Sheriff Needs a Nanny (9 page)

His fist tightened around his glass. “I can afford to provide a home for my son.”

Okay, that hadn’t been the right thing at all. Stupid, in fact, with his pride all wrapped up with his loss.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that money isn’t intended to replace the people we’ve lost but to help us adjust to life without them. My mother insisted on life-insurance policies for both her and my dad. Without it neither my sister nor I would have been able to complete college.”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because we were college-age girls alone in the world instead of a big he-man like you?” She shook her finger at him. “Not only is that sexist, it’s disrespectful to the dead. People get peace of mind in life and in passing to know the ones they love will be taken care of when they’re gone. I’m sure you’ve already considered what arrangements you’re going to make for Mickey.”

He drew a circle on the table in the condensation dripping off his glass of iced tea, conveniently avoiding eye contact. “I already moved his mother’s trust fund into his name.”

Of course he had. “See? I bet she’d be pleased with the gesture.”

“Yeah.” Mickey dropped his sippy cup and Trace bent to retrieve it. When he settled back in his seat, tension showed in the tight line of his shoulders. “How is it you can read me so well?”

“I listen,” she said lightly, offsetting the near accusation with an airy response. “My mom always said it was a gift. I have a talent for hearing people. She felt it would help me to be a good teacher. And you’re not so hard to read.” Her bluntness got the better of her. “You’re an honorable man, who puts duty above all else.”

He gave a sharp nod, as if agreeing with the assessment.

She should stop, she knew it, but something drove her on. She wanted to know more about him, and these
odd moments of exposure offered an opening she couldn’t resist.

“You want to know what I really see? From little things you’ve said, I get the feeling your marriage had begun to falter. But it kills you that you weren’t able to protect your wife, to somehow keep her safe from the perils of the world that stole her life. Having a child wasn’t your idea, and you don’t love Mickey, but he’s your son, so you’ll do right by him and protect him no matter what.”

“You can stop now.” With an explosion of muscle he pushed to his feet and began to pace. “How can you know all that?” he demanded, his tone cold enough to frost the July night. “Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No. Of course not.” Offended, and hurt by the accusation, she recoiled in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know I’d never invade your privacy in such a way.”

“What I know is you’re talking about things that are none of your business.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I never talk about my wife. How could you have heard anything to make your deductions?”

She rubbed her arms, unprepared for his fierceness. “You’re right. We should stop this.”

She glanced at Mickey, to see how he was reacting to the sudden tension. Thankfully he’d fallen asleep, his little head resting on his arm stretched out over the tray. “I should take Mickey in.”

“No.” Trace reclaimed his seat, scraped the chair closer and propped both elbows on the table. “Answer the question.”

This had gone too far. He was upset. She’d wanted to learn more about him, maybe rile him a little, but not to this extent. “Trace, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology. I want an answer.”

“I really think we should end this.”

“Nikki.”

“Okay. It’s not what you say, but what you don’t say. You never talk about your wife except in relation to Mickey. And then you don’t call her your wife; it’s always ‘Mickey’s mother’ or sometimes her name.”

“I’m a private man. I don’t talk about myself. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, but people who have lost a loved one generally do talk about them. It’s a way to keep them with us even though they’re gone. It’s okay, you know,” she said softly. “You don’t have to pretend to feelings you don’t have.”

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don’t tell me what to feel.”

“And don’t yell at me because you don’t like what you’re hearing. I’m right, aren’t I? Or close enough to count. Otherwise you’d be laughing off my comments as so much fluff.”

“I think it’s time you left.”

“You say you don’t do emotions. Wrong. You seethe with emotions. You just don’t want to deal with them, so you bury them deep down inside. You didn’t love your wife—big deal. It happens. You feel guilty for her death. Not your fault. Get over it.”

“Good night, Ms. Rhodes.”

Chin up, her heart heavy, she reached for the dishes to carry them inside. “I’ll come back for Mickey.”

“Leave the dishes. Leave him. Just go.”

Oh, she’d go. But not before putting in a fighting shot for Mickey.

“Emotions aren’t something you’re good at or not. It’s just what you feel. How you act on those feelings is what makes the difference. If you can’t find a way to open your heart to this sweet boy, he’s the one who will suffer.”

He made no response, but his eyes had changed from ice crystals to smoldering emerald heat. Good, let him brood.

Fighting off tears, she swept through the French doors to the kitchen, moving quickly toward the back door and the safety of her own rooms.

She stopped midflight, making a sudden decision to escape to the comfort of her sister’s company. Let him work for it if he needed her in the middle of the night. Still, she should tell him. She was, as it were, on the clock.

He stood exactly as she’d left him, his stare focused on the dirty dishes littering the table.

She remained on the threshold. “I’m going to spend the night at my sister’s. You can reach me there if you need me.”

He didn’t move, didn’t even look at her. “I won’t.”

Why did the words cut her to the core? “Of course not. You don’t need anyone.”

Turning on her heels, she left him to his lonely existence.

T
RACE
pulled the SUV into his driveway, then reached for the large bag stuffed with sub sandwiches, fruits and salads. He felt foolish, planning a surprise outing, but now he’d moved into the execution phase he settled into action mode. The agenda for the evening flashed through his head.

In those two days Nikki had barely spoken to him. She came after he fed Mickey in the morning, and left as soon as Trace got home in the evening.

He missed her.

Missed her cheerful morning chatter and her pretty
smile as she wished him a good day. Missed her company at the dinner table where she kept Mickey occupied while Trace ate. Missed the way she listened to him talk about his day and how her eyes lit up when they laughed over the crazy things people did.

He hadn’t realized how easily she’d slipped past his guard until she wasn’t around anymore. He wanted his friend back.

He owed her the apology. Two of the things he admired most about her were her blunt honesty and her insightfulness. How irrational of him to get angry with her when she turned those qualities on him.

She’d been right, and her dead-on accuracy had put him on the defensive. He’d felt exposed, and raw with emotions he couldn’t identify. Guilt, fear, inadequacy, anger and more, until his pride had exploded, causing him to send her away.

Time helped him see the discussion more clearly, helped him see she’d been trying to help him.

Using his key, he let himself in the house. A quietness lay over the empty rooms, yet the place smelled great, of chocolate and vanilla, as if she’d baked. Anticipation built. If she were in the mood to bake, his chances had just gone up. He set the bag on the dining table and went in search of his fam—

He cut the renegade thought short. Nikki wasn’t family. Yeah, he wanted to kiss her again, touch her, hold her, make her his. But it wouldn’t happen, couldn’t happen. Mickey liked her, and Trace needed her for Mickey
too much to risk messing it up by getting cozy with her. Pending apology case in point.

No, it was best they stay friends.

Now, if his libido got on board, he might just make that work. When he reached the hall, he heard murmurs coming from Mickey’s room.

He stepped to the doorway and looked in. Nikki stood over Mickey at the changing table. She’d obviously just changed him, and they were having a deep conversation about him keeping his hands to himself.

“Now, listen, mister, just because I have to lean over you to change your diapers does not mean you get to pull my hair.” She poked him in the belly. “You keep your hands to yourself, buster.”

Imagining his own hand fisted in her curls, holding her captive for his mouth, made Trace a little jealous of his kid. He didn’t blame Mickey for using any opportunity to get his hands on those soft and lustrous tresses.

“Hey,” Trace said, not wanting to startle her.

She turned to glance at him over her shoulder. For a moment her features lit up at the sight of him, and then she remembered her irritation and her expression closed up.

“Hello,” she responded softly.

Another good sign. A man knew where he stood with Nikki. When she had a mad on she was all cold tones and go-to-hell glances—
after
she’d told you what a dork you were being.

Donna had locked herself away and sulked, and half the time he hadn’t even known why. Was it any wonder he’d given up trying?

“Daddy, Daddy.” Mickey’s legs twisted and bucked as he tried to sit up, and Nikki fought to finish the changing job.

Trace moved closer, hoping the boy would settle down if he could see him.

“Hold still, you little octopus.” She deftly pushed little legs into tiny blue jeans and pulled them up over his butt. “There, all done.” She threw up her hands, as if finished tying off a steer.

Mickey rolled into a seated position and grinned at Trace. His little arms popped into the air—a bid for Trace to pick him up. Trace hesitated only a moment before lifting Mickey. The boy immediately wrapped little arms around Trace’s neck and laid his head on Trace’s shoulder. Trace patted his back.

“Is he sleepy?”

“No. He’s just happy to see you.”

“Oh. Good.” He jiggled the baby, as he’d seen her do. “I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”

She eyed him warily. “I can watch Mickey.”

“Actually, we’d like you to join us on an outing to the park.”

“You’re taking Mickey to the park?” A hopeful note mingled with surprise.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “I have a picnic meal and everything.”

“Hmm.” She considered him, and then left the room. He followed her down the hall and to the dining room table, where she peeked into the picnic bag. “Sandwiches, apples and grapes, pasta salad.” She turned her
head and swept him with a speculative glance. “A nice assortment of goodies, but you’re missing dessert.”

Moving to the counter next to the stove, she picked up a foil-covered platter. Bringing it to him, she lifted the corner to reveal chocolate-chip cookies. “Perhaps these will work?”

Her playfulness drew him forward. But he stopped short of reaching for her as he wanted to. Instead he bent to smell the cookies.

Looking up at her, he grinned. “Perfect.”

Nikki leaned back on her hands and sighed. It didn’t get much better than this: a mild summer evening, a soft place on the grass, and a view of father and son feeding ducks at the edge of the pond.

Trace handed Mickey some breadcrumbs and the boy threw them into the water, where five colorful ducks fought over the soggy meal. Mickey giggled and clapped and the whole process repeated.

She had their meal spread over the red gingham tablecloth Trace had included. They could have sat at a picnic table, but Trace wanted the full picnic experience. And Mickey had more freedom to move around on the ground.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called out.

Trace waved, and a moment later joined her on the makeshift blanket. “This looks great.”

“You put it together. I just laid it out.”

“Yeah, all my favorites.” He settled Mickey between them and put a bib on him.

“Let’s give him a few grapes to start out, and I’ll feed him after we’ve eaten.”

“Good idea.” He took a big bite of ham and turkey sandwich.

She went for the pasta salad and some apple slices and watched him eat. She owed him an apology, and it was going to take more than the chocolate-chip cookies to salvage her conscience.

She didn’t know where the conversation had gone so wrong the other night, but she knew it was her fault. Her bluntness landed her in awkward moments. When would she learn the virtue of tact?

Trace deserved his privacy, to grieve in his own way, to make peace with himself, or not, in his own time.

“I’m sorry.” The apology came out strong and crisp, the sincerity clearly evident.

But it didn’t come from her.

Trace met her gaze over the napkin he used to wipe his mouth. “You were trying to help and I jumped all over you. It was uncalled for, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“Only if you forgive me first. I had no right—”

“Stop right there. Never apologize for caring. Not to me, not to anyone.” His vehemence startled Mickey, and the boy’s chin wobbled until Nikki smiled and tickled his cheek. Mickey grinned and popped a grape in his mouth, happy again.

“Being in the military, in law enforcement, I’ve seen more situations than you can believe that would have been cured simply if someone had cared.” He peered into her eyes until she had to blink to escape the inten
sity in his. “From the beginning, I’ve told you things I’ve never spoken to anyone about. It’s because it’s there in your beautiful eyes—a genuine sense of caring.”

He thought her eyes were beautiful. “Trace, I’m not some rare creature. Lots of people care.”

“You’re more rare than you think. Look at Mickey.” They both focused on the baby, who’d snagged a cookie while they’d been talking and was smeared with chocolate from eyebrows to chin.

Nikki groaned. Now, there was the picture she wanted her boss to see right when he was telling her how attentive she was. Oh, well.

“Kiddo, you’re a mess.” She leaned over and kissed a clean spot on his cheek. “But you taste good. I might just eat you up.” He giggled, and she laughed with him.

Gathering him into her lap, she looked around for the diaper bag. Once she’d located the bag, she found the wipes. “Sorry about that. I’ll have him cleaned up in a snap.”

Trace took the wet wipe from her and went to work on Mickey’s face himself. Mickey giggled and wiggled, trying to dodge his father’s efforts. Trace met her gaze over the boy’s head. “This is what I’m talking about. A month ago he wouldn’t have even touched the cookie, and now look at the fun he’s having. He was despondent and sad and now he’s happy.”

“You have as much to do with Mickey’s transformation as I do.”

“Not nearly.”

“You’re wrong. He recognizes he’s safe with you. Your steadfastness and the routine you’ve set give him necessary boundaries. He’s thriving in the environment you’ve created.”

“I wish I believed that.”

“You can. Before you know it he’ll be challenging those boundaries, but that’s okay, too. In fact, it’s great, because it means he trusts you.”

Doubt played over his features as he leaned back on his hands and kicked his long legs out in front himself. “I still say you’re the miracle-worker here. Mickey adores you. I’m totally second string.”

“Not true.” The man needed some strokes. “Mickey isn’t the only one that’s come a long way in a month. You’ve made strides, as well.” She gently touched his fingers where they lay on the blanket. “He loves you, Trace.”

A flash of longing crossed his features before he shut down all emotion. Such a strong, self-assured man. His lack of faith in himself broke her heart.

“I’ll prove it,” she said, and turned to face him on the blanket. “We’ll put Mickey in the middle and let him choose who he goes to.”

Lifting Mickey from her lap, setting him at the top of the blanket facing the two of them, she prayed this worked. She believed Mickey loved Trace, but he also cared for her. The truth was he could go either way.

She scooted back a few inches as Trace moved into position opposite her. He rested his hands on his knees and looked at her. “It’s all right if he goes to you.”

Mickey sat plump and happy at the edge of the cloth. He looked at her. She smiled and subtly nodded toward Trace. Mickey took the hint and turned his green gaze on his dad.

Yes
. Relieved and excited, Nikki held her breath. He was going to choose Trace.

But he didn’t. Back and forth went his little head. A frown began to pucker. Uh-oh.

“It’s okay, baby boy.” She softly reassured him.

“Hey.” Trace shook a finger at her. “No trying to sway him from the sidelines.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “You are such a guy.”

The scrutiny he leveled on her was all male. “Never doubt it.”

Fat chance of that, she thought, feeling the potency of him shiver through her. She never forgot he was man to her woman.

At that moment Mickey rolled to his knees. Nikki tensed, urging him with her mind to crawl to his father.

He didn’t.

But he didn’t come her way, either.

He headed straight down the center, toward the chocolate-chip cookies.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Trace swooped Mickey up.

Nikki laughed. “Look at that. He’s already a diplomat.”

“That’s my boy.”

Standing in front of Trace, Mickey immediately started in on his new favorite thing, jumping. Pumping and pushing, he squealed in joy. With his new diet he’d
put on some weight and become quite the handful, yet Trace handled him easily.

“Well, there’s no doubt you’re his favorite right now.”

“Yeah. It’s good to see him thriving.” He looked at her over Mickey’s head. “Thank you.”

“Hey, we’re a team.”

Trace went statue-still. Even Mickey stopped and looked at her. “I like the sound of that,” Trace said.

Mickey put his hand out toward Nikki and she reached for him, but before they connected he suddenly broke away from Trace and took a step toward Nikki.

“Trace, look,” she whispered, to keep from spooking the baby. “He’s walking.” She pulled her hand back a couple of inches, enticing him to take a couple more steps. He rushed those steps and fell into her arms. “Oh, my God, Trace. Did you see that? He walked.

“Oh, aren’t you smart? Come here, you.” Thrilled with his cleverness, she rained kisses all over his face. He grabbed her hair and hung on, giggling infectiously.

“He’s brilliant.” Trace clapped his hands, making Mickey laugh and clap, too. “Let’s see if he’ll do it again.”

“All right.” She grinned at Trace, and the pride and wonder on his face made her breath catch. She turned Mickey around and put him on his feet.

“Go to Daddy.”

She wondered if he’d try to crawl again, but he didn’t even hesitate. Hands flailing to help with his balance, he took off walking. He crossed the two-feet distance between her and Trace in a stumbling rush that almost ended in a fall, but Trace caught him and pulled him close.

“We’re in for it now.” Trace kissed Mickey on the top of his head and praised him lavishly. “If the way he took to the walker is any indication, we’re going to be running to catch up with him from now on out.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. This was the first time she’d seen Trace display more than casual physical affection for his son. Little pats and an occasional rub of his head were the usual for him. It seemed to be the day for baby steps.

“I’m so glad you were here for his first steps,” she said, looking away from the pride in his eyes. Silently she groaned, because she had just realized Mickey might not have fallen, but she had. She was falling hard for Mickey’s dad. And she might never recover.