Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)

by Elsie Silver

Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.

Lucy Reid’s eyes flutter my way. The look in them is just a little too appreciative for my taste. “Well, I love to do arts and crafts. I do a lot of scrapbooking in my spare time. Knitting. I bet Luke would love to do some knitting. Don’t you think, Cade?”

Summer just stands, hip propped against the doorframe, staring at me. She does this sometimes and it’s unnerving.

Time for myself hasn’t been a thing for a long time. I just didn’t realize how long.

The woman in front of me laughs, and it reminds me of the chimes on my back porch when the wind dances through them—melodic and airy sounding.

But my mind is wandering in ways I haven’t let it in literal years. So maybe I’m meant to just enjoy the ride. Maybe it’s okay to let myself feel something.

“Here you go,” I say, my voice all gravel as a shot of nerves hits me. Talking to strange women isn’t a well-honed skill of mine. Scowling at them? I’m a professional.

Standing now, I get a good look at her face. My feet root to the ground, and my lungs stop working. Her laugh has nothing on her face. Cat-like eyes, arched brows, and milky skin. She’s fucking stunning.

I’m not known for smiling, but the corners of my mouth twitch. “You, uh, dropped your panties, ma’am.”

“You forgot your . . .” I trail off because I refuse to shout this across the coffee shop full of people I have to face day in, day out. She turns and presses her back into the door as she leaves, holding my eyes for a beat, barely contained amusement touching every feature. “Finders keepers,” she says with a shrug.

she does laugh, full and warm and so damn amused. Then she exits into the sunlit street, hair shining like fire and hips swinging like she owns this town. She leaves me stunned. And when I glance back down at my open palm, it hits me she’s long gone. I have no idea what her name is, and I’m still here . . . Holding her panties.

the view out near Chestnut Springs is breathtaking. Prairie land so flat it almost seems impossible. Dark, craggy mountains rising like a tidal wave, heading right for you. In the city, we can see the mountains, but not like this. Not like you could reach out and touch them.

I have questions. Lots of questions. But they all evaporate from my mind the minute the front door swings open, and I’m left standing stupidly in the middle of the dirt walkway, gawking at the man from the coffee shop. The one I left my panties with.

He turns his dark gaze on me now, eyes starting on my face before trailing down my body in the most critical and unnerving way. When his eyes come back up, the look in them is perfectly flat. Like he’s sized me up and found me entirely lacking.

“And I don’t care if you’re her best friend. You smell like beer and your panties are still in my back pocket. You’re not taking care of my son.”

i’d be mad abt the beer thing. as if she knew what the plan was before she started drinking???

I wink at him, watching fiery red splotches crop up on the apples of his cheeks and seep out across the immaculate bone structure hidden beneath that beard and scowl.

“Cade is the panty guy?” “I’m not the panty guy,” he interjects, but Summer and I ignore him. “Yeah. And you said that any sane man would have thrown them out. So you know what that means.” We’re grinning at each other like crazy people now, and before I know it, a giggle slips from between Summer’s lips. And before long, she’s doubled over, hands on her knees, gasping for air. “For fuck’s sake.” The grump runs a broad hand through his hair in frustration. “I am not the panty guy.”

I pull one out and flop down onto the couch with it. But when I do, I feel a lump in my back pocket. And then I’m immediately on edge. Willa. I don’t even know her last name. I don’t know much about her, really. All I know is that she won’t be good enough to take care of Luke. She’s nothing like the uninteresting, responsible, asexual nun who also wants to do fun things with an active little boy I’ve had in mind for the job. I’m not delusional enough to think that person exists, but I keep hoping for that anyway. And Willa isn’t the answer I was hoping for.

But this Willa character. I don’t know her. I don’t trust her. All I know is that she makes my dick twitch, she talks too much, and she has a spare pair of underwear in her purse.

idk having a spare pair of underwear seems smart to me

I’m thirty-eight years old and acting like a nervous fucking teenager over women’s undergarments.

I storm over to the kitchen and shove them all the way to the back of my “stuff” drawer. The one where random shit goes to die because I’m too lazy to think of a proper place to put it. I pride myself on keeping a tidy house, but that one drawer is my secret shame. It seems fitting that Willa’s underwear should end up in there.

I’ve had the weight of the world on my shoulders since my mom died when I was eight. I’m not even sure if anyone put that weight there or if I just do it to myself. Either way, it’s ever present. And it’s heavy.

I wrinkle my nose and stare back at my little brother. Never thought I’d see him this gone over a girl.

I crack the beer and put the cold can to my lips as Rhett sits in the Adirondack chair next to me. Summer painted them bright red, cheerful just like her. They remind me of Willa’s hair.

Rhett glances over at me and grins. “Willa Grant is good shit, brother. If she’s offering to take care of our boy for the summer, you’d be an idiot to turn her down. I don’t know many people more loyal than her. She’s got a big heart.”

“Sounds like her loss, because you might be the coolest kid I’ve ever met.” She doesn’t use a sad voice, or a baby voice, she just talks to him like a normal human being. “Fucking hell,” I curse under my breath because she just practically hired herself.

But where Rhett is all smiles, Cade is all scowls. All thick arms and broad chest and furrowed brow. Dirty boots. Muscular thighs. Cowboy porn with a frown.

Cade mutters, but he doesn’t look at his son. No, his eyes latch onto me.

Cade’s eyes snap to mine, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from smiling as I continue to walk toward him. Then his gaze drops, and it’s like he can’t peel his eyes away from my mouth.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that Cade Eaton’s favorite thing in the world is his son.

I don’t want to let my eyes linger too long on Cade Eaton. He’s so bitchy looking that I might laugh, or I might stare longer than is appropriate. Because you’d have to be dead to not enjoy staring at him.

He continues to glare, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Good God. Does it hurt if you smile? Or say something polite? What happened to the ma’am guy from the coffee shop?”

His gaze, full of questions and devoid of warmth, roams over my face, searching for something. “Will you teach him how to knit?” My nose wrinkles. “Is that . . . is that like a requirement? Can I outsource it? I’m uh . . . not really big on knitting.” I swear I see a cheek twitch.

I’ll take a boozy brunch with my bestie and a dirty book in bed by eight for a thousand, Alex.

He rolls his eyes like I exasperate him. And I’m pretty sure I do. I might even be trying a little bit. I like the way the muscle in his jaw pops, the way his Adam’s apple bobs beneath tawny, tanned skin. I even like the little shimmer of silver strands dusted throughout his dark hair. Older guys. They’ve always done it for me.

I plaster on the sweetest smile I can muster and turn to look back over my shoulder. “I’ll be ready for your inspection tomorrow, boss.” Then I wink and saunter away, feeling the weight of his gaze on my body and knowing he’s probably wondering if I’m wearing any undergarments right now.

She has six minutes. I smile to myself, prop a hip against the banister, feeling like there’s a good chance I’ll be right. And it’s at that moment the crunching of gravel draws my gaze up. It’s at that moment I’m proven wrong. Because Willa’s red Jeep is rolling down my driveway five minutes early.

I can’t peel my eyes off of her, even though I want to. Even though she’s not at all my type at this point in my life. She has city girl written all over her. She has wild child written all over her. She’s not some sweet, small-town girl. She’s the girl who told me she’d be ready for me to inspect her undergarments and didn’t think twice about it. She has temptation written all over her.

she shrugs and pulls her sunglasses off her face, pinning me with her emerald eyes. The kind of eyes that stop you in your tracks.

If nothing else, Willa Grant is a stunner. Too young for me. Too unpredictable for me. B...

Maybe I am the asshole everyone tells me I am.

probably but you’re hot soooo

I heave the suitcase out just in time to watch them walk hand in hand into my house, and for some reason, I stop and watch. Unable to look away. Lots of people have walked through that front door. But somehow this feels different.

I’m not sure what I did to deserve this torture, but it must be something terrible. I like to think I’ve lived a straight and narrow sort of life, yet I’ve been handed heartache after heartache, challenge after challenge. It seems like the universe could have granted some sort of reprieve. But it granted me Willa fucking Grant.

I’m not known for giving people the warm and fuzzies. Every time I’ve done that, I’ve walked away a little less whole than I started. Never again. I’ve got nothing left to give if Luke wants a dad who can be happy and present.

The smile she gives me is flat, her eyes dull—all traces of playfulness evaporated. “Well, in that case, I’ll be going.”

I could hear him chattering away at her. Asking her about her horse. About her guitar. About what her favorite type of snake was. Like that’s a normal question you ask when getting to know someone.

I stand on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and she stands on the carpet in the bedroom. A brass divider shines on the ground between us like a line in the sand. Me versus her.

“You should try harder not to look at me like you hate me, then.” It’s not the first time people have told me this. But it’s the first time I’ve faced the reality of how it might make them feel. It’s not intentional. I’m pretty sure it’s just my default facial expression now. My smiling muscles have lost all their tone.

“I don’t hate you.” She rises, a wry laugh twisting her features as her copper waves fly around her neck. “Could have fooled me.” “I’m sorry.” Her chin juts out, and she holds up a hand to her ear. “Pardon? I think I misheard that.”

I fucking love the pair on this girl. If I weren’t so irritated by how attracted I am to her, I’d be cheering her on.