over, I see Willow kinking the hose with her foot like the firestarter she is.
I don’t take the bait, keeping my face back safely from the end. I dagger her with a glare that could make this oven-hot day into January.
Sawyer and Avery notice the scene and start laughing.
“Oh, come on! A little fun never killed you, cranky-face.” Laughing, she finally unkinks it, and I drink like a horse that’s just come in from a desert trail.
Rather, I try.
As soon as I start, the she-witch chokes off my water supply again.
I stiffen, trying like hell not to smile at the smirk she’s beaming back. It’s almost as hard as resisting the urge to stalk over and drag her off someplace where I can punish that sweet ass.
The girls are on the grass rolling now like it’s the funniest damn thing they’ve ever seen.
Little traitors.
“Oops. Clumsy me.” With a coy laugh, Willow drops the hose and steps away so I can drink up.
And I do, taking long, furious sips to cool off as much as calm my ass down.
After one of my thirsts is satisfied, I decide I’m not gonna sit back and take it.
Time for Willow Macklin to learn you do not fuck with an Army sniper raising two girls on his lonesome.
Before she can guess what I’m planning, I grip the hose in my hands, the spray muted by my fingers, and run.
She’s frozen, wide-eyed and staring as I come charging at her like a bull.
Once we’re just a few feet apart, that’s when I let loose, turning the hose’s full, glorious force on her.
Direct hit.
She’s drenched in no time, and I level it to her face, nailing her so swiftly the cool stream nearly tumbles her back.
Willow lets out a yipping squeal worthy of a scared coyote and flings herself around the side of the house. The girls are breathless with laughter by now.