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Oh, shit.
With my size in a small booth, it’s hard to scoot a couple inches away from Willow like she’s suddenly on fire, but Lord knows I try.
Yeah, I’m being ridiculous. But the kid popped me right between the eyes.
My insides flip in this odd way, and suddenly it feels like a feat of strength just to look Willow in the eyes.
“More like we’re a group of good friends going out for burgers and fries,” Willow says, glancing at me before grinning at the girls. “Kinda refreshing, honestly. I’ve been so busy I haven’t been out with friends like this forever.”
Slowly, I sigh and settle back in my seat, thanking my lucky stars this woman just bailed my ass out.
Again.
“Why not?” Sawyer asks.
“Oh, that’s how fieldwork goes. I’m still pretty fresh out of school, too. It’s a lot to take on.” Leaning across the table, she whispers, “Taking care of you know who.”
The girls cover their mouths and giggle at our shared secret. I’m grateful for her ability to take control of the situation, no matter what my daughters throw at her.
As I keep casting glances that last longer than they should at Willow Macklin, there’s no denying her talent.
Looks like tigers aren’t the only things she knows how to tame.
9
An Up-Roar (Willow)
Time to check my pulse.
I think somewhere on the way to the table I died and went to heaven. There’s a permanent grin digging at my cheeks as I soak in a rustic warmth I’d never find in San Diego.
The old-fashioned diner is adorable and authentic.
Besides the town photos, it’s decked out with images of Elvis, Betty Boop, James Dean, Sylvester the cat, and more classic rockers than I could try to name.
There’s even an old jukebox in the corner, currently piping out “Hawaii” by the Beach Boys.
Shiny models of famous cars, all from the fifties, decorate the shelves near the ceiling, glinting in the light so often they draw the eye.
But as delightful as this little diner is, it’s got nothing on the two sweet girls across the table from me.
When Grady first suggested “coming clean” about Bruce, my heart crawled up my throat and stuck there. But ever since the big reveal, seeing the sugar rush wonder in their eyes as they drank in a shock from another world, I’ll admit I was wrong.
Grady knows what’s best for his kids, and showing them Bruce was a very special thing.
We’re all part of this secret pact and enjoying every bit of it.
I’m convinced they took their promises seriously.
They won’t tell a single soul about the tiger—at least not until we’re good and gone—and then they’ll have to work hard to convince their friends and maybe even their adored Uncle Hank that they had a real live tiger in the barn.
It’s almost too much for anyone to believe, especially coming from two preteen chatterboxes.
I’ll bet Hank will be the first to find out when Bruce is safe and sound and I’m...hopefully not serving a felony sentence.
They’ve told me about his menagerie, but he’s never had a tiger. Legions of cats, dogs, rabbits, horses, goats, cows, chickens, ducks, and geese can’t hold a candle to an exotic beast who tells everyone who sees him that they’re not in Kansas anymore—or western North Dakota.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
They’re both sorely disappointed that their dad won’t let them have a pet—not even a goldfish per Avery. I have to wonder why as I stare at him, trying to decipher whatever strange logic is behind that chiseled jaw covered in thick dark scruff that makes me wonder how it’d feel on my skin.
Wonder far too freaking much.
Grady McKnight might have a gold lump in his chest for a heart, and I still don’t understand him.
The no pets ever thing just doesn’t add up.
He has the land and the barn to house plenty of animals. I know time could be an issue, what with his bar business and all, but the girls are responsible and old enough. I’m certain they’d pitch in taking care of a cat or dog or even a few chickens.
They’ve begged to help out with Bruce and given me a litany of all the chores they’ve done at their uncle’s place, cleaning out stables and brushing sheep. They tell me they’ve helped feed Tory Faulkner’s goats a few times too, and made friends with a mischievous black goat named Hellboy.
Of course, there’s not much I can let them do with a super-cat who can’t get within ten feet of them. But if they can help with offloading future meat deliveries or something, I’ll gladly let them.
The hamburgers and fries arrive in no time, along with tall frosty milkshakes served in classic glass cups and stainless-steel mixers.
“Brace yourself, woman,” Grady warns, giving me a heavy look. “You’ve gotta savor your first experience with a Mack burger. Four kinds of cheese, deep fried pickles, sauteed onions—
