“Well now, show me this tiger so we can get the introductions out of the way and settle in for a proper visit,” he says.
“Bruce is in the barn. We carefully modified it to hold him comfortably,” I say. “This way.”
I still can’t believe we’re doing this again.
But after the massive ruckus at Let’s Roar, Bruce had a hard time calming down. The first night, he’d broken out of the pen they’d put him in, and because Weston’s truck was still there thanks to our hospital checkups, Jacob Cook found Bruce lying beside the trailer the next morning.
He wouldn’t budge, giving off a loud warning growl any time Jacob and his people approached.
They had to sedate him just so they could get him penned up again, but once he escaped a second time, they found him on top of the stock trailer. Totally refusing to come down.
Jacob wasn’t willing to tranquilize him again or risk having a massive tiger-sized hole in a third enclosure, and I couldn’t blame him.
So, after Grady and his friends pulled every string they could with the state officials and local police, he’d returned to Dallas along with us. This time with a handy and very temporary exotic wildlife permit in my name from the state of North Dakota.
It turns out the devious happenings at Exotic Plains helped with the legal wrangling.
“The Fosses were using my name for so much crap,” I continue, explaining it all to my father, “including registrations. So legally, Bruce is mine. It’s my name on his papers, and Drake, a friend of Grady’s—of ours—was able to get me a temporary permit to keep Bruce here under close watch until I can find him a real home.”
“Rather nice setup, I must say. I’ve seen worse overseas.” Dad glances around the barn, making an impressed hrumph of approval as he makes his inspection. “This is a well-built structure. Solid and evidently storm proofed.”
Grady and I share a heavy, awkward look, trying not to burst out laughing.
But seriously, thank God the place got beefed up.
Nobody needs a second round of Tornado Bruce tearing through downtown Dallas or stalking the countryside.
With one last look, Dad gives me a warm smile. “Looks tiger proof to me. Wonderful job, you two.”
“It is,” I assure him. “Straight-line winds damaged the door one time a little while back, and we fixed it right up. He’ll be fine here for the time being.”
“You’re the expert, Peter. Glad you approve,” Grady says with a nod, then casts a longing look at me. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better make sure my girls don’t try to sneak in here to show Bruce their new gifts...”
“Of course!” Dad gives back a knowing smile and looks at me, remembering how mischievous I could be at their age.
While Grady goes out to meet the girls, I step closer to Dad.
“How about you, Willow girl? Are you just as happy penned up in this little town as this orange gentleman?” He nods at Bruce, who’s dozing on his hay pile.
“More than fine, Dad. I’ve never—” I shrug, unsure how to say this. Then my heart skips a beat and I know. “Honestly? I’ve never been so happy. So at home. There’s something kinda magical about this place, as silly as it sounds for being in the middle of nowhere.”
“I believe you.” He kisses my forehead. “And if you’re happy, so am I.”
Nervous, because I’m not sure how he’ll react, I stumble over my next words. “So. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and, um...I’m not sure I want to continue on. With fieldwork, I mean.”
“Oh?” he says neutrally, quirking a bushy eyebrow.
“You know me. I thought it was destiny from the time you’d bring me on research trips deep into the bush. It was always my dream, but lately I’m not so sure. I’m wondering about a lot of things.” I lean against the concrete wall, drawing in a hefty breath. “I love Bruce, Dad, and of course I’ll help get him where he belongs, but as for the rest...I just don’t know. I just feel different about so many things.”
For a second, he stares, and my heart stops.
Then comes the kind, massive, balmy Peter Macklin smile that’s always made me feel like the center of the universe.
“You’ve been through quite a gauntlet, honey, more than I ever went through. I heard what those brutes did to you.” He frowns, rubbing my shoulder, touching me like he’s grateful I’m alive. “Remember what Jung said? 'Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart.'”
“Like you’d ever let me forget.” I roll my eyes, smiling, appreciating Dad’s undying love for Carl Jung’s dream work.
“The thing about dreams is that we can become so busy chasing one, we don’t realize there are others out there. New dreams worth exploring—even at the expense of the old ones,” he muses, pulling at the corner of his mustache.
“That’s true.” I look at him. “So, would you be disappointed if I didn’t follow in your footsteps?”
“My footsteps? Please, dear girl. These feet are too big and clumsy for anyone to follow happily.” He gives me a hug. “Whatever you decide, know that I’ll never be disappointed in you. Not ever. What I want, what I’ve always wanted, is for you to be happy, Willow girl. That’s the brief and the dissertation. Be happy. Love, Dad.” He kisses the top of my head. “And it sounds to me like perhaps you’ve found your happiness right here in rural North Dakota.”
My heart blooms like a whole field of wild flowers.
“Maybe I have, Dad. I think I really have,” I whisper.
“Grady and his daughters appear to be very special,” he urges.
“Yeah, I mean, they kinda are.”
“Marvelous. Then if you don’t mind, let’s leave our tiger friend to his dreams and stomp up a few more of our own. Don’t we have a party to attend?”
“Don’t call it that!” I press a hand against my chest. “It’s just a little get-together. More of a thank you from me to all the people who helped.”
“Ah, so you don’t want to big deal it, then, even when you’re happier than I’ve ever seen you,” he says with a smile.
I start to answer, but the rest of his words hit me in one blow.
All I can do is walk out, lock up, and try so hard to avoid death by smiling.
Several hours later, we find ourselves in a whirlwind, pressing hands and gabbing with so many townsfolk.
The Purple Bobcat feels like the coziest place in the world tonight, full of all the wonderful-larger-than-life people who helped me save my tiger. Who helped me save myself, even if the hero of the story will always be one massive, growly uber dad who can make my heart quicksand faster than I can draw my next breath.
“Boy, howdy!” Granny Coffey says with a low whistle, staring across the room at my father. “If only I was ten years younger.”
“Ten?” a pregnant Tory Faulkner asks her grandmother. “And Gran, what about Robert? Aren’t you two pretty serious now?”
Granny, wearing a floral hot-pink shirt and white pants, touches the pink flower in her grey hair. “Here’s a lesson, Miss Smarty Pants: it’s okay to look at the menu when you always order the same dish.”