“Absolutely, little man.” Rhett sets down his can of beer and pads across the deck barefoot while Luke turns and races back to the tree. “Let’s go! Gotta let the panty bandit here chat with Willa.”

“Jesus Christ. They already told you about that?” Cade grumbles as a laugh rumbles in Rhett’s chest.

Cade’s eyes snap to mine, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from smiling as I continue to walk toward him. Then his gaze drops, and it’s like he can’t peel his eyes away from my mouth.

I push my teeth down until it almost hurts and drop his intense stare.

Within a few more steps, I’m folding myself down into the seat beside Cade. “I’m not sold on you, really,” I start, even though I’m almost positive this man doesn’t give a flying fuck what I think of him, “but your kid is something else.”

I peek out the corner of my eye and can’t help the twitch of my lips as I take in his deep frown.

“Thanks,” he eventually grumbles, clearly irritated by me, but not enough to be rude after I pay him a compliment. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that Cade Eaton’s favorite thing in the world is his son.

My immediate connection with Luke seems to give me brownie points by proxy or something.

I dip my chin, still watching Rhett and Luke across the yard. I don’t want to let my eyes linger too long on Cade Eaton. He’s so bitchy looking that I might laugh, or I might stare longer than is appropriate. Because you’d have to be dead to not enjoy staring at him.

He’s got an intimidating vibe about him. Like a hot, mean teacher.

“I’m out of work for the summer,” I say casually, noting the way the veins in his hand ripple when he tightens his grip on the beer can. “My show horse is rehabbing from an injury and needs a few months off. My best friend in the world fell in love with a cocky cowboy and moved away. My brother got famous almost overnight and is a full-blown workaholic. And my parents are retired and gallivanting around the globe.”

I chance a look up at the dark, foreboding man beside me. Even sitting, he seems tall. One dark brow arches at me while his facial expression remains impassive.

A quiet beat turns into an awkward silence. And I hate awkward silence.

I flip a hand over as though I’m showing him something. “So I’m free.”

He just glares at me.

“If you need a nanny. I could help.”

He continues to glare, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Good God. Does it hurt if you smile? Or say something polite? What happened to the ma’am guy from the coffee shop?”