Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny

Her nerves must have shown, because he nailed her with a stare. “We’ve already put it off several times. You’ve mellowed me out with spaghetti and meatballs, one of my all-time favorites. The timing doesn’t get much better than this.”

Uh-oh. She was in real trouble if he started reading her mind.

Summoning a reassuring smile, she jumped into the deep end. “The day after the town meeting the community center received news that their pre-school teacher was quitting. Without notice. They asked me if I’d be interested in the job.”

He stabbed a meatball, delivered the bite to his mouth, and chewed, assessing her all the while. Finally he pointed his fork at her. “You have a job.”

“Yes, and I explained to them that Mickey would be my first priority. They have no problem with me bringing him to the classes.”

Sitting back, he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “One child’s not enough for you?”

Okay this was good. He was resistant but willing to talk. She’d expected less; she’d expected an outright decree to stay home with the baby. Not that he was a chauvinist, but he was a control freak. And a bit of a traditionalist. Funny, she actually liked that about him.

“I love Mickey. You know that. And this isn’t babysitting; that’s separate. These would be actual pre-kindergarten classes, two sessions a day, three days a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, nine to eleven and one to three, except there’s no afternoon session on Fridays.”

“So it’s only fifteen hours a week?”

“That’s not bad, right? I told them I was looking for something full-time.” He scowled at the reminder. “And they said that wasn’t a problem, they’d take me for as long as they could have me.”

“It sounds like you really want to do this.”

“I do.” A true grin surfaced. Maybe he wouldn’t object after all. “They were desperate, so I agreed to do a test session. I taught the afternoon class today. It reminded me how much I really love teaching.”

“You miss it a lot?” He dug into his spaghetti again.

The question made her stop and think. Wow, surprisingly, the answer was she hadn’t missed teaching as much as she’d thought she would. She’d enjoyed getting back in the classroom, but taking care of Mickey, sharing time with Trace, brought her a satisfaction that more than equaled what she got from teaching. Unsettled by the revelation, she refocused her attention.

“Yes,” she admitted. “These kids were younger than I’m used to, so that presented some challenges, but they’re so eager to learn. They absorb knowledge like little sponges.”

“So you had fun?” He took a sip of milk.

“I did. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take the job. Mickey would be with me most of the time, but now he’s started walking, if he gets antsy they said he could go over to the daily care center with other toddlers and play there. It’s just across the hall.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “As long as Mickey’s taken care of, I’m fine with it.”

Hot after a trip into town running errands, Nikki let herself into the house. Her little refrigerator didn’t have a freezer, so she’d stashed some ice cream bars in Trace’s.

“Knock, knock,” she called, to announce her presence.

No answer. And a pungent smell hung in the air.

She knew they were home; she’d seen his SUV in the drive. On a whim, she grabbed a second bar and went in search of her guys.

She stopped, her heart flinching at the errant thought. Her guys. For now, but not for the long haul. The end of her two months was approaching. Trace no longer avoided his son. She really needed to give thought to saving herself from deeper heartache.

Maybe she’d be better off starting to distance herself from them. It was her day off; she had no real reason to see them.

The infectious sound of Mickey’s giggle floated down the hall, stealing her willpower. She followed the sound to his room.

She stepped through the door to his room to find Mickey standing in his crib, throwing toys on the floor.

“If you keep tossing those out, you’re not going to have anything to play with,” Trace said over his shoulder, his attention on what he was doing. “I’m not coming over there again.”

And, oh my, what Trace was doing. Here was the explanation for the smell. Paint. Light blue and bold primary colors, all on the wall facing the crib.

Trace was painting Mickey’s room.

The blue was a background for a wall-filling mural of Mickey Mouse and friends. Mickey stood, arms crossed, cocky in a leather jacket, scarf and flying goggles, while his Disney buddies formed a posse behind him, each character wielding sports gear. Donald Duck cocked a bat over his shoulder, Goofy twirled a basketball on one finger, while Minnie simpered over a tennis racket.

“Oh, my God,” Nikki breathed, awed by the authentic quality of the drawing. Even half-finished, the colors popped and the characters brought life to the formerly dull room. “This is fabulous.”

Trace turned at the sound of her voice. “Hey,” he said, his vivid green eyes rolling over her from toenails to hair band, reminding her she’d been in his arms only days before. Then he blinked and stepped back to survey his work. “It’s not turning out too bad.”

“Not too bad? It wonderful. Did you draw this free-hand? Since this morning?”

“Yeah, I doodle a lot. It passed the time on stakeouts and such over the years.”

“This is more than doodling.” She walked closer, studying the details. “This is art. You’re very talented.”

“I’ve never done anything this big before. So, you like it?”

“I love it. Mickey is going to love it.” She handed him the second ice cream cone. “What made you choose Disney?”

Paint-stained fingers tore the paper off the treat. He nodded toward Mickey, who stood in his crib looking down at his toys. “I thought of sports themes, but I didn’t want to pigeonhole him so young. This seemed like a good choice.”

“It’s perfect.” She tossed her ice cream stick in the trash. “I’d love to see your sketches sometime.”

He threw back his head and laughed. He looked relaxed and happy. Not a look he wore very often. “You did not just say that.”

Replaying her words, she flushed, but couldn’t regret her come-hither comment. It was the truth—in fact and in suggestive inplication. Even if she did need to keep her hands to herself.

“Probably against the rules, huh?”

“Big-time.”

“But I really want to see them.”

“Maybe some other time.” He tossed his own ice cream stick. “I need to finish this.”

“I guess you do.” She watched as he went back to brushing color on the wall. Who knew he had this creative side? Proof of a sensitive side she’d long guessed he kept well hidden.

“Whew. The paint fumes are pretty strong in here. Is it safe for Mickey?”

“Yeah. I got the kind that’s safe for kids and pregnant women.”

“Good.” She should have known. He was always careful with the details. She bent to pick up the dropped toys and return them to the crib. “Here you go, baby. Can I help?” she asked Trace.

“It’s your day off. You should be out having fun.”

“That’s later—a barbecue at Amanda’s. I can give you an hour.”

“I won’t turn it down. Can you wield a hammer?”

“With the best of them. My dad was a do-it-yourselfer and I liked to help.”

“Great. There’s a shelf and a mobile that need to go up.”

“I’m your woman.”

He sent her an ach glance out of vivid green eyes, but only nodded to the boxes piled on the dressing table. “Thanks.”

“It’ll be fun.” She gathered hammer and nails from the garage and got to work. The mobile went up first, with Mickey watching every move she made.

“Looks good,” Trace said. “Your dad taught you well.”

“He did. I was a real daddy’s girl.”

“From what you’ve told me your family was close?”

“Yeah.” She carefully marked her level points. “When you move around a lot you have to count on each other. Dad always found time to spend with us, or allowed us to be with him. He was great.”

“You said your mom controlled the family. You two probably crossed swords a lot.”

“Not when I was younger and we were traveling around. She was strict, yeah. We weren’t allowed to join team sports or spend the night at friends’ houses. Amanda and I learned to rely on each other and we grew very close. Mom—” Nikki swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. She started over. “I realize now she was trying to protect us from being hurt, from making friends and having to leave them behind.”

“Good intentions can sometimes have disastrous results,” he sympathized.

“She did mean well.” Anger, loss, and guilt had Nikki spinning to confront him, her defense of her mom quick and sharp. “Don’t make assumptions about something you know nothing about.”

He slowly turned, until Mickey’s mouse ears framed his head, but it was the compassion in his eyes that she reacted to.

“She was a wonderful mom. Just because your mother abandoned you, don’t be making judgments on mine. She did what she did because she loved us!”

“Nikki.” He set the paint pallet aside to come to her. He cupped the side of her face, gently running his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear. “I’m sorry. Of course she loved you.”

His understanding only made her feel worse, because she’d believed the same for the last years of her mom’s life.

“No, I’m sorry—so sorry. I should never have said that about your mother. We did fight,” she admitted around a strangled breath. “My mother and me. Once I turned eighteen and got to college I found a freedom I’d never known, and suddenly I blamed her for every restriction she ever enforced throughout my childhood.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a normal rite of childhood to rebel at some point.”

“But I understand now. I just needed more time with her. But she died instead.”

“You said it yourself, Nikki. She loved you, and she knew you loved her, that’s all that matters.”

“No.” She laid her forehead on his shoulder so she didn’t have to look at him when she confessed, “The last time I saw her she was trying to give me some advice. I didn’t want to hear it. We argued. I left mad.” Anguish tightened the constriction in her throat so her voice became a husky rasp. “It was awful. And that’s my last memory of her.”

“Wrong.” His fingers ran through her hair in soft strokes, his touch soothing her. “That’s one of many memories you have. No matter how many disagreements you had, your mother loved you, and she knew you loved her. That’s what you need to hold on to.”

“Right. You’re right. I have lots of memories.” She lifted her head to meet his perceptive gaze. “Thank you.”

He lowered his head and lightly touched his mouth to hers. “You’re welcome.”

Nikki grabbed the hammer she’d set aside and took out the last of her heightened emotions on the nails supporting the shelf—not least of which was frustration over his kiss. He knew it would redirect her thoughts to him.

She felt better about her mom, but more confused about her feelings for him than ever. So did she bless him or curse him?

Chapter Ten

NOT long after he arrived at work Thursday morning, Trace looked up from where he sat at his desk and saw Nikki approaching the glass doors to the Sheriff’s station. She had her purse hooked over her shoulder, her phone to her ear, and maneuvered Mickey’s stroller one-handed. Her animated expression told him her attention was wholly focused on the conversation.

He hopped to his feet, expecting the heavy glass door to be an obstacle, but it didn’t slow her down at all. She simply turned around and pushed her way in with her nicely rounded backside. He arrived in time to hold the door wide while she swung the stroller around.

“I’m dropping Mickey off now,” she said into the phone, making his brow rise in question. “Yes, I called the doctor’s service again. They said they spoke to him and he’ll meet you at the hospital.” To Trace, she mouthed the words, “My sister is in labor.”

Yeah, being a former detective, he’d figured that out.

Nikki managed to appear both excited and exasperated as she spoke to her sister.

“Do not call a cab. They’d have to come in from the city, and even coming from El Cajon would take fifteen to twenty minutes. Let me talk to Trace, then I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She smiled and waved when Lydia came to the counter. “Yes, yes. Amanda, I’m hanging up now. Remember to breathe.”

Disconnecting the call, Nikki let out a rush of air, and then she grinned big and did a little dance.

“Amanda is in labor. I’m going to be an aunt.”

“I gathered.”

“I’m her labor coach. I have to go.” She bit her lower lip, the excitement replaced by a conciliatory cringe. “I tried Josh, but he’s working. And I didn’t know who else—”

“Stop.” He held up a hand. “Go. Your sister needs you.” And Nikki needed to be with her sister. She’d fret terribly otherwise. “I’ll take care of Mickey.”

“Thank you for understanding. Here’s his diaper bag. I couldn’t carry everything, so I left his car seat out by your SUV.” She wrinkled her nose sheepishly. “Hopefully nobody is foolish enough to steal from the Sheriff.”

“Go. Take care of Amanda.” Trace took the diaper bag from her and handed over her purse, which she’d given to him instead. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“No. Wow.” Her eyes went soft and wide as she thanked him. “You are so sweet, but we’ll be fine. I’ll feel better if I have my own car, in case I need to run and get anything. Plus, if my brother-in-law, Dan, doesn’t get here, I’ll need to drive us home. He’s in a training class in Florida. He was supposed to be back on Saturday, but he’s going to try to get leave to come home early.”

“Hopefully that works out. Call me. Let me know how things are going. Or if you need anything.”

“I will.” Her phone rang. “Oh, my God, I have to go. I’m going to be an aunt!” She gave him a big hug, Mickey a kiss and then ran out the door.

Trace exchanged glances with Lydia. “So, do you think the roads are safe?” she asked.

“I’d have insisted on driving if I didn’t think so. She’ll be all right once she’s on the road.” Slightly bemused, he shook his head. “She thought I was being sweet?”

Lydia shrugged. “Most people don’t take their jobs as seriously as you do,” she explained.

“It’s a serious job.”

“Yes, it is. And you do it well. The whole town takes comfort in knowing you take the creed ‘To Protect and To Serve’ seriously.”

He nodded, gratified by the acknowledgment.

“But, Trace, just because your job is serious it doesn’t mean you always have to be. The girl thinks you were being sweet. Smile and enjoy the perks.”

“Perks, hmm?” Trace had never really thought along those lines. He got paid for his job. Perks were neither necessary nor sought after. But what the hell? He couldn’t get much done in his office with Mickey here, and it would save him from having to hunt up a babysitter.

“Daddy.” Mickey demanded Trace’s attention. He looked down to find little arms in the air. “Up.”

He hefted the boy into his arms and then stowed the stroller in his office, out of the way. “Radio me if you need me,” he told Lydia on his way out the door. “I’m going to take Mickey for a haircut.”

“Oh,” she lamented, “he’ll lose all those lovely curls.”

Trace shoved on his sunglasses. “Exactly.”

Ten minutes later he stood in the alien universe of What a Woman Wants, the new beauty salon in town. Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall in clear view of Mickey, who sat on a booster seat at one of the stations.

Mickey shrank back from all the women fawning over him, and Trace plainly read the plea for escape his son sent his way. He commiserated, but held tough.

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