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I count for ten seconds.
It’s eerily quiet.
“Come on. Come the hell on, Willow Wisp,” I mutter to myself.
Can’t help it. I open the door a crack and peer inside with one eye.
“Nice and easy, you big baby,” she’s saying softly, just feet away from where he stands at the edge of his trailer. The woman’s a portrait of surreal calm, beauty and the beast brought to life.
“I’ve never been better, Brucey. See? We were just messing around in the water, playing, just like I know you’re gonna love to do at your brand-new home.”
The monster cat snorts, as if he wants to deny he’d ever be caught splashing around like a baby. Or maybe he’s just impatient as hell for the home she mentioned.
“Yeah, buddy. That makes two of us,” I whisper.
“It’s a scorcher today!” Willow continues, so close I’m expecting her to reach out and stroke his chin. “You’re so lucky. The bricks in this old barn keep it pretty cool in here. Nice and dark and cool as a fall breeze—just what a big old tiger needs, huh?”
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.
