‘Teresa Carpenter’s HER BABY, HIS PROPOSAL makes an oft-used premise work brilliantly through skilled plotting, deft characterisation and just the right amount of humour.’

—RomanticTimes.com

The baby sat up in Nikki’s arms and looked at his father, almost as if he 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. “He likes me.”

“I can see that.” Trace’s eyes flared bright and hard as emeralds. “But we agreed we aren’t compatible.”

“True.” She inclined her head, keeping her features blandly innocent. “But we’re adults. Surely we can compromise for a few hours while I help you out in a difficult situation?”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can stay as long as you need me.” And he did need her.

Dear Reader

Family is such a big part of my life, and I take joy in bringing that closeness to the characters in my stories. My new nephew is so good with his baby girl; I love to watch them together. Nothing is more touching than a strong man holding a defenceless baby with gentle devotion.

In SHERIFF NEEDS A NANNY a man of moral and physical strength struggles to find the emotional depth to connect with his baby boy when he’s forced to take on the boy’s care. Luckily the nanny he hires knows just what father and son need to bring them together. I wish you joy in their journey.

Teresa Carpenter

Teresa Carpenter believes in the power of unconditional love, and that there’s no better place to find it than between the pages of a romance novel. Reading is a passion for Teresa—a passion that led to a calling. She began writing more than twenty years ago, and marks the sale of her first book as one of her happiest memories. Teresa gives back to her craft by volunteering her time to Romance Writers of America on a local and national level. A fifth generation Californian, she lives in San Diego, within miles of her extensive family, and knows with their help she can accomplish anything. She takes particular joy and pride in her nieces and nephews, who are all bright, fit, shining stars of the future. If she’s not at a family event you’ll usually find her at home—reading, writing, or playing with her adopted Chihuahua, Jefe.

Sheriff
Needs A Nanny

by

Teresa Carpenter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Mom, who has always believed in me.

And for Yvonne, JD, Denise and all the Culversons for their loving care of Mom this last year.

You guys are the best.

And for Rodney and Brandon, daddies extraordinaire!

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Praise

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

Chapter One

“HERE goes everything.” Nicole Rhodes arrived at the front door of the sprawling ranch-style house. She glanced down at her navy ruffled vest, white tank and tailored khaki Capris. Together with her white sandals she felt she’d hit the right mark of cool and professional.

Two adjectives she rarely aspired to. She preferred to experience life.

Still, for today, going on her first job interview in five years, she needed all the confidence she could muster. Damn state budget cuts. She was one of a thousand teachers looking for alternative employment.

Pasting a smile on her face, she knocked on the door.

She needed a job and a place to stay ASAP. This nanny position offered both, with the added bonus of allowing her to stay close to her very pregnant sister, Amanda.

The door in front of her opened to frame a half-naked man. Oh, mama.

Her internal temperature spiked to match the hundred-degree heat as she admired six-pack abs, a strong chest dusted with dark hair attached to a corded neck, and a head buried in a gray cotton T-shirt.

“Hey, Russ.” A deep voice came from within the depths of bunched-up material. “Thanks for coming over so quickly. I’ve been picking up before the nanny gets here. I’ve only got ten minutes to grab a quick shower.”

Before she could respond, the shirt finished its journey, leaving mussed mink-brown hair in its wake. A myriad of emotions flowed over Sheriff Trace Oliver’s sharp-edged features. Surprise, annoyance and finally resignation flashed through eyes the color of lush green grass.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope you’re Russ’s older sister, come to help out in a crunch?”

She shook her head, felt the heavy weight of the long brunette mane hanging down her back and vaguely wished she’d pulled it up and off her neck. Smiling, and doing her best to ignore all the toned, tanned skin on display, she held out a hand.

“Nikki Rhodes, potential nanny,” she introduced herself.

“You’re early.” The words were curt as he gripped her hand and let his intense gaze roam over her. Ever the optimist, she decided to take his comment as an observation rather than an admonishment.

“Yes. It’s supposed to be an admirable trait.”

In sheer self-preservation she broke away from his forceful gaze. Instead her glance fell to where her hand lay, cradled in his warm, strong grasp.

“Not always.” He responded to her comment with a grimace, and motioned to his shorts and bare chest.

Oh, man. And she’d been trying so hard not to stare. She didn’t want to think of her charge’s father in a physical way. It just made for unwanted complications. She cleared her throat.

“I’ll remember that for the future.” She nodded her head toward her silver Camry at the curb. “Shall I wait in the car while you shower?”

“What? No.” He stepped back, drawing her inside. “Please come in.” He frowned at their clasped hands, as if surprised to find her hand still in his. Abruptly, he released her. “I’ll adjust.”

Nikki followed him inside; she took in the living room, small dining-room-kitchen combo, and wondered what he could possibly have had to pick up in anticipation of her visit. The rooms were buffed to a high gloss and lacked any form of clutter. The furniture, what there was of it, was all large and modern, all straight lines and muted blues and grays. Nothing in the room suggested a baby lived there. In fact, it had a military feel to it.

One glance around the everything-in-its-place interior and she recognized his need for control. Oh, yeah, she’d been there, lived with that and had no desire to repeat the experience. Reason number two why she should end this interview now.

Amanda, at home on bedrest, kept Nikki’s feet planted right where she stood.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I’m going to grab a clean shirt.”

Yes, please. Cover up all that gorgeous toned skin.

“Girl, you are in so much trouble,” she muttered under her breath, watching him disappear down a short hall.

She had no business noticing a prospective employer in that way. It said so right in her contract with the agency.

And she needed this job. She’d given up her apartment three months ago, and moved in with her sister while her brother-in-law was out to sea. Her intent was to save for a down payment on a condo. The timing had seemed perfect. Nikki would keep her sister company and help her to get ready for her first baby, then Nikki would move into her own place just before hubby and baby were due to arrive.

Instead Nikki had received a pink slip. And her brother-in-law had returned two weeks early. Yeah, perfect timing. She was very much the squeaky third wheel in the tiny two-bedroom house, but Amanda wouldn’t hear about Nikki moving until she had a new job.

She had good credentials, so she didn’t worry about being employable, but this was the only gig in Paradise Pines, and it was important to her that she stay close to her sister until she had the baby.

But Nikki’s reluctance to walk away was about more than that. Since the day she’d left for college, and discovered a sense of freedom she’d never known at home, she’d vowed to live life—not hide from it.

Still, she needed to protect herself. She tended to give her heart easily. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to work with young children. They thrived on her affection and were honest in their responses. She could trust them with her soft heart.

Sheriff Oliver didn’t look as if he knew the definition of soft. He was all about neatness, control and schedules. She’d bet structure and discipline were two of his favorite words. Babies were messy, chaotic and unpredictable. Discipline and structure were important, but so was flexibility and creativity. A baby needed room to grow, to makes mistakes and messes in order to learn.

If she took this job, Nikki saw nothing but strife and loggerheads ahead, because she would fight for what was best for the baby. Maybe even harder than she needed to, because the situation hit so close to home.

When Sheriff Oliver returned, he wore blue jeans and a dark green shirt that did incredible things for his eyes. Eyes cooler now than when he’d left the room. As were his features.

He’d gathered his guard, something he wore with such ease she knew it was what he usually showed the world. They’d only stumbled into that moment of rare unease because she’d surprised him at the door.

“The agency said you’re a kindergarten teacher,” he said as he sat in the recliner adjacent to the couch she occupied. “You know this is a live-in position?”

Down to business. Good. Maybe they’d make it through this interview yet.

“Yes. I’m a victim of the recent state budget cuts.” She gave a jaunty shrug, pretending to him—and herself—that losing her job was just a blip in life’s journey. “But I was a nanny before; it helped pay my way through college.”

“You juggled kids and school? Quite a feat. Most mothers don’t even attempt it.”

“I had the kids during the day, so I took most of my classes at night. The Hendersons knew I was in school, so they respected my hours. It worked out.”

“How old were the kids in your care?”

“Two and four when I started with them.”

He glanced down at the paper in front of him, which she could see was a copy of her résumé. “And you were with them for two and half years? Why’d you leave?”

“My parents were in an accident and killed.” She could almost say it now without having her throat close up. ‘My sister needed me. She was in her senior year of high school. I took a semester off to settle my parents’ affairs, and to be there for her until she graduated.”

“It must have been tough.” A gruffness in his voice reminded her he’d lost his wife just over a year ago.

“We had each other, which helped.” But it had still been the toughest year of her life.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “So you haven’t had care of a baby?”

“Not as young as thirteen months, no, but I’m sure I can manage. I have a master’s in Child Development, and I love kids. In fact, my sister is expecting, so in six weeks I’ll be an aunt for the first time.”

He showed no change of expression at the mention of a pending birth. From mild to effusive, most people showed some form of acknowledgment. It made her wonder about the relationship between him and his son, and why Trace was only now taking custody of the boy.

She knew from the agency that he was a widower, that the baby had survived the accident that had killed his mother, and that Trace’s mother-in-law had had care of the baby until a week ago.

“So what’s the deal with you? Why are you just now getting custody of your son?” She put the question out there.

A dark eyebrow lifted at her bluntness.

She smiled and lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I believe in open communication. Life is simpler that way.” She kept her smile in place and waited. So sue her. She wanted to know, and she’d found asking usually netted answers.

After a moment he answered. “I’ve always had custody. My in-laws were just helping out until I got settled in a new location.”

It took thirteen months? But she didn’t voice the thought. Obviously there was something more involved than a simple move. And there would be, of course. A cop and a newborn were hardly a good fit on their own. Plus, something in his voice told her he hadn’t been completely comfortable with the arrangement. She took an educated guess.

“I imagine it was a comfort to your in-laws to have their grandson close while they dealt with losing their daughter.”

He leaned back in his seat, his brawny forearms crossed over the wide expanse of his chest. He eyed her suspiciously. “Most people assume I was taking advantage of my in-laws. Not that it’s any of their business.”

From his defensive posture Nikki guessed “most people” weren’t entirely wrong. But she also heard a note of hurt pride. Five years as a teacher had taught her to read people, be they little or big or somewhere in between. For a man of his control, who made duty a way of life, a shadow on his honor would bite big-time.

“Of course.” She acknowledged his distancing comment, and then completely disregarded it. “Death is never easy on a family,” she sympathized. “But from my experience once a grandmother has a baby in her care it takes a bomb and a crowbar to pry the child loose.”

Sheriff Oliver choked on an indrawn breath.

“Oops.” Nikki bit her lower lip. Her sister continually warned Nikki that some people didn’t appreciate her chronic bluntness. “Not sensitive enough?”

Trace threw back his head and laughed out loud. Something he did all too rarely. He ran a hand over his face as he fought to regain his cool.

“You’re very insightful,” was all he said. Actually, the truth laid somewhere in the middle of what people thought and the need for a crowbar.

But, Lord, he did appreciate a little blunt honesty. The empathy was harder to accept. From the huskiness in her voice earlier, he had no doubt she still mourned her parents.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she urged him in earnest. “It couldn’t have been easy handling a newborn on a sheriff’s schedule.”

“I wasn’t a sheriff then. I transferred nine months ago. Before that I was a homicide detective, attached to a multinational task force.”

“Sounds important.”

“It was. And, as you said, difficult to juggle with a newborn. My mother-in-law offered to help out by taking Carmichael. I was grateful for her aid. But just over a week ago she had a stroke, and my father-in-law moved them back to Michigan, where her family could help with her care and support. It’s just me and my son now.”

Trace shifted in his chair. He didn’t know why he felt the need to explain things to her he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

Maybe talking was easier because of the understanding he saw in her intelligent amber eyes, or maybe her honesty called to something in him. Whatever it was, it needed to stop now.

“Carmichael?” she echoed. “I thought his name was Michael?”

“No, it’s Carmichael. A family name on my mother-in-law’s side.”

“Oh. The agency has Michael on my paperwork.”

“Then they have it wrong. He’s been called Carmichael since he was born.” Trace hated the name, but he’d agreed to it to make his wife happy. They probably would have shortened the name if she’d lived. But she’d died. “His mother chose the name.”

“Right. Continuity is a fine family tradition. ” She carefully kept her tone even. He literally saw the struggle it cost her.

“But you don’t like it?” He shouldn’t test her when she’d made such an effort at politeness, but he couldn’t resist.

She struggled for another moment, her smile both brave and patently false. Finally tact gave way to that refreshing honesty.

“It’s just so much name for a baby,” she said in a rush. “They have to learn to walk before they can run, and that’s not just physically. Their little psyches need to grow and develop just like their bodies.”

So much passion for his son, and she hadn’t even met him. Just what any father would want in a nanny.

Right.

“Just be careful not to let guilt motivate your decisions.”

The words hit him like a fist to the gut. This was what he got for sharing. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s called survivor’s guilt. And it causes rational people to make irrational choices. It’s just something to be aware of. You think you’re honoring her because she can’t be here to raise Carmichael. But what she’d really want is for you to love him and raise him the best you can.”

“Love the child, honor the mother?”

“Yes. It’s that simple.”

“Your life may be that easy, Ms. Rhodes, but you know nothing of mine. Don’t presume you know my motive for anything.” Hearing the harshness of his tone, he took a breath. But on this he needed to be clear. “Carmichael is the focus here. Never attempt to psychoanalyze me.”

“Of course.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I only meant to help.”

“Yeah, well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a father it’s that nothing is simple anymore. Life has become one complication after another.”

She nodded. “Families are complicated. Love is what makes it work.”

Good Lord. If that were true, he was in a world of trouble. Rather than dwell on his emotional shortcomings, he switched back to her comments on Child Development.

“I thought you didn’t work with infants.”

“I don’t. But in kindergarten they’re still growing and learning when they get to me.”

She shifted in her seat, smoothing a hand down a cotton-clad thigh, and then completely changed the subject on him. “I understand you’ve already had two nannies come and go in the past week. What was the problem with them?”

He frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’ll help me to know what you’re looking for.”

“Right. I guess that makes sense. The first couldn’t handle the schedule. She was too concerned with disruptions to her time off and the distance from San Diego. The second seemed set in her ways. She had tried-and-true doctrines and regimens, and she made it clear it would be her way or no way. I chose no way.”

“Good for you.” Approval beamed at him from across the room, making him feel twelve feet tall. She was a pretty woman, with even features, a plump mouth and a peaches-and-cream complexion, but what really made her attractive was her animation. This woman lived life; it showed in her perpetual smile and those amazing amber eyes.

She lit the room with energy, just sitting on his slate-blue sofa. He watched as she tossed a flow of honey-brown hair over her shoulder. A slight frown created a furrow between slim dark brows.

“Sadly, a lot of parents want just such an arrangement. It’s almost as if they prefer to be visitors in their children’s lives rather than participants.” Her tone made it clear what she thought of those misguided parents.

Must be nice to live in her merry little world. He knew the truth. “I’m in law enforcement, Ms. Rhodes. I can tell you parents often cause less damage to a kid just by virtue of their absence.”

“You’re right, of course. But that’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. I’ve been a visitor in my son’s life for more than a year. But that’s over. I’m responsible for him now. I’ll decide what’s best for him.”

And chatting up a kindergartener teacher, no matter how blunt and vivacious, wasn’t going to get the job done.

Was she the nanny for him?

On the surface she was too young, too overqualified, too inexperienced. It didn’t take a master’s degree to change a diaper, but it took someone who’d been around babies to know the difference between a fever due to teething or an illness. Something he’d learned just this week.

On the other hand it was a job, and the budget cuts did have a lot of teachers looking for employment.

“Ms. Rhodes—”

“Please,” she interjected, “call me Nikki.”

“Ms. Rhodes.” It was better that way. Better to keep everything professional. “When can you start?”

Chapter Two

“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.

Chapter Three

“YOU’RE home.” The sleep husky voice came from the depths of the couch.

He looked down into honey-brown eyes, felt the warmth rising and turned away.

“Yeah, thanks for staying.” Glancing at his empty plate, he saw he’d eaten every bite. He set the plate on the island countertop. “Let me take Carmichael to bed.”

“Poor little guy missed you tonight.” Nikki shifted around until she half sat, with Carmichael draped over her lap. “He wouldn’t go to sleep in his crib. I think having a stranger here at bedtime threw him off.”

“It wasn’t you,” Trace assured her grimly as he lifted his tiny son into his arms, careful not to wake him. “He hasn’t slept well since he came here. Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He carried his light burden to the nursery and laid the boy down gently. He placed a toy giraffe next to the baby and tucked them both in with a soft navy blanket. Carmichael stirred. Trace stood over him until he settled, then returned to the living room.

Trace thanked God he had the garage converted out back. At least he and Ms. Rhodes wouldn’t have to share the house. He’d purposely looked for a property with a detached extra room or granny flat. The division of space served a couple of purposes. One, it preserved his reputation and that of any lady he hired, and two, it defined the barrier between employer and employee and established boundaries for personal space.

Nikki was in the kitchen, cleaning his dinner dishes. Quite the domestic picture.

“Leave them,” he told her. “I’ll get to them later.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “They’re already done.” She opened the cupboard to the left of the sink and placed the plate inside, then turned to face him as she dried her hands with a dishcloth. “It was no trouble.”

“We have to talk.”

She nodded, folded the cloth over the edge of the sink and followed him to the living room. “It’s pretty late. It must have been bad tonight.”

“Bad enough.” He grimly dismissed the accident that had claimed two lives. A lawman couldn’t afford to make it personal. “That’s not what we need to talk about.”

“Of course.” She leaned forward. “Carmichael is such a sweet little boy, but so sad. He must miss his grandparents a lot.”

“He asks after them, yes. They’ve been the constant in his life. He has to get past that.”

“And he will, as you replace them in his affections.”

He frowned, unnerved at being anyone’s emotional stable. But this was his son, so he put steel in his backbone and strengthened his resolve.

“Bonding will take a bit of time,” she continued, right through his moment of panic. “Especially with a schedule as erratic as yours.”

That stung. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She flushed and held up a placating hand. “I’m sorry. I understand yours isn’t a nine-to-five job, but it’ll really help if you can find some time during the day to spend together. That’s usually easiest during a meal, or at bath or bedtime.”

“I know the importance of an established schedule.” How exactly had he become the one on the defense?

“I’m sure you do. And it’s early days for the two of you together. I’m sure we’ll find a system that works for all of us.”

He appreciated her enthusiasm even as he resisted it. “Sit down, Ms. Rhodes. We have a few ground rules to discuss.”

“Of course.” The words were terse, reminding him that, as a teacher, she was more used to making rules than following them.

“First of all, there should be no touching.”

Her brow furrowed and a question came into her eyes.

“You’re an attractive woman,” he clarified. “And I’m a healthy adult male. I’ve noticed you’re demonstrative. You talk with your hands and you express emotion by touching. We need to maintain a professional relationship, so no touching.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “That makes sense. What else?”

“I don’t need or want you to cook for me. No getting cozy around the kitchen table or snoozing on the couch.”

“Cozy?” She actually sounded offended by the notion. Perching on the arm of the couch, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I have to cook for the baby and me anyway. It’s just as easy to include enough for you. In fact, it’s harder to cook for one and a half than for three, so it’s just plain wasteful not to include you. If you don’t want me to leave it warming in the oven, fine. I’ll tuck the food into the refrigerator and you can dig it out. As for snoozing on the couch—you were late. I fell asleep.”

Frowning, she reached for the baby blanket she’d used as a throw and began to fold it. When she continued much of the defiance was missing. “From the sound of your schedule that’s likely to happen again, so how do you suggest we handle the problem?”

Good question.

“I’ll put a travel crib in your rooms out back. If you get sleepy, you can take Carmichael with you and I’ll pick him up when I get home.”

“That’s disruptive for the baby.”

“Yeah.” His gaze roamed from her Blushed Rose toenails to her two-inch gold hoop earrings. “Well, I think it’s best. I’d also like you to wear a uniform. It doesn’t have to be formal, just keep to black and white.”

Nikki shifted the blanket she’d folded from her lap to her chest and crossed her arms. “Maybe you should write down all these rules so I don’t forget them.”

He lifted a brow at her tone. “I’ll let that slide, because it’s late and we’re both tired. But know this: I don’t believe in ignoring problems. I believe in addressing the issue to prevent further problems from arising.”

“Now, see, I have a different philosophy. Some problems, yes, need to be resolved right away. Others, if you ignore them, often go away.”

“Or someone else handles them for you.”

“Sometimes, and it’s lovely when that happens. Other times new info comes to light which changes the situation so the original problem goes away.” She stood and gathered her belongings on the way to the door, where she stopped and met his gaze straight-on. “I don’t think you need to worry about us getting cozy around the dinner table.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Nikki purposely timed her arrival for 7:00 a.m. the next morning. Not a minute before or a minute after. She’d learned her lesson about punctuality when it came to Sheriff Oliver.

As good as he looked in his skin, she was sure encountering him half-naked again would bend more than one of his rules.

She needn’t have worried. He met her at the door fully dressed. He took her suitcase and set it inside the door.

“Carmichael is still sleeping,” he told her. “And I got a call from Dispatch so I have to go.” He grabbed his keys from the bowl on the counter and headed back to the door.

Oh, my, he did look fine in his uniform.

He wore it with an easy air of command that made the olive-green pants and khaki short-sleeved shirt—accessorized with holster and gun—downright sexy. The confidence and authority he projected made her nerves tingle.

She told herself it was in annoyance for his desertion even as she caught herself staring.

He met her gaze. “I’ll show you your rooms tonight.”

“Wait.” She stepped into his path. “What about the time you’re going to spend with Carmichael?”

“It’ll have to be tonight.” He walked around her. “I’ll try to check in during the day. I left my numbers by the phone if there’s an emergency.”

The door closed behind him and Nikki found herself alone in the quiet house. That so had not gone how she’d expected.

That night, Nikki followed Trace Oliver’s broad- shouldered, slim-hipped saunter to the garage behind his house. She eyed his chiseled profile, waiting for the right moment to address her concerns. She’d had all day to plot her course of action. She’d try to catch him in a good mood, but if that failed she’d have to risk the fallout. Mickey had needs and she meant to see them met.

“These will be your rooms.” Trace opened the door and gestured her inside.

Head held high, she squeezed past him, inhaling soap, mint and man, an intoxicating combination. It was enough to distract her from her surroundings—until the wheels of her suitcase bumped up against the threshold and stopped. With a small tug, she proceeded into the room.

He’d been polite but distant since arriving home. Mickey was sleeping, so Trace was taking the opportunity to show her where she’d be staying.

The garage had been converted into a studio apartment. A large living area included a small kitchen in the far right corner. A full bath occupied the far left corner, with a closet dividing the two. Like the main house, the furnishings here were modern, simplistic, in dark gray and burgundy.

Yeah, a few feminine touches might bring it up to the level of an impersonal hotel room. Not a problem. She needed to clear out of her sister’s place anyway. The infusion of her things would brighten this space, bring a warmth and hominess to the small suite.

She moved deeper into the room and caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Intent on fostering the professional relationship they’d agreed upon—and he’d outlined it in excruciating detail—she’d dressed in a pencil-slim skirt that ended two inches above her knees and a fitted vest both in black. For herself, she’d paired the severe clothing with a romantic white cotton shirt, ruffled at the scooped neck and capped sleeves. Black sandals completed the outfit.

Catching sight of his reflection behind her, she felt a punch to the gut. He looked as good now as he had this morning—better, actually. Being a little rumpled made him appear more approachable.

Not wanting to be caught staring, she quickly diverted her attention back to the room.

“This is really very nice. Is there wood for the fireplace?” Oh, great save. Like she needed a fire in late June.

“By the shed outside, to the left. But you probably won’t be here long enough to use it.”

“What do you mean?” Miffed, Nikki tried and failed to keep the bite out of the question. “I’m playing by the rules.” She gestured to her uniform of black and white.

His intense gaze rolled over her until his eyes met hers. “Right. But we both know this is a temporary arrangement at best.”

“Why do you say that?” she demanded. “I assure you I truly care about Mickey, and I’m committed to staying until—”

Whoa. She cut herself off as her mind caught up with her mouth. She couldn’t tell him she intended staying until father and son bonded. Already she knew he’d take her interference as well as a cat took to water: with a whole lot of resistance and no discernible gratitude for the effort involved. He only accepted her presence now because Mickey liked her. That was where she needed to channel her efforts.

“Until what, Ms. Rhodes? He starts school? Can stay home alone? Begins to drive? You won’t be here through the end of the year, let alone any of those milestones.”

And there was a fine sample of opposition. Leaving her suitcase against the wall, she plopped into a soft gray armchair, planted her elbows on the arms, and got to the heart of the matter.

“Why did you hire me if you’re ready to push me out the door?”

He surprised her when he gave up his position of power to sit across from her. “First of all, because you’re a teacher, not a nanny. You’re going to go back to teaching the first chance you get. It’s obvious when you talk about it that you love your job. Second, I can see you do care about Carmichael. More important, he likes you. But let’s not kid ourselves. You’re a meddler, Ms. Rhodes. You can’t help yourself. And I can’t tolerate being manipulated. I have a high-pressure, high-exposure job. I need to know my child is being cared for to my specifications, and to find peace when I walk through my door at the end of my shift.”

Okay, she gave him points for insightfulness and, yeah, she understood the whole peace-in-his-own-home thing. Her mother had always wanted peace. Nikki considered it overrated. Give her loud and loving every time. Laughter wasn’t a quiet commodity.

As for meddling—he was right. She couldn’t deny it. But the man had serious emotional issues. She intended to help him and Mickey find a connection. If he preferred for her to be up-front about it, she could do up-front.

“I prefer to think of it as caring about people.” Earnest in her concern, she leaned forward. “I care about Carmichael. You didn’t even stop to check on him this evening. So, yeah, I’m going to meddle. He needs you, so what’s it going to take to get you to stand steady for him?”

Trace’s dark brows slammed together. “You’re out of line.”

“Blame yourself.” Nikki waved his irritation aside. “You hired me to take care of Carmichael. To me that means more than changing diapers and heating bottles. His emotional welfare is as important as his physical welfare. Why are you so afraid of emotion?”

He surprised her with an immediate response.

“I’m not afraid of emotion, Ms. Rhodes, I’m just not very good at it.”

Nikki blinked at the unexpected reply. How sad if that was true. The total lack of feeling in his expression revealed he believed it.

“And it’s easier to back away than try?” she guessed.

“I’ve tried.” A shadow of pain came and went in his level gaze. The flash of vulnerability convinced her of his claim more than the stoic words. “That’s how I know I’m no good at it.”

She could tell it had cost him. Still, she had to press. For him and for Mickey. “Well, it’s time to try again. Can I be frank with you? Mickey’s development is stunted. You know I have a master’s in Child Development. He’s behind in speech, in walking, in his motor skills.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re saying my child is slow?”

“No. He’s smart, and actually quick to catch on to new things. But he just sits, and he always wants to be held.”

“His grandmother was very protective of him,” he said slowly, his mind obviously at work. “Whenever I visited she held him all the time. I thought it was because she was afraid I would take him away. She must have coddled him to the extent he did little for himself.”

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” she asked, compassion illuminating her features. “She’d lost her daughter. Her grandson was all she had left of her child. She hung on to him with all her might, and ended up impeding his progress instead of nurturing his growth.”

“She held on so tight she may have irreparably damaged his ongoing development. That’s not sad, that’s negligent. And I let it happen.”

“It’s not necessary to place blame,” Nikki assured him. “What matters is what you do now. Your son needs you. We talked about you setting time aside each day to spend with him. When would be best for you?”

“I’ve already explained my days are chaotic in the extreme. I keep a schedule, but I’m always on call. I can’t give you a set time.”

“Come on.” She sighed, her understanding slipping. “That’s a cop-out.”

“Be careful, Ms. Rhodes.” Dark color stained his cheeks and he fixed a fierce frown on her.

“Good parents make time for their kids.”

“I’m aware of that, but—”

“No buts. Everyone’s busy. We’ll just work at it until we find a time. We’ll start with breakfast. How does bacon and eggs sound?”

He shook his head. “I usually grab something at the station.”

Now he was just being difficult.

“Good. You’ll be able to focus all your attention on Mickey. You can have a cup of coffee while you feed him.”

“I’m the employer, Ms. Rhodes. I make the rules.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you’re big on rules. It’s all about structure and control for you, isn’t it? So you’ll understand the benefit of a regular schedule for your son.”

He scowled, but she saw he was thinking about her comments. Good. She rose and went to the door.

“Thanks for showing me my rooms. I’d like to get settled in, but I’ll see you at breakfast. Seven o’clock. I’ll cook.”

He blew her off again the next morning. When she came in, he was strapping on his utility belt, getting ready to walk out the door.

He nodded to the baby monitor. “Carmichael is still sleeping. He should be up soon. He slept through the night for the first time since getting here. I have to go.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “What about our date?”

His laser green gaze sliced to her, and she cringed inwardly at her unfortunate word-choice. The word probably added to his irritation at being questioned at all.

“Our appointment will have to wait until tomorrow. The Mayor called for a breakfast meeting. Was I supposed to tell him I couldn’t make it because I had to feed my son?”

“You say that as if feeding your son isn’t important.” Walking to the table for the baby monitor, she sent him an aggravated glare. “Did you even suggest an alternative time?”

“No.” He shrugged. “We often meet over breakfast. We’re busy men, it’s easiest to get our session out of the way early.”

“And that was fine when you were on your own. Now you have a son who needs your attention.”

“He’ll get it tomorrow morning.” He grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He slid on mirrored shades, which added an extra layer of stern to his tough visage. “Don’t attempt to interfere with my work, Ms. Rhodes. You won’t like the results.”

Nikki fumed as he closed the door on her—figuratively and literally.

She stormed into the kitchen and took her ire out on innocent pots and pans.

“Oh, shoot. Wait!” She went running for the door, to catch Trace before he left, but when she stepped out on the deck it was to watch his SUV disappear down the street.

“Dang.” Stubborn man. He’d riled her both last night and this morning, so she’d forgotten to ask about the car seat for Carmichael. She assumed it must be in Trace’s vehicle, because she hadn’t found it when she went through the house and garage yesterday. There was no stroller, either. Nor playpen or walker. The only baby items were the crib and dressing table and a highchair.

He needed to pick up the necessities from his in-laws’ place or buy new ones, because she and Mickey were prisoners without them. Back in the kitchen, she frowned at the cupboards, reminded they were also low on groceries. She began to plot her evening. There was more than one twenty-four-hour superstore in the county.

If she had to call 911 to get his attention, she and Trace would be visiting one before the night ended.

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