Bruce moves then.
For a second, I’m about to hurl the fucking door open, even if I know I’d never catch him in time. Not before he’s on her and—
Oh.
The beast slinks by her like an overgrown tabby waiting for a can of tuna, rubbing its owner’s heels. Only, this fat cat almost bowls her over when his entire furry bulk brushes her side.
A low purring rumble echoes through the barn.
Okay. Shit. I’ll relax.
Barely.
“That’s it, buddy boy,” she says, watching as he walks into the hay. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all just fine and dandy.”
I watch her back out slowly, putting a little more distance between her and our unbelievable guest.
Soon, Willow stands near the brick divider wall. Bruce paces around the inside pen. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up and moving this much, and again, I’m struck by his size. That kitten could eat a buffalo for breakfast and still have room to spare.
She shocks and awes me all over again by diffusing the crisis, whispering more encouraging words, willing him to take a “nice, long nappy time.”
Huh.
Looks like dealing with pissed-off tigers and upset kids has a lot in common.
Bruce’s pacing slows, and standing in the center of the pen, he lets out a huge blustery yawn.
“Sorry, Bruce. We didn’t mean to interrupt your nap,” she says. “Go on back to sleep. There’s nothing to worry about here. See ya later.”
Bruce sinks into the straw, batting his eyes, and once she’s safely away, I push the door open, urging her to exit.
Instead, she waves a hand for me to enter.
“He’s chill now,” she tells me. “Honest.”
I’m about to take a step inside when the girls ask if everything’s okay, both of them maybe five feet behind me. Too close for comfort in this situation.
Willow hears them. “Tell them yes, let them have a peek. He’s half asleep. Not going to do anything.”
I don’t trust easily, especially this, but I wave the girls over, urging them to stay put behind me and look through the tiny crack in the door I open, too small for a tiger to shove a paw through.
I wrap an arm around each one of them, and just like that, we stand at the edge, taking his royal highness in as he snores on his straw pile.
Bruce lets out another purry groan, smacking his lips as he drowses away.
What the hell do tigers dream about, anyway? I wonder if Willow rules his sleeping mind as much as she’s owned mine this past week.
Willow steps out with a sunny smile, and I seal the door, triple-checking the lock.
“Is he hurt?” Avery squeaks.
Willow shakes her head.
“That was so awesome!” Sawyer says with a laugh. “Can we see him a little longer? Please?”
“Mind your father, girls. He was just making sure everything’s okay. He gets extremely worried when I scream, and unlike people, he can’t really tell a scary scream from a fun one. So, no roller coaster rides with Bruce. Ever.”
I snort. The girls giggle.
“Would he attack if someone was hurting you?” Sawyer asks quietly, a weirdly adult curiosity in her little voice.
“Yes,” Willow says without hesitation. “If he could, he’d come charging to my rescue. But this barn is way too solid. He can’t escape, not even if he wants to.”
“So stinkin’ cool,” Sawyer says, scrunching her nose. “I wanna have a tiger for a bodyguard.”
“You have one,” Willow says, turning and giving me a side-eye. “But I think you call him Dad.”
My throat thickens, and before I know what’s happening, I’m grinning like the biggest idiot on Planet Fool.
This woman is imperfect perfection.
A living, breathing, achingly beautiful contrast I want to keep in my tapestry of life.
She has a way of taming everyone and making them feel like they haven’t felt in years.
Exactly why she just might ruin me a whole lot faster than a brush with that tiger would.
11
Mating Call (Willow)
Whatever it is that’s happening right now, I can’t put it into words to save my life.
We had...a moment.
No other word fits for an occurrence that isn’t meant to be put into language.
It’s supposed to be felt, deeply, and this mysterious thing with Grady positively rocked me to my core.
My toes are still curled in my drenched sneakers.
He’s so, so...
I don’t even know.
All man, I guess.
Power. Muscle. Good looks. Heart.
A walking cliché of alpha goodness pressed into the skin and bones of a hero who could hold up the whole sky without breaking a sweat.
I’ve never been this attracted to anyone else.
Even when he’s soaking wet, covered in mud and grass, and afraid Bruce was about to eat me up, he’s so flipping handsome. My insides stick like a melted sundae.
Let’s be real, they’ve been doing that for hours. Days. Weeks.
Yes, I’ve got a major case of hot single dad-itis and I’m not ashamed to say it.
While watching him work, laugh, and play with his girls, my admiration only grows. It swells like this steady rising flood. I’m terrified for the onslaught when the dam breaks and I can’t hide it anymore.
Yes, that’s coming.
Despite the fact that I’ve done nothing but detonate his life.
He’d protect either of his daughters as fiercely as Bruce guards me, no doubt about it. He’s a hero in their eyes. It’s sad that he has to be a bigger one ever since I showed up to stomp around in their world.
But he’s become a big snarly savior in my eyes, too.
Not just because he’s helping me, but because of the way he loves his girls, his town, his little kingdom of this farm.
Even with the door to the barn shut, I hear Bruce let out a low growl, another whirlwind of a yawn, and I smile at the girls.
“Time to let him get back to sleep,” I tell them.
“He sure sleeps a lot,” Avery says.
“Tigers do that. You know how much a domestic cat likes to nap? They’re lightweights compared to big cats. Bengal tigers will sleep eighteen to twenty hours a day sometimes,” I say. “House cats sleep about twelve.”
“Really?” Avery asks, rubbing her eyes like the sleepy talk might be infectious. “Wow.”
I nod, gesturing to the door behind them.
Grady joins me, standing patiently by my side, his huge shadow enveloping me.
“But humans only sleep eight hours, and we still have a lot of work to finish!” I say, swiping at the mud covering my shirt. “At least we’ll be cooler now that we’re all wet.”
The girls race back to the house, and Grady shakes his head.
“You’re gonna work them to death, or at least to a good night’s sleep,” he grumbles.
I bump him in the arm with my shoulder as we walk side by side.
“Is that a bad thing? Are you saying I’m bossy?”
He looks at me, and the undercurrent that sears the air between us is undeniable.
“Don’t know, what do you have in mind, Miss Bossypants?” he asks.