Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(47)

“Okay.” The words come out watery and I blink hard, trying to regain my composure.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. Are you listening?”

“Yes.” I sigh, already feeling relieved at having Cade take control of the situation. He’s so sturdy—there’s a dependability about him that I love. He’s practical. He works hard. He’s decisive.

It’s a relief to have him on the other end of my phone.

“You’re going to go take a shower before you do anything else.” Under different circumstances, the prospect of Cade ordering me to shower would excite me. “Then you’re going to go into the hall closet. There’s a digital thermometer in there so you don’t even need to wake him to check his temperature. Just aim it at his forehead. There is also children’s Tylenol in there. It might be hard to keep down, so you can always use the syringe and just give him a little when he wakes up and see what happens. Water or ginger ale—small sips.”

“What do you mean when he wakes up? Aren’t you coming home soon?”

I swear he growls. “We’ve got a fence down by the highway and are rounding up cows. I’m going to be late. Any other day I’d already be on my way, but I can’t leave them out by the road.”

“What if I mess this up? Luke isn’t a martini I can just toss out and try again with.”

The deep rumble of Cade’s laugh filters through the receiver.

“You are not laughing at me right now!”

“Willa. You will not mess it up. You need to believe in yourself. You’re smart. You’re capable. You’re determined. I know you are because you made me like you when I swore I never would.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“You got this. I’ll be late, but I have total faith in you.”

“Well then, you’re stupider than you look,” I mutter.

“That supposed to be a compliment, Red?” is all he says before I sigh and hang up.





16





Cade





Cade: How you holding up, Red?

Willa: Got some Tylenol down.

Cade: Good. But how are YOU?

Willa: Tired. But okay.

Cade: Did you shower?

Willa: Yeah . . .

Cade: Good. Go to bed. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be there soon.





By the time I pull up to the house, the sun has set behind the Rockies. I can hear crickets, and there are a few lights on in the house.

I’m in a foul mood. The cows I can handle. It’s the cowboys that piss me off—sometimes I think I’d be more efficient running the ranch entirely on my own. I wouldn’t have time for a kid or family, but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to a bunch of yahoos wax poetic about my hot nanny.

I told Bucky that if he kept wagging his jaw, I’d break it.

Assholes just laughed and shifted to making fun of me for having a crush on her. Cade and the nanny sitting in a tree.

Assholes.

I told them they were all fired, and they just laughed more.

Closing my truck door as gently as possible to keep from waking them up, I head toward the front door, wishing away my agitation. My worry. My confusion. I don’t want to step into this house as anything other than what they need.

I’m halfway expecting Willa to be up when I step inside. That wobble in her voice on the phone has haunted me all night. It boggles my mind that a self-possessed woman like her can doubt herself so thoroughly.

She’s all swagger and confidence ninety-nine percent of the time. But now and then, I get this flash of insecurity. It leaves me shaking my head.

After toeing my boots off, I walk through the house on socked feet, desperate for a shower, but more desperate to check on my son.

Willa too.

I head to my bedroom first, absently wondering if it will be weird if I pop my head into her room to check on her.

But those thoughts come to a screeching halt when I step into my darkened room and see copper hair floating across my pillows. The light from the hallway illuminates her creamy, pale arm wrapped around Luke’s tiny body.

My heart seizes in my chest. Stops right in its fucking tracks. And I can’t look away. I let myself stare, shoulder propped against the doorframe, arms crossed against my chest—my only armor against the intense feelings the sight of Willa snuggling my son stirs up in me.

I soak them in.

I think about her saying she loves him.

I think about the moment he reaches for her hand, the way he looks up at her—just a little uncertain that she’ll want his hand in hers.

I think about the curve of his lips and the way his tiny shoulders drop on a sigh when she effortlessly wraps her fingers around his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I stand here and think way too damn much as I stare at them curled into each other. I let myself imagine things that I have no business imagining. Things I’m not sure I could ever live up to.

With a shake of my head, I tiptoe into the room, hovering over them carefully as I reach out and lay the back of my hand over Luke’s forehead.

Blissfully cool, which means either the fever broke, or she managed to get enough medicine into him.

I sigh shakily and just before I straighten, her eyes flutter open.