Читать книгу Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny - Алисон Робертс - Страница 8

“WHEN can you start?”

As soon as Trace said the words the cell phone on the coffee table rang and a cry echoed from down the hall. He stopped and reached for the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to get this. Do you mind checking on the baby for me?”

“Right.” Nikki surged to her feet and tugged on the short hem of her vest. She had the job! So she wasn’t keen to be working for a control fiend—she’d get to stay close to Amanda, and that was what mattered. Nikki could hardly wait to tell her sister. “Which room?”

He nodded toward the hall. “Last door on the right.”

Turned out Nikki needed the directions, because the crying had stopped. She found that odd. In her experience babies wanting attention usually got louder, not quieter.

She pushed open the half-closed door and peered inside. The room held only a crib and a dressing table/dresser set made of fine oak. The walls were white, the sheets and blankets a dark navy. There were no toys in sight.

A brown-haired, solemn-eyed baby sat quietly in the crib.

Nikki’s heart wrenched. She’d never seen such a sad child in her life. Poor baby. He must really be missing his grandmother.

“Hello, Carmichael,” she greeted him softly as she approached the crib. “I’m Nikki.”

She rested her forearms on the wooden railing and smiled, prepared to chat for a moment before plucking him from his bed.

He watched her with those big sad eyes—green, like his father’s—but made no move toward or away from her.

“Carmichael is a lot of name to live up to. Someday I’m sure you’ll rate every syllable.” Letting him get used to her, she reached out and wiggled his little nose. “In the meantime, you look more like a Mickey to me.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile.

Pleased by his reaction, she asked, “You like that? You like the name Mickey? I like it, too.” She gave his nose another wiggle. “Are you a fan of the mouse? He’d certainly bring a little color to the room, wouldn’t he?”

The boy rolled over and crawled to the side of the crib, using the rails to climb up. Once he stood opposite her, he turned shy again, eying her warily. She kept her smile in place, showing him he had nothing to fear.

Her patience was rewarded when he suddenly poked her in the nose.

“Uh-oh,” she said in mock alarm. “You got my nose.”

He grinned and poked her again.

“Oh, look at you—you got me again. I’m going to get you back.” She wiggled his nose one more time.

And he giggled.

The happy sound sent a buzz of triumph through Nikki. She’d made him laugh! The poor baby needed joy in his life, especially with a father ready to control his every move. Nikki readily admitted over-controlling parents were a hot button for her. If the location and the live-in facilities didn’t make this the perfect job she’d be tempted to turn it down. She didn’t look forward to working for a man with no give in his life.

Mickey raised his arms for her to pick him up, and her heart twisted in her chest. Here was another reason for her to stay. One smile made it worth her while.

She lifted him into a huge hug. One arm went around her neck and he laid his head on her shoulder. A lump grew in her throat. There was no feeling in the world like the soft weight of a baby cuddled trustingly in your arms.

She turned and found Trace framed in the open doorway.

Nikki met his green gaze over the baby’s head. From the raw emotion in the jade depths she knew he’d heard Mickey’s laughter.

“He likes you.” Trace came no further than the threshold, his gaze locked on his son in her arms. “Good. That was Dispatch. There’s been an accident. I have to go in. Can you start now? I tried Russ again, and he’s still not answering, so I need a sitter.”

When he raised his glance to her, his expression was closed again. For just a moment his guard had slipped. Now it was back in full force.

“Sure I can watch him. How long will you be?”

Mickey sat up in her arms and looked at his father, almost as if the baby understood what they were talking about. He couldn’t, of course, but tone and undercurrents were strong in the air. He probably felt the tension pulsing through the room. She bounced him in her arms.

“I don’t know. It could be late.” Trace’s shuttered expression didn’t change.

“Okay, I’ll call my sister and let her know I’ll be late.”

Trace gave one sharp nod. “Okay. I’ve got to change, then I’ll show you where everything is.”

“I’ll change Mick—Carmichael’s diaper and meet you in the living room.”

Trace nodded and disappeared down the hall.

Nikki laid Mickey down on the changing table. He made no move to twist or turn away. He simply lay still and watched her. His listlessness tore at her soul.

She chatted to him as she cleaned him up. He took in every word she said, but showed no reaction.

She suspected his grandmother, in her love and loss, had wrapped him in Bubble Wrap, cared for him to the extent she’d smothered the life from him. And Nikki feared his father, obviously a man of discipline and control, would go too far in the opposite direction, until all sense of laughter and spontaneity were lost to this sad little boy.

As soon as Mickey had laughed she’d known she’d have to find a way to work with the father, because this baby needed her. Mickey needed joy and discovery, activity and a sense of adventure. She’d learned to embrace life, and she wanted to share the world with him.

“You went for an interview and you’re starting now?” Her sister’s droll response to Nikki’s explanation of where she’d be for the evening restated the paradox of Nikki’s unorthodox hiring process. “Sounds like a pretty desperate situation.”

“It is. But it’s in Paradise Pines, so I’ll be close to you, and it’s live-in so I can move out of your place. It’s the perfect setup for our needs right now.” Nikki settled deeper into the corner of the couch, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, Mickey in her lap. “And you should see this little boy. Mickey is so sweet, but so sad. I’m sure he misses his grandparents, but his despondency seems to be habitual more than incidental. He lost his mother; his grandparents lost their daughter. I don’t think he’s ever known happiness.”

“Oh, Nikki, this does not sound good. You know you don’t have to move out.”

“You’re being sweet, but we both know I do need to move out. You and Dan need this time together. Besides, I’m a teacher. Morally and professionally it’s my job to do something when I see a child in need.”

There was a short telling silence. Then a sigh sounded down the line. “Nikki, do you really know what you’re getting into?”

“Not at all.” And yet Mickey’s sadness had awakened all her protective instincts.

“Amanda, he’s thirteen months old and can’t walk.” She ran her fingers through his silky brown hair, the curls so soft and fine they felt like down feathers. Mickey looked up at her with his solemn eyes. Her heart wrenched. “He doesn’t even put his feet out when I set him down. His grandmother must have carried him all the time.”

“Isn’t all this his father’s problem?”

“That’s just it. Trace is new at all of this. I’m not sure he’ll recognize the problems. In fact, he may make things worse. He’s all about control and structure, and Mickey is well behaved so there’s nothing for Trace to question.”

“But, Nikki,” Amanda calmly rationalized, “what can you do?”

“Trace Oliver is a good sheriff, which means he’s dutiful and honorable. I’m sure he wants to do what’s best for Mickey. He’s just clueless what that is. I can teach him.”

“Ha!” The rude exclamation tickled Nikki’s ear. “I’m due in a month and a half, remember? I’ve read every book on the subject over the past seven months and I can tell you with little exaggeration that there are twelve thousand ‘right ways.’ Everyone has an opinion, and some of them are really out there.”

“Yeah.” Nikki smiled. Her sister did like to know what to expect. She took after Mom in that way. “But this is what I’m trained in. I know I can help Trace and Mickey.”

“I have no doubt you can. I’ve never seen anyone better with kids than you. Because you care, and they can sense it. But that’s the problem.” Amanda’s concern reached through the connection. “You give too much of yourself. This whole thing sounds like a heart-trap to me.”

“So you don’t think I should do it?”

Another sigh. “I know it will haunt you if you don’t, but I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

Yeah, that worried Nikki, too. But she’d promised herself on her eighteenth birthday she wouldn’t live life afraid to feel. She gave herself to life, heart and soul. Sometimes that meant she got hurt, but it also meant her life was full of rich emotions and lasting memories.

“Life isn’t meant to be pain-free.”

“Nikki,” Amanda said gently, “are you sure this isn’t the backlash of your relationship with Mom?”

The question sent sharp pangs of sorrow and regret through Nikki. The frayed state of her relationship with her mother at the time of her death would forever eat at Nikki’s soul. She hated, hated that her last conversation with Mom had been an argument.

“I can’t say it doesn’t strike a chord. At a time when he should be reaching for independence, Mickey is totally despondent. If he doesn’t develop some spirit he’ll never stand a chance.”

“You mean, against his father?”

“No. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Was that how she really felt? Nikki shook her head. She didn’t know. She hadn’t spent enough time with either of them to make that call. “This is what I know—if I can bring them together now, then they’ll have a foundation to build on that will hold them together when the times get rough.”

After stating her concern one more time, Amanda ended the call. Nikki understood her sister’s hesitation.

She’d defended him to Amanda, but Trace had barely looked at Mickey, much less touched him before leaving, which burned Nikki’s hide. Somehow she needed to find a way to bring father and son alive, to teach them to love one another.

Two months. She’d give herself the summer to make a difference, then she’d reevaluate her situation.

Mickey shyly petted her hair. She sighed and shifted him in her arms. She had a bad feeling she’d lose a part of her heart this summer.

Long after he’d expected to be home that night, Trace pulled into his driveway. The sight of a light inside sent an odd sense of warmth through him. He’d missed that sign of homecoming.

The thought of Ms. Rhodes waiting inside sent an altogether different type of heat surging through his blood. But he quickly blanked off the unruly attraction and pushed his way out of the SUV.

Ms. Rhodes was so far off-limits she might as well be on Mars.

The balmy night air flowed over him as the pine-scented breeze lifted the hair off his brow. Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside and traded fragrant pine for the savory aroma of roast chicken. His stomach growled, reminding him of the hours since his last meal.

He moved to the counter separating the kitchen from the living room to place his keys in their regulated dish, and found a note saying a plate was made up for him in the microwave.

She’d cooked for him.

He checked it out. Chicken, rice and a melody of mixed vegetables. It looked damn good. Again that mysterious warmth glowed in his depths. He cursed.

Hell, man, get a grip. What? Was he going soft at the ripe old age of thirty-five? How could a home-cooked meal and a baby in the house throw him so off-stride? So he had a son to raise. He’d do it like he did everything else—with discipline and structure.

Which in no way explained why he’d hired Ms. Rhodes.

With her short pants, flimsy sandals and figure-hugging navy vest, she’d looked more prepared for a day at the races than a job interview. And her cavalier “it worked out” attitude, along with her schedule with the Hendersons, spoke of a spontaneity he found untenable.

But she’d made Carmichael laugh.

Forking up a bite of chicken, Trace stood over the back of the couch and looked at Carmichael, asleep in Nikki Rhodes’s arms. The four-car pile-up on the interstate freeway had taken hours to clear up and document. The Highway Patrol would do the forensics on the fatalities, but his men had been first on scene, so he’d been responsible for traffic control and dealing with the injured.

Death. There was no escaping it.

But then he was used to loss in one form or another. His wife to a car accident, much like the one tonight. His mother had just left—abandoning him and his dad when Trace was ten. And his dad had died two years before Trace married Donna.

Yeah, good old Mom and Dad. Never a demonstrative man, his father had taught Trace all about integrity and honor, but he’d frowned on any display of emotion. Which was why Trace’s mom had left his dad. Left them. She’d used to say he was just like his dad.

He didn’t know how to love.

Hell, he’d had no business marrying Donna. But she’d pushed for it and he’d found her companionable enough. Plus they’d been great in bed. He’d thought that was the best he was going to get.

Of course she’d wanted more from him than he could give. They’d fought. Often. Then Donna had landed on the idea of a baby. With his dad as an example of what kind of father Trace would make, he’d been against it. Especially when they were so often at odds with each other. She’d gotten pregnant anyway.

After his initial anger, he’d settled down. She’d been so excited, and he’d figured with a baby to focus her attention on she’d get off his case. God, she’d deserved better.

No, he should never have married. He wouldn’t make the mistake again.

He pretended the thought had nothing to do with why his gaze sought out Nikki Rhodes. Seeing her and Carmichael cuddled together, Trace envied the peace on his son’s face.

God, her porcelain skin looked as soft as the baby’s. Trace fought the urge to touch, to test for himself. That was a no-go. As his employee she’d be strictly off-limits.

It shouldn’t be a problem. He ruled his body; his hormones didn’t. He rarely did anything without careful thought and planning.

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.