Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Willa: I’m sorry I called you a woman hater.

Cade: It’s fine.

Willa: Do you know what the first thing I did this morning was?

Cade: Willa, I’m working. If everything is okay, we don’t need to chat.

Willa: I put my panties on.

Willa: Are you ignoring me?

Willa: I figured you’d be proud. Day one and I’m knocking all the rules right out of the park.

Cade: If I pay you more, will you stop texting me about this?

Willa: Probably not. I don’t need the money. I’m just easily bored, and poking the bear is fun.

“How was your first day?” I ask as Willa cuts into one of the chicken breasts I whipped up for us the minute I got in the door.

It was a strange transition. It’s like she didn’t realize she was off the clock as soon as I walked in the house. She offered to cook dinner, and I shot her a death glare. I love cooking dinner; it’s how I unwind at the end of the day. It’s when I get to spend time with Luke.

I think I expected the glare to send her scurrying to her room, but all she did was roll her eyes at me.

Offering to help with dinner isn’t a crime, and I need to get over this idea that I’ll just be able to snap my fingers and have her disappear when I walk in the door.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling walking into a house in full swing. One where I can hear my son’s giggles and Willa’s soft, raspy tones.

“We had a great day, didn’t we, Luke?” She grins over at him, and he grins back.

He’s smitten.

When I got home, they were playing dinosaurs outside. I can honestly say I’ve never heard a woman make the noises that Willa was making. Some combination of a goose honking and a donkey braying, intermingled with that light, charm-like laughter.

She was stomping around with her hands folded up in front of her like those tiny T. rex arms.

She looked insane and carefree.

And fucking beautiful.

“Other than playing Dinosaur Ranch, what did the two of you get up to?”

“Nothing,” Luke says altogether too quickly, and I see a flash of shiny copper hair as Willa’s head flips in his direction. One perfectly manicured eyebrow arching at him.

Her bullshit detection is well-honed. I suppose that comes with working with children.

Mine is just from wading through bullshit every damn day. Those goddamn cowboys in the bunkhouse. My brothers. Town drama. My ex.

The only person who doesn’t exhaust me is my little sister Violet. But that could be just because she moved away to the coast.

“We didn’t do nothing, Luke.” Willa spears a green bean, and I try not to get distracted by the way she slides it into her mouth.

“We . . .” My son flips his gaze between us. Guilty as all get-out. “Made pancakes! With chocolate chips! Lots and lots of chocolate chips.”

Willa winces as she glances back down at her plate. When she peeks up and catches me staring at her, she says, “What? You said no sugar after dinner.”

Shaking my head, I turn my attention back on Luke. “What else?”

“Nothing—” he starts, right as Willa says, “We bought heads of lettuce and then threw them out the window of my Jeep.”

My lips roll together as I cast a quick glance in her direction, seeing that she looks entertained and fucking clueless.

“Luke.” He looks terrified. It’s so hard to give my kid shit when he’s this cute. But I don’t get the privilege of playing good cop, bad cop with another parent. I get stuck doing all the dirty work. Doling out all the scolding. Some days I worry about how that makes me seem to him, but someone’s gotta keep him on the straight and narrow.

Someone’s gotta keep him safe.

“Sorry!” he exclaims, shrinking down in his seat while Willa’s head swivels between us.

“Why are we sorry?”

I sigh deeply, shaking my head and sawing into my chicken breast with altogether too much force. “Luke has already asked to throw lettuce heads out the window and I told him no.”

Luke can’t even hold my eyes, and Willa’s jaw drops as she stares back at him. “Dude! Seriously?”

His little lips clamp down as he curls in on himself. He’s not a bad kid, he’s just got a little bit of a rebellious streak. I guess he comes by it honestly as an Eaton boy.

“I thought Dad meant he just didn’t want to do it.” He turns pleading eyes on Willa. “You said you had fun doing it!”

“Luke—” I start but Willa cuts in.

“We both know you’re smarter than that, Luke. You tricked me. On purpose. Not cool. I had fun, but knowing that you lied to me about it ruins all the fun.” She says it with nothing mean in her tone, but Luke looks devastated.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, a little surprised by her taking this seriously rather than laughing me off. And a little relieved that I don’t have to lay into him—again.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes are instantly shrink-wrapped. He’s a sensitive kid. It doesn’t take much to put him back in place.

Willa nods, taking another green bean between her lips. “I know you are. You’re a good person. But when you trick me, it breaks my trust. And your dad is trusting me to keep you safe, and we need to respect his rules, at least sometimes. Because now we’ve broken his trust too. Does that make sense to you?”

There’s a part of me that wants to jump in and protect Luke. But the fact of the matter is, Willa is right. She’s talking to him respectfully, like an adult, and I can’t fault her.

I’m also just so relieved to have support, even if it comes in the form of Willa Grant. The redheaded mouthpiece who makes eating green beans look pornographic.

Because my dad just acts like Luke is hilarious all the time—which is fine. In fact, that’s why I don’t want him to be Luke’s full-time caretaker. I don’t want to ruin their friendship. I also don’t want Luke to turn into Mowgli. A little wild boy raised by a pack of wild men all living together on a ranch.

It’s fucking weird if I think about it too much.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Luke says carefully.

“I know you are, buddy.”

“I just wanted to have some fun. It sounded so fun! It really was fun!”

“We’re ranchers—farmers, Luke. It’s a waste of good food.”

“I know,” he replies, defeated. And then he brightens as he glances up at me. “Next time you cover the Jansen’s tractor in toilet paper, can I do it too?”

How the fuck does he know about that prank?

I see Willa’s lips twitch, but she keeps her focus fixed on her plate. And then she goes for another green bean, and I have to look away.

This kid is going to be the death of me.

And so is his goddamn nanny.

Putting Luke to bed is my favorite part of the night. The cuddles. The stories. The things he tells me in the safety of his dark, peaceful room. He goes all soft and sweet, and we talk about things that don’t come up throughout the day. It’s why I’ll never give up that part of his schedule.

My second favorite part of the night? A hot tub to soothe away the aches of the day. A quiet moment in my most frivolous purchase. Time alone to stare up at the stars and enjoy a little solitude.

Which is what I’m doing, head tipped back, arms draped over the outer edges, when I hear the back door click shut. My lids pop open, and I see Willa’s silhouette through the rising steam around me.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll leave,” she whispers, turning to go, towel wrapped around her tall frame.

A smart man would say, Yes, please leave. That’s an excellent idea.

I am not a smart man.

Instead, I blurt out, “It’s fine.” After all, I told her to make herself at home and use whatever she wanted. Truthfully, I can’t blame a person for wanting to soak out here after chasing a five-year-old all day.

“You sure? I thought you were in bed.” It’s hard to hear her because, for once, she sounds a little uncertain. It’s hard to see her too through the heated haze rising off the bubbling water. The shape of her is only highlighted by the glow from within the house, seeping through the sliding glass doors.

I should stop using the rising steam as an excuse to stare at her this hard. It’s rude. She’s in her twenties and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.

I tip my head back again and let my eyes flutter shut. “Wouldn’t say it was fine if it wasn’t, Red.”

I hear shuffling and a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, you’d tell me to beat it.”

Fuck.

She’s not trying to be forward. But the words beat it out of her mouth in that slightly hoarse voice has the air around me feeling altogether too thin.

Fabric rasps and gentle steps move toward the tub. I squeeze my eyes tighter, refusing to give in to the voice inside my head telling me to peek. To watch her climb over the edge. To see what type of bathing suit she’s wearing and if her skin is as creamy as it looked from that glimpse I could see beyond her shirt yesterday.

I ignore the flipping sensation in my stomach.

The gentle sound of water sloshing tells me she’s crawling in. Hot water laps at my chest as she settles, and suddenly sharing a hot tub with this woman who I barely know and can’t stop eye-fucking feels entirely inappropriate.

Altogether too personal.

“Ah,” she hums in pleasure.

I give in and glance across at her. Willa’s positioning mirrors mine almost perfectly. Her slender arms drape across the frame, and her face is tipped up to the navy-blue sky. My gaze snags on the exposed column of her throat. The elegant length of it. The way it’s positioned, open for the taking. The way it moves when she swallows.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs without moving her head to address me.

“For what?” I rasp back, a little confused as to what she’s talking about. “I already told you it was fine for you to come in.” Even though I’m not so sure that’s true.

Tiny, flimsy straps lay across her collarbones and wrap around her shoulders. So easily ripped away.

“For doing the hillbilly lettuce thing.” She shakes her head, and another melodic laugh bubbles out of her, like she just can’t quite believe it. “I can’t believe I got duped by a five-year-old.”

My lips almost tug up at that. Hillbilly lettuce. “Well, you’ve worked with kids. I’m sure you know how to handle it.” I’m mentally patting myself on the back for complimenting her—sort of—when she drops a bomb I didn’t see coming.

“I haven’t worked with kids at all.”

I go deathly still before pulling my arms down into the water and sitting up tall. “Pardon me?”

She must hear the bite in my voice because her head tips in my direction and her eyes narrow as she sits up too, the water droplets trailing down over her full chest, right into the valley between her breasts. I grind my teeth at letting my eyes follow and snap them back up to hers when she replies with, “Watch your step, Eaton.”

Swallowing, I stare at her from the opposite side of the tub, facing off. “Summer told me you had worked with children. She said you have, and I quote, ‘lots of experience working with rowdy boys.’”

I watch Willa’s expression transform from irritated to incredulous. “She didn’t.”

“She did.”

“Did she elaborate?” Willa scrubs a wet hand over her face and slides it up to the top of her hair, before hitting the twisted knot of her fiery strands. “Did you ask any further questions? God. I should have given you a resume or something. This is so awkward, even by my standards. And it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable.”

“So, you have how much experience working with kids?”

She barks out her surprise, strawberry lips parting in the most tempting way. “None. Zero. Zilch. I’m a bartender.”

My fingers clench into fists beneath the water. “A bartender?”

“Yeah. I guess I do have lots of experience with rowdy boys, but not, ya know, children. Adult boys?”

“Summer is dead.”

Her lips press together and wiggle under the strain of holding back. Laughter erupts from her in the most enthralling way. I shouldn’t be charmed but she’s so genuinely amused. It’s hard to not be at least a little captivated.

Her head tilts back and the notes of her laugh drift into the surrounding night.

“It’s not funny,” I say, but I don’t mean it, really. I mean . . . it’s kind of funny. Just not haha funny.

“Looks like we both got tricked.” Her chuckles slow, and the dim light illuminates the fullness of her breasts, shimmering with dampness.

Scrubbing at my face with my hands, I groan. “Summer was so sick of me being picky that she tricked me into hiring a bartender.”

“Listen, if you want a resume or a criminal record check, I won’t complain. But I still think I can do this. I still think Luke and I can have fun this summer. I grew up with great parents, so I must have learned something from them.”

“Oh yeah?” I say from behind my hands, partly to hide my frustration and partly to give myself a break from how fucking stunning she looks sitting across from me in my hot tub. “What do your parents do? Do you come from a long line of bartenders?”

When she’s silent for too long, I move my palms back into the water. Willa’s lip is wedged between her teeth, and she’s eyeing me critically.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No. I’m just not convinced that the answer is going to make you feel any better.”

I roll my eyes and huff out a harsh breath before tipping my head back again. There is definitely going to be a criminal record check. “Try me.”

“Okay. My mom is a sex therapist.”

She has to be kidding me.

“And my dad is the lead singer for Full Stop.”

I sit up straight. “Come again?”

“Do you need to get your hearing checked? My dad had to get hearing aids pretty young after going on tour and playing too loud.”

Mouthy.

“I heard you. I just . . .” I shake my head. “A sex therapist and a famous rock star raised you and this somehow qualifies you to take care of my kid?”

“Why not? They’re exceptional parents. Don’t get all weird now. People always get weird when they find out Ford Grant is my dad.”

I glare at her.

“You’re not some psycho superfan, are you? I had you pegged for a Garth Brooks kind of fella.”

My jaw ticks.

“Songs about your truck breaking down. Your dog dying. Your woman leaving you for another man.”

She laughs, oblivious to the fact that she just ripped open the stitches of a wound that has been painfully slow to heal. And not because I miss Talia, just because there are only so many hits a man’s pride can take.

It only takes a couple of moments for a sober, awkward silence to stretch between us. I’m not doing a great job of keeping things friendly. It’s not my forte.

I’m not playful, I’m responsible. That’s all I’ve ever been allowed to be. That’s what my family has needed me to be.

Green irises glowing, she looks at me in the most unnerving way. “How far down my throat is my foot right now?”

“You’re pretty much digesting it at this point,” I deadpan.

“Well, shit. It’s going to be hard to chase your kid around all summer like this.”

I huff out a gravelly breath, grateful that she isn’t pushing for more information about the hot fucking mess that is my personal life.

“Do you want me to leave? I would understand if you did.”

“No,” slips out a little too quickly, and I’m not even sure why. I should want her to leave, but I don’t. Luke already likes her, she’s already here, and we’ve already had it out. Plus, she’s substantially less annoying than almost any other option available to me. “It’s fine. Just get me an autograph to make it up.”

She blinks at me. “Was that a joke?”

“No.”

Her foot slides across the vinyl bottom of the hot tub and brushes against mine. “That was a joke.”

“It wasn’t.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Maybe I should be madder about this. Maybe I should send her home. But the thought of going back and undoing everything that’s already been done feels exhausting.

There’s something freeing in just . . . letting it go.

“It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone you made a joke. I’ll get you an autograph and keep your reputation as The World’s Grumpiest Rancher completely intact.”

“Willa, you’re making me regret hiring you.”

She points at me. “Yes. Exactly. What joke? No jokes here.”

She’s carefree. She’s funny. She’s got a smart sense of humor that I like even though I refuse to show it. And she spends the next twenty minutes telling me stories about growing up as the child of a household name. She talks and I listen. And now and then, when one of us shifts in the small hot tub, our feet brush.

It’s innocent contact. Or at least it should be. We don’t look at each other when it happens. I’m afraid to look at her too closely if I’m being honest.

But it still sends sparks up my legs.

And when we get out, I do the gentlemanly thing and offer her a hand so that she doesn’t slip.

But that’s just before I do the distinctly ungentlemanly thing where I let my eyes ravage her tight body. I soak up every curve and try to burn it into my mind so that I never feel the urge to devour the sight of her like this again.

I imagine her wearing those simple black panties that are still in my kitchen drawer.

My dick swells fast and hard enough that I wrap a towel around myself and disappear inside without saying goodnight.

Because I’m just so fucking gentlemanly