Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(41)

I turn into the bales, heading in the opposite direction, the dry points of stray pieces scratching at my arms as I move in toward the center of the structure searching for Willa.

I hear the dull thump of small feet around me, Luke winding his way up and down the rows. Every sense feels elevated in here, the hay providing a sort of soundproofing, a privacy. The walls of it press in around me. It smells comforting.

It smells like nostalgia. I’m taken back to days when Beau and I would chase Rhett and our little sister Violet through here. Same field and everything.

To my right, I see a flash. Daylight blocked out for a moment before it shines through again. I turn and follow, knowing I’ve got her now.

My strides lengthen as I veer right, catching sight of her creeping along carefully.

“Red,” I whisper-shout.

Her head flips in my direction, her eyes twinkling. Because, if nothing else, Willa Grant is a shit disturber, waltzing into my life and complicating it without even trying. Looking all pleased with herself over it.

With a wink over her shoulder, she shoots off, running from me.

And something primal in me roars to life.

I chase her.

Luke is way over on the other side of the bales, and while I wouldn’t say that I’ve forgotten about him, it’s Willa who has my full attention right now.

I jog as best I can in the cramped space, my mind laser-focused. All I see is her, and all I hear is blood pumping in my ears.

She veers again, and I hear a small, gasped giggle when she glances over her shoulder and sees that I’ve gained on her.

One turn left has her heading in Luke’s direction. And while I told him I was going to help him catch her, the truth is . . . I want her to myself for a moment.

I can’t explain it. It’s instinct.

My arm extends in front of me, and my fingers wrap around her delicate wrist, clamping down and yanking her back to me before she can cross paths with my kid and put a stop to this dangerous game of cat and mouse we seem to be playing.

Air whooshes out of her lungs as she stumbles back into me, shoulder blades thumping against my chest.

“Jesus Christ.” She chuckles, not moving away from my body. In fact, she leans into me, glancing over her shoulder. “Relax, daddy. It’s just a kid’s game.”

I turn, pulling her back in toward the center of the maze. “Running pretty hard for a woman

playing a kid’s game, Red.”

She laughs, not taking me seriously—in typical fashion.

“And stop calling me that.”

“Why?” she asks breathlessly as I turn a corner before pressing my back into the hay, giving her a tug that has her stumbling into my chest.

She catches herself by splaying one hand on my pec. We both look down, transfixed by where she’s made contact. My shirt might as well not be there because it feels like she’s touching my bare skin.

My cock twitches, clearly not differentiating at all.

“Because I don’t like it,” I bite out. The nickname makes me feel creepy.

That just makes her smirk. “But I’m pretty sure you’re about to scold me like one.”

My brow furrows as I raise my chin to get lost in her emerald eyes. “Scold you?”

Her eyes roll. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have knocked that kid into the water, but I was really mad. He was just so mean. And not accidentally. I got picked on like that as a kid and it was always my brother who stepped in and saved me. But Luke doesn’t have a big brother to kick someone’s ass for him, and I just . . . snapped.”

I soak in the woman before me, a fucking knockout. “Why did you get picked on?”

“I’ll show you pictures sometime. Taller and skinnier than everyone. Big buck teeth. Crazy red hair. Can I blame assaulting a seven-year-old on my hair color? I’ve always flown off the handle kind of easily. Or like”—her lips roll together—“I don’t get mad easy, but when I do it’s really, really bad.

And Bunny sucks. Eye-fucking you like that at a child’s party.”

I blink at her, frantically explaining herself like she’s in trouble with me when she’s not. The only people in trouble are the assholes who picked on her. I don’t care if it’s been a decade. I want names and addresses so I can set them straight.

She carries on, oblivious to the way I’m looking at her and the hard-on growing in my pants.

Oblivious to the way her fingers absently stroke my chest.

“I know there’s this whole weird, small-town vibe happening where everyone knows everyone else’s business. And that bottle-blonde bitch was spitting mad. I imagine I’d be mad if I found out my kid was a raging loser too. But I don’t really care what she thinks of me, you know? So if you need to blame it on me to save face as the town’s grumpy prince, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you.”

I just stare at her. She must think I’m a real dick if she’s assuming I wouldn’t come to her defense on this.

Her tongue darts out over her lips, wetting the full bottom one and making it shimmer in a way that I can’t peel my eyes away from.

“God. Why do you have to wear a backward cap too?” Her voice is softer now. Raspier.

Breathier.

I swear she’s leaning closer.

“What?” She’s a confusing woman, talking a mile a minute. We’ve gone from a scolding to teenaged trauma to small-town drama to my hat in under a minute.