Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Willa: Panties? Check. Bra? No check.

Cade: You’re going to a children’s birthday party. Try again.

Willa: Right. Let me try again.

Willa: Panties? No check. Bra? Also no check.

Cade: The town is talking about you enough as it is.

Willa: Oooh. What are they saying?

Cade: That your panty lines are very defined.

Willa: My god. Did you just make a joke?

Cade: I’ll be there at 6 tonight. Please don’t embarrass me.

Willa: Oh boy. Is that a challenge?

Cade: Bye, Red.

Willa: I do this with Luke when he behaves badly too. Just ignore him. I don’t think it’s going to work on me though.

I pull up in front of the sizeable newly built house where the birthday party is being hosted. Truthfully, I hate this shit.

Showing up at kids’ birthday parties as a single dad in a small town feels like being locked in a cage full of hungry lions.

Or is it cougars?

I shake my head, stepping out of my truck. Droplets of water rain down the back of my neck, because I rushed out of the shower to get here so Willa wouldn’t be stuck in the cougar den by herself.

I’m not oblivious to how snoopy and pushy people in this town can be. Especially around my family, who they’ve always treated a little like royalty. Like ticks who crawl up out of the shrubs to catch a ride.

Talia happened once and that will never happen again.

I snag a cap from the back seat and fit it to my head before spinning the brim to the back.

The happy squeals of children and the sound of splashing water draw me around the side of the house. I reach over the wooden gate and pull on the hidden string.

City folks.

It’s like they think no one knows this string is there.

I step into the heavily landscaped backyard, taking in the in-ground pool and the parents milling around while children run around in their swimsuits.

But it’s the sight of Luke crying in soaked clothes while Willa crouches in front of him, rubbing at his arms at the poolside that gets my heart pumping.

The kid puts up a good front. He plays it tough. But right now, he’s borderline inconsolable.

I can see the tension in Willa’s body, the heartbreak in her eyes. And it makes me like her even more. She doesn’t care about the rest of the party buzzing around her. She’s only got eyes for my son.

And when she pulls him in for a hug, soaking herself in the process, I melt.

Luke whispers something in her ear and points at another kid. I should recognize these kids and parents, but I usually pawn this shit off on my dad.

Forced socialization with adults I don’t like is its own special brand of torture, and I guess there are limits to what I’ll do for my kid.

Willa stands and glances over her shoulder at the boy sucking on a lollipop, standing with his back to her. I think he’s the birthday kid, but I’m not entirely sure. His mom, whose name I also forget, is standing with two other moms chatting.

A quick glance back at Willa has me walking across the grass, because her expression is pure fire. Rhett told me she was loyal, and I recognize that look on her face. Because when someone shits on a person I care about, I make it too.

In just a few strides, Willa is bent over by the birthday boy, who stares up at her and laughs with a little shit-eating grin on his face.

“Excuse me!” his mom trills, her white wine spritzer swirling in the glass.

Willa isn’t touching the kid, but she’s right in his face, and I can see her lips moving slowly like she’s carefully enunciating her words.

“Did you hear me? Stop talking to him!”

“Somebody needs to explain right from wrong in terms he can understand,” Willa says over her shoulder to the red-cheeked mom. “Or did you miss the part where he pushed Luke into the pool and held his head under water?”

“It was a joke! You’re out of line, and you will not speak another word to him.”

Luke’s tear-stained face tells me he wasn’t in on the joke.

Willa rises slowly, almost predatory in her movements, as she turns and arches a brow at the woman. “Oh, no?”

“Not another word.”

“Fine.” Willa smiles but it’s a scary smile. And then, with one well-placed hip check, the birthday boy goes flying into the water.

“Sebastian!” His mother’s spritzer sloshes on her hand as she rushes forward.

Luke is suitably shocked. The mom’s mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out, just like when you pull a trout from the lake.

Willa crouches at the pool’s edge, smirking at the boy, who is already standing in the shallow water, angrily wiping his eyes. “Life lesson, shithead. Careful who you pick a fight with. Someone insane might love them.”

“You need to leave! Now!” The mom points toward the gate, and her arm shakes with fury.

I’m almost to them, but the sight of Willa knocking a kid into the pool stopped me in my tracks.

She really is insane.

Possibly in the best way.

“Gladly.” She stands, brushing her hands. “Contact a professional if he starts killing bunnies or something.”

“Willa,” I bark, back in motion now.

“Oh, good,” the mom says. “A real parent is here.”

I should know her name for the number of times she’s tried to chat me up at the grocery store or school pick up, but I don’t, so I take a guess at what sounds close and pray I’m right. “Hi, Bunny.”

She blinks at me. “It’s Betty.”

Should have prayed harder, I guess. “Oh, sorry. My mistake. Slip of the tongue. Is there a problem?”

“Yes. Your nanny is the problem.”

I don’t appreciate the condescending way she says nanny, so I offer back, “Willa is a friend, actually.”

Willa blinks. Betty blinks. Luke walks up and wraps his arms around Willa’s waist, while the shithead kid pulls himself out of the pool, looking suitably chastised.

“She pushed my son into the pool.”

“I tripped.” Willa smirks, wrapping a protective arm around Luke’s small body.

Betty’s blue eyes narrow, and her voice is shrill when she stomps her foot and sort of squeals, “Leave!”

“Let’s all be polite here.” I give Betty a pointed look before Willa goes even further.

“Of course. Thank you so much for having me, Bunny.” Willa winks before turning to Luke. “I’ll see you back at home, buddy.”

Home.

She says it so easily. Like it’s true. That our home is her home. She also said she loves Luke, and I don’t know what to make of that.

I should be more pissed at someone about something right now, but I’m altogether too busy trying to wrap my head around the firecracker in front of me.

“No! I want to go with you.” I watch Luke’s knuckles turn white where he grips at her clothes, practically clinging to her, tears still shimmering on his pudgy little cheeks.

I turn, squeezing one hand on Willa’s slender shoulder while running the other over Luke’s hair. I bend down and press a kiss to the crown of his head.

When I straighten, Willa’s confident air has melted away. She has a pinched forehead, and her eyes are a little glassy. Her voice is hushed and cracks when she says, “That kid held him under water.” Her blinks turn rapid. “I had to pull him out. And they all just laughed like it was a funny prank.”

The papa bear in me roars at the story she’s recounting. My protective side. The one I’ve been honing for decades. I slide my hand up to the side of her neck, rubbing a thumb over the pulse point there, as I hold her bright green gaze with my own. “Go. I’ll meet you back at home. I got this.”

Her head tilts ever so slightly into my touch. And then she nods.

I watch for a few beats as she departs with Luke leaned into her as if she’s the most comforting thing in the world. I absently wonder how he’ll handle her leaving when school starts back.

Poorly, probably.

I wonder how I’ll handle her leaving next month.

Just as poorly I bet.

“That Willa character needs a leash,” the mom sniffs from behind me.

My chest puffs up when I turn my attention on the bottle blonde across from me. “Betty, I like to think I’m a gentleman, but I’m only going to tell you once. Keep her name out of your mouth if you’re going to use that tone. Let’s talk about your kid instead.”

One manicured hand falls across her chest, and she rears back, like she’s totally scandalized.

Joke’s on Betty.

I’m just getting started here.

Willa might drive me insane. She might deserve a little pushback. But if Betty thinks she’s going to be the one to push back at her, she’s got another thing coming.

Willa might be a bit of psycho—after all, she did just push a child into the pool—but the more time I spend with her, the more I feel like she’s my psycho.

When I get home, the house is empty, which suits me fine because I walk to the kitchen, pull out my favorite bottle of bourbon, and take a deep swig before putting it back in the cupboard and propping my palms against the counter.

I’ll find Willa and Luke after catching my breath and sorting my thoughts.

Head falling low, I try to shake off the mental image of Luke struggling under water.

I kept my conversation with Betty fairly contained. It’s a small town, and there are only so many bridges you can burn. Everyone will talk about this anyway. Particularly with the way Willa went off.

I shake my head at the memory. The way she’d called her Bunny even after Betty corrected me. The girl has a real pair on her—I’ll give her that. Especially after watching her on that filly this morning.

The sound of delighted giggles draws my attention out the open kitchen window toward the back hay field where the first cut bales are stacked. When I see a flash of copper hair, I know they must be out there.

Playing. Laughing. I let my eyes flutter shut and listen to them.

“Ready or not! Here I come!” Luke shouts breathlessly.

It’s perfect.

I smile to myself and then open my eyes, knowing the only place I want to be right now is out in the field with them—even if I am dead on my feet after working all day and dealing with small-town-mom drama.

Within minutes, I’m stepping into the huge maze-like structure made of big round bales, the dark passageways between them almost too narrow for me to pass through.

“I can hear you giggling, you little goose.”

“A goose?” he shouts.

“A silly goose!” she calls, voice back to the light singsong version I first noticed, all traces of the earlier anxiety gone.

I run into Luke first as he hunts Willa down with a serious expression on his face. He instantly holds a finger over his mouth, signaling me to be quiet, like he didn’t just totally broadcast his location by calling out to her.

Crouching down, I pull him into a quick hug, needing to feel him—the beat of his heart, the little whoosh of his breath, his chubby cheek against my stubbled one.

“I love you, buddy,” I rasp out, feeling emotional.

“I love you too, Dad.” He pats my back. “But you’re going to make me lose.”

I chuckle. I’m sure Willa knows where he is. What he doesn’t know is he’s only going to catch her if she wants him to.

It seems crazy that I ever thought she wouldn’t be able to keep him safe, and now she’s done nothing but. Sure, his nannies and babysitters always watched him, but I don’t know if they’d have gone to bat for him the way Willa did today.

The way I would have in that same situation.

“I’ll go that way, see if we can track her down together. Divide and conquer.”

He bobs his head. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s a good plan.”

I give his hair a quick muss, pressing one more kiss to his head before he turns and darts away. I know we need to talk about what happened today, but now’s not the moment. I’m sure it will all come out when I lie down with him at bedtime.

I turn into the bales, heading in the opposite direction, the dry points of stray pieces scratching at my arms as I move in toward the center of the structure searching for Willa.

I hear the dull thump of small feet around me, Luke winding his way up and down the rows. Every sense feels elevated in here, the hay providing a sort of soundproofing, a privacy. The walls of it press in around me. It smells comforting.

It smells like nostalgia. I’m taken back to days when Beau and I would chase Rhett and our little sister Violet through here. Same field and everything.

To my right, I see a flash. Daylight blocked out for a moment before it shines through again. I turn and follow, knowing I’ve got her now.

My strides lengthen as I veer right, catching sight of her creeping along carefully.

“Red,” I whisper-shout.

Her head flips in my direction, her eyes twinkling. Because, if nothing else, Willa Grant is a shit disturber, waltzing into my life and complicating it without even trying. Looking all pleased with herself over it.

With a wink over her shoulder, she shoots off, running from me.

And something primal in me roars to life.

I chase her.

Luke is way over on the other side of the bales, and while I wouldn’t say that I’ve forgotten about him, it’s Willa who has my full attention right now.

I jog as best I can in the cramped space, my mind laser-focused. All I see is her, and all I hear is blood pumping in my ears.

She veers again, and I hear a small, gasped giggle when she glances over her shoulder and sees that I’ve gained on her.

One turn left has her heading in Luke’s direction. And while I told him I was going to help him catch her, the truth is . . . I want her to myself for a moment.

I can’t explain it. It’s instinct.

My arm extends in front of me, and my fingers wrap around her delicate wrist, clamping down and yanking her back to me before she can cross paths with my kid and put a stop to this dangerous game of cat and mouse we seem to be playing.

Air whooshes out of her lungs as she stumbles back into me, shoulder blades thumping against my chest.

“Jesus Christ.” She chuckles, not moving away from my body. In fact, she leans into me, glancing over her shoulder. “Relax, daddy. It’s just a kid’s game.”

I turn, pulling her back in toward the center of the maze. “Running pretty hard for a woman playing a kid’s game, Red.”

She laughs, not taking me seriously—in typical fashion.

“And stop calling me that.”

“Why?” she asks breathlessly as I turn a corner before pressing my back into the hay, giving her a tug that has her stumbling into my chest.

She catches herself by splaying one hand on my pec. We both look down, transfixed by where she’s made contact. My shirt might as well not be there because it feels like she’s touching my bare skin.

My cock twitches, clearly not differentiating at all.

“Because I don’t like it,” I bite out. The nickname makes me feel creepy.

That just makes her smirk. “But I’m pretty sure you’re about to scold me like one.”

My brow furrows as I raise my chin to get lost in her emerald eyes. “Scold you?”

Her eyes roll. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have knocked that kid into the water, but I was really mad. He was just so mean. And not accidentally. I got picked on like that as a kid and it was always my brother who stepped in and saved me. But Luke doesn’t have a big brother to kick someone’s ass for him, and I just . . . snapped.”

I soak in the woman before me, a fucking knockout. “Why did you get picked on?”

“I’ll show you pictures sometime. Taller and skinnier than everyone. Big buck teeth. Crazy red hair. Can I blame assaulting a seven-year-old on my hair color? I’ve always flown off the handle kind of easily. Or like”—her lips roll together—“I don’t get mad easy, but when I do it’s really, really bad. And Bunny sucks. Eye-fucking you like that at a child’s party.”

I blink at her, frantically explaining herself like she’s in trouble with me when she’s not. The only people in trouble are the assholes who picked on her. I don’t care if it’s been a decade. I want names and addresses so I can set them straight.

She carries on, oblivious to the way I’m looking at her and the hard-on growing in my pants. Oblivious to the way her fingers absently stroke my chest.

“I know there’s this whole weird, small-town vibe happening where everyone knows everyone else’s business. And that bottle-blonde bitch was spitting mad. I imagine I’d be mad if I found out my kid was a raging loser too. But I don’t really care what she thinks of me, you know? So if you need to blame it on me to save face as the town’s grumpy prince, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you.”

I just stare at her. She must think I’m a real dick if she’s assuming I wouldn’t come to her defense on this.

Her tongue darts out over her lips, wetting the full bottom one and making it shimmer in a way that I can’t peel my eyes away from.

“God. Why do you have to wear a backward cap too?” Her voice is softer now. Raspier. Breathier.

I swear she’s leaning closer.

“What?” She’s a confusing woman, talking a mile a minute. We’ve gone from a scolding to teenaged trauma to small-town drama to my hat in under a minute.

She really is kind of insane.

“The cowboy hat.” She groans and lets her eyes roll back in her head. “Is so good. I mean, I feel like I’m living in some made-for-TV movie with a hot cowboy. But then you clean up and style your hair, and you give these hot, debonair older-man vibes.”

I’m so confused.

“Sorry?”

Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, and I feel the scrape of her nails against my chest. I love the way it looks; her pale skin gripping at the black fabric. I imagine lying her down in my bed, getting lost between her pretty milky thighs, and making her come so hard that her fingers curl in the same way.

“But then, you go and turn a cap backward and give me the full rough-around-the-edges country-boy experience. Do you know how hot that is? I can’t even explain it.” She laughs lightly, like she didn’t just say something that broadsided me. “Hat forward. Cute.” Her free hand mimics grabbing the brim of a cap and turning it backward. “Hat backward? Game on. It’s like a switch.”

I shake my head at her, watching the blush in her cheeks, the fire in her eyes. The trace of shyness on her face.

“Well, that was altogether too much information. The backward cap is melting my brain cells. Gotta go!” She startles me when she pushes away and runs down the compressed path. I hear Luke’s voice taunting her, but he sounds far-off still. Her strides cover the ground but not the way mine do. The urge to chase her and hold her down consumes me. It has me feeling wild and untethered.

Which is why with one sharp turn, I capture her arm at her elbow and push her against the prickly hay. Pressing her into it firmly, my hips lined up with hers. My hard cock against her flat stomach.

“Game on?” I rasp out, as all my reservations about touching the nanny fly out the goddamn window. I don’t need them—definitely don’t want them. Not with the way she’s staring at me right now, eyes fixed on my lips while I grip her elbow and prop another hand against the wall of hay behind her.

Her lip is still wet when she whispers, “Game on.”

I want to shove her back and devour her—leave her struggling to breathe—but I hold that side of myself back.

Because more than that, I want to thank her.

I want to thank her in a way that my words won’t let me, so rather than mauling her like a teenager, I take a ragged breath and let myself drink her in for a moment. The pert tip of her nose. The thick fringe of her lashes. The heartbeat in her temple, just in front of where that beautiful copper hair starts.

I release her arm and trail my knuckles over her skin, starting at her shoulder, slowly dragging them down to her wrist. I’m fascinated by the spray of goose bumps that crop up in the wake of my touch.

My fingers slide between hers, her palm fitting so perfectly in mine.

“I don’t know this game,” she whispers, and I drop my hand from above her head, pressing into her body with the full length of mine. My free hand slides into her hair, and I watch as I slowly comb through the strands, the burnished tone of it matching my tanned skin so well.

“Me neither, Red.” My eyes stay glued to her hair. Truthfully, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I know is that I want to savor this.

Savor her.

Because I have a sinking feeling that when we step out of these bales, things will look a lot different. The dusty, grassy smell will drift away, and reality will seep back in.

The reality where I know better than to go after a girl like Willa Grant.

A reality where I’m still too fucking wounded to trust someone.

“Are you gonna make a move, Eaton? Or just stand here petting me?”

My head shakes and my chest rumbles as I chance a look at her eyes. Clear and certain, so bright.

I feel safe when I’m scowling, but it’s getting harder and harder to look at Willa Grant without smiling.

It’s with a smile on my lips that I lean in and press my mouth to hers. She’s soft and willing. She parts for me with such ease. Welcomes the kiss.

Takes me.

When I groan, she whimpers into my mouth, and I swallow her sweet little sounds. Wanting to keep them for myself, memorize them for a rainy day.

It’s been years since I’ve been touched like this, and my chest cracks open at the feel. The contact. The closeness. The intimacy. Hands sliding up over my chest, pressing up over my neck before gripping either side of my skull. Dainty fingertips behind my ears.

I didn’t even realize how badly I missed the attention of a woman. And not just any woman. The woman I’ve glued my attention to from the moment I saw her.

The woman who’s thawed my icy heart in a matter of weeks.

Heartless. That’s what Talia called me in her letter. And I believed her.

I still do.

But it’s hard to deny the feeling in my chest right now. The ache. The heat.

It’s especially hard to deny the bulge in my pants. The one I’m grinding against Willa.

That part does have me feeling like a teenager.

She moans, hiking a leg up at my waist, opening herself to rub back against me, and I take that opportunity to swipe my tongue into her mouth, to shape my fingers into a fist in her hair.

To go with the intensity of the moment, even though I thought I could keep it sweet and slow. That’s the thing about Willa. She doesn’t strike me as the sweet and slow type of girl.

Every time I draw away, she pushes harder. Every time I glare at her, she prods, hoping for a reaction. And now she’s getting it.

“Willa—”

“Don’t stop.” Our teeth clash as she talks against my mouth. What started off reverently is quickly turning frantic. A well-crafted facade coming apart at every seam.

I take a handful of her round ass, squeezing hard, before picking her right up and pulling her toned legs around me so I can rut into the denim covering her pussy like the sex-starved caveman I am.

“Yes,” she hisses when my fingers trail over the torn hem of her shorts.

She smells like oranges and warm grass, refreshing and comforting all at once. She feels like heaven in my hands. And she looks just as wild as I’ve always known she is.

But there’s something about seeing her wild for me—giving in for me—that makes me feel more desired than I have in, well, ever.

“Don’t stop.” Her hips swivel against mine as my fingers inch dangerously close to where I might find out if she’s actually wearing panties.

I imagine inspecting her every morning. Bending her over the kitchen counter. Flipping up some flimsy sun dress that’s just her silent way of begging me to fuck her.

“You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” I husk against her ear, lost in the daydream.

My tongue glides against hers, gently probing her mouth. The same way I’d slide a finger into her slick pussy.

She whimpers the way she would when I add a second finger. And then a third.

“Fuck,” she hums against my lips, because my hands are moving of their own fruition, fisting her hair and plumping one full breast.

It’s all too real. Too much.

Too fucking easy to imagine.

By the time I realize how far down into this fantasy I’ve disappeared, I’m throbbing in my pants. Leaking in my pants.

Like a teenager.

Heat shoots through my groin, and I bite back any sign of what just happened. Willa is clueless, still soft and desperate in my hands.

And clearly more than I can handle, which is why I step away panting. Needing some space. Needing to hide from my skyrocketing levels of intense humiliation.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” is what I come up with. A douchebag thing to say, no doubt. But it’s all too much in this moment.

I need my solitude, and I need to get away from Willa. Because staring at her all mussed, lips all puffy and pink, matching the stain on her cheeks while her full chest heaves and her eyes go glassy and wide, has me hardening again.

I turn and stride away, hoping to get a grasp on my dignity somewhere between the hay bales and the back door of my house.

Yeah, I run.

Like a fucking teenager.