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 securely 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.