“You sure? That was a tumble,” he says.
“Slip,” she corrects. “I just slipped.”
For a split second, my eyes find his and we share a knowing smile.
Looking at me, she perks up again.“Sooo do you have a cat or not?”
Very slowly, I nod. “I do.”
“Here?” Avery asks, scurrying around the room like it’s an Easter egg hunt.
“Not in the house,” I tell them. “He’s in the barn, and I think in a little while, he’d love to meet you.”
8
Claws Out (Grady)
Walking into the shed, I lean against the doorframe for a minute and try to screw my head back on.
Gotta let my mind catch up with my heart.
Mostly because I’m sure that I’ve lost it today somewhere in between dealing with my girls, a too-hot-for-life tiger thief my hands keep wanting to touch, and—oh, yeah—a secret four-legged monster that could peel my face off.
And it looks like said monster is about to become a little less secret.
Insanity.
That’s the only explanation for deciding to let my daughters inside our barn slash tiger’s den.
Obviously, they’re keeping a safe distance and I have a plan so Bruce can’t ever get to them, but hell...
There are times in a man’s life when he blunders back and has to ask himself, what the ever-loving fuck are you doing?
Willow’s endless courage around the beast still amazes me and lends a little more courage suggesting this isn’t a godforsaken dumb idea. It’s a weird contrast to see such a small, pretty woman next to a behemoth.
I can’t unsee what we’re dealing with every time I look past the orange fur and white scruff of Bruce’s lazy face.
One claw is over four inches long and sharp as a thug’s stiletto knife.
Hell, I’d rather run into a big-city thug than Bruce on any dark night.
Probably would’ve been better off colliding with a man in a knife fight than crashing into Willow Macklin, too.
No denying she’s got me knotted up in ways I haven’t been for years.
My back still feels blistered from her hot, tight body pressed against me on the four-wheeler.
And dummy me just keeps getting in deeper with every glance, holding her like I did in the basement, and telling myself it was just for her comfort.
Yeah, bull.
My heart might be bursting with empathy, but my dick has an appetite.
I have to stretch my hands high over my head, flexing long and hard, ignoring the pulsating agony below my belt. I have to avoid the devil on my shoulder, the darker side of my conscience who keeps whispering how good it’d feel to pin this woman up against the nearest wall, own her lips long and hard, and then take everything else she’s got.
Fuck.
No, I can’t stop looking at her.
Not when the simple act of shaking her hand and hugging her left my senses reeling. Her sun-kissed skin is too soft and her sea-blue eyes quench my thirst the longer I stare, and I want to touch more of it.
More of her.
Reason number one hundred why I’ve lost my shit, every last marble gone.
When they wrap me up in a straitjacket and bar the door, I think I’ll have Willow’s name on my lips.
Snarling, I push off the doorframe and pull the extension ladder off the hooks on the wall, remembering what I came here to do.
My girls are gonna get the shock of their lives, but from a safe distance.
Just because I’m a crazy man now doesn’t mean I’m stupid.
Thankfully, the barn has a second story loft with an outside door, but we’ll need the ladder to get up there. Because my girls are adventurous, I always keep it in the storage shed. Safely out of reach and far away from the barn.
I haul the ladder out and bring it to the side of the barn, then extend it up to the platform for the door and secure it to the ground before walking back to the house. The girls and Willow are waiting near the sliding glass door with bated breath.
After Sawyer’s wipeout earlier and their happy rush over learning we’ve got an animal, I’ve decided we’ll go see Bruce before supper.
As if I’d have any luck getting them to do anything else when they’re this keyed up.
“Dad, Dad, are we ready?” Sawyer asks, giving me bulging eyes straight out of a cartoon and teething her lip.
Avery has her hands clutched to her chest like she might fall over, a hopeful expression filling her face. She’s trembling.
It’s hard as hell not to burst out laughing.
They’re both animal crazy to their souls, but I appreciate how their giddiness leaves me with a cute moment I’ll never forget.
The older they get, the more I realize how precious they are and how fast they’ll grow up.
“Almost ready, girls. But first, before we go to the barn, we need to have a talk,” I say, folding my arms.
“Why?” Sawyer asks, her smile sinking. “We’ll be so good to the kitty. You know we will! We’ve been around so many farm cats at Uncle Hank’s.”
Smiling, I kneel down in front of them, unsure how to begin.
“Well, this is a very special cat. An insanely rare cat who needs to be loved a certain way.”
“Bruce!” Avery gushes. “His name is Bruce, Daddy...isn’t it?” Eyes full of worship, she looks at Willow like she just hung the moon and the stars.
My eyes flit to my annoyingly sexy guest. She blushes.
I should’ve known she’d tell them something while I spent ten minutes rummaging around with the ladder.
Willow nods, still looking at me, her eyes lit like stars.
The girls are damn near glued to her.
Christ.
The fact that they already adore her this much is even scarier than what her fuck-hot looks do to me. And I’m already bracing for impact, knowing it’ll just get worse after the twins get one good look at the biggest surprise of their lives.
“There are rules when it comes to Bruce,” I say, my voice on full dad-tone. “Whenever you want to see him, you have to promise me you’re gonna follow them to the letter of the law. Okay, kidlets?”
“Yeah, sure! But...but why?” Sawyer asks, tilting her head. “Is he like one of those kitties with no hair so you have to be careful how you pet him or something? Is that why he’s in the barn?”
Willow and I share another slow, uncertain look. I clear my throat.
“He has fur,” I say.
“Oh, good! Those Sphynx cats scare me,” Avery says, hugging her arms around her. “What color is he?”
Damn.
No way to answer that without giving too much away.
“Look, before I answer any more questions, you both have to pinky swear that you aren’t going to tell anyone about this cat. You’ll want to when you see him, but you can’t. Not even Uncle Hank. Promise us both, me and Willow.”
My dad game is stronger than it’s ever been today.
They both know the pinky swear is sacrosanct.
Frowning, the girls look at each other, shrug, then look at me and nod.
“Okay, Dad. We’ll do it,” Avery says first.
“Yeah, pinky swear!” Sawyer chimes in.
“And you also have to follow every single rule Willow and I put in place. No buts, no exceptions, and no complaining.”