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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.
Chapter Four
NIKKI was ready for Trace when he got home at seven that evening. She sat alone at the dining-room table, her purse in front of her, along with a small cooler of food. The elusive Russ was playing with Mickey in his room down the hall.
She’d covered dinner and a sitter; she didn’t want Trace to have any wiggle room to get out of going shopping. Mickey was as sweet as could be, and a good baby, but he expected to be held all the time. Nikki literally couldn’t get anything done. And without a car seat or stroller, she remained housebound.
It might be unfair to expect Trace to shop after a twelve-hour day, but expecting her to care for a baby without the proper equipment was equally unreasonable.
He walked in the door and over to the dish to drop in his keys. He glanced around, then looked at her.
“What’s up? Are you going someplace? Hey, I’m sorry I’m late.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a weary gesture. “Time just disappears. Is Carmichael sleeping?”
“No. I hired Russ to watch him tonight. Carmichael needs some things. You and I are going shopping.”
“Not tonight.” Dark brows lowered in a frown. “I’m tired and I’m hungry. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“We’re going tonight,” she insisted. “I’ve only been here two days, and I already know not to trust the promise of tomorrow.”
His scowl darkened, but he couldn’t deny the allegation. “I thought I made it clear how I feel about being manipulated.”
“Then don’t force it on me.” She patted the cooler and recited the list of items Carmichael required. “I’ve packed you dinner. Believe me, I wouldn’t ask you to go out if I didn’t really need these things to care for him properly. I’m tired, too, but we need to go tonight. How did you even get Carmichael home without a car seat?”
He looked pained. “There was one. It was too small, so I took it down to the station to have on hand in case of an emergency.” He sighed. “Do I have time for a shower and change of clothes?”
Relieved to have his co-operation, she grinned. “If you hurry.”
“Do you want a modular unit for a playpen, or will the portable crib work?” Trace asked as they stood in the baby aisle of the superstore.
“Oh, do they have modular units here?” Nikki stepped back to view the merchandise better. “Where? Does it list the dimensions?”
“I don’t see them here. A friend has one. I can find out where he got it, or order it online, but you’d have to wait.”
She took in their two carts, swollen with large boxes. It contained a fortune. “Oh, yeah, we don’t have to get everything tonight. I wasn’t thinking of the expense.”
“Let me worry about the expense.” Injured pride added bite to his response. “I’d rather finish it tonight. I can afford whatever is needed for my son.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t.” Maybe she could use that pride to motivate him on an emotional level. “Thank you for coming out tonight. I’ve really been stuck these past couple of days. Carmichael is a good baby but—”
“He wants to be held,” Trace finished, and she met his gaze in a moment of shared understanding. “I know.”
“Let’s go to the toys. He needs to become engaged in activities that hold his attention. Russ brought over some of his niece’s blocks. He says Carmichael will play with them for an hour or more.”
“Huh?” Trace made a show of turning toward the toys. “Let’s get us some blocks.”
She laughed, and quickly caught up to him. “When are you going to pick up the rest of his stuff?”
He looked blank. “What do you mean?”
“His stuff. For his room. Toys, stuffed animals, wall hangings. Things with color and form to inspire his mind—that stuff.”
“Oh. There wasn’t any of that in what my father-in-law brought.”
“So M—Carmichael has no stuff? That’s kind of sad.” Shocked and saddened by the revelation, Nikki spoke without thinking, but regretted her lack of forethought when she saw the humor fade from his face. She tried to save the moment. “But, hey, that means you get to choose his stuff.”
“Me?” A shadow passed over his features. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“It’s easy,” she encouraged him. “What did you have in your room as a kid?”
“Here are the blocks.” Pushing into the toy aisle, he made a point of studying the displays. Finally he said, “My room looked pretty much like Carmichael’s, except with a bed instead of a crib.”
“Oh, Trace,” she whispered. “You’re breaking my heart.”
He glanced at her and his eyes softened. “No need,” he assured her. “You don’t miss what you never knew.”
Caught by his compelling jade gaze, she moved closer. “You have a chance to give him something you never had.”
He nodded, and then moved his gaze down to his side. “You’re touching me, Ms. Rhodes.”
So she was. Both arms were wrapped around his strong arm. Muscles flexed under her fingers as he carefully stepped away.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Yeah.” Reaching for a box of blocks, he changed the subject. Relieved, she followed his lead. For such a tough character he showed vulnerability at the oddest moments. It was clear to her that he needed Mickey as much as Mickey needed him.
She blinked away weak tears. She’d have to stay strong if she meant to help them find each other.
