Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Ihold the door open and usher Willa back into the house. She flashes a look over her shoulder as she walks through the front hall. One that’s all smug and satisfied. One that says she thinks she’s in on some sort of secret.

And maybe she is. The secret is that even though I try to act like the tough, mature big brother and dad, I’m dying inside over blow job jokes.

I’ve just been spending all these years faking that I’m ultra-responsible, hoping that I can fake myself into believing it. Most days I do, but moments like tonight I wonder what I’ve lost in the process.

I wonder if I’m still applying what responsibility looked like to me as a child to the life of a full-grown man. Because that’s what I was when I stepped up in the wake of our mother’s death—a child.

Maybe that’s why I allow myself to eye-fuck the hell out of Willa Grant as we walk back to the dining room. Her round, apple ass, the confident sway of her hips, the spot where her waist nips in—the thought of holding her there.

The feeling of following her brings out something primal in me.

Like, under different circumstances, I’d chase her. I’d take her. And there wouldn’t be any blowback because she wouldn’t be Luke’s nanny. And the fact that I’m this much older than her wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t give a fuck.

“Wow, Harvey,” Willa announces as we walk into the dining room. “It looks fabulous out there. You blew the hell outta that lawn.”

I scrub a hand over my face as the table erupts into giggles. Harvey included. Bunch of children.

My dad is grinning so wide, his eyes twinkling at the gorgeous redhead currently pulling out her chair next to my son, who’s peering around the room, genuinely confused by what we’re all losing it over.

I shove away a spark of jealousy over the way my dad and Willa are smiling at each other. Because that is insane.

She was just so excited over me laughing. Over me smiling. She smiled back. It felt good. And now she’s in here giving that megawatt grin to other people, who are grinning back at her. And I feel like I want all her smiles for myself.

How hard would it be to smile more, to laugh more, if it made her look this happy?

“We’re going out.” Beau points at me, using that military voice that hedges no debate. Or at least he thinks it does. “Dad’s taking Luke for the night. I want some fun before I deploy again.”

I frown. “No.” This little fucker has never been able to tell me what to do, and I’m not about to let him start now.

“Yes.” His thick brow arches at me.

I’m about to fight back, but Willa turning her strawberry lips up at me stops me in my tracks. “Come on. It will be good for you.”

My brows knit together as I stare down at her.

The nanny.

The nanny. The nanny. The nanny.

The nanny shouldn’t look this fucking good to me. The nanny shouldn’t know or tell me what’s good for me.

And I shouldn’t listen.

But I’m an idiot, so I respond with, “Fine.”

Luke cheers and runs over, flying into his grandfather’s lap. Probably because he knows they’ll eat food that rots their teeth and stay up too late watching movies that I’d never approve of.

The small smile on Willa’s angelic face catches my eye, and without even thinking, I give her a small one back.

We walk into The Railspur, the best bar in town. It used to be the only bar in town before Chestnut Springs started growing with city folk moving out this way to live the country lifestyle or some cheesy shit like that.

And I’m pretty sure Honky Tonk Sundays are designed just for them. It’s the night when they all play cowboy dress-up and line dance or two-step, and just generally pretend they aren’t high-rolling city slickers.

If I weren’t so annoyed by it, I’d find it funny.

It feels like everyone in our group is a local celebrity of some sort. Rhett the retired rodeo king, Beau the military hero, and Jasper the hockey sensation—even though he avoids attention like the plague.

I’m just the brother who runs the ranch, the one whose woman left him with a child and more responsibility that he reasonably knows what to do with.

It’s the nudge of Willa’s shoulder against mine that keeps me from diving into a huge well of self-pity. “This place is so cool.”

I thought she’d take off with Summer. The two of them had a serious case of the giggles in the back of my truck on the way over here. I’m pretty sure I heard Summer say something about peeing a little, and that’s when I tuned them out.

“Yeah, I guess.” I survey the bar as we make our way toward our favorite spot at the back. The one with big green leather couches and a roaring fireplace.

What do people call this? Cowboy chic? That term has always amused me. Cowboying has never seemed all that chic to me.

The place is warm, all dark woods and fireplaces, ornate chandeliers. It’s changed a lot since the days when I’d come here more regularly. Now I only ever come when my brothers drag me out.

“Do you come often?” Willa asks.

“What?” My brain takes that question in a different, sex-starved direction.

Her lips roll together, not missing a goddamn beat. “To this bar? Do you come here often? God, I don’t know if that’s really any clearer. I mean come like c-o—”

I close my eyes and say a silent prayer for patience and a flaccid dick, holding up a hand. “I know what you mean and the answer is no.”

When I open my eyes again, she’s smirking. We come to stand in front of the couches. Everyone files in and she watches them carefully, eyes assessing where everyone sits. As always Jasper takes the back corner seat facing away from the rest of the room and Beau takes up position across from him—always facing the room.

Willa doesn’t even glance at me when she murmurs, “You don’t come often?”

“Not here,” I bite out.

She peeks at me from behind a silky curtain of her copper locks. “Yeah, no. That would be rude.”

I opt to glare back at her. Because my wish for a flaccid dick is not being granted with this line of banter. Or are we flirting? I don’t even know what flirting looks like anymore. “Willa, sit down.”

I point at the only spots left. A love seat facing the end of the low-slung table. She moves effortlessly, with an inherent grace. There’s something kind of . . . magical about her. Her laugh, her voice, the fluidity of her movements. It’s not sexual, it’s just an appeal I can’t quite put my finger on.

An appeal I’m now going to be stuck sitting beside all night. And living with all summer. I absently wonder if putting up with one of the other applicants who didn’t catch my eye at all would have been preferable, even if it meant putting up with their overt advances for a couple of months.

Our server, Bailey, swings by once we’re seated. The girl works her ass off here and at the hospital as a porter. It’s like every ounce of focus and drive that could be shared by her family was all just packed into her. The Jansens own the farm next to us, and she’s the youngest of them. The best of them. The only one without a criminal record, most likely.

“I’ll have a Guinness,” Willa says, surprising me by ordering a thick, dark beer. And maybe I’m a dick for expecting something else. I had her pegged as a prissy city girl who’d order some frilly Sex and the City drink.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” I hike a thumb at Willa and give Bailey a terse smile. Bailey blushes and drops my gaze. I’m not sure how the hell she works here. She’s young and painfully shy.

Willa elbows me, before leaning close and whispering in my ear. “She gets smiles. You should go for it. She’s cute.”

I glance at Bailey’s retreating form and shake my head. “Nah. No way. Bailey’s way too young. I just like her.”

Willa’s eye twitches, her lips flattening as she looks around the bar. She seems like she’s all bravado and bluster, but I get the sense I just hurt her feelings. Not so much by what I said, but by what I didn’t say.

I bump my elbow back at her. “I like you too, Red. I just feel bad for Bailey. Her family is shit but she’s a sweet girl. She gets a bad rap around town.”

She rolls her eyes while staring out across the room. “You don’t like me. You tolerate me.”

I mull that over. Is that how I come off to her? I guess she has no way of knowing it’s a struggle for me to keep my eyes off her when she interacts with Luke, even harder to keep her image from popping up in my mind when I fist my cock in the shower. Both things I don’t intend to tell her, so I opt for, “The way I see it, I like you a little more every day.”

Because that much is true. The girl is growing on me, like a vine wrapping up around an old oak. And for once, I’m not sure I mind.

Willa’s head turns slowly, with intent, and her eyes scour my face. I feel like I’m being analyzed, decoded—it’s fucking unnerving.

“You trying to put a spell on me, Red? Some sort of city-girl voodoo shit?”

“City girl voodoo shit?” She smiles, still staring at me hard. Amused. Glowing. She’s goddamn breathtaking. The rest of the bar fades away, and with a little shake of my head, I give her a reluctant smile and drop her gaze.

She laughs and flops back against the couch, watching Bailey approach with a tray full of drinks. “Daddy Cade, you’re a whole lot prettier when you smile.”

I can’t help but snort. “You’re insane.” Usually a woman’s attention makes me squirm. It’s too intense. There’s too much pressure. But with Red, she toes the line of joking. Truthfully, I can’t make heads or tails of her. If nothing else, she has my attention.

She grins up at me, gently tugging at her long, straight hair. Like that’s an answer.

I’d like to tug on that hair too, is what I’m thinking when I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder. “Cade, buddy, how are ya?”

The smile comes easily now. My high school friend, Lance Henderson, is towering over me, grinning like the fucking loon he is.

I stand, reaching out to shake his hand in a firm clap while slapping at his shoulder. It’s our kind of equivalent of a hug. “I’m doin’ alright. How about you? What brings you out this way?”

“Rodeo nearby. Thought I’d take a detour through the old stomping grounds.”

“Yeah?”

“Heck yeah.” He nods at the table. “Look at you all. The entire Eaton clan. What is this? Some sort of family reunion?”

“Nah, that’s next month.”

His eyes drop, and I catch him eyeing up Willa, who is pretending to pay attention to everyone else in the loud bar, but I can tell by the angle of her head that she’s eavesdropping. Snoopy little thing.

When I glance back at Lance, it’s almost impossible to miss the appreciative way he’s looking at her.

And it fucking bugs me.

I take a step over, blocking Willa with my body. “This isn’t the grocery store, Henderson. Whatchya looking for?”

His head tips back and he barks out a laugh. “That your girl, Eaton?”

I scowl back at him. “No. She’s my nanny.”

He arches a brow at me from beneath his tan cowboy hat. “Your nanny?”

I sigh like I’m exasperated with him, but no chance am I backing down on this. “You heard me, dickhead. How long you in town for?”

His eyes are twinkling, but he doesn’t push the Willa thing any farther, and I drop my shoulders, tension easing out.

Pathetic.

“Just one night. Was actually hoping to get in touch with you. Couldn’t find ya on social media.”

“Why would I need social media?” I deadpan.

“I don’t know. To stay in touch with friends like me?”

“Once every five or so years in person is perfect for me. Too much of a good thing and all that.” I like Lance but me sharing photos with him and hearting his status updates—never.

“I need a partner. My guy is out with a broken collarbone. We’re close to qualifying for the national finals.”

“No.”

“Why not? You’re one of the best penners I’ve ever seen. It’s a shame you never continued.”

People don’t get it. Traveling around rodeoing was never an option for me. No one ever asked me if that’s what I’d like to do. Because I would have loved to do it. I am a good fucking cowboy. But duty called, and that duty was here at home. The ranch. Luke. Family.

I was never granted the privilege of doing whatever I wanted, and being reminded of it smarts.

“I rope and pen all the time. For work. Not show.”

“Good, then you’re not out of practice.”

“Lance, it ain’t gonna happen.” I cross my arms over my chest, hearing the buzz of conversation behind me, but I can feel Willa shift closer toward the midline of the couch.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got the ranch. I’ve got a kid. I can’t just take off for days at a time. I can’t hang at your place and practice. I have responsibilities.”

“What about the nanny? We can wing it without practice, or I can trailer in.” His eyes drop, and my chest puffs as I shift to block his gaze.

“She gets the weekends off.”

“We can figure someth—”

“I don’t mind working a couple of weekends.” Willa’s body presses beside mine as my head snaps in her direction.

“No,” I grit out.

She shrugs. “Calm your tits, Eaton. I’m just offering.”

Lance laughs and smiles at her, all cowboy charm. It’s fucking annoying. It’s even worse watching him shake Willa’s hand. Her smiling back at him. They’re both sunny and happy. They suit each other well and I hate it bugs me.

“Lance Henderson.”

“Willa Grant. Pleasure to meet you.”

His smile transforms into a smirk I recognize well from watching him pick up buckle bunnies when we were younger. “Oh darling, the pleasure is all mine.”

I like Lance. He’s a good guy, and he’s charming as all get out, but I don’t like him charming my nanny.

Which is why I say something I never thought I’d hear myself say. “Willa and I were just about to dance. But it’s been nice seeing you, Lance.” I give him a tip of my chin and grab Willa by the elbow before dragging her out onto the dance floor.

“I think I missed the part where we were just about to dance?” she teases as I pull her into a two-step position, trying to just plant my hand at her waist rather than sliding it over her ribs the way I want to.

“It was an excuse to get away from that smiley motherfucker.”

She casually drapes a hand over my shoulder as my fingers wrap around her dainty hand and we easily fall into step to the upbeat, twangy song. I make a point of staring over her shoulder rather than at her.

It’s hard.

She’s got some pretty pink dress on. It’s simple, but it hugs her curves, skims her knees, and is altogether too low cut. The way she’s paired it with a pair of white Chuck Taylors makes her look too fucking young.

Where Summer is all pencil skirts and high heels, Willa is bright colors and sneakers.

“So . . .” I peek at her and notice the way she’s watching other people on the dance floor. People who are definitely watching us. Because grumpy Cade Eaton never dances. When I come here, I nurse a beer and glare at any woman who comes my way.

It’s worked well for me so far. But Willa Grant is shaking my shit up.

“You come here often?” she asks.

“Willa.” My teeth clench.

“If I make a blow job joke, will you laugh again?”

My teeth grind. “No.”

“What’s the best thing about a blow job?”

“Good lord, woman. Just stop.” I turn my chin down at her and try to give her my most intimidating expression. Just hearing her say the words blow job is too much for a guy who hasn’t gotten one in years.

But, as usual, Willa isn’t the least bit deterred.

Her fingers pulse in mine, and she does that light, sparkly laugh that makes my dick twitch. “No, wait. You’re going to love this one. It’s so you.”

She leans into my ear, and her breath fans across my neck as she huffs out a small snort before composing herself enough to finish the joke. I bite the inside of my cheek to contain whatever expression might pop up on my face. “The ten minutes of silence.”

I have to look away across the room. I can feel her body shaking, laughing at her own joke.

No shame.

“I got you. I saw that. Are your cheeks bleeding, Eaton? Does it hurt to hold in your laughter like that? I hear it can give you erectile dysfunction.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth, Red?”

She blows a raspberry, highly amused. “Oh yeah. She’d love that joke.”

“The joke’s on you though. I wouldn’t last ten minutes and just because you’d be quiet doesn’t mean I would be.”

We both go still, and I watch her eyes widen while I beat myself up internally for letting a snippet of my old self tumble out, woken up by the beautiful redhead in my arms.

“Who said anything about me and you, Cade?” She blinks, her thick lashes making her appear a lot more innocent than I’m thinking she is.

Young? Yes.

Shy? No.

It’s a dangerous combination for a man like me.

The song changes, and before I can reply, some guy who works at the bank cuts in and asks if he can have the next dance.

I nod and step away graciously, even though it kills me. The thought of letting someone else dance with her makes me see red, but I also need to get the fuck away from wherever that conversation was heading.