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“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.”
