“Holy shit. So we’re thinking this buyer on camera was disappointed to get a lion cub instead of a full-grown tiger?” I ask, the pieces snapping into place in my head.
“Downright pissed would be my guess,” Faulk says. “A cub like that ain’t gonna be good for much more than a mount. Or maybe they can pass it off to some spoiled rich brat in Dubai who wants to show off his exotic pets on Instagram. Those boneheads have their fun and usually wind up flipping the animals when they’re older and they can’t carry them around their yachts like stuffed toys anymore. Then the poor things go to their last buyers, who’ll make damn sure to wring every penny they can out of the bones, along with the hide.”
Silence again.
I trade slow, angry looks with the guys.
Nobody standing here is a newcomer to danger and assholes with bad intentions visiting Dallas. It’s become an exhausting and almost regular occurrence, ever since Drake had his trouble with those Jupiter Oil folks.
Still, this is different, eerie, and dangerous as hell in a way that’s new and unfamiliar to all of us.
Fuck.
“Faulk, just tell us what to do,” I demand darkly, my throat so raw it feels like splinters.
“I have other folks digging, active-duty agents and my old pal James Nobel with Enguard Security out west. Got a few more calls to make, then we’ll put a plan in place.” Faulk looks at me. “One thing I’m guessing I don’t have to repeat is how big a disaster it’d be if Willow and her cat got discovered.”
“Cat?” Weston asks, rubbing his temples like his head might blow up. “What cat?”
My nephew still doesn’t know about Bruce.
“I’ll explain everything in a minute,” I tell him.
“Guys, we’d better watch our asses and tread lightly. That dirty conservation rat being involved says this goes deep, and if we’ve got bad actors from the state up our butts...” He looks at Drake after turning everything over in his head. “We’ll have to get the law and the Feds involved, once we have proof that they can act on.”
“Trouble is, right now with such flimsy evidence, they’d take Willow into custody for stealing a tiger and that would just alert the real crooks behind this. They’d probably have more than enough time to flee the country,” I tell them. “That video proves how ruthless these people are.”
“Tiger? You gotta be fucking joking,” Weston whispers, looking totally lost.
“I wish I were,” I growl back.
“I agree,” Drake says. “That airstrip is out of my jurisdiction, so until we can nail them clean, count me in, any way you need.”
“Same for me and Doc Walton,” Ridge says with a heavy nod. “He told me he’s dealt with this kind of trouble before, but he has to keep it on the down-low to protect his family. Same for us all.”
Everyone agrees, and we talk for a while longer before breaking up to head back to our busy lives.
After the guys leave, I fill Weston in on everything and tell him Willow’s truck can’t be seen.
Not by anyone.
He gets it, and he also agrees to continue covering more of my shifts at the bar, adding he can use the extra money.
I’d gone to the Bobcat to catch up the past few days, mainly so no one starts questioning my unusual absence.
After our meeting today, though, I think it’d be a lot safer for me to be at the house than at the bar. Especially after sundown.
Leaving the garage, I head to Filmore’s grocery store, our one-stop shop for everything.
Aunt Faye made sure the cupboards and freezer were packed to the brim before she left, but we need fresh milk and produce.
Maybe it’s Bruce’s diet rubbing off on me, but I’m suddenly hungry for a huge package of steaks to grill for supper. Willow proved her cooking won’t send us to the ER, but I’ve enjoyed teasing her sweet ass off about it.
I’ve also got a bigger problem than bantering back and forth.
I’ve enjoyed coming home to her at the house each night. It’s different from anything I’ve known, this weird, wholesome feeling I’ve missed since...
Yeah.
Shit.
Don’t fucking say it.
Because the second I do, I’ve got a much bigger personal problem than keeping a tiger thief and her boy safe from a pack of criminals.
I’d have to admit that I’m worried about my own safety and what the hell happens if I can’t maintain the laser-armed-alligator moat around my heart.
Then I’d have to admit this crush on the tiger thief is getting way too serious for comfort.
Still, there’s no denying her positive effect at home. The girls are happier than I’ve seen them in a long time.
Their texts even convinced Aunt Faye that all’s well while she cares for her friend.
The dense, throbbing summer heatwave whacks me in the face as I climb out of the truck after parking at the store. Visible heat lines fill the air, bouncing off the blacktop, a frying pan of a day that reminds me how miserable North Dakota can get in humid ninety-degree weather.
An image of Willow flashes in my mind, totally the wisp of soft, womanly curves and blue-balling smiles that’s given me that sappy nickname for her.
She was in the barn like usual this morning when I came downstairs. I’d been pouring coffee when she’d walked in through the sliding glass door in the kitchen, the morning heat already baking my farm to a crisp.
I fight the urge to shake my fist at the sun for the vision it left me with.
Sweat glistening on her sun-kissed skin, especially around the neck of her white tank top, a skimpy thing barely holding in her tits. It showed off just enough cleavage to glue my eyes to her body, kicking up a pulsing awareness below my beltline I couldn’t shake half the morning.
Don’t get me started on those faded jean shorts.
Proof positive this woman owns a magical ass, and with a single switch of her hips—abracadabra!—she could have me eating right out of her damn palm.
She was heading for her bedroom, telling me she’d cleaned out the area Bruce was using as his giant litter box and laid down fresh hay.
I told her she should’ve waited for my help.
But she just laughed and said that it was part of her job.
Right.
If only she knew the help I had in mind wasn’t just playing assistant janitor to a wild beast.
Lucky for me it didn’t happen. My inner Neanderthal might’ve made his last mistake, trying to take Willow Macklin for a roll in the hay with a frigging Bengal tiger for an audience.
Who needs to worry about an overprotective papa with a shotgun when she’s got herself a monster eager to shred idiots into human jerky?
The worst part is, I couldn’t get her out of my head till I’d headed for the meeting with the boys. All because I’d heard water running in her bathroom...
The image of her stepping into the shower in nothing but her birthday suit lit every damn inch of me on fire, left me dribbling coffee on the counter from a hand that never gets the shakes.
Shoot me right now.
I don’t know who or what the fuck I’m becoming.
This whole having a pretty lady under my roof is taking its toll, carving more out of me every day, breaking down barriers I need to hold.
And my mind is still on Willow, naked and glorious, when I’m in the meat department.