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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.
