Sheriff Needs a Nanny

“Uh-oh,” she said in mock alarm. “You got my nose.”

He grinned and poked her again.

“Oh, look at you—you got me again. I’m going to get you back.” She wiggled his nose one more time.

And he giggled.

The happy sound sent a buzz of triumph through Nikki. She’d made him laugh! The poor baby needed joy in his life, especially with a father ready to control his every move. Nikki readily admitted over-controlling parents were a hot button for her. If the location and the live-in facilities didn’t make this the perfect job she’d be tempted to turn it down. She didn’t look forward to working for a man with no give in his life.

Mickey raised his arms for her to pick him up, and her heart twisted in her chest. Here was another reason for her to stay. One smile made it worth her while.

She lifted him into a huge hug. One arm went around her neck and he laid his head on her shoulder. A lump grew in her throat. There was no feeling in the world like the soft weight of a baby cuddled trustingly in your arms.

She turned and found Trace framed in the open doorway.

Nikki met his green gaze over the baby’s head. From the raw emotion in the jade depths she knew he’d heard Mickey’s laughter.

“He likes you.” Trace came no further than the threshold, his gaze locked on his son in her arms. “Good. That was Dispatch. There’s been an accident. I have to go in. Can you start now? I tried Russ again, and he’s still not answering, so I need a sitter.”

When he raised his glance to her, his expression was closed again. For just a moment his guard had slipped. Now it was back in full force.

“Sure I can watch him. How long will you be?”

Mickey sat up in her arms and looked at his father, almost as if the baby understood what they were talking about. He couldn’t, of course, but tone and undercurrents were strong in the air. He probably felt the tension pulsing through the room. She bounced him in her arms.

“I don’t know. It could be late.” Trace’s shuttered expression didn’t change.

“Okay, I’ll call my sister and let her know I’ll be late.”

Trace gave one sharp nod. “Okay. I’ve got to change, then I’ll show you where everything is.”

“I’ll change Mick—Carmichael’s diaper and meet you in the living room.”

Trace nodded and disappeared down the hall.

Nikki laid Mickey down on the changing table. He made no move to twist or turn away. He simply lay still and watched her. His listlessness tore at her soul.

She chatted to him as she cleaned him up. He took in every word she said, but showed no reaction.

She suspected his grandmother, in her love and loss, had wrapped him in Bubble Wrap, cared for him to the extent she’d smothered the life from him. And Nikki feared his father, obviously a man of discipline and control, would go too far in the opposite direction, until all sense of laughter and spontaneity were lost to this sad little boy.

As soon as Mickey had laughed she’d known she’d have to find a way to work with the father, because this baby needed her. Mickey needed joy and discovery, activity and a sense of adventure. She’d learned to embrace life, and she wanted to share the world with him.

“You went for an interview and you’re starting now?” Her sister’s droll response to Nikki’s explanation of where she’d be for the evening restated the paradox of Nikki’s unorthodox hiring process. “Sounds like a pretty desperate situation.”

“It is. But it’s in Paradise Pines, so I’ll be close to you, and it’s live-in so I can move out of your place. It’s the perfect setup for our needs right now.” Nikki settled deeper into the corner of the couch, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, Mickey in her lap. “And you should see this little boy. Mickey is so sweet, but so sad. I’m sure he misses his grandparents, but his despondency seems to be habitual more than incidental. He lost his mother; his grandparents lost their daughter. I don’t think he’s ever known happiness.”

“Oh, Nikki, this does not sound good. You know you don’t have to move out.”

“You’re being sweet, but we both know I do need to move out. You and Dan need this time together. Besides, I’m a teacher. Morally and professionally it’s my job to do something when I see a child in need.”

There was a short telling silence. Then a sigh sounded down the line. “Nikki, do you really know what you’re getting into?”

“Not at all.” And yet Mickey’s sadness had awakened all her protective instincts.

“Amanda, he’s thirteen months old and can’t walk.” She ran her fingers through his silky brown hair, the curls so soft and fine they felt like down feathers. Mickey looked up at her with his solemn eyes. Her heart wrenched. “He doesn’t even put his feet out when I set him down. His grandmother must have carried him all the time.”

“Isn’t all this his father’s problem?”

“That’s just it. Trace is new at all of this. I’m not sure he’ll recognize the problems. In fact, he may make things worse. He’s all about control and structure, and Mickey is well behaved so there’s nothing for Trace to question.”

“But, Nikki,” Amanda calmly rationalized, “what can you do?”

“Trace Oliver is a good sheriff, which means he’s dutiful and honorable. I’m sure he wants to do what’s best for Mickey. He’s just clueless what that is. I can teach him.”

“Ha!” The rude exclamation tickled Nikki’s ear. “I’m due in a month and a half, remember? I’ve read every book on the subject over the past seven months and I can tell you with little exaggeration that there are twelve thousand ‘right ways.’ Everyone has an opinion, and some of them are really out there.”

“Yeah.” Nikki smiled. Her sister did like to know what to expect. She took after Mom in that way. “But this is what I’m trained in. I know I can help Trace and Mickey.”

“I have no doubt you can. I’ve never seen anyone better with kids than you. Because you care, and they can sense it. But that’s the problem.” Amanda’s concern reached through the connection. “You give too much of yourself. This whole thing sounds like a heart-trap to me.”

“So you don’t think I should do it?”

Another sigh. “I know it will haunt you if you don’t, but I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

Yeah, that worried Nikki, too. But she’d promised herself on her eighteenth birthday she wouldn’t live life afraid to feel. She gave herself to life, heart and soul. Sometimes that meant she got hurt, but it also meant her life was full of rich emotions and lasting memories.

“Life isn’t meant to be pain-free.”

“Nikki,” Amanda said gently, “are you sure this isn’t the backlash of your relationship with Mom?”

The question sent sharp pangs of sorrow and regret through Nikki. The frayed state of her relationship with her mother at the time of her death would forever eat at Nikki’s soul. She hated, hated that her last conversation with Mom had been an argument.

“I can’t say it doesn’t strike a chord. At a time when he should be reaching for independence, Mickey is totally despondent. If he doesn’t develop some spirit he’ll never stand a chance.”

“You mean, against his father?”

“No. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Was that how she really felt? Nikki shook her head. She didn’t know. She hadn’t spent enough time with either of them to make that call. “This is what I know—if I can bring them together now, then they’ll have a foundation to build on that will hold them together when the times get rough.”

After stating her concern one more time, Amanda ended the call. Nikki understood her sister’s hesitation.

She’d defended him to Amanda, but Trace had barely looked at Mickey, much less touched him before leaving, which burned Nikki’s hide. Somehow she needed to find a way to bring father and son alive, to teach them to love one another.

Two months. She’d give herself the summer to make a difference, then she’d reevaluate her situation.

Mickey shyly petted her hair. She sighed and shifted him in her arms. She had a bad feeling she’d lose a part of her heart this summer.

Long after he’d expected to be home that night, Trace pulled into his driveway. The sight of a light inside sent an odd sense of warmth through him. He’d missed that sign of homecoming.

The thought of Ms. Rhodes waiting inside sent an altogether different type of heat surging through his blood. But he quickly blanked off the unruly attraction and pushed his way out of the SUV.

Ms. Rhodes was so far off-limits she might as well be on Mars.

The balmy night air flowed over him as the pine-scented breeze lifted the hair off his brow. Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside and traded fragrant pine for the savory aroma of roast chicken. His stomach growled, reminding him of the hours since his last meal.

He moved to the counter separating the kitchen from the living room to place his keys in their regulated dish, and found a note saying a plate was made up for him in the microwave.

She’d cooked for him.

He checked it out. Chicken, rice and a melody of mixed vegetables. It looked damn good. Again that mysterious warmth glowed in his depths. He cursed.

Hell, man, get a grip. What? Was he going soft at the ripe old age of thirty-five? How could a home-cooked meal and a baby in the house throw him so off-stride? So he had a son to raise. He’d do it like he did everything else—with discipline and structure.

Which in no way explained why he’d hired Ms. Rhodes.

With her short pants, flimsy sandals and figure-hugging navy vest, she’d looked more prepared for a day at the races than a job interview. And her cavalier “it worked out” attitude, along with her schedule with the Hendersons, spoke of a spontaneity he found untenable.

But she’d made Carmichael laugh.

Forking up a bite of chicken, Trace stood over the back of the couch and looked at Carmichael, asleep in Nikki Rhodes’s arms. The four-car pile-up on the interstate freeway had taken hours to clear up and document. The Highway Patrol would do the forensics on the fatalities, but his men had been first on scene, so he’d been responsible for traffic control and dealing with the injured.

Death. There was no escaping it.

But then he was used to loss in one form or another. His wife to a car accident, much like the one tonight. His mother had just left—abandoning him and his dad when Trace was ten. And his dad had died two years before Trace married Donna.

Yeah, good old Mom and Dad. Never a demonstrative man, his father had taught Trace all about integrity and honor, but he’d frowned on any display of emotion. Which was why Trace’s mom had left his dad. Left them. She’d used to say he was just like his dad.

He didn’t know how to love.

Hell, he’d had no business marrying Donna. But she’d pushed for it and he’d found her companionable enough. Plus they’d been great in bed. He’d thought that was the best he was going to get.

Of course she’d wanted more from him than he could give. They’d fought. Often. Then Donna had landed on the idea of a baby. With his dad as an example of what kind of father Trace would make, he’d been against it. Especially when they were so often at odds with each other. She’d gotten pregnant anyway.

After his initial anger, he’d settled down. She’d been so excited, and he’d figured with a baby to focus her attention on she’d get off his case. God, she’d deserved better.

No, he should never have married. He wouldn’t make the mistake again.

He pretended the thought had nothing to do with why his gaze sought out Nikki Rhodes. Seeing her and Carmichael cuddled together, Trace envied the peace on his son’s face.

God, her porcelain skin looked as soft as the baby’s. Trace fought the urge to touch, to test for himself. That was a no-go. As his employee she’d be strictly off-limits.

It shouldn’t be a problem. He ruled his body; his hormones didn’t. He rarely did anything without careful thought and planning.

The bottom line was he needed Ms. Rhodes.

She’d made Carmichael smile—giggle, even. For that alone she was worth any discomfort he felt. What kind of father would he be if he put his personal well-being above the very real needs of his son?

There’d have to be ground rules.

She was too much of a free spirit, and, where he appreciated the blunt honesty she’d displayed, her unpredictability would drive him nuts. His uncharacteristic openness with her spoke of how easily she’d twisted him up.

Love was not an automatic response. He didn’t get all gooey-eyed or mushy inside when he looked at his son. He did feel a sense of duty. He’d made the decision to have a child and he’d do his best by him. Even if his best didn’t include love. He’d survived without it. So would his son.

Chapter Three

“YOU’RE home.” The sleep husky voice came from the depths of the couch.

He looked down into honey-brown eyes, felt the warmth rising and turned away.

“Yeah, thanks for staying.” Glancing at his empty plate, he saw he’d eaten every bite. He set the plate on the island countertop. “Let me take Carmichael to bed.”

“Poor little guy missed you tonight.” Nikki shifted around until she half sat, with Carmichael draped over her lap. “He wouldn’t go to sleep in his crib. I think having a stranger here at bedtime threw him off.”

“It wasn’t you,” Trace assured her grimly as he lifted his tiny son into his arms, careful not to wake him. “He hasn’t slept well since he came here. Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He carried his light burden to the nursery and laid the boy down gently. He placed a toy giraffe next to the baby and tucked them both in with a soft navy blanket. Carmichael stirred. Trace stood over him until he settled, then returned to the living room.

Trace thanked God he had the garage converted out back. At least he and Ms. Rhodes wouldn’t have to share the house. He’d purposely looked for a property with a detached extra room or granny flat. The division of space served a couple of purposes. One, it preserved his reputation and that of any lady he hired, and two, it defined the barrier between employer and employee and established boundaries for personal space.

Nikki was in the kitchen, cleaning his dinner dishes. Quite the domestic picture.

“Leave them,” he told her. “I’ll get to them later.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “They’re already done.” She opened the cupboard to the left of the sink and placed the plate inside, then turned to face him as she dried her hands with a dishcloth. “It was no trouble.”

“We have to talk.”

She nodded, folded the cloth over the edge of the sink and followed him to the living room. “It’s pretty late. It must have been bad tonight.”

“Bad enough.” He grimly dismissed the accident that had claimed two lives. A lawman couldn’t afford to make it personal. “That’s not what we need to talk about.”

“Of course.” She leaned forward. “Carmichael is such a sweet little boy, but so sad. He must miss his grandparents a lot.”

“He asks after them, yes. They’ve been the constant in his life. He has to get past that.”

“And he will, as you replace them in his affections.”

He frowned, unnerved at being anyone’s emotional stable. But this was his son, so he put steel in his backbone and strengthened his resolve.

“Bonding will take a bit of time,” she continued, right through his moment of panic. “Especially with a schedule as erratic as yours.”

That stung. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She flushed and held up a placating hand. “I’m sorry. I understand yours isn’t a nine-to-five job, but it’ll really help if you can find some time during the day to spend together. That’s usually easiest during a meal, or at bath or bedtime.”

“I know the importance of an established schedule.” How exactly had he become the one on the defense?

“I’m sure you do. And it’s early days for the two of you together. I’m sure we’ll find a system that works for all of us.”

He appreciated her enthusiasm even as he resisted it. “Sit down, Ms. Rhodes. We have a few ground rules to discuss.”

“Of course.” The words were terse, reminding him that, as a teacher, she was more used to making rules than following them.

“First of all, there should be no touching.”

Her brow furrowed and a question came into her eyes.

“You’re an attractive woman,” he clarified. “And I’m a healthy adult male. I’ve noticed you’re demonstrative. You talk with your hands and you express emotion by touching. We need to maintain a professional relationship, so no touching.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “That makes sense. What else?”

“I don’t need or want you to cook for me. No getting cozy around the kitchen table or snoozing on the couch.”

“Cozy?” She actually sounded offended by the notion. Perching on the arm of the couch, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I have to cook for the baby and me anyway. It’s just as easy to include enough for you. In fact, it’s harder to cook for one and a half than for three, so it’s just plain wasteful not to include you. If you don’t want me to leave it warming in the oven, fine. I’ll tuck the food into the refrigerator and you can dig it out. As for snoozing on the couch—you were late. I fell asleep.”

Frowning, she reached for the baby blanket she’d used as a throw and began to fold it. When she continued much of the defiance was missing. “From the sound of your schedule that’s likely to happen again, so how do you suggest we handle the problem?”

Good question.

“I’ll put a travel crib in your rooms out back. If you get sleepy, you can take Carmichael with you and I’ll pick him up when I get home.”

“That’s disruptive for the baby.”

“Yeah.” His gaze roamed from her Blushed Rose toenails to her two-inch gold hoop earrings. “Well, I think it’s best. I’d also like you to wear a uniform. It doesn’t have to be formal, just keep to black and white.”

Nikki shifted the blanket she’d folded from her lap to her chest and crossed her arms. “Maybe you should write down all these rules so I don’t forget them.”

He lifted a brow at her tone. “I’ll let that slide, because it’s late and we’re both tired. But know this: I don’t believe in ignoring problems. I believe in addressing the issue to prevent further problems from arising.”

“Now, see, I have a different philosophy. Some problems, yes, need to be resolved right away. Others, if you ignore them, often go away.”

“Or someone else handles them for you.”

“Sometimes, and it’s lovely when that happens. Other times new info comes to light which changes the situation so the original problem goes away.” She stood and gathered her belongings on the way to the door, where she stopped and met his gaze straight-on. “I don’t think you need to worry about us getting cozy around the dinner table.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Nikki purposely timed her arrival for 7:00 a.m. the next morning. Not a minute before or a minute after. She’d learned her lesson about punctuality when it came to Sheriff Oliver.

As good as he looked in his skin, she was sure encountering him half-naked again would bend more than one of his rules.

She needn’t have worried. He met her at the door fully dressed. He took her suitcase and set it inside the door.

“Carmichael is still sleeping,” he told her. “And I got a call from Dispatch so I have to go.” He grabbed his keys from the bowl on the counter and headed back to the door.

Oh, my, he did look fine in his uniform.

He wore it with an easy air of command that made the olive-green pants and khaki short-sleeved shirt—accessorized with holster and gun—downright sexy. The confidence and authority he projected made her nerves tingle.

She told herself it was in annoyance for his desertion even as she caught herself staring.

He met her gaze. “I’ll show you your rooms tonight.”

“Wait.” She stepped into his path. “What about the time you’re going to spend with Carmichael?”

“It’ll have to be tonight.” He walked around her. “I’ll try to check in during the day. I left my numbers by the phone if there’s an emergency.”

The door closed behind him and Nikki found herself alone in the quiet house. That so had not gone how she’d expected.

That night, Nikki followed Trace Oliver’s broad- shouldered, slim-hipped saunter to the garage behind his house. She eyed his chiseled profile, waiting for the right moment to address her concerns. She’d had all day to plot her course of action. She’d try to catch him in a good mood, but if that failed she’d have to risk the fallout. Mickey had needs and she meant to see them met.

“These will be your rooms.” Trace opened the door and gestured her inside.

Head held high, she squeezed past him, inhaling soap, mint and man, an intoxicating combination. It was enough to distract her from her surroundings—until the wheels of her suitcase bumped up against the threshold and stopped. With a small tug, she proceeded into the room.

He’d been polite but distant since arriving home. Mickey was sleeping, so Trace was taking the opportunity to show her where she’d be staying.

The garage had been converted into a studio apartment. A large living area included a small kitchen in the far right corner. A full bath occupied the far left corner, with a closet dividing the two. Like the main house, the furnishings here were modern, simplistic, in dark gray and burgundy.

Yeah, a few feminine touches might bring it up to the level of an impersonal hotel room. Not a problem. She needed to clear out of her sister’s place anyway. The infusion of her things would brighten this space, bring a warmth and hominess to the small suite.

She moved deeper into the room and caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Intent on fostering the professional relationship they’d agreed upon—and he’d outlined it in excruciating detail—she’d dressed in a pencil-slim skirt that ended two inches above her knees and a fitted vest both in black. For herself, she’d paired the severe clothing with a romantic white cotton shirt, ruffled at the scooped neck and capped sleeves. Black sandals completed the outfit.

Catching sight of his reflection behind her, she felt a punch to the gut. He looked as good now as he had this morning—better, actually. Being a little rumpled made him appear more approachable.

Not wanting to be caught staring, she quickly diverted her attention back to the room.

“This is really very nice. Is there wood for the fireplace?” Oh, great save. Like she needed a fire in late June.

“By the shed outside, to the left. But you probably won’t be here long enough to use it.”

“What do you mean?” Miffed, Nikki tried and failed to keep the bite out of the question. “I’m playing by the rules.” She gestured to her uniform of black and white.

His intense gaze rolled over her until his eyes met hers. “Right. But we both know this is a temporary arrangement at best.”

“Why do you say that?” she demanded. “I assure you I truly care about Mickey, and I’m committed to staying until—”

Whoa. She cut herself off as her mind caught up with her mouth. She couldn’t tell him she intended staying until father and son bonded. Already she knew he’d take her interference as well as a cat took to water: with a whole lot of resistance and no discernible gratitude for the effort involved. He only accepted her presence now because Mickey liked her. That was where she needed to channel her efforts.

“Until what, Ms. Rhodes? He starts school? Can stay home alone? Begins to drive? You won’t be here through the end of the year, let alone any of those milestones.”

And there was a fine sample of opposition. Leaving her suitcase against the wall, she plopped into a soft gray armchair, planted her elbows on the arms, and got to the heart of the matter.