“Sorry again about the nanny thing, even if it was your idea,” he grinds out. “My only other option would’ve been to say you were a new employee from the Bobcat, but they’d have seen through that one easy. I don’t invite waitresses to stay at my house.”
I laugh. “You wouldn’t have wanted me to pretend I’m a waitress. I couldn’t pull that one off if I tried, but a nanny...” I shrug. “I had enough of those growing up and I’ve seen what they do.”
The overhead door on the pole shed raises, and before it’s all the way up, two identical lime-blue four-wheelers come roaring out with Sawyer on one, wearing a blue helmet, and Avery with a lime green helmet on the other.
“See? Helmets!” Sawyer yells, tapping the side of her head.
Grady holds up a hand and they wheel up next to him, stopping, but don’t turn off their ATVs.
He checks the helmet straps on each girl, then their gloves and knee pads, and what he calls the kill strap that each girl has strapped on their wrists.
“Stay on the short track, girls,” he tells them.
“We will,” Sawyer says. “We know the rules. Sheesh.”
“We’re going to pick some flowers near the creek,” Avery says. “I want to press them in the notebook with the poems I’ve written.”
My heart softens for her. She’s a really sweet kid.
Sawyer is a bit harder, more serious, more impatient, but she has an explorer’s heart. I’m glad that they balance each other out. I remember how tough being alone with nobody but Dad could be.
“All right,” Grady says. “I expect a check-in within the hour. Don’t make me come looking.”
“We know!” they say at the same time.
He gives them a final nod and off they go, zooming around us, onto a well-worn trail between the house and a wooden split rail fence.
“How far away is the short track?” I ask, watching the girls disappear in the distance.
“About a quarter mile. It circles that pasture and runs on roughly three miles.”
“Three miles?” My eyes are still on the dust being kicked up by the ATVs. “Is there a long track?”
“Yes, it goes around the circumference of the property, and then onto other farms. About ten miles, give or take.”
“Wow. You trust them a lot.” He’s their father, of course, and seemingly a good one but I still have to ask, “Do you think it’s safe to let them out there by themselves?”
“They aren’t alone. They have each other and their phones. They always check in like clockwork every half hour, or I wouldn’t let ’em run off.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But they’ve been doing it for over a year, Willow.” He gives me a sharp look. “I know how old they are, and I trust my girls. I also know I damn well can’t let them find a stolen Bengal tiger in our barn. So we’ll keep them away from the house for a little while, okay?”
Ouch.
But he’s right to push back at my doubts, too.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude or nosy,” I tell him as we continue walking.
What do I know about parenting, anyway? Or about ten-year-old girls when it’s been a long time since I was one?
Come to think of it, when I wasn’t much older, Dad let me drive a Jeep with his help during a safari in Kenya. If that isn’t putting a big fat leap of faith in your underage daughter, I don’t know what is.
Honestly, he probably spoiled me more than Grady does his girls.
Humbled, I shut it and follow him back to the barn, where he stops and holds out his arm.
“Here. Take it,” he growls.
I glance at his hand and the small metal object flickering in the sun.
“What’s that?”
“A key,” he tells me.
“Well, yeah, but for what?”
“It fits all of the new padlocks I put on the barn doors this morning. We have to make sure those doors are sealed tight as long as we’re letting a guest like your boy crash inside.” He gives me an easy smile.
Holy hell.
Here comes the guilt trip, and it’s totally my own.
He’s doing all of this for me, and I was questioning his daddy skills.
Hardly a smart move on my part, but ever since he agreed to help me last night, I’ve wondered why.
What the hell motivates a man to take a gamble on a girl in distress with a tiger?
Maybe he’s just got a heart ten times bigger than most. He mentioned the Army a couple times, and so did his daughters, and I wonder if that’s part of it, too.
I know some people are absolutely fearless after a stint in the military. Or else the armed forces just attract natural heroes.
No fooling, this man would make a gold-star hero or ten. For the hundredth time since I landed here, I’m so grateful I could break.
My arrival in Dallas could’ve gone down worse in so many ways.
“Just one key for all the locks?” I ask, forcing my squirrel of a brain back to the subject.
“All the padlocks are keyed the same on the entire place. I put hasps and locks on the sliders and the side door of the barn.” He glances at the pasture, where plumes of dust are visible, indicating exactly where the girls are driving. “Should keep curious little people from sneaking inside if they hear anything out of the ordinary.”
I bite my lip, nodding.
His gaze grows serious as he looks at me.
“I can’t take that chance. Not once. Can’t have my girls sneaking in here, you understand?” His hands fall to my shoulders, squeezing, and finally I don’t freak out.
I might be a little starstruck, staring into those eyes so much like dark-brown honey pools in the pale sun.
Yep.
He’s a hero, all right.
All fathers are, but Grady? One long look tells me he’d die ten times over for his precious dolls.
And I get it, too. I don’t want to see them in danger.
“Bruce would never hurt them,” I assure him, hoping to ease his fears. “But you’re right to take every precaution.”
“He’s a wild animal with teeth and claws and storm-force that could stomp a grown man’s head into mush. A caged wild animal. No telling what he might do if they snuck in there.”
“He’s gent—” I stop.
His look tells me that he’s not going to believe another word.
Fair enough.
If I was in his shoes, and those were my daughters, I wouldn’t either.
“Sorry, you’re right. You don’t need my promises. I don’t want to see them get hurt any more than you do. I just need my truck fixed and then Bruce and I will be history.”
His thick, dark brows inch up slowly.
“It’s not that simple, darlin’. Faulk says your cell’s been ringing off the hook.”
Oh, crap.
My heart sinks clear to my toes.
I remember I’d left it in the kitchen when the girls came home.
“The rescue?” I ask, knowing and dreading the answer.
He nods sternly. “From at least five different numbers, some with area codes out of state. Faulk installed blocks so nothing can ping your location remotely. Hopefully they haven’t already done it. Whatever you do, don’t turn your GPS back on. They might have all kinds of tricks to track it, or pull that info out of the wireless company if they’ve got an in with the law. He also suggests ignoring all texts. Depending on their carriers, they might know if you’ve ever read the messages.”