Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(24)

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.