Trying to hide just how deeply he’s affecting me, I cover my smile and mumble, “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Later.”
I speed up to a power walk, hurrying into the house.
His laughter makes my body tingle, and so do his words.
“Woman, you’d best not be foolin’.”
Holy crap.
It’s pure insanity to think anything could ever happen with us...
...isn’t it?
He’s still mourning his dead wife. I have a tiger needing a permanent home. But outrageous complications aside, I have to admit I wouldn’t mind a frenzied romp or two with Grady McKnight one bit.
I mean, what person with a pulse would turn down pure heaven?
Hours later, the four of us stand back to examine our handiwork.
Bluish-grey granite stepping stones encircle the house, spaced neatly and almost as good as new. The nearby flowerbeds now host a wild bloom of irises, wild roses, and tiger lilies.
We were careful where each one was planted, allowing the older roots of past plants room to begin their rebirth in safe new homes.
“Those tiger lilies are going to look awesome when they start blooming on both sides of the steps,” I say, pressing my hands to my hips.
“Yeah, they will!” the girls agree in unison.
“I can’t wait to draw them,” Avery says, a slow smile curling across her face.
“I can’t wait to take a shower,” Sawyer says, yawning.
Grady laughs. “Now I know you’ve hit your limit. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before, babe.”
“Well, you just did,” she answers. “Can I go shower now, Dad?”
She’d wanted to earlier, but Grady said not till all the tools were put away. He’s such a dad nothing ever slips by, or maybe it’s just the military discipline.
Whatever it is, it makes Grady a big fat spoonful of alpha-sauce, and it’s getting harder by the instant not to sneak a taste.
He reaches out, ruffling her hair. “Run along, and make sure you scrub behind your ears.”
As both girls make a racing dash for the house, he turns to me. “It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?”
“For what?” I frown, wondering what I missed.
“The medicated shampoo.”
Oh, jeez, we’re still stuck on the great lice panic?
“Yep, plenty of time. I’ve checked them daily up until this week and not a single nit was found.”
“So it’s over?”
“Grady. Dude. Have you still been freaking out about lice this entire time?” My eyes stick to his, barely holding in a laugh.
“Not worried, necessarily, just concerned. They’re my girls,” he growls, as if anyone could forget it.
“Oh, Grady!” I laugh, throwing my arms around him in a hug. “The things that freak you out amaze me...”
With a slow-burn smile that reaches up inside me, he drapes a massive arm around my shoulders as we start walking to the house. “Hardly. Think I’m still freaked that you aren’t scared being up close and personal with Mr. Congeniality in the barn. Does anything rattle you, Willow Wisp? I know huge cats and bug infestations don’t. Neither does hard work.”
Because it feels too right, I loop my arm around his waist.
“Nope. I’m like a little samurai-robot I guess. Growing up on safaris and research trips hundreds of miles from civilization makes you kinda tough. Resilience makes us stronger. Just like those flower roots we uncovered...in a few months, they’ll be regular plants, blooming like they haven’t been buried for years.” Leaning against him, I add, “And someday you’ll forget that Sawyer and Avery ever had lice. I think they’ll forget a whole lot faster.”
“They’ll never forget today,” he says as we climb the front steps of the house. “Not sure it’ll leave my head for a good, long while, honestly.”
Whoa.
The depth and emotion in that statement makes me almost uncomfortable, even if it also makes my soul want to do a rock solo.
So like every awkward turtle ever born, I try to make light of it.
“It’s been a fun day, and I know how rare those can be. Hell of a workout too,” I say with a huff. “I’ll be eighty and my muscles are still going to be sore from all the gardening today.”
“A hot shower will help that,” he tells me point-blank, opening the door for me. “You clean up, and then I’ll throw some steaks on the grill.”
Oh, my.
Is it the heat that’s making me dizzy enough to see stars...or is it just him?
“Sounds great! Y-you too,” I stammer like a fool.
The BLTs we ate for lunch, courtesy of Sawyer and Avery using leftover bacon from breakfast, had burned off hours ago. My stomach growls so loud I’m afraid Bruce might hear and think it’s another tiger.
“I’ll throw some baked potatoes in the oven before I jump in the shower,” I say over my shoulder, eager to keep my hands and brain busy for a few blissful minutes.
If I ever needed a distraction, it’s right the hell now.
A short time later, standing below the hissing warm shower spray, I lean against the wall, rinsing the muck and shampoo out of my hair. A part of me wants to be extra clean and unfortunately it’s got everything to do with packed muscle, a thick beard, and eyes like brown amber.
Even under the hissing waterfall, a certain part of me throbs with an itch I’ll never scratch alone. What’s the magic word again when you’re helplessly smitten with a man you totally can’t have?
Oh, yeah.
Eep, eep, and also, eep!
The shower works its magic on my achy muscles, and the water is still steaming when I turn it off.
After wrapping one towel around my hair, I wind a second around my torso, tucking a corner between my breasts to hold it up while I search my scant wardrobe for something to wear.
I’d only grabbed a single suitcase of stuff I’d thrown together when I’d left the rescue. I need to throw a load of laundry in the washer because I’ve gone through what I have for the third time, or else start expanding my wardrobe with the shops in town.
I rummage around until I pull out a sundress. It’s white with a smattering of orange and black feathery blotches. I skip the bra since they, too, all need washing.
It’s loose-fitting enough, so no one should notice, thank gawd.
Brushing the snarls out of my hair takes a while, and then I spend a few minutes shining my bracelet before slipping it back on my arm. It’s the same one I’ve worn every day since my father gave it to me for my high school graduation.
Shimmering gold and black onyx make faux tiger stripes around the ring. He had it custom-made for me by a semi-famous jeweler in Johannesburg he’s been friends with for years.
Before leaving the room—which I’ve come to love with its gaping windows always full of streaming sun or shimmering moonlight—I flip my head down and give my hair a good finger-combing to keep it from drying in clumps.
It’s so freaking hot today I don’t feel like blowing it dry, which is the only way it’ll hang straight, so I’m calling it good.
Just before I open my door, my hand lingers on the knob, my pulse in my throat.
I haven’t felt like this since my first morning here, unsure what I’d find.