Sheriff Needs a Nanny (3 page)

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.

“Y
OU
’
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.

“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.”