Читать книгу Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny - Алисон Робертс - Страница 15

TRACE 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.

Pick up food: check.

Fill cooler with ice, sodas and juice: check.

Pack blanket to sit on: check.

Persuade Nikki to accompany him and

Mickey to the park: pending.

Apologize for being a jackass: two days overdue.

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 intensity 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.

How funny was that? A free spirit falling for a control freak. Not exactly a match made in heaven.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “Life will never be the same again.”

“Sit down,” Trace invited the next evening. He set his plate of spaghetti on the table and pulled out a chair. “You can tell me what you’ve been wanting to talk to me about.”

“Oh.” Suddenly nervous about her news, Nikki decided it might be better to catch him later, when he was fresher and not just home from a long day at work. “You’re tired. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

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?