Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Lance: Can I swing by and practice with you one day this week?

Cade: Sure.

Lance: Wednesday?

Cade: Sure.

Lance: Will the nanny be there?

Cade: Fuck off, Lance.

Lance: Lmao. So angry all the time. See you on Wednesday!

“Tell me about young Cade.”

I’m sitting as far away from Willa as I possibly can. If I could build a wall of pillows down the middle of this bed, I would. Not that it would stop me from dragging her underneath me.

Terrible, horrible, no good, unbelievably bad idea.

Even her questions I don’t want to answer aren’t helping distract me from the nearness of her. The smell of her.

The fucking temptation of her.

“Um.” I clear my throat. “I dunno. Not much to tell.” Propping my hands across my stomach, I chance a peek over at her.

She’s a little pale, the dark circles under her eyes highlighted only by the dim glow of the bedside light.

She’s fucking beautiful.

All sloping lines. Her neck. Her nose. The bottom line of her jaw. There’s an elegance about her. Willa Grant is classy. She’s got fancy written all over her, yet she walks around in old concert tees and is just crazy enough to knock a kid into a pool for revenge.

She’s so much more than meets the eye, and sitting in a dark room with only a small stretch of soft mattress between us, I have to admit to myself that the way I want her is about so much more than how she looks.

She captured my attention the first time I laid eyes on her, and I haven’t been able to look away since.

It’s goddamn distracting.

“Come on. Were you this serious as a kid? Or were you like Luke?” She says it lightly, but I can see the way her eyes have started to sag.

“I was nothing like Luke. And I don’t want Luke to be anything like me either. My mom dying changed too much.”

She nods solemnly but doesn’t start dithering over me, which I appreciate. For someone who grew up privileged, there’s an inherent practicality about Willa. Something in the way her mind works. I see it when she talks to Luke. She’s not prissy or high maintenance. She’s down to earth, and I love that about her. Even if she is delusional about accepting compliments.

“I watched her die that day. I watched my dad hold her. I watched him sob.” My teeth grind, and I drop my eyes for a moment. “I think my childhood kind of died that day too.”

I glance at her wide green eyes, a little shiny now. Her strawberry lips slightly part, and she nods again. I appreciate she doesn’t fill the silence with meaningless words.

“Maybe I was practical from an early age. Strategic?” I sigh and stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to sound like a martyr or something.”

“You don’t.” Her reply is soft and firm.

“But I saw a need, even as a child. Our family needed help. And I opted to help. I guess I never stopped. Duty-bound or something. I don’t regret it, but I also didn’t get lazy, goofy summers. When I came home from school, I took care of my brothers so my dad didn’t have to come in early from work. The neighbors pitched in. Mrs. Hill helped with Luke until she was just too old to keep up. But I didn’t want him to spend his summer working around the ranch or getting dragged everywhere with me. It’s fun for a day. Not for two months.”

“Enter, me.” I see her lips lift as she gives me a little wink. “The fun.”

I huff out a breath. “You are pretty fun. He worships the ground you walk on.”

Staring down at her nails, she tries not to laugh. “As all men should.”

Chuckling, I fully turn my gaze on her. “What were you like as a kid?”

The tip of her nose wiggles as she considers her answer. “I wish I could tell you I’ve changed a lot, but I’m not so sure I have.” There’s a self-deprecating hollowness to her voice. “I’ve always been the fun girl. The carefree girl. My dad was on the road a lot when I was younger. My mom worked all the time. We had nannies too. Or family that helped. Come to think of it, it wasn’t so different from the community Luke has around him. So don’t worry, he’ll turn out great. Just like me.”

She says it like it’s a punch line to a joke, and I just don’t get why she’s this hard on herself. Why does she see herself as some sort of failure when all I see is a smart, funny, self-possessed young woman? One who made me beg her to stay.

I shrug. “I’d be very proud of him if he turned out like you.”

When she tilts her head, one soft tendril of hair slips out and caresses the side of her face. “Really?”

“Yes, Willa. What more could I want for him? Intelligent, independent, a solid sense of humor, a good head on his shoulders.”

“Do you think he’ll proposition his nanny for no-strings-attached sex though?”

“Jesus Christ, woman.” I stare at the ceiling again.

She laughs and it’s so pretty. Like chimes in the wind. One of the first things I noticed about her that day in the coffee shop.

“Well, if we can’t joke about it, things will get awkward. I figure we’re stuck together for the rest of our lives with Summer and Rhett.” That reality hits me like a wrecking ball. “One day, years down the road, we’ll be gray-haired and soft in the middle section, drinking an enormous glass of spiced rum and eggnog around the Christmas tree. I’ll make some joke about the night I offered friends-with-benefits to you. Rhett will howl. Summer will roll her eyes, because I’m going to tell her tomorrow, and she’ll think I’m ridiculous for bringing it up so many years later. Your small-town wifey will throw a hand over her chest”—Willa imitates the motion—“and act scandalized all night. In fact, she’ll give me the cold shoulder for the rest of our lives. And I’ll outlive her, so that’s fine. Joke’s on her. I win. And my husband will be accustomed to my antics, so he’ll just roll his eyes and continue drinking.”

It’s funny and I should laugh. But I’m caught on the part where she’s married to some man who rolls his eyes at her. A man who isn’t me. And I have somehow failed to wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to be connected to this woman for the rest of my life.

“Red, don’t marry a man who rolls his eyes at you.”

“You roll your eyes at me all the time.”

Fuck, I need to stop doing that. She deserves better.

“Don’t marry me either.”

She shrugs and carries on, undeterred. “He’ll go back to obsessively checking his investment portfolio, and everyone will hear us fight about it later that night. Christmas morning will be awkward because he’ll leave, and everyone will talk about how obviously the third time is not the charm, because Willa’s third marriage is about to fall apart.”

I laugh now, a fist over my mouth, shoulders heaving under the strain of not waking Luke. “Red, you’re nuts. But I like that about you. You’re like a goddamn hurricane.”

Her mouth curves, sinfully wicked. “Sometimes I feel like that. Out here though? I don’t know. There’s something about the endless stretches of land around me that’s just . . . soothing? Like there’s nothing else that needs doing. I feel very settled for the first time in a long time.”

“The eye of the storm,” I say, allowing myself to study her.

It’s hard to meet her gaze. Her eyes are so green. Her lips so tempting. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s looks like a doll and cracks jokes like a cowboy.

Even working cows in the middle of a scorching afternoon, she pops into my head.

That’s always been the wildest thing to me about having a kid. I’m never without him. Never stop thinking about him. Worrying about him. And somehow, in a matter of weeks, Willa has implanted herself into that same space.

“The eye of the storm,” she repeats softly, eyes scouring me intensely before glancing around my room. “Maybe you’re right.”

When she turns back to me, her eyes twinkle and her lips look soft and damp.

“Willa.” I say in warning, because I’m old enough and wise enough to recognize the expression on her face.

“Yes?” She rolls up onto her knees, facing me.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She has a hard enough time taking herself seriously without me adding to that insecurity.

“Why?” I husk.

“Because I want your attention when I thank you.”

“For what?”

She lets out an exhausted sigh. “Taking care of me.”

I shrug and look away, unable to handle the weight of her stare.

“You’re a good man, Cade Eaton.”

Her compliment has my skin crawling. Maybe I’m just as bad when it comes to accepting praise. But for her, I can be better.

“Thank you. And you’re an exceptional young woman.” I hold her gaze. The air hums between us and everything inside me says to reach for her. To crush my lips against hers, run my fingers through that silky copper hair.

“It sounds like you’re writing my report card.” She leans closer.

But I draw away. Because she’s too damn close, and I’m too damn old—carrying too much baggage.

A report card. I almost feel like I could be.

Swinging my legs over the opposite edge of the bed, I turn my back on her and run my hands through my hair. “Glad you’re feeling better. Get some rest.”

I head for the door and it’s a Herculean effort to walk away from her. One quick turn over my shoulder confirms the disappointment on her face. Resignation.

Two offers in one night.

Two offers turned down.

When the door clicks shut behind me, I realize I’m shutting the door on my chance with the girl sitting on my bed. Because her pride won’t let her ask again. And I’m still too fucked-up over the shit Talia put me through to let myself have her. Too scared to want something that badly, too scared to care about something that deeply.

Too scared to get my heart broken again.

What heart? I chide myself.

I walk straight to her room and crawl into her bed, the zesty scent of her orange body lotion wrapping around me like the sweetest torture.

I take a deep breath and press the heels of my hands into the sockets of my eyes.

And then I lie here, staring at the ceiling, replaying that look on her face.

And feeling sick to my stomach.

“I’m so excited! Luke exclaims as we pull up to the rodeo grounds a few towns over.

“Me too.” Willa turns a smile into the back seat of my truck. She rode with us today because Luke begged for us to all drive together. He’s oblivious to the tension between us, the slight pang of heartache and missed chances.

In another lifetime, we might have worked. Or we’d have had a fling. But I know I can’t have her and not keep her—it’s just not the way I’m wired. And I know she doesn’t want to be kept.

We’ve been dancing around each other for over a week. Polite but slightly uncomfortable. Professional and friendly but less playful somehow.

She hasn’t texted me about her panties, and I wish she would. She spent the weekend at Summer’s, and I wish she hadn’t.

I’m a fucking mess. And now I have to do cowboy-showboat shit because I played a stupid game of truth or dare with Willa and was too dumbstruck by the outline of her pussy to say no.

“You’re going to win, Dad!”

I snort. Probably not, but I don’t tell Luke that. “Thanks, pal. With a fan like you, it’ll be hard not to.”

I pull into a spot where it’ll be easy to unload my horse. My ranch horse that Willa and Luke spent all week grooming like she’s a show pony. Her dark, speckled coat is glistening. There’s not a tangle to be found in her mane, not a burr in her tail. I think they even put oil on her hooves. I’m not sure that Blueberry has ever looked this good in her life.

With my rig parked, I risk a glance at Willa. “You good?”

Her lips roll. She doesn’t mean it to be seductive, but every little thing she does feels like a missed opportunity now. Those lips should be mine. On mine. Wrapped around my cock. Moaning my name.

“Yup. All good. We’ll”—she hikes a thumb over her shoulder—“head out and look around. We’ll be back in time to watch your run.”

I nod before gazing at the sea of people, thinking of how my life might have been if things had gone differently. Would I be here? On the road? Penning and chasing buckles?

“Can we get ice cream?” Luke calls as he flies out of the back seat.

“Yeah, we’re getting every sugary thing we can find because it’s still before dinner,” Willa deadpans as she gets out of the truck, and I know she said it just to pester me.

“Score!” Through the window, I see Luke leap, a fist shooting up into the air over his head. The motion knocks his cowboy hat off, straight into the loose, dusty dirt.

Willa’s head tips back on a laugh before she crouches down and scoops it off the ground, dusting it off while saying something to Luke I can’t make out. Whatever it is, it makes him giggle.

She squats and places the hat on his head, giving it a little tug at the same moment the corners of her mouth pull up into the most infectious smile.

I find myself smiling at them from where I’m still sitting behind the wheel. Luke is grinning even wider. When Willa reaches forward and boops the tip of his nose, I see his smile soften and go a little wistful. He boops her back and they take a moment to just smile at each other.

Something in my chest cracks wide open as I watch them together. Kindred spirits in so many ways.

They turn to leave, and Luke slips his hand into Willa’s. They’re cute together. He’s dressed like a tiny cowboy, and she’s wearing a white, old-school Pepsi T-shirt, a belt that looks more like a chain, and her hair in loose waves down her back.

I imagine her wearing that belt and that belt only, but then my eyes travel down over her torturously tight jeans. The ones that display her ass like it’s the star of the show. The ones that flare out over a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots she borrowed from Summer.

I’m going to tell Summer to keep those on lockdown, because they look too fucking good on Willa.

She looks too fucking good. Period.

And I want to punch someone. Because based on all the turning heads, I’m not the only one who’s noticing how good she looks.