by Snow, Nicole
The way he says it sends a chill up my back. Apparently, trouble runs in the family with the McKnights.
“And the other?” I venture when he goes quiet.
“Easy. I’d want to see my uncle get hitched again to the woman of his dreams. Somebody cool and gorgeous and adventurous. Someone to bring him out of his shell. Somebody to complete his family. Hell, someone to make him smile, because that man doesn’t do it near enough, and when he does, nobody can help but smile back.” His eyes sparkle, and I see an adorable smile light up his face.
“That’s really kind of you,” I say softly, turning my head sharply to the window.
I think he still sees the heavy tear I wipe off my cheek, but I said I wouldn’t do this, didn’t I?
I won’t cry over Grady again, much less dwell on the fact that I’m one more loss in his life.
I won’t go all angsty school girl for this wounded beast-man with an unforgettable kiss.
Too late.
I already am.
Weston goes quiet, at least, politely leaving me to my heart being slapped around in my ribs like a drunken volleyball match.
I’m grateful for the silence.
The messages on the screen mostly stopped after Drake arrested the two men in the SUV who made the fatal mistake of chasing his wife.
Idiots. For all I know, they’ll have to answer to Edison too.
I’m so out of it the miles drift by, and I look up in surprise when Weston speaks again.
“We should be in Sheridan in forty minutes or so according to the GPS,” he says.
Our route flashes on the dashboard screen.
Every mile makes my stomach cave in a little deeper.
“Uncle Grady texted a little bit ago. Said he booked us rooms at a hotel about fifteen miles away from the refuge,” Weston says. “Smart, right? I can’t wait to take a load off after this.”
I nod, picking up my phone to start searching for a rental car place. I’ll need wheels to get back and forth to Let’s Roar for a few days, and a car to drive to the closest airport once I’m sure Bruce is safe.
A short time later, we drive through the large open gate of Let’s Roar.
Twenty-foot-tall fences line both sides of the road like most big cat places. Off in the distance, I see larger pens with wire covering their tops. They look secure and in good shape, unlike half the rusted enclosures in Minot.
I so hope Bruce will be happy here, and they’ll be good to him.
I also hope Weston’s wish for Grady comes true.
He deserves that.
He deserves better than me.
“I’m assuming that’s our check-in point,” Weston says, waving at a sign that says office and pointing to the left.
“You’re right. Cook said he’ll be there,” I say, recalling our discussions.
It’s probably just nerves, but an odd chill coils around my spine.
The place seems eerily quiet for early afternoon.
There’s a parking lot that says visitors, but not a single car there.
“They must be closed today,” Weston says, making the same observation and scratching his head.
“Yeah, Cook said they’d be, but...there should still be employees.” I spot a barrel-chested man with a silver beard and spectacles walking out of a big log structure that must be the office. “Pull up over there. That must be Mr. Cook.”
Weston parks the truck and kills the engine, but I climb out first, hesitating before I shut my door.
The man walking toward me looks like he’s worn out. Hurt, even.
His clothes are rumpled, his eyes are red, and he’s...limping?
“Hello? Mr. Cook?”
“Yes.” He nods, too briskly for comfort.
“I’m—”
“I know.” He shakes his head slowly. “I know, Miss Macklin, and I’m sorry. So terribly sorry.”
Confused, I turn, looking over my shoulder because that’s where he’s staring.
Fear washes over me in a tidal wave.
I see the tall, lantern-jawed man smiling, standing just a few feet away. He’s as fearsome and unexpected as if he’d dropped out of the sky.
Niles Foss.
“Welcome, Miss Macklin,” he snaps, flipping a baseball bat over his shoulder as he approaches. “It’s been too long, and I believe you have something that belongs to us.”
I hear Weston racing toward me, a handgun drawn, but he suddenly drops like he’s been shot. But I never heard a gun go off...did I?
Not that it matters.
Another large, angry looking man with a bat steps out, standing over Weston’s fallen body.
My mouth is dry, my heart racing, and I grab the door of the truck to jump in, but the air whistles like it’s boiling before I can move.
The bat comes down on my head.
I throw up an arm and duck, but I don’t even get a chance to scream.
Pain explodes in my head with a thousand hot shrapnel fragments, and then I can’t fear anything at all.
20
Wake the Tiger (Grady)
It actually worked.
I’m fucking elated when I hear the news.
Within hours of everybody hitting the road, the goons from Exotic Plains tried running Bella off the road. Drake was on them like flies on shit in minutes.
Now they’re booked in the Dallas jail, cooling their heels, and already singing like canaries with intel according to the latest update. Menacing the wife of the man who’s next in line to be our sheriff wasn’t a smart move.
One problem down.
A hundred more to go.
Faulk and Hank have already turned off the service road, arriving at the airstrip from the rear like Willow and I had when we’d installed the cameras.
There’s no time for ATVs today. We’re coming in full-force.
My heart vibrates like a fallen rock impacting the ground. I touch the bracelet I’d hung on my blinker switch. After hooking up the trailer to the truck, I’d gone to the house to lock it, and on impulse took a quick peek in what was Willow’s room.
No, let’s be real. There was a reason. I was already missing her.
The bracelet was lying on her bed next to an envelope with my name on it. She’d thanked me for all I’d done, and said she agreed with the title on Avery’s picture.
Best summer of her life.
She also said she was leaving the bracelet as collateral. She promised to send me money, enough to pay everyone back once she’s home.
Doesn’t she get it?
She could send me a hundred million smackers and it still wouldn’t be enough.
It never has been. Not in the past, and not now.
I don’t give a shit about coin.
I’m still not sure how she did it, but she broke the iron chains trapping me in the past. She helped me pull my forgotten sword from the stone with every kiss, every caress, every night we left in flames.
She brought me back from the dead, raising me up, restoring the humanity I thought had died with my wife.
Thanks to Willow Macklin, I can finally live again.
Except now, I can’t.
Not without her.
Sure, the motions are there.
Food. Breath. Work. Even my endless love for my daughters, but other than that, I’m an empty fucking vessel.
It’s different than when Brittany passed.
There wasn’t anything more I could’ve done, and fate severed our worlds.
Not this time.
Willow’s very alive, very gorgeous, and begging to be mine.
And even if she shoots down my proposals ten more times, I’ve decided I won’t stop coming.
The options are there. Hell, I could sell the Purple Bobcat and let Ridge use my land for spillover cattle farming.
The girls would adapt to a life overseas.
I’m sure of it.
It’s me that’s the problem. Dallas has its hooks in almost as deep as Willow, and every time I’ve e
ver been away, I’ve always been mighty anxious to come home to my town.
But there’s nothing in Dallas for her.
Therein lies my choice, and my personal hell.
My roots. My life.
Or her.
I try to dampen my conflicted thoughts as the road to the airstrip appears.
Once this shit’s over, I’ll have time to ponder. Then I can talk to the girls and make a decision, right after I track down my tiger thief and lay down one rule.
Anything’s fair game in this life, as long as I’ve got her.
I slow down, wrenching the wheel around the corner, and wonder how Willow made it all the way to the bar in this old truck the night she stole it. The damn thing steers like a tank even with Weston’s tune-up, and snorts like a geriatric elephant. There’s no sneaking in on anyone in this thing.
Not that we need to.
Faulk arranged a meeting with Fuckface Bordell the not-conservation officer. He called in saying he’d captured the tiger spotted around Dallas and wanted to know what state Game and Fish wanted him to do with it.
Bordell instantly offered to come and get it. Faulk arranged this meeting instead, saying he was already on the road to Montana, getting it the hell away from his livestock.
I haven’t told Willow about this part of the plan. She had enough on her plate with getting Bruce to the refuge in Wyoming. She knew the plan was for me to drive the truck here, to the strip, but thought it was just so the FBI could find it.
It wasn’t till after she and Weston left this morning that Faulk made the call to Bordell, flushing his cockroach ass out of the woodwork.
Yeah, he’ll know something’s up as soon as he sees the truck and trailer—just like the kind at Exotic Plains—but by the time he figures it out, the trap swings shut.
My phone pings. It’s a message from Faulk confirming he and Hank are in place.
“Almost to the airstrip,” I dictate and hit send.
Another ping sounds and I click on the new message.
Weston. He says they just drove through the gates at Let’s Roar.
Relieved they made it, I set my phone on the seat.
The rest is up to me.
Keeping my eyes peeled for any movement, I slow down, lumbering along the road and clamping my back teeth together to keep them from rattling over the rough spots. The strip soon comes into sight, but I don’t see another vehicle.
I pull all the way onto the pavement, grab the nine millimeter off the seat, and tuck it into the back of my jeans while climbing out. We’re going in locked and loaded in case Bordell isn’t easy prey.
Once I’m out, I take a peek at the bad art project in my trailer. Ridge’s wife, Grace, came up with the idea of using tiger-striped blankets over bales of hay.
From a distance, it damn nears looks like Bruce is asleep in there, and that’s all we need.
I also smile, remembering the first night Willow came screaming into my life. That huge cat in the trailer scared the shit out of me then.
I sigh, already missing his furry face, too.
Honest to God, it was pretty damn cool having a tiger in my barn.
A roaring engine has me spinning around, casting a look at the road.
A cube truck, like the one that delivered the lion cub, comes flying up the road and skids to a halt next to the trailer.
Still wearing his Game and Fish uniform, Officer Bordell jumps out of the passenger seat, a concrete brick of a man with arms and legs. Probably former military by his build, just like myself.
And the fun part is, he’s got his gun drawn.
“Arms up now, asshole!” he roars.
Shit. So much for the element of surprise.
He’s coming in hotter than a charging black bear and he’s not easily fooled.
Sighing, I hold up my arms, elbows bent and hands above my shoulders, watching as two other armed goons climb out of his truck.
“How ’bout we chill, Officer? What’s with the guns?” I ask, giving my hands a shake as I clasp them together over my head, pretending I’m shaken. “I’m just delivering a tiger I caught in my barn. Damn thing could’ve killed my pigs. Yet you’re treating me like I’m a crook?”
“Where’d you get that truck and trailer?” he growls, this nasty sneer on his face. “I’m not stupid, chucklefuck.”
And I beg to differ.
I smile, sensing the movement behind the men.
“Truck? Trailer?” I repeat, giving him my dumbest grin. “Look, man, I’ve been driving them for years. I’m not sure what you’re so worried about. If you’ll just give me a chance, I’ll—”
“You heard me!” Bordell roars, jerking his gun at me, his face red. “Quit making me repeat myself. Where’d you get—”
“Drop the guns, y’all!” Faulk belts out right as he and Hank cock their rifles. “Now!”
There’s a second of slow surprise. Recognition.
The goons hesitate.
Sensing Bordell and his boys aren’t gonna comply, I dive around the truck for cover as I whip out my nine millimeter.
Can’t say I’m thrilled to be in the middle of a proper shootout like I haven’t seen since Iraq, but fuck. If Bordell wants to play hardball, I’ll oblige.
The next few minutes are a flurry of blurry movements and cracking gunfire. I duck around the corner of the truck, aiming at the knees of one goon, bringing him down on the pavement.
Even without the sniper rifle I wield like a third arm, I’m a damn good marksman.
It’s over in seconds.
When all falls silent for the count of eight, I glance around the truck again.
Bordell and his goons are on the ground, being handcuffed, the bastard I shot screaming that he needs an ambulance.
“Hell, buddy, you’re okay. It’s just a flesh wound,” Hank says, looking like an old-timey gunslinger in his cowboy hat and giving the goon a rough shove with the toe of his boot. “If we wanted your ass dead, you would be. Now sit the fuck up.”
Ridge might be the Western actor in our crew, but Hank’s the guy who could’ve really lived in the Old West.
“Grady?” Faulk looks at me, his green eyes flashing.
“I’m good. Let’s get this trash ready for pickup. Keep your eyes on them,” I say.
First thing I do is look in the back of their truck after dragging Bordell, whom I’d taken down and cuffed, over to sit next to the goons. It has a big empty cage, and nothing else.
“Your venture with the Fosses is over, Bordell,” I say, once I’m leering over him again. “Better get your statement ready for the Feds.”
“Fuck you. Don’t know who you’re talking about,” he lies.
“Mighty forgetful, huh?” I laugh at him. “That’s okay. Before you shat up my cameras, I got footage of you and Priscilla Foss selling a lion cub. It’s already being turned over to the FBI.” I make a show of glancing at the sun, as if checking the time. “The same folks who started raiding Exotic Plains about the same time you showed up here.”
His face falls, fear wiping away the hot, delusional rage he’d worn earlier.
Still, I expected a bigger tantrum. Pukes like him usually start bargaining when they know they’ve got their dick stuck in a closed door.
An eerie sensation hits me, hard, and I glance at Faulk.
He looks up from his phone, talking to some agent, and then at Bordell.
“If you want any leniency,” Faulk growls, peering down at him. “Tell me where the Fosses are right now.”
Bordell sneers like the venomous little creature he is.
I grab him by the front of his uniform shirt and lift him off the ground, despite his bulk.
“Where the fuck are they? Start talking and tell the nice man, or your fate goes from over to fucking doomed.”
He turns pasty white, but I don’t like that sliver of a smile on his face as he looks at me and whispers one word like a dark incantation.
“Wyoming,” he rattles.
Wyo—
Oh.
Oh, mother-fuck.
I throw him to the ground, grinding my teeth, panic flooding my brain.
“Grady? What’s going on?” Hank asks, rushing over.
“They’re after Willow!” It’s all I can say when every instinct stabbing through me screams move.
I run to the truck, grab my phone, and hit Weston’s number.
“Shit, I’ll get the truck!” Hank shouts, already on the run.
My heart sinks as fast as fear rises when no one answers.
I try it again.
Again.
Again and again and dammit, fuck, again.
“No answer?” Faulk asks coldly, his frown saying he already knows.
I shake my head and reach in, grabbing the bracelet off the blinker switch.
“It’s a five-hour drive,” I snarl. “If they’ve been intercepted, we’ll never make it in time...”
“Did you forget we’ve got a friend with a company helicopter?” Faulk says with a grin, already swiping his phone. “I’m calling Drake. We’ll have the North Earhart chopper pick us up and fly our asses out to Sheridan. I’ll call the FBI branch down there, too. Don’t worry. We’ve got this covered. I ain’t letting anything happen to your lady or that big old orange poof.”
Hank, driving my truck, comes flying up the runway and both Faulk and I run toward it.
“Hey! What the hell? You can’t just leave us here!” Bordell shouts.
If I wasn’t so worried about Willow and my nephew, I’d have fun making him suffer, but there’s no fucking time.
We’ve got them cuffed and strapped down, more helpless than caterpillars.
They won’t be going anywhere.
“Sorry, dude, important business. The FBI will drop by to pick you up before dark—if no animals come around first,” Faulk shouts back.
Then Hank slams on the brakes and we both dive into the truck.
21
Red in Tooth and Claw (Willow)
I’m one big throbbing mess of hurt.
Bile fills my mouth, so bitter I almost choke.