Single Dad Needs Nanny Page 6

  Oh, my, a double whammy. Nikki sneaked a peak at Trace, noted his narrowed eyes and the hard line of his mouth, but before he could correct the woman, Mrs. Day ran right on.

  “I can’t wait to tell the ladies at the Historical Society. I will admit I enjoy sharing happy gossip.”

  Trace turned sideways, so his profile faced the woman, before rolling his eyes. Nikki took that to mean Mrs. Day enjoyed sharing gossip of any kind. The accompanying impatience in his glance revealed his displeasure at being the topic of gossip at all.

  “I’ll tell you straight, we in the society have been worried about you. Many of us are or have been widows, and we know how hard it is to move on, to rejoin the dating pool. But it’s been over a year—”

  “Mrs. Day,” Trace cut in, his voice a strangled growl.

  “It’s okay, Sheriff,” she prattled on, patting his hand where it rested on the handlebar of the shopping cart. “It’s important to accept that life goes on. There comes a time when you have to make a move, or miss your chance at future happiness.”

  A tickle in Nikki’s gut forewarned her this conversation could not end well. Mrs. Day couldn’t know the good Sheriff as well as she thought to make that pronouncement.

  Mrs. Day nodded sagely. “If I hadn’t grabbed him up, the Widow Thompson would have snagged my Mike. He’s a good man. He does like those smelly cigars, but he steps out to smoke them. Does his farting out there, too.” She turned to Nikki. “As you know, dear, a woman appreciates small considerations like that.”

  Nikki met Trace’s stunned and appalled glance, and knew hers was equally bug-eyed. She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. The outrageous statement defied any other reaction.

  “Mrs. Day, you have the wrong impression. This is my son, Carmichael, and his nanny, Nikki Rhodes.”

  Nikki liked the sound of her name on his lips. He continued to be formal with her. Though she called him Trace, and had asked him to call her by her first name, it was always Ms. Rhodes. She suspected he used the formality to foster distance between them.

  “Oh.” The woman blinked, and then smiled, waving her diamond again. “Your son. Of course. He’s a charmer already. These lovely curls fooled me for a moment. And don’t worry about the relationship thing. It’ll happen. I have a feeling about you two.”

  This time Nikki didn’t dare look at Trace at all. He seemed speechless. To add to the ridiculousness of the moment the poodle now popped up from the purple purse and yipped. Twice.

  Mickey jumped, giggled then clapped.

  “Shh, Pebbles.” Mrs. Day quieted the dog as she glanced worriedly over her shoulder. “Mr. Wilson will hear you.” She sent Trace a brazen grin. “I won’t keep you any longer. I have to keep moving. Mr. Wilson and Pebbles have a love-hate relationship. She loves the cool air in here, and he hates the fact she’s a dog. Oh, there’s Millie. Did you hear her mother broke her leg? She was washing windows and fell off a stepladder. Her ma likes to have a cold cocktail on these hot afternoons. I hope she had more sense than to drink before climbing a ladder.”

  Mrs. Day tucked Pebbles back into her purple habitat and maneuvered her cart around Nikki’s.

  “I’ll just go offer my commiserations.”

  “Take Pebbles home, Mrs. Day.” Trace issued the warning in his official voice. “I wouldn’t want to have to run you in because Pebbles and Mr. Wilson got into an altercation.”

  The woman waved away his advice. “You are so funny.”

  He watched Mrs. Day trot on to her next victim, then turned to Nikki with a lifted brow. “She thinks I’m joking.”

  Nope, Mrs. Day didn’t know him well at all. Trace didn’t joke about the law or keeping order.

  “Lighten up, Sheriff,” Nikki said. “You don’t always have to chase the rules.”

  Chapter Six

  TRACE tossed his keys on the counter and glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall: twelve-thirty in the morning. He headed straight through the house to Nikki’s rooms to collect Mickey.

  The whole town was buzzing about his business. Asking after his son—or, worse, his daughter. Wanting to know about his nanny service. Offering to set him up with their daughter, sister, niece and, in one unforgettable case, an ex-wife.

  He just wanted it to end. Had never wanted it to start. But that had been unrealistic, and the hurt expression on Nikki’s face when he’d failed to introduce her to Mrs. Day still haunted him.

  He owed her an apology. It wasn’t her fault his privacy was being torn to shreds. She deserved better from him.

  He knocked once, and then again. After a few minutes Nikki opened the door. Hair mussed, dressed in shorts and tank top, displaying lots of silky soft skin. There’d been a couple of nights when he’d had to pick Mickey up from here, but this was the latest he’d been. He’d obviously woken her.

  “Hey,” she said around a yawn, and stepped back. “You’re late.”

  “Yeah. Sorry to ruin your day off.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” she said easily. “Mickey was a big hit at my sister’s baby birthing class.”

  He preferred not to imagine that scene. “I’ll bet.”

  Backlit by the dim room, she looked sleepy, tousled and oh-so-soft. With a fierceness he’d never known, he longed to sweep her up, carry her to the couch and surround himself in her softness. He wanted nothing more than to purge the horrors of the night in the tenderness of her arms.

  “Come in.” She stepped back, and he moved past her to get Mickey from the playpen beside the couch. After hours of working at an accident, the sweet scent of her skin nearly drove him to his knees.

  “The doctor called today. I gave him your cell number.”

  “Yeah, I talked to him.”

  “What did he have to say?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Trace shook his head. It was too dangerous for him to be here. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  He lifted the slight weight of his son into his arms. Mickey opened his eyes, focused on Trace, smiled and snuggled into his shoulder and went back to sleep.

  The trust of the gesture weighed heavy on a night when he’d witnessed senseless death. How was he supposed to keep his child safe in a world out of control?

  “Are you okay?” Nikki ran a light hand from the back of his elbow down his forearm to his wrist. Just as he’d thought, her gentle caress eased some of his despair.

  To shatter the illusion he moved away, starting toward the door. “No touching.” He tried for lightness and failed miserably.

  The concern in Nikki’s eyes heightened. She smiled. “This is my place. The rules don’t apply here.”

  “The rules always apply.” No rules meant anything went, and he’d have no reason not to taste the lush line of her lips. Soon he’d be looking for a new nanny.

  She shook her head. “Not always. Did you eat? Why don’t I put on some clothes and come heat up some food for you, and you can tell me what the doctor said?”

  “I’m fine.” Food sounded good, but more trouble than he wanted to go to this late. “I’m just going to shower and go to bed. Good night.” He pulled the door closed and waited until he heard the bolt.

  Ten minutes later he had Mickey tucked into bed, and was stepping from the shower when he heard a knock on the back door. It could only be Nikki. He considered ignoring it. Hadn’t he faced enough temptation tonight? But he owed her for his previous rudeness.

  Sighing, he pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of navy sweatpants and went to answer the summons. He opened the door to a steaming plate of food. Savory aromas floated to him on the night air, making his stomach growl.

  Nikki cocked her head and grinned. “It goes against my civic duty to let the Sheriff go to bed hungry.”

  She’d donned low-riding gray sweatpants, and her pink tank top stopped just above her waist, leaving a band of creamy skin visible. The sight of her made him hungry for more than food.

  “Is that macaroni and cheese?”

  “It’
s homemade mac and cheese. Plus smoked sausage and sliced tomatoes.”

  “Okay, you can come in.” He took the plate and left her to follow him. “How did you manage homemade macaroni and cheese with only a coffeemaker and a microwave?”

  “It’s leftovers from dinner with my sister. It’s my mom’s recipe. I make it better.”

  “This is pretty good.” He stabbed a piece of sausage. “You’ll have to send my compliments to your sister. It must have been rough on the two of you to lose them both together.”

  “Yeah.” She sat down across from him and laid her hands flat on the table. “But they would have wanted it that way. My mother was a good military wife, she went wherever Dad was stationed. They loved each other very much—were the center of each other’s lives. My sister and I completed the circle, but they always came first for each other.”

  “It must be nice to have had such a bedrock foundation.”

  “There were trade-offs. Mom coped with all the travel by micromanaging what she did have control of—the family.”

  She reached out, caught herself, and her fingertips stopped just shy of his. How he resented that quarter-inch of space.

  “It was bad tonight?” She zeroed in on what was bothering him.

  “Two dead at the scene. A man fell asleep at the wheel. Killed himself and his adult daughter. The wife survived, but she’ll just wish she were dead.”

  “Oh, Trace. I’m so sorry. It must be difficult to work accident scenes after losing your wife to a drunk driver.”

  “I had to leave Homicide. I couldn’t make death my business anymore, or deal with it every day. This is better. There’s probably the same amount of fatalities, but they’re spaced further apart. And it’s not the focus of what I do.”

  “No community meetings when you worked Homicide?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. She had a talent for making him smile. “Hardly. I was just asking myself how I’m supposed to keep Mickey safe in today’s world. So much violence. Accidents, disease…Every couple of months there’s an accident on the highway. With the casino on the reservation so close we see drunks, sleepy gamblers, tourists coming from the east. Illegal aliens freeze or die from the heat, trying to cross over the mountains. I’m all he has. What happens to him if something happens to me?”

  “Trace, you know better. You can’t focus on the negative. Make the most of what you have. Build your own bedrock with Mickey. Amanda and I knew we were loved, and that’s huge—especially when there are a lot of changes or unknowns in your life.”

  Great. “And I’m the current unknown in my son’s life.”

  “No, you’re the new constant in his life.”

  “Little Miss Sunshine.”

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m more blunt than most people find comfortable. I’m working on my tact,” she said with wry humor. “Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”

  “Maybe.” But he wouldn’t be any less responsible for Mickey, wouldn’t be any less alone. He pushed his empty plate away. “Excellent. Your civil servant thanks you.”

  She grinned, picked up the plate and carried it to the sink. “You know you’re not alone.” She took a glass from the cupboard, poured some milk and placed it in front of him. “Your in-laws are on the east coast, not dead.”

  “I think they’ve done enough damage.”

  “What about your parents? Would they be able to help you out?”

  “Ha!” A harsh bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “My parents make Donna’s look like parents of the year. At least they erred on the side of caring too much.” Maybe the late hour had his defenses down, or maybe he was mellow after the warm meal, but Trace found himself talking to Nikki.

  “My mom was the opposite of yours. She didn’t want to follow Dad around, but he insisted. He wanted me with him. Don’t know why. He wasn’t a demonstrative man. Anyway, she’d had enough by the time I was ten, and she left us.”

  “Trace.” Her soft heart overrode the rules and she covered his fingers with hers. “That’s so sad—for you and your father. Was he in the military when she met him?”

  Her touch warmed him more than her sympathy. Maybe that was why he’d opened up tonight. Because he’d known the tenderness she showed Mickey every day would be his reward.

  “Yes. Within a year after leaving us she’d remarried and started a new family.”

  Her fingers tightened on his. “I hope you know she wasn’t a victim. She knew your dad was military when she married him. She changed the rules on him.”

  “I learned all I know about emotions from my dad. She said he had no feelings and I was just like him. We weren’t enough for her.”

  “She said you lacked emotion and then she abandoned you?” Nikki’s shoulders went up and a fierce glint lit up her eyes, making them gleam like liquid gold. “Stupid woman.”

  He laughed. Something he wouldn’t have thought possible tonight.

  God, she made him feel good. Her humor, her compassion, her sheer willingness to go to battle for him turned his melancholy mood into something altogether different.

  And altogether more dangerous.

  “I like you, Ms. Rhodes.” Again his attempt at lightness failed. The words came out husky, a growl of want.

  The momentum of her emotions had pushed her forward over the table, so her weight rested on her elbows and their faces were mere inches apart. Eyeing the delicate curve of her mouth, the silky creaminess of her skin, he sought desperately for control.

  Smiling sheepishly, she lifted her gaze from his mouth. As their eyes met, hers darkened, and she licked her lips.

  “I like you, too, Sheriff Oliver,” she whispered.

  He watched the words form, her lips shiny with the essence of her, and longed to move the few inches necessary to taste her.

  Instead he pushed away from the table, creating vital distance between them.

  “You should go.”

  Nikki let herself in the back door. “Hey, it’s just me,” she called out, though she doubted Trace heard over the wails coming from down the hall. Still, she continued to speak as she went to investigate. “I need to pick up some laundry.”

  She stopped in the bathroom doorway. Ah, bathtime. Mickey did not like to be wet. The otherwise sweet and cheerful baby turned into a wild child whenever dipped in water. Throw in a hair-washing, like now, and he was one unhappy, slippery mess.

  Trace was kneeling next to the tub on a bathmat, soaked from shoulders to knees. A drop of water fell from his hair to land on his cheek, disappearing into his five-o’clock shadow.

  The Sheriff looked good wet. Nikki took new appreciation in why men liked wet T-shirt contests. Transparent cotton clung to his skin, defining hard muscles flexing in motion.

  Enjoying the show a little too much, she knocked on the door. “Hey, what’s all the ruckus about in here?”

  “Save yourself. It’s not safe in here.” Trace only half looked over his shoulder, but it was enough for her to catch the frown of frustration and concentration furrowing his brow. “And it’s a good thing he doesn’t talk yet, because the language is pretty ripe.”

  “Neeki! Neeki!” At the sight of her Mickey renewed his efforts to reach safety, struggling in Trace’s grasp and lifting his arms for her to rescue him.

  “Stay still, you little eel,” Trace said. “We just have to finish your hair and you can get out.”

  “Hang on.” Nikki turned into Mickey’s room across the hall.

  Carrying a plastic blue puppy back to the bathroom, she could swear she heard him mutter, “Coward.”

  “I heard that, but lucky for you I’m going to save your hide anyway.” She knelt next to Trace, glad she’d worn shorts.

  “Oh, I’m lucky,” he grumbled, keeping a hold of his slippery son so he didn’t fall and crack his head. “Mickey, sit down.”

  Mickey’s frown matched Trace’s as he nailed him with a glare and yammered off a string of angry baby talk.

  Nikki grinned.
“I think it’s a good thing we don’t know what that means.”

  “Oh, we’ve had quite the conversation. I just need him to stay still long enough for me to rinse the shampoo out.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows at Trace. “Watch how it’s done. Hold him steady,” she told him, and then, focusing on Mickey, she smiled. “Hey, baby, Daddy just doesn’t know the trick, huh?” She brought the blue dog up and wagged it in front of the tearful Mickey. “He doesn’t know Puppy gets his hair washed first.”

  Mickey quieted as Nikki swiped some bubbles up and worked them over the plastic blue head of the toy dog. Distracted, the boy reached for the toy and held it while Nikki made a show of washing the dog’s hair. “That’s the way,” she encouraged Mickey. “We’re washing Puppy’s hair. And next it’s your turn. Smile,” she said to Trace, flashing her gaze over him. “That ferocious look probably works wonders with criminals. Not so much frightened little boys.”

  The frown instantly cleared. A light of humor even touched his green eyes. “Hey, you’ve got it backward. In case you didn’t notice, the kid had the upper hand.”

  She laughed. “Hand me the small pitcher from the left-hand cupboard,” she said quietly to Trace. He placed it in her hand, and she scooped up half a pitcher of water and poured it over Puppy.

  Mickey squealed, and dunked Puppy in the water, splashing both Nikki and Trace.

  “First dog food, now a puppy in the bath.” Trace sent her a sidelong glance. “You’re determined for me to get the boy a dog, aren’t you?”

  “Not guilty,” she denied. “I always wanted a dog when I was a kid, but my mom said we weren’t settled enough to make a good home for a dog, that it wouldn’t be fair. She was right.”

  “So you’re saying we aren’t ready for a dog?”

  “No.” She refused to let him trip her up for his amusement, his own form of distraction. “You said you needed to focus on taking care of Mickey, and I agree with you.”