Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny. Alison Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ decision. Fran and Owen had just lost their only daughter; they needed something—someone—to fill the void in their hearts and lives. Who better than their infant grandson?

      How easy to convince himself the couple had been better suited to handle the newborn than an overworked homicide cop, with uncertain hours and no experience with living, breathing kids.

      Sure, he’d made the effort to visit and provided monetary support. And, yeah, he’d made the move to Paradise Pines with the intent to take custody. But what it all boiled down to was he’d abandoned his son to a woman sick at heart over the loss of her own child.

      He had no doubt Mickey had been loved and coddled. To within an inch of his life.

      In retrospect he saw it so clearly. Fran had always had the baby in her arms or seated right next to her. Always insisted on feeding Mickey his bottle because it disturbed him to have anyone else do it.

      She’d smothered his son with love to the point she’d stunted his development.

      The return of the receptionist pulled his distracted attention from the report and his sorry history as a father. He quickly confirmed the appointment for Thursday at two and disconnected. Right. A microcosm of tension eased from the weight on his shoulders. He couldn’t undo the past, but he could make sure they started out fresh, started out right.

      He made a note to tell Nikki about the appointment.

      Talk about fresh starts.

      Trace was in serious trouble there. He didn’t know whether he’d made the best decision of his life or a very dangerous mistake. Nikki Rhodes threatened everything he stood for: order, discipline and consistency.

      Why, oh, why did she have to be exactly what his son needed most right now?

      Trace kicked back in his office chair and stared unseeing out at the reception/dispatch area of the small sheriff’s station. Instead of Lydia, his no-nonsense office manager, with a heart as soft as a marshmallow, he envisioned the soft golden beauty of his own personal Attila the Hun.

      How had he lost control of his home so fast? His home? Hell, his life. Mornings would never be the same again. Though he admitted to a proud moment when Mickey had taken his first bite of peaches from the spoon. What a sense of accomplishment. They’d grinned at each other, as euphoric as if they’d scored a winning touchdown and then—he cringed to remember this—they’d both turned to Nikki, as if seeking approval of a job well done.

      She’d lavished them with praise. Lord.

      Where was his self-discipline? Where was his pride?

      He’d totally lost control. To a five-foot-five bit of fluff in a tight skirt and ruffles.

      Okay, she’d thrown him off with her ultimatum, demanding his participation in feeding Mickey; he just needed to regroup and replan, set a new schedule. He admitted he’d been hesitant about spending time with the boy. But this morning’s impromptu breakfast session proved he had nothing to fear. He could handle his son.

      With a little tuition he’d become quite efficient. Then he’d send the distracting Ms. Rhodes on her way. They’d both be happier when she was teaching again.

      For all her lack of structure, the woman had kept her promise to help. What had she said? “The benefit of open communication is you don’t have to do everything alone.” He had to admit he’d appreciated her assistance at breakfast. Sure he could handle it, but having someone there—it had been nice.

      Another one of her precious gems of advice came to mind. “The good news is once you engage Mickey’s affections it’ll be almost impossible to lose it. Unconditional love is a powerful thing.”

      It sounded good. Too good to be true for a man who didn’t know the first thing about love.

      Nikki sat in one of her least-favorite places in the whole world: the doctor’s office. One of the unsung joys of being a military brat was the military health service. Every new visit to the doctor brought a new face, and a new person to poke and prod you.

      After the breakfast session the other day, she hadn’t been surprised when Trace had insisted on a full checkup for Mickey. The idea that his son might have been suffering in any way drove Trace nuts.

      She glanced at the little boy, quietly playing with blocks in his stroller. He was slight, but not noticeably undernourished. He might not have had a varied diet, but he’d had plenty. Still, the checkup couldn’t hurt, and if it put Trace’s mind at ease it might be worth this interminable torture.

      “I’m only here for you.” She leaned over Mickey. “And let’s get one thing clear up front. I don’t do needles—uh-uh, nada, no way. If there are shots involved, your daddy is on his own. In fact—” she flipped a block with her finger “—this is the perfect opportunity for father and son to go it alone. Yep, the two of you can bond over tongue depressors.”

      Mickey picked up the block to hand to her, but dropped it instead. He gave a small mew and shifted to look over the side of the stroller, then shifted his hopeful gaze to her. He looked so angelic, with his little bow mouth, baby-soft skin and windblown curls.

      She handed him the fallen block and earned a smile. She sighed. “Okay, for you I can probably hang tough. But only if your dad asks for help. Otherwise I’m staying put.”

      “Daddy.” He grinned.

      “That’s right. You and your dad are a team.”

      He went back to his blocks, and she returned to flipping leisurely through an entertainment magazine. She and three other women sat in navy short backed chairs. The walls and carpeting were beige on beige. An overflowing toy chest in the corner provided the only splash of brightness in the bland room.

      The outside door opened and, like every other woman in the room with a sick child, looking for a distraction, Nikki glanced up. And, like every other woman in the room, her heart quickened at the sight of Trace. His broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped frame neatly filled the opening. His air of authority and control—elements he wore as easily as he did the crisp khaki uniform and gun belt—preceded him into the room. And shot up the temperature of every woman within viewing distance.

      How unfair was it that the best-looking man in a fifty-mile radius had to be her boss? Not only did that put him both professionally and contractually off-limits, but the man was as disconnected from commitment as it was possible to be.

      She sighed, and resigned herself to being his friend. At least he was finally here, and they could get this appointment over with.

      The clock over the receptionist’s head read two-fifteen exactly. The perky blonde hopped to her feet, her bright smile aimed at Trace. “Sheriff Oliver? The doctor is ready to see Carmichael.”

      Wasn’t that convenient? Nikki met Trace’s gaze and slowly stood. The flash of panic, so unlike him, revealed a vulnerability she couldn’t ignore. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

      “Yes, please.” He took control of the stroller and followed the nurse to an examination room.

      Trace quickly expressed his concerns to Dr. Wilcox, sparing himself not at all.

      An older man, with a ring of graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, the doctor listened intently, СКАЧАТЬ