Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(7)

He’s precious.

“No,” his dad says, right as I say, “Sure!”

Cade’s head snaps around, brows harsh slashes across his forehead, the lines there furrowed as though I’ve done something to personally offend him.

“Cade.” Summer props her hands on her hips. “Just let him come hang out for a bit. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

My eyes bounce between the two of them. Summer, all pint-sized and sweet, Cade, all big and growly.

“Please, Dad?” When Luke’s sugary-sweet voice speaks, he doesn’t look so growly. He looks more . . . resigned. Tired somehow?

Cade spins on me. “How old are you?”

I straighten, refusing to cower under his piercing gaze. “Twenty-five.”

His throat works as he assesses me again. “Do you have a criminal record?”

“Not a substantial one,” I reply honestly. I got caught with pot once before they legalized it. Sue me for being a fun teenager.

“Jesus Christ.” One thick hand runs through his closely cropped hair as he shakes his head.

“Do you have a criminal record?” I cross my arms and arch an eyebrow back at him. If this is the brother I think it is, the one Summer has told me about, then I’m almost positive he’s not some walking, talking angel. And I’ll be the one stuck living with him.

He stares at me. Hard. It feels like it lasts forever. Summer looks between us, and from the corner of my eye I see Luke peer up at his dad and tug at the hem of his shirt. “Can I go play now?”

“Fine.” Cade glares at me when he says it. “But Summer is in charge.”

The little boy squeals and launches off the front porch.

And I just glare back at his dad.





3





Cade





With Luke out of the house, I officially have a little bit of free time. A little bit of time to myself. A little bit of time to relax.

I keep saying I need this, but now that I have it, I’m not so sure I like it.

It turns out that after a lifetime of taking care of people, I’m not great at relaxing. I flick the TV on and try to find something to watch, but nothing appeals to me. I walk over to the bookshelf in my living room, stocked with some classics from my parents and some books I grabbed for myself along the way. Books I thought seemed interesting and then never made the time to read.

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.

Luke’s mom did a number on us. She continues to do a number on us—on me.

My trust levels are at rock bottom. I trust Mrs. Hill because I know she took good care of my brothers and me. Same goes for my dad. I trust Summer because anyone who can manage to tie my wild-child little brother down can handle an unruly five-year-old.

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.

I sit up and pull them out. It’s not like they’re anything offensive. A silky nylon type of black fabric. Pretty full cut. I guess. For panties? What the fuck do I know?

I feel like the biggest perv, sitting here on my couch, scrutinizing a pair of underwear that belongs to the woman who is currently taking care of my child.

I should give them back.

I don’t want to keep walking around with them.

I also don’t want to look her in the eye as I hand them back.

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

Agitated with myself, 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 swipe my keys off the counter and stride out the front door. I get the feeling my indecisiveness over the whole nanny thing has irritated my dad, so I hop in my truck and opt to go harass my little brother instead.

God knows he spent enough years giving me the few gray hairs that now mingle with the dark ones near my temples. The least he can do is hand me a beer and tell me more about this Willa person before I write her off and make Summer and my dad hate me.

Because I’m pretty sure if I draw this out much longer, they’ll both tell me to go fuck myself for being such a picky bitch.

And I’ll deserve it.

It only takes me a few minutes on the back road to reach Rhett and Summer’s brand-new house.

I see a red Jeep Wrangler parked next to the vintage truck my brother drives. But Summer’s swanky vehicle is gone. My fingers itch to grab my phone from my pocket, dial her up, and demand to know where she is and what she’s doing.