Sheriff Needs a Nanny

“Why did you hire me if you’re ready to push me out the door?”

He surprised her when he gave up his position of power to sit across from her. “First of all, because you’re a teacher, not a nanny. You’re going to go back to teaching the first chance you get. It’s obvious when you talk about it that you love your job. Second, I can see you do care about Carmichael. More important, he likes you. But let’s not kid ourselves. You’re a meddler, Ms. Rhodes. You can’t help yourself. And I can’t tolerate being manipulated. I have a high-pressure, high-exposure job. I need to know my child is being cared for to my specifications, and to find peace when I walk through my door at the end of my shift.”

Okay, she gave him points for insightfulness and, yeah, she understood the whole peace-in-his-own-home thing. Her mother had always wanted peace. Nikki considered it overrated. Give her loud and loving every time. Laughter wasn’t a quiet commodity.

As for meddling—he was right. She couldn’t deny it. But the man had serious emotional issues. She intended to help him and Mickey find a connection. If he preferred for her to be up-front about it, she could do up-front.

“I prefer to think of it as caring about people.” Earnest in her concern, she leaned forward. “I care about Carmichael. You didn’t even stop to check on him this evening. So, yeah, I’m going to meddle. He needs you, so what’s it going to take to get you to stand steady for him?”

Trace’s dark brows slammed together. “You’re out of line.”

“Blame yourself.” Nikki waved his irritation aside. “You hired me to take care of Carmichael. To me that means more than changing diapers and heating bottles. His emotional welfare is as important as his physical welfare. Why are you so afraid of emotion?”

He surprised her with an immediate response.

“I’m not afraid of emotion, Ms. Rhodes, I’m just not very good at it.”

Nikki blinked at the unexpected reply. How sad if that was true. The total lack of feeling in his expression revealed he believed it.

“And it’s easier to back away than try?” she guessed.

“I’ve tried.” A shadow of pain came and went in his level gaze. The flash of vulnerability convinced her of his claim more than the stoic words. “That’s how I know I’m no good at it.”

She could tell it had cost him. Still, she had to press. For him and for Mickey. “Well, it’s time to try again. Can I be frank with you? Mickey’s development is stunted. You know I have a master’s in Child Development. He’s behind in speech, in walking, in his motor skills.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re saying my child is slow?”

“No. He’s smart, and actually quick to catch on to new things. But he just sits, and he always wants to be held.”

“His grandmother was very protective of him,” he said slowly, his mind obviously at work. “Whenever I visited she held him all the time. I thought it was because she was afraid I would take him away. She must have coddled him to the extent he did little for himself.”

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” she asked, compassion illuminating her features. “She’d lost her daughter. Her grandson was all she had left of her child. She hung on to him with all her might, and ended up impeding his progress instead of nurturing his growth.”

“She held on so tight she may have irreparably damaged his ongoing development. That’s not sad, that’s negligent. And I let it happen.”

“It’s not necessary to place blame,” Nikki assured him. “What matters is what you do now. Your son needs you. We talked about you setting time aside each day to spend with him. When would be best for you?”

“I’ve already explained my days are chaotic in the extreme. I keep a schedule, but I’m always on call. I can’t give you a set time.”

“Come on.” She sighed, her understanding slipping. “That’s a cop-out.”

“Be careful, Ms. Rhodes.” Dark color stained his cheeks and he fixed a fierce frown on her.

“Good parents make time for their kids.”

“I’m aware of that, but—”

“No buts. Everyone’s busy. We’ll just work at it until we find a time. We’ll start with breakfast. How does bacon and eggs sound?”

He shook his head. “I usually grab something at the station.”

Now he was just being difficult.

“Good. You’ll be able to focus all your attention on Mickey. You can have a cup of coffee while you feed him.”

“I’m the employer, Ms. Rhodes. I make the rules.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you’re big on rules. It’s all about structure and control for you, isn’t it? So you’ll understand the benefit of a regular schedule for your son.”

He scowled, but she saw he was thinking about her comments. Good. She rose and went to the door.

“Thanks for showing me my rooms. I’d like to get settled in, but I’ll see you at breakfast. Seven o’clock. I’ll cook.”

He blew her off again the next morning. When she came in, he was strapping on his utility belt, getting ready to walk out the door.

He nodded to the baby monitor. “Carmichael is still sleeping. He should be up soon. He slept through the night for the first time since getting here. I have to go.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “What about our date?”

His laser green gaze sliced to her, and she cringed inwardly at her unfortunate word-choice. The word probably added to his irritation at being questioned at all.

“Our appointment will have to wait until tomorrow. The Mayor called for a breakfast meeting. Was I supposed to tell him I couldn’t make it because I had to feed my son?”

“You say that as if feeding your son isn’t important.” Walking to the table for the baby monitor, she sent him an aggravated glare. “Did you even suggest an alternative time?”

“No.” He shrugged. “We often meet over breakfast. We’re busy men, it’s easiest to get our session out of the way early.”

“And that was fine when you were on your own. Now you have a son who needs your attention.”

“He’ll get it tomorrow morning.” He grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He slid on mirrored shades, which added an extra layer of stern to his tough visage. “Don’t attempt to interfere with my work, Ms. Rhodes. You won’t like the results.”

Nikki fumed as he closed the door on her—figuratively and literally.

She stormed into the kitchen and took her ire out on innocent pots and pans.

“Oh, shoot. Wait!” She went running for the door, to catch Trace before he left, but when she stepped out on the deck it was to watch his SUV disappear down the street.

“Dang.” Stubborn man. He’d riled her both last night and this morning, so she’d forgotten to ask about the car seat for Carmichael. She assumed it must be in Trace’s vehicle, because she hadn’t found it when she went through the house and garage yesterday. There was no stroller, either. Nor playpen or walker. The only baby items were the crib and dressing table and a highchair.

He needed to pick up the necessities from his in-laws’ place or buy new ones, because she and Mickey were prisoners without them. Back in the kitchen, she frowned at the cupboards, reminded they were also low on groceries. She began to plot her evening. There was more than one twenty-four-hour superstore in the county.

If she had to call 911 to get his attention, she and Trace would be visiting one before the night ended.

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