Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(89)

I hold the beer up in Willa’s direction. “Cheers, baby. You get to play nurse today.”

“Oh, yeah?” She draws closer, running a hand over my shoulder and down my arm to hold my hand. As she assesses the quickly darkening digits, she adds, “I think I dressed up as that for Halloween one year.”

Jesus. What didn’t this woman dress as for Halloween?

I groan and let my eyes flutter shut to the sound of my brothers having a good chuckle around me. The last thing I need is a rock-hard dick to go along with my broken fingers.

“Okay, champ. Off to the hospital we go.” Willa slides her hand around my back. “I got him from here, boys. The girls have Luke. I think he’s in heaven with two blondes paying attention to him.”

“Talk about mommy issues,” Rhett jokes to a chorus of groans. Leave it to him to say something inappropriate right now.

“Fucking clown,” I mutter as I absently press a kiss to Willa’s head.

It’s eerily quiet for a moment because I realize I just kissed my nanny in front of these two jokers and didn’t even think twice about it.

Willa clears her throat to break the silence.

“We’ll finish the cows and then come to the hospital,” Jasper says.

Rhett scoffs. “It’s fucking broken fingers. I think he’ll make it through.”

I laugh because this sucks and Rhett is certifiable. “Thanks, guys.”

Then we’re off, silently walking back to the barn where I parked. When I meet Willa’s eyes, they’re wide and concerned, so I whisper, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to be fine.”

She sniffles and rolls her shoulders back. “I know,” she replies, always putting on that tough facade.

“Were you worried?” I ask as I settle into the passenger seat of my parked truck.

“Of course,” she replies, voice even as she hops into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know how well you’ll be able to finger bang me with your left hand.”

I chuckle and smile the rest of the way to the hospital because there is only one person in the world who could make me laugh in a moment like this.

It hits me hard as we drive in a companionable silence that Willa is that person.

My person.





The hospital in Chestnut Springs is small. Staffing is a constant issue. Wait times are brutal.

I guess having to wait several hours shouldn’t surprise me. First, in the general waiting area. Second, X-rays. Last, back to a private room where we wait some more.

Willa holds my good hand the entire time, thumb stroking at the top, and somehow that numbs the pain of my fingers.

Willa’s eyes bug out when a doctor walks into our waiting room with her face turned down to the clipboard in her hands. “Winter?”

The doctor’s head snaps up, icy eyes widening only momentarily.

“Like Summer’s sister, Winter?” I blurt because I’ve heard stories about this woman. Summer’s estranged sister. Like major family drama levels of estranged. Rhett told me about the blow up one day over a few beers, and it sounds like it’s out of a daytime soap opera to me.

Fucking rich city people, man.

“Yes.” Her lips thin, and her heels click against the floor as she shuts the door. “The one and only. I’m sure you’ve heard only good things,” she says dryly before adding, “but I promise your fingers are in excellent hands, Mr. Eaton.”

Hoo boy. Another woman who could use someone to tell her some good things about herself. I watch her tense movements, the way her lips purse when she glances at Willa. She looks like Summer, but also not at all.

Winter and Summer . . . whoever did that to them deserves a kick to the balls.

“Winter, how are you? What are you doing here?” Willa asks, her voice soft and wary as the petite woman pulls on a pair of latex gloves.

Winter ignores her questions. It’s like they don’t even register on her face.

“Let’s see your fingers, Mr. Eaton.” She holds her hand out to me and I put it in hers, wincing as I do. Her dainty fingers prod so gently that I barely even feel them. “Both fingers are broken. The breaks are fairly clean, but from what I can see on the X-rays, there are some bone chips floating in there. We could do a surgical repair—”

“I don’t—”

She cuts me right back off with a pointed look. “I’m still speaking.” Good God, this woman is kind of terrifying. I clamp my mouth shut and widen my eyes to tell her she can go on.

“Like I was saying, we could operate and tidy things up immediately, but my inclination is to avoid surgery when possible. So the other option is to splint these and let them heal. Hope those chips sort of dissolve on their own and see how you feel. If they’re still causing issues, we can operate down the road. It’s a trade-off. Heal faster now in the hopes you don’t need surgery later, or still have issues and be laid out twice. It’s up to you.”

She’s very direct, very matter-of-fact. Some people might think her bedside manner leaves something to be desired, but I kind of like her. She speaks to me like I’m capable of making a decision, and she isn’t pushing treatment down my throat.

Her voice is gentler than I expected based on the stories I heard, and her eyes less vicious. They’re more . . . sad. Rimmed with dark circles.