I’ve also got a bigger problem than bantering back and forth.
I’ve enjoyed coming home to her at the house each night. It’s different from anything I’ve known, this weird, wholesome feeling I’ve missed since...
Yeah.
Shit.
Don’t fucking say it.
Because the second I do, I’ve got a much bigger personal problem than keeping a tiger thief and her boy safe from a pack of criminals.
I’d have to admit that I’m worried about my own safety and what the hell happens if I can’t maintain the laser-armed-alligator moat around my heart.
Then I’d have to admit this crush on the tiger thief is getting way too serious for comfort.
Still, there’s no denying her positive effect at home. The girls are happier than I’ve seen them in a long time.
Their texts even convinced Aunt Faye that all’s well while she cares for her friend.
The dense, throbbing summer heatwave whacks me in the face as I climb out of the truck after parking at the store. Visible heat lines fill the air, bouncing off the blacktop, a frying pan of a day that reminds me how miserable North Dakota can get in humid ninety-degree weather.
An image of Willow flashes in my mind, totally the wisp of soft, womanly curves and blue-balling smiles that’s given me that sappy nickname for her.
She was in the barn like usual this morning when I came downstairs. I’d been pouring coffee when she’d walked in through the sliding glass door in the kitchen, the morning heat already baking my farm to a crisp.
I fight the urge to shake my fist at the sun for the vision it left me with.
Sweat glistening on her sun-kissed skin, especially around the neck of her white tank top, a skimpy thing barely holding in her tits. It showed off just enough cleavage to glue my eyes to her body, kicking up a pulsing awareness below my beltline I couldn’t shake half the morning.
Don’t get me started on those faded jean shorts.
Proof positive this woman owns a magical ass, and with a single switch of her hips—abracadabra!—she could have me eating right out of her damn palm.
She was heading for her bedroom, telling me she’d cleaned out the area Bruce was using as his giant litter box and laid down fresh hay.
I told her she should’ve waited for my help.
But she just laughed and said that it was part of her job.
Right.
If only she knew the help I had in mind wasn’t just playing assistant janitor to a wild beast.
Lucky for me it didn’t happen. My inner Neanderthal might’ve made his last mistake, trying to take Willow Macklin for a roll in the hay with a frigging Bengal tiger for an audience.
Who needs to worry about an overprotective papa with a shotgun when she’s got herself a monster eager to shred idiots into human jerky?
The worst part is, I couldn’t get her out of my head till I’d headed for the meeting with the boys. All because I’d heard water running in her bathroom...
The image of her stepping into the shower in nothing but her birthday suit lit every damn inch of me on fire, left me dribbling coffee on the counter from a hand that never gets the shakes.
Shoot me right now.
I don’t know who or what the fuck I’m becoming.
This whole having a pretty lady under my roof is taking its toll, carving more out of me every day, breaking down barriers I need to hold.
And my mind is still on Willow, naked and glorious, when I’m in the meat department.
I’m picking out steaks as big as my head when a shopping cart bangs into mine, shoving it against my hip.
I turn to apologize for being in someone’s way, but the sparkling eyes on the old woman’s face make me grin.
“Hey there, handsome!” Granny Coffey belts out, overcaffeinated as ever.
“Hey yourself, Granny,” I reply.
She’s a charming old gal, the kind who stands in like a grandmother for half the town, and the sort who acts likes she’s eighteen instead of—hell if I know.
It’s mighty hard guessing her age when she’s so youthful and still able to run circles around men as young as Weston.
The green-and-pink flower in her wily grey hair matches the bright-pink of her shirt and lime-green pants. It flutters as she strolls around her cart and steps up next to me.
One thing you find out fast about Granny Coffey is that personal space doesn’t exist for her.
The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder, and she tips her head back to continue gracing me with those ever-twinkling eyes.
“So? How’s it going with Linda taking care of your girls?” she whispers conspiratorially.
Dammit.
Five seconds in and I’m already boned.
I appreciate her discretion, though I’m not pumped at having to think about the woman who could’ve taken Willow’s place as temporary nanny.
“It’s not going. I politely declined the offer,” I say, just as quietly.