“All right,” Grady says. “I expect a check-in within the hour. Don’t make me come looking.”
“We know!” they say at the same time.
He gives them a final nod and off they go, zooming around us, onto a well-worn trail between the house and a wooden split rail fence.
“How far away is the short track?” I ask, watching the girls disappear in the distance.
“About a quarter mile. It circles that pasture and runs on roughly three miles.”
“Three miles?” My eyes are still on the dust being kicked up by the ATVs. “Is there a long track?”
“Yes, it goes around the circumference of the property, and then onto other farms. About ten miles, give or take.”
“Wow. You trust them a lot.” He’s their father, of course, and seemingly a good one but I still have to ask, “Do you think it’s safe to let them out there by themselves?”
“They aren’t alone. They have each other and their phones. They always check in like clockwork every half hour, or I wouldn’t let ’em run off.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But they’ve been doing it for over a year, Willow.” He gives me a sharp look. “I know how old they are, and I trust my girls. I also know I damn well can’t let them find a stolen Bengal tiger in our barn. So we’ll keep them away from the house for a little while, okay?”
Ouch.
But he’s right to push back at my doubts, too.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude or nosy,” I tell him as we continue walking.
What do I know about parenting, anyway? Or about ten-year-old girls when it’s been a long time since I was one?
Come to think of it, when I wasn’t much older, Dad let me drive a Jeep with his help during a safari in Kenya. If that isn’t putting a big fat leap of faith in your underage daughter, I don’t know what is.
Honestly, he probably spoiled me more than Grady does his girls.
Humbled, I shut it and follow him back to the barn, where he stops and holds out his arm.
“Here. Take it,” he growls.
I glance at his hand and the small metal object flickering in the sun.
“What’s that?”
“A key,” he tells me.
“Well, yeah, but for what?”
“It fits all of the new padlocks I put on the barn doors this morning. We have to make sure those doors are sealed tight as long as we’re letting a guest like your boy crash inside.” He gives me an easy smile.
Holy hell.
Here comes the guilt trip, and it’s totally my own.
He’s doing all of this for me, and I was questioning his daddy skills.
Hardly a smart move on my part, but ever since he agreed to help me last night, I’ve wondered why.
What the hell motivates a man to take a gamble on a girl in distress with a tiger?
Maybe he’s just got a heart ten times bigger than most. He mentioned the Army a couple times, and so did his daughters, and I wonder if that’s part of it, too.
I know some people are absolutely fearless after a stint in the military. Or else the armed forces just attract natural heroes.
No fooling, this man would make a gold-star hero or ten. For the hundredth time since I landed here, I’m so grateful I could break.
My arrival in Dallas could’ve gone down worse in so many ways.
“Just one key for all the locks?” I ask, forcing my squirrel of a brain back to the subject.
“All the padlocks are keyed the same on the entire place. I put hasps and locks on the sliders and the side door of the barn.” He glances at the pasture, where plumes of dust are visible, indicating exactly where the girls are driving. “Should keep curious little people from sneaking inside if they hear anything out of the ordinary.”
I bite my lip, nodding.
His gaze grows serious as he looks at me.
“I can’t take that chance. Not once. Can’t have my girls sneaking in here, you understand?” His hands fall to my shoulders, squeezing, and finally I don’t freak out.
I might be a little starstruck, staring into those eyes so much like dark-brown honey pools in the pale sun.
Yep.
He’s a hero, all right.
All fathers are, but Grady? One long look tells me he’d die ten times over for his precious dolls.
And I get it, too. I don’t want to see them in danger.
“Bruce would never hurt them,” I assure him, hoping to ease his fears. “But you’re right to take every precaution.”
“He’s a wild animal with teeth and claws and storm-force that could stomp a grown man’s head into mush. A caged wild animal. No telling what he might do if they snuck in there.”
“He’s gent—” I stop.
His look tells me that he’s not going to believe another word.
Fair enough.
If I was in his shoes, and those were my daughters, I wouldn’t either.