Читать книгу Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny - Алисон Робертс - Страница 14

“HEY, little boy, we’re home.” Nikki parked the stroller on the front deck, unstrapped Mickey and lifted him up. “Are you ready for a snack? I’m ready for a cold drink.”

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. As usual she went to set the diaper bag on the sofa, and just stopped herself from dropping it on Trace. He lay stretched out on his back, fast asleep.

“Oops,” she whispered. “Daddy’s taking a nap.”

Trace home in the middle of the day was far from usual.

Still in his uniform, including gun belt, he looked as if he’d come in, sat down and crashed.

“Daddy night-night?”

“Shh, yes—Daddy is sleeping.” Not wanting to disturb Trace, she took Mickey to the kitchen and put him in his highchair with some grapes. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed she and Mickey had been away just over an hour. How long had Trace been here? And how long could he stay?

Checking to make sure Mickey was okay, she picked up the phone and called the Sheriff’s station. After Lydia answered, Nikki explained the situation.

“I just wanted to make sure he doesn’t have any appointments or anything I might need to wake him for,” she finished.

“Let me check his schedule.” Lydia went away and Garth Brooks sang about the rodeo. “He has a meeting, but I’ll call and reschedule for tomorrow. Let him sleep. He’s had a couple of late nights.”

“Yeah, it was after eleven when he brought Mickey to me last night. I kept the baby for the rest of the night, so I don’t know what time he got home.”

“It was a bad scene last night. Domestic disturbance. Trace went with the wife and kids to the hospital, then saw them settled in a shelter. Husband will do jail time if she follows through with pressing charges.”

“Tough night.” How many times had Nikki already said that to Trace? She admired him for his courage and fortitude. His wasn’t an easy job, but a necessary one, and he handled it with calm efficiency.

“Tough job.” Lydia echoed Nikki’s thoughts. “Tell him to forget about coming in unless I call him. I’ll get the guys to split his shift. He deserves the rest.”

“I’ll tell him,” Nikki answered dryly. “But I make no promises.”

Lydia laughed. “I wouldn’t expect you to. The man does have a stubborn streak.”

“Do tell. Duty is his life.”

“But life doesn’t have to be all duty.” With that cryptic message Lydia hung up.

Did she mean duty didn’t always have to be a heavy load? That the lighter side of responsibility was companionship and caring?

Nikki bet Trace didn’t see it that way. Now that father and son were well acquainted—they didn’t run the other way when they saw each other coming—it was time they started enjoying each other’s company.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Finished with his snack, Mickey banged his empty bowl on the highchair tray and called out for his father.

“Shh.” Nikki shushed the boy again, and quickly snagged the bowl away from him. “Daddy is sleeping. And it’s time for you to take a nap, too.” She wiped his hands and face. “That’ll give me time to figure out an activity for the both of you for tonight.”

“Night-night?” he said, a scowl forming on his tiny features.

“It’s daytime, so just a nap.”

“No,” he protested, even while a little fist rubbed his eyes.

“Yes, Mickey is a sleepy boy.”

“Boo?” He asked after his favorite stuffed animal.

“Yep, it’s Boo’s naptime, too.” Nikki settled Mickey and his stuffed giraffe, Boo, down, and then put in a load of laundry. While she puttered and cleaned, she plotted.

A barbecue might be just the thing. The boys could cook the meat while she put together a salad or dessert. Humming, she took out a couple of steaks to thaw.

Something soft and damp landed on Trace’s cheek, then slid toward the corner of his mouth. He opened one eye and found Mickey in his walker, right next to the couch.

“Hey, buddy.” Trace yawned. The kid was cute, but the curls had to go. He made a mental note for Nikki to schedule a trip to the barbershop.

Mickey flashed his four-toothed grin and patted Trace’s cheek again. “Daddy night-night?”

Trace stretched and glanced at the window. He hadn’t slept that late, had he? No, the sun still shone, but the shadows indicated he’d slept longer than he’d intended.

“Nope just a nap.” He sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Now Daddy has to go back to work.”

“No, no.” Mickey jumped up and down in the walker, stood still, and then jumped some more. “No, no.”

“Good boy, work those muscles.” Some of the anxiety Trace had held on to since the visit to the doctor’s office eased. In the past couple of weeks the boy had grown visibly stronger.

Trace glanced at his watch and groaned. “Great. I missed my appointment with the principal.”

“No, Lydia rescheduled you for tomorrow,” Nikki said from behind him.

Frowning, he turned so he saw her. She stood at the kitchen table. She pulled one of his T-shirts from a laundry basket, folded it, and set the shirt in a pile on a clean towel she had laid out on the table.

“How do you know that?”

“You were dead to the world when we got back. I didn’t want to wake you unless you had something scheduled so I called Lydia. She said it had been quiet today and to let you sleep, and that you shouldn’t bother coming in unless she called you. She was going to get some of the guys to cover for you.”

“Huh, the woman thinks she runs the station. Late nights come with the territory. I can handle it.”

“The point is you don’t have to. Lydia juggled the schedule.” She hit him with a knowing look. “You’re just afraid the guys will think you’re weak because you came home for a nap.”

“I didn’t come for a nap. I brought home a file last night to go through before my meeting today and I forgot it this morning.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Which means you came in, sat down and conked out. I think that says something.”

Picking up a couple of plastic blocks from the floor, he placed them on the tray of Mickey’s walker. The boy immediately grabbed one in each hand and clapped them together.

When she was right, she was right. Deciding to drop an argument he couldn’t win, Trace addressed a new issue. “I told you not to bother doing my laundry.”

“I’m not doing your laundry. I’m doing Mickey’s laundry,” she said, as she shook out another extra-large T-shirt, crisply folded it and set it on top of two others.

“Either those are my shirts, or you’re dating a man named Mickey.”

She grinned. “They are your shirts. But I only threw them in because I needed to fill up the load. You wouldn’t want me to waste important resources, would you?”

“You always have an answer, don’t you?”

Standing, he rubbed a hand over Mickey’s downy soft hair. He was now trying to eat the blocks. Trace maneuvered the walker into the middle of the room, giving Mickey space to move around. He immediately pushed himself back three inches. Backward was his main directional pull. He still needed to master forward.

“I am a teacher. I’m supposed to have the answers.”

Trace hid a chuckle in a cough. Not wise to encourage the woman. She already challenged his authority at every curve. But she did make him laugh.

“And the towels?” He fingered the stack next to his shirts.

She shrugged. “I love the feel and smell of a warm towel fresh from the dryer. It’s a small delight. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Liar.”

“Moi?” she asked, all innocence. “Not about this.”

“You’re spoiling me, Ms. Rhodes.” Loose gold tendrils curled over her ears, and he fought the desire to test the sunshine softness. “And I like it too much.”

Her eyes flashed. “I think we’re past the Ms. Rhodes stage, don’t you?”

“I think it’s prudent.”

“And I think it’s too late for that.”

“You mean, because of the kiss?” Of course because of the kiss. The taste of her, the feel of her in his arms, still haunted him.

“Yeah.” She met his gaze, then looked away, checking on Mickey in the living room. And Little Miss Ostrich surprised him when she asked, “You want to talk about it?”

“Absolutely not. I’m doing my best to forget it ever happened.”

That earned him a coy glance from under dark lashes. “How’s that working for you?”

“It’s not. But it’s prudent.”

“Hmm.” She seemed to consider his diversionary tactics. “I thought you believed in confronting issues head-on.”

“Well, Teach, I’m learning new things from you all the time.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes.

She continued to tuck and fold, and he sighed. Maybe she’d brought it up for reasons of her own. “Do you want to talk about the kiss?”

Her brow furrowed while she thought over his question. The myriad of emotions in her amazing golden eyes matched much of what he felt: confusion, attraction, regret and more.

“Yes,” she finally allowed. But she chewed her lip, not saying anything further, obviously struggling for the right words.

Feeling defensive, he assured her, “You don’t have to worry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Her gaze on his mouth, half wistful, she nodded. “It can’t happen again. It’s more than just professional ethics, it’s written right into my contract. And I have to stay close to Amanda in case she needs me. I can’t risk losing this job.”

“Of course.” The tension in his shoulders eased as he realized she hadn’t found his kiss objectionable. It was the situation she stressed over. He shouldn’t care, as the kiss wouldn’t be repeated, but somehow he did.

“There’s Mickey to think of, too,” she added, concern evident in her earnest expression. “He may get confused by a change in our relationship. He’s making such good progress we don’t want to do anything to jeopardize his growth.”

“You’re probably right.”

“It’s prudent.” With a small smile, she echoed his earlier assurance. “There is something else I’d like to talk to you about. If you’re not going back to work, I thought you might grill some steaks and we could eat out on the deck and talk.”

“I should go back.” He checked his watch, saw there was only an hour left of his scheduled time. He’d put in a lot of extra hours lately, so he could justify the time off. And sitting down to a meal and conversation with Nikki sounded really good. All the more reason he should get his butt to work.

“Let me check in with Lydia. If it’s still quiet, I’ll stay and grill.”

“Great.” She smiled her pleasure. “I’ll get these clothes put away and start on a salad.” Stacking baby shirts on top of baby pants, she headed toward Mickey’s room.

Trace sat on the couch to make his call. He met his son’s gaze across the room. “Whatever you do, don’t leave us alone tonight.”

Every day her attraction for the handsome Sheriff grew stronger. The sooner father and son connected and she could move on the better. For them. And for her. Nikki watched through the kitchen window as the boys “grilled.”

Trace had changed into a sky-blue polo shirt that emphasized the width of his shoulders, and a pair of khaki shorts that came to his knees but left his muscular calves on display. He made one fine view.

While he wielded the spatula, he instructed Mickey on the finer points of barbecuing. Mickey listened and chewed on a teething biscuit.

Male bonding at its best. Just as she’d planned. Not scheduled was the joy she took in the family moment.

For a man who held himself aloof, who claimed to have no capacity for emotion, he was amazingly insightful and compassionate. Nikki suspected it wasn’t that Trace didn’t acknowledge his feelings, it was that he felt things so deeply, and if he allowed himself to feel he couldn’t do the work he did without being torn apart inside.

He looked up and met her gaze through the window. He smiled, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Not a good sign.

“Steaks are ready,” he called.

She waved an acknowledgment, gathered the baked potatoes and salad bowl and joined the boys outside. Under the shade of the umbrella the summer air felt warm against her skin, but the breeze gave the evening a balmy feel.

“This is nice.” Trace set the platter of steaks on the table. “Good idea.”

Easy conversation followed while they ate. She found out they shared a taste for action movies and biographies, but couldn’t be further apart when it came to music and Chinese food. His growing sense of humor delighted her.

They talked briefly about the big announcement made at the community meeting. Nikki had been babysitting the kids, but her sister had filled her in on the Anderson endowment, gifting funds and property to Paradise Pines for community development.

“Is it true the men already have plans drawn up for a new sports complex?”

“It’s no more aggressive than the women hiring an architect for a museum.”

“Please. The cultural significance of a museum over a sports park couldn’t be more blatant.”

“Kids want to go to the park. They have to be made to go to a museum.”

“That doesn’t make the need for culture any less important in their development.”

“So you’re siding with the women?” Even he heard the sarcasm in the question.

She gave him an arch stare. “I am a woman, and I help shape young minds as a living. I can’t believe you don’t see the value of learning over play.”

“Statistics show kids in team sports are more socially adept and less likely to get involved in drugs, alcohol and gangs. I see the value in that.”

“Yes, but we already have a sports park. We don’t have a museum.” Already seeing the argument forming on his lips, she cut herself short. “Never mind. We have to work together. It’s best we accept we’re on opposite sides of this issue.”

“Good idea. Too bad the whole town can’t agree to disagree. I see this getting ugly before it’s over.”

“Keeping the peace.” She grinned at him. “That’s why you get the big bucks.”

“Ha, ha. The big bucks came from my dad’s life-insurance policy. And I inherited my wife’s trust fund that she got from her maternal grandmother. I didn’t want any of it.”

Wow. The emotional outburst was so unlike him she stumbled for a response. “It must have helped, though, to allow you to make the move to Paradise Pines and to buy this place.”

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.