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 tiger, 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.”
“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.