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“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.
