Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Cade: How you holding up, Red?

Willa: Got some Tylenol down.

Cade: Good. But how are YOU?

Willa: Tired. But okay.

Cade: Did you shower?

Willa: Yeah . . .

Cade: Good. Go to bed. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be there soon.

By the time I pull up to the house, the sun has set behind the Rockies. I can hear crickets, and there are a few lights on in the house.

I’m in a foul mood. The cows I can handle. It’s the cowboys that piss me off—sometimes I think I’d be more efficient running the ranch entirely on my own. I wouldn’t have time for a kid or family, but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to a bunch of yahoos wax poetic about my hot nanny.

I told Bucky that if he kept wagging his jaw, I’d break it.

Assholes just laughed and shifted to making fun of me for having a crush on her. Cade and the nanny sitting in a tree.

Assholes.

I told them they were all fired, and they just laughed more.

Closing my truck door as gently as possible to keep from waking them up, I head toward the front door, wishing away my agitation. My worry. My confusion. I don’t want to step into this house as anything other than what they need.

I’m halfway expecting Willa to be up when I step inside. That wobble in her voice on the phone has haunted me all night. It boggles my mind that a self-possessed woman like her can doubt herself so thoroughly.

She’s all swagger and confidence ninety-nine percent of the time. But now and then, I get this flash of insecurity. It leaves me shaking my head.

After toeing my boots off, I walk through the house on socked feet, desperate for a shower, but more desperate to check on my son.

Willa too.

I head to my bedroom first, absently wondering if it will be weird if I pop my head into her room to check on her.

But those thoughts come to a screeching halt when I step into my darkened room and see copper hair floating across my pillows. The light from the hallway illuminates her creamy, pale arm wrapped around Luke’s tiny body.

My heart seizes in my chest. Stops right in its fucking tracks. And I can’t look away. I let myself stare, shoulder propped against the doorframe, arms crossed against my chest—my only armor against the intense feelings the sight of Willa snuggling my son stirs up in me.

I soak them in.

I think about her saying she loves him.

I think about the moment he reaches for her hand, the way he looks up at her—just a little uncertain that she’ll want his hand in hers.

I think about the curve of his lips and the way his tiny shoulders drop on a sigh when she effortlessly wraps her fingers around his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I stand here and think way too damn much as I stare at them curled into each other. I let myself imagine things that I have no business imagining. Things I’m not sure I could ever live up to.

With a shake of my head, I tiptoe into the room, hovering over them carefully as I reach out and lay the back of my hand over Luke’s forehead.

Blissfully cool, which means either the fever broke, or she managed to get enough medicine into him.

I sigh shakily and just before I straighten, her eyes flutter open.

“Hi.” Willa’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“Hi,” I whisper, and I can hear the smile in my voice.

“Oh God. I’m sorry. He wanted me to lie with him. He got sick again. He got sick . . . a lot.” Her head turns as she takes in her surroundings. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your bed.”

I like you in my bed.

It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back, opting for, “It’s okay.” I reach out and run a hand over her silky hair, gently pressing her head onto the pillow. “Just go back to sleep.” Luke is crashed out on top of her arm anyway.

“Where will you sleep?” She blinks groggily.

“In Luke’s room.” I should take my hand off her, but I stroke her hair.

Soothing her or myself? Of that, I’m not entirely sure.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thank you. You were a godsend today.”

“That’s overkill, Eaton,” she mumbles, nuzzling her head into my pillow to hide from the compliment.

I wonder if she can smell me there.

Thumbing some of her hair, I push it back behind her ear, letting my fingers trail over the line of her jaw. “You need to learn how to take a compliment, Red. A simple thank-you is all it requires.”

“Oka—”

I press my thumb against her lips, entranced by how supple they feel under my touch. “Red. Just take the thank-you. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

Her lips press together and she gives a firm nod. The motion makes Luke stir, but rather than waking up, he turns over and nuzzles into her chest, small hand splayed on her arm.

I watch Willa blink down at him, like she’s still trying to wrap her mind around where she is and what she’s doing. And when she looks up at me, uncertainty painted all over her pretty face, all I can do is smile.

Willa Grant looks way too good in my bed.

“I think I watched a porno like this once.”

My head snaps up from where I’m scrubbing the upholstery in the back of Willa’s Jeep. “Pardon me?” I pop around the open door and take her in, sitting on the top step of my front porch, wearing black leggings and a black tank top.

She looks good.

There is not a single place in this house this woman doesn’t look good.

I can see the outline of her nipple piercings, but more than anything, I’m entranced by the way her pale skin contrasts against the dark fabric of her clothes. The way her fiery hair seems even brighter.

“The grumpy mechanic guy with bulging muscles. A girl who can’t pay her bill. A tale as old as time.”

“The shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes.” I dry my hands on a piece of torn towel. It’s a pale pink. Like Willa’s lips.

“It’s the backward hat.” She points at me with a light chuckle. “You flipped the switch.”

“Have you ever been told that you use humor to cover up being uncomfortable?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.” She smiles, and I shake my head at her in wonder. “My mom’s a therapist, remember?”

“I told you that you didn’t need to clean my house or do laundry.”

Her head quirks, the morning sun glinting off her smooth skin. “Have you ever been told you’re terribly particular?”

“Willa.” My arms cross.

“Cade.” She mirrors my motion with her arms. Except it creates a shelf beneath her full tits and I lose my focus. The scowl melts off my face. “I wasn’t about to hang out in a house with barf laundry just sitting around. That’s plain gross.”

“You cleaned the bathroom.”

“There was barf there too.”

“The floors?”

She grimaces. “Barf.”

“Jesus.” I take my hands over my hat, pressing down at the brim over the back of my neck. When I peek up, I don’t miss the way Willa is eyeing my arms.

There’s a part of me that gets off on it. But there’s another part of me—the adult part with all the baggage—that knows I need to put a stop to whatever this tension is between us.

Probably not kissing her and grinding into her until I blew in my pants would have been a great start.

Or not making her sit on the edge of my hot tub so I could eye fuck the way her bathing suit violated her.

“I don’t mind. It’s”—her hand waves around in front of her—“whatever. I felt bad for Luke. You work hard all day. You didn’t need to walk into a barf-covered house.”

“You’re not a maid, Willa.”

Her lips quirk up and her eyes narrow. I’ve noticed this look. It comes right before she says something inappropriate. “I was a sexy one for Halloween one year.”

I scowl at her. Internally I’m scowling at myself because my first two thoughts were:

1. Does she still have that costume?

2. How do I track down and kill every guy who saw her wearing it?

She snickers and I ignore her. It’s what’s best for both of us. “You cleaned my entire house but left your own vehicle saturated with vomit?”

Her head wobbles from side to side. “Well, yeah. It seemed like a problem for another day. I’m going to get it detailed. It’s not a big deal, so you can stop reenacting that porno anytime now.”

“I’m almost done, Willa. It seems like the least I can do for you,” I grumble, ducking back into the Jeep, needing to stop staring at her and seeing her lips part on the word porno.

“Cade, stop. It’s seven a.m. and you were home late. What time were you up? Don’t you have work?”

“I don’t sleep in, Red. And I’m taking the day off to take care of you guys.”

She doesn’t respond. I hear the front door shut and let out a sigh, relieved she walked away. I get lost in shampooing the seat, watching the bubbles form and turn into a white foam.

It’s a pleasant escape. Manual labor has a peculiar way of stilling my mind, easing my worries—keeping me on track and focused on the things that matter.

I’m lost in thoughts of things that matter when I feel a soft hand press against the center of my back.

I squeeze my eyes shut—hard—because I know who I’m about to face and I need to play it cool.

But when I turn to Willa, I feel the pads of her fingers trail along my ribs. And then she’s standing before me, holding a steaming mug of fresh coffee. Wide green eyes look up at me—a hint of confusion in them. So many questions. And a softness that I want to pull out and wrap myself in.

She holds the cup out to me. “Here. Seems like the least I could do.”

And I realize that taking a moment with my eyes closed to give myself an internal pep talk will not keep me away from Willa Grant at all.

I need to try harder because she’s quickly becoming one of those things that matter to me. And I’m not sure I can handle more responsibility.