Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Luke has managed to keep water, ginger ale, and some soda crackers down over the course of the day. He’s also snuggled the hell out of me on the couch, and I am living for it.

At first, I wasn’t sure. Because with Cade around, I felt he should be the one soaking up the cuddles. But he’s kept himself busy, and I’ve caught the occasional soft look he’s given us on the couch.

Luke’s propped against the end with his legs slung over my lap as he leans into my shoulder. He’s been twiddling my hair in his pudgy fingers for a while now—reminds me of his dad.

We’re watching some cartoon, and I wish I could say what it was about, but I’m altogether too aware of Cade puttering around the house. Cleaning. Fixing stuff.

He literally washed the baseboards.

I’ve never known a man to be so tidy. But he’s also driving me insane. Sitting around while he works makes me twitchy.

When he pulls all the food out of the fridge to wipe things down, I break.

“Cade, you’re giving me a headache. Please come sit and watch some silly, mind-numbing cartoon with us.”

“Hey!” Luke pouts up at me like I’ve just insulted some sort of Oscar-worthy performance rather than something that only holds children’s attention because it’s bright and flashes non-stop. It’s the music that kills me. It’s so bad.

“You saying my mind could use a little numbing, Red?” Cade grumps from the kitchen without even glancing up at me.

“Yes. You’re giving me anxiety.”

“I’ll cook you something. You’re always less peppy when you’re full.”

I snort. “Dick.”

The sizzle of something in a pan hits me first.

Then the smell of butter.

Then the feel of Luke’s weight against my stomach.

I breathe through my nose, trying to focus on the terrible TV show. How cute Luke is. How hot Cade is.

Anything to rid myself of this growing sense of nausea.

It’s when Luke leans close and puts one clammy hand on my cheek that things go south.

“Willa, you have the prettiest hair,” he murmurs sweetly. But his breath is all crackers and ginger ale and damp heat and I can’t stay here anymore.

I clamp my lips together and start fumbling with prying his legs off me. “Thank you, baby. But I need out.”

His brow furrows. He looks mildly offended, but not as offended as he’ll be if I barf on him. I catch a flash of Cade’s concerned face as I literally jog down the hall toward the bathroom. The seat makes a loud clanking noise as I flick it open and empty myself with the most unladylike roaring noise.

When the urge ends, I flush and peer up to find Cade and Luke standing in the doorway watching me. As if hearing me barf wasn’t bad enough, the two boys are standing there staring like they’ve never seen a person get sick.

“At least you got yours in the toilet,” Luke says with an earnest look on his face.

I can’t help but laugh as I look back into the bowl, the sound of my chuckle echoing against the porcelain.

“Luke, go back to the couch.”

I see his small form departing from the corner of my eye, but Cade doesn’t move, still standing in the doorway. He’s staring at his toes and the brass room divider where the hardwood floors swap to tiles.

“You going to stand here and watch?”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles without glancing up.

“For watching me barf? You should be. I don’t know how I’ll look you in the eye anymore.”

He scoffs. “That you’re sick.”

“Well, it’s not like you did this to me.”

His head raises slowly. “No, but you were here taking care of Luke. You stayed with him all night. You helped him, and now you’re paying for it.”

I hum at that, reaching for a piece of toilet paper to wipe my mouth, because if Cade Eaton sees me with barf on my face, I will dive headfirst into this toilet bowl and flush myself down it. With a small shrug, I glance over at the man standing in the doorway—tall and broad and imposing, with the sweetest expression of concern on his face.

“He’s worth it,” I say, with a watery smile.

Sadly, smiling makes me feel nauseous again and within seconds, I’m frantically waving a hand at Cade, hoping he’ll just leave me to be sick alone.

He does.

But only briefly.

He’s back with some sort of war kit, and I watch him place things on the counter. Thermometer, Tylenol, water, ginger ale and . . . one of his T-shirts?

“What are you doing?” I grumble as I wipe at my watery eyes, no doubt smudged with mascara.

“Taking care of you,” he replies without even looking my way. His tone says that I just asked him a stupid question.

“That’s fine. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to because I’m here to help.” He says it so matter-of-factly. Like doing this for someone is the most obvious thing in the world. And I wonder if, for him, maybe it is.

He stepped in to take care of his siblings in the wake of tragedy. He stepped up to be a single parent to his son.

Barfing babysitter? That’s a perfect job for him too.

At his core, Cade is a caretaker. Selfless. With such a big heart I almost can’t wrap my head around it.

He turns now, lips tipped down and brow furrowed. I’ve started thinking of this expression as resting scowl face—it’s just his default.

I startle when he holds the thermometer gun to my forehead where I’m kneeling on the floor.

“I’m just taking your temperature.” His face softens.

“I know.” I push my hair off my face. “It still feels like a weapon to me.”

He clicks the button. When it beeps, he frowns. “101.4—it’s red.” He turns to show it to me, like I don’t trust his ability to read or something.

“Okay.”

“Did it come out of nowhere?”

I shrug. “You’re neurotic cleaning really was giving me a headache. And then it was Luke’s weight on my stomach and the smell of his cracker breath.”

A deep rumble rolls around in his chest. “Well, if Luke is anything to go by, it seems short lived. The bad news is—”

“I’m going to be barfing my brains out for the next several hours?” I ask.

His head tilts as he swipes the T-shirt off the counter beside him, takes one step toward me, and crouches down to look me in the eye.

Really look me in the eye. In a way that makes me realize he’s been avoiding my gaze or turning away when I meet his. But not right now. Right now, it’s all dark chocolate and warm caramel streaking across multi-faceted irises. I note the fine lines beside his eyes. On anyone else, they’d be laugh lines, but on Cade they lend to his rugged sex appeal.

He smiles, making them crinkle even further. “No, Red. The bad news is that you have some barf on your shirt.”

I close my eyes and groan. “This is my go-to style these past twenty-four hours.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is like velvet dragging across my skin. “No one has ever looked better than you do with barf on their shirt.”

Popping one eye open, I regard him warily. “Are you hitting on the barfy girl, Eaton?”

He grins and reaches forward, fingers stretching for the hem of my shirt. “Let me help you, Red,” he says quietly.

There’s nothing sexual about the way Cade takes my shirt in his fingers, but it doesn’t stop my pulse from racing or my breath from quickening as he peels my shirt up, exposing my bare stomach and plain sports bra.

He’s such a gentleman, he doesn’t even glance down. He keeps his eyes on my face, even after I lift my arms and let him pull the shirt over my head. I will the nausea away, hoping upon hope I can hold it together.

But even the beautiful man in front of me can’t distract from the feeling at the back of my throat, the smell of my shirt as he moves it away.

“Sorry,” I groan before I turn back to the toilet, gripping the shiny edges as another wave of sickness hits me.

It racks my body and I moan, which is right when I feel Cade’s calloused fingertips at my neck, gently lifting my hair away from my face. I spend the next minute of my life hugging the toilet while Cade fists my hair and smooths gentle circles on my back.

I’ve imagined Cade taking my hair in his fist—but not like this. This is humiliating in a way I’ll never recover from. The magic is straight gone.

When the urge subsides, I quickly flush again, wiping my face before turning back to the sexy-as-sin man who just held my hair and rubbed my back while I emptied my stomach.

He continues caressing my back and, like the saint he is, doesn’t even look horrified by me. “It’s okay, Red. I got you.”

I got you.

There’s something about being sick that turns me into a child again. Helpless and pitiful. And the fact Cade is here and not annoyed is the biggest relief.

I nod and he pulls his T-shirt off the countertop again before carefully sliding it over me in a wave of cool fabric. It’s massive but it smells fresh. It smells like him—pine. And that’s not a smell that’s making me nauseous at all.

“You okay?” His expression is concerned but not panicked. There is something comforting about the fact he is so unflappable.

“Yeah. I might just . . .” I wave a hand around the bathroom. “Camp out in here for a bit. My dignity would appreciate a little privacy. Don’t quite know how I’ll repay you for holding my hair back while I got sick.” I shake my head and let my eyes flutter shut.

He laughs but it’s a gentle one. I hear him pull away, and I let myself slump against the wall behind me. The sound of him opening and closing drawers fills the small room, but I’m too tired to bug him about cleaning again.

Neat freak.

I feel the warmth of him as he approaches again. “Sit up, Red.”

“Can’t. Too tired.” Why is barfing so exhausting?

“You can do it,” he coaxes with one hand on my shoulder.

“I’m going to get you sick,” I whine, still not moving.

“I never get sick.” His thumb rubs sweetly across my collarbone, and I force my eyes open to look at him. “Come on, lean forward a bit.”

I don’t know why he wants me to do this, but it seems like he’s not leaving until I do, so I comply, even though the rebellious part of me wants to lean back and say, Make me.

It would seem nausea easily quells the rebellious part of me.

“That’s my girl.” His deep voice vibrates through my bones, and then his fingers are in my hair, gently combing it back into a ponytail and wrapping a soft silk scrunchy around it. One he must have fished out of my drawer.

I moan at the feel. At his words. My girl.

God, I must be delirious. I chance a peek up at his stubbled jaw and stern features, while he carefully pulls my hair back. I want to melt into a puddle, and I’m certain that has nothing to do with the stomach bug.

Grumpy Cade is hot.

Sweet Cade is irresistible.

With my hair secured, he meets my gaze, face lined with concern. He runs a wide palm down the side of my head, resting it at my neck. “I’m going to leave you alone now, even though I don’t want to. If you need me, I’ll be out there.” He lifts his chin toward the door.

I’m not sure what to say to that. To him. To this. So, I just nod stupidly.

And stare at his ass as he walks out of the bathroom.

“Okay, up we go.”

I’m faintly aware of the most masculine smell and the feel of gentle hands shaping my waist.

“Come on, Red. I tried to be a gentleman and respect your wishes, but your wishes are bullshit. I stayed out of here as long as I could, and it drove me crazy to do it. I’m not leaving you sleeping on my bathroom floor.”

That comment has my eyelids dragging open as awareness seeps back in that I am indeed still in the bathroom. It’s no longer light out and the kink in my neck is causing more discomfort than any actual sense of nausea.

Cade’s hands slide into my armpits and lift me. I go with him, leaning into him once I’m standing. He wraps an arm around my waist to support me without even blinking.

“Let’s go,” he whispers. I can feel the rasp of his beard against my ear, and suddenly I’m wide awake and intimately aware of the fact I have not brushed my teeth.

“Go where?” I blink at him, groggy and still trying to get my bearings.

“My bed.”

I blink with more intention now. “Come again?”

“It’s closest to a toilet if you need it. Don’t be weird about it. It makes sense.”

His logic isn’t flawed. It’s the same reasoning I used last night with Luke. “Okay, fine. But I need to brush my teeth.”

He rolls his eyes and I watch his jaw work. “I don’t care about your breath, Red. I’m not taking you there to make out.”

I laugh, but my biggest question is, Why not?

While I brush my teeth, he stands in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, glaring at me like I’m an inmate and he’s a warden or something.

When I finish, he holds out a hand to me, and I take it, letting him lead me through the quiet house toward his bedroom. I tug him to a stop outside of Luke’s room and peek in at his little body rolled up in a blanket with plastic sticky stars glowing on the ceiling. I can’t help but smile, relieved that he seems to be resting comfortably.

“Was he feeling better?” I ask, before glancing up at his dad.

“Yeah. He’s going to be fine. Fever broke and everything. It’s you I’m worried about now. You two are giving me some extra grays today.”

I smile and drop my gaze. “Ah, well. They look good on you.”

He says nothing, but as he pulls me the rest of the way down the hall toward the master bedroom, his thumb rubs soft circles on the protruding bone in my wrist.

“In,” he orders, pointing at the enormous bed.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” I salute, but it’s weak and tired, and I feel overwhelmingly relieved to be crawling into his bed.

“Did you keep anything down?” He clicks on the bedside lamp and pulls the blanket over me.

“No.” I sigh.

He grunts and then turns, striding out of the bedroom. Within moments he returns with liquids and meds.

He cracks open the can of ginger ale and holds it out to me. “Small sips.”

With shaky hands, I take it from him, eyeing the way his arms go back to crossing over his chest. “You just gonna stand there and glare at me? I feel like I’m in trouble.”

He blows out a loud sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. You two had me worried.”

I take one small sip, not loving the taste of it mixing with the leftover mint flavor from my toothpaste. “You’re a big softy, Cade Eaton. Sit down.”

“Here?” His brows knit.

“It is your bed.” I pat the spot beside me. “Just keep me company for a few minutes, and then I’ll go to sleep. I bet I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” he grunts, skeptically assessing me while taking a hesitant seat.

I let my head rest against the bed frame as the fizzy liquid settles in my stomach. “Tell me how Luke was tonight.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Of course. Did he seem better? I was so worried about him.”

Cade stares at me, like he can’t quite believe what I’m telling him. “He was worried about you. He wanted to make sure that I gave you this bed. He peeked in and saw you sleeping sitting up—which he didn’t tell me until I was already lying down to put him to sleep.”

I laugh a little at that because I can totally imagine him sneaking a peek. “My little troublemaker,” I murmur, taking another sip.

Cade hums at that, staring at me even harder. “You sure you’ve never worked with kids before?”

“Positive.”

“Huh.” He folds his hands awkwardly over his kneecaps, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. Like he’s uncomfortable sitting here talking to me in the silent room. “You’re good at it. Maybe you should become a teacher or something.”

A whoosh of air rushes from my nose. “Yeah. Maybe. That sounds fun, actually. I don’t know though. It just all feels so daunting.”

“What does?”

“Jobs. Careers. Life. Being a grown-up?”

“Do you like bartending?”

I roll my lips together and regard my boss carefully. “Not especially. It was fun when I was younger. It felt like getting paid to be social. But going back to it will be hard. I like it out here.”

His throat bobs and he stares down at his hands, not responding to what I just said.

“Do you like ranching?” I ask, trying to coax him out of whatever caused his silence.

His lips slowly tip up. “I love it. I love being outside. I love the long days. I love how tired I am when I crawl into bed at night. I act like the yahoos in the bunkhouse piss me off, but I even love them in my own way.”

“Unless they check me out.” I point at him, taking another sip.

He chuckles. “Yeah, Red. Unless they check you out.”

“That must be a good feeling. To be so sure that you’re doing the right thing in your life.”

Cade nods, fingers tapping on his knees, corded forearms flexing as he does. “Do you think you’ll keep working at the bar? Or try something new?”

I settle back a little, enjoying Cade’s comfortable bed and the perfectly supportive pillows. Has any bed ever felt better? “I don’t know. New sounds scary. It sounds like failure.” I scoff. “I mean, look at my parents. Insanely talented meets insanely educated. And my brother? Just had to have all that plus be insanely driven. And I’m just over here being insanely flighty.”

His teeth grind. “You’re a lot of things, Red. But flighty is not one of them.”

“Well, I’m too intimidated to try something new and too scared of failure to commit to anything more than a string of short-term relationships and the same job I’ve had since I turned eighteen. Everyone keeps telling me I can be anything I want to be and do anything I want to do. And I’m just . . . paralyzed by it all.” I snort out a sad laugh. “I sound flighty to me.”

“Knock that off,” he grits out, staring at me with fire in his eyes.

“What?” I quirk a brow at him, noting that after my bathroom floor nap, I feel well enough to give him back a bit of attitude.

“Putting yourself down like that. Avoiding compliments. You’re young. Your life is far from over, and we all get to make mistakes and come back from them. Look at me. I’ve made my fair share of them, and all I can do is try to be better—to do better.”

“You had a lot of relationships since Luke’s mom left?”

He huffs out a breath. “No, Red. I said try to be better. I haven’t totally figured out how to come back from that one.”

“You know what you need? Some no-strings-attached sex with the nanny.” My tone is teasing, but I think we both know I’m not joking. Saying something for shock value isn’t unusual for me, but this was really my flippant way of making the offer.

His knuckles turn white on his knees as he stares at his hands. He gives his head a shake as he reaches for the bottle of pills on the nightstand. I watch raptly as his fingers twist the top off and he empties one onto his palm before putting the bottle back.

Finally turning to look at me, he holds the pill out, and I open a hand for him in response. The tension between us is like a living entity in the wake of what I just suggested. Something we both know is there but are choosing to ignore.

When he drops the gel capsule into my palm, he wraps both his big, strong hands around mine and then leans in close. Electricity zings between us. I want to lean forward and bunt on his facial hair, beg him to stay here with me. To just think about it.

His breath fans across my cheek, and his eyes hold me captive. “That’s the thing, Red. There are too many fuckin’ strings with you. Enough to strangle us both. So we’re going to be responsible and ignore whatever this is between us. Because a month from now, we’ll be parting ways. You’re going to live some fabulous, wildly successful life in the city, and I’m going to be here, taking care of this place for the rest of my days. We’re on different paths, you and me.”

The smile he gives me is flat, but his hands squeeze mine before he pushes to stand. “Take the Tylenol and get some rest.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll take your bed,” he says over his shoulder. “I can wash the sheets tomorrow.”

And then, he’s walking away, leaving me holding a pill, a drink, and the tattered remains of my ego. In a bed that smells like him and makes me wish he were here with me.

“Cade?”

He stops just as his hand wraps around the door handle. “Yeah?” he replies without even looking at me.

“Will you stay?”

His body goes eerily still. No part of him moves. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was dead.

Actually, come to think of it, I wish I was dead after blurting that out like some dork with a crush on the hot, grumpy single dad who just told me I’m too complicated for him. I should have more pride and shouldn’t put him in such an awkward position. But here I am, asking him to stay.

He turns, brow low, expression tight. “Stay?”

“Yeah . . .” I bite my lip, crumpling a little under the intensity of his scowl. “Just for a bit. Just to chat. Or something.”

He stares at me for a few beats, a glimpse of shock darting across his hard features. He did not expect me to ask him to stay.

But with a firm nod in my direction, he takes quiet steps back to the bed.

And he stays.