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

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      “So you’re not interested in finding someone new to spend time with?”

      He went still. “No.”

      She waited for more, but it became clear nothing further would follow. She pushed. “It’s too soon? You must have really loved your wife.”

      He avoided her gaze by reaching for a block of cheddar cheese. “What I felt for my wife doesn’t matter now. I need to focus on raising my son.”

      “Of course. But you shouldn’t deny yourself a fulfilling relationship. A partner would be a benefit to Mickey, too.”

      “And why is it you’re not married, Ms. Rhodes?” Those amazing green eyes swept the length of her and back up. Heat flooded her cheeks. Those eyes exerted the most astonishing effect on her. As if he saw clear to her soul.

      “I’ve had offers.” But none worth giving up her freedom for.

      “I’m sure you have,” he acknowledged. “Yet you remain single. It’s not a bad thing to know your own strengths and failings.”

      “True.” And pretty deep. Had he gotten all that by looking into her eyes? Was her need for independence a strength or a failing?

      Disconcerted, she turned down the next aisle and found herself facing an assortment of dog food.

      Trace, following on her heels, asked, “Do we now have a pet I don’t know about?”

      She cleared her throat and continued down the lane. “Don’t be silly.”

      “I don’t know,” he mused with wry humor, “you’ve wrought such change in my household anything is possible. I can easily see you thinking Mickey needs a companion, followed by a trip to the pound.”

      “I’d never do such a thing,” she denied, her chin in the air. “Not without discussing it with you first.”

      He laughed outright. “Thanks for the concession.”

      “Hey, I’m not the one who’d be walking the dog in the middle of the night.”

      “I see how it is.”

      She grinned. “We’ll just put the puppy discussion on hold for now.”

      “Agreed. Mickey takes all my attention.”

      “Hello! Hello, Sheriff Oliver. It’s Mavis Day, from the Historical Society.” A tiny woman with a helmet of blue-gray hair in a bright pink shirt rolled up beside them. A white miniature poodle rode in the child’s seat in a purple handbag.

      “Of course. Mrs. Day,” Trace greeted the woman. “How are you?”

      “Suffering from the heat, like most of the population. My Pebbles just can’t take these high temperatures. Just the thing to spend a bit of time in the cool of the grocery.”

      “We take our relief where we find it,” he assured the woman with a polite smile. “No law against that.”

      “No law!” Mavis twittered. “Aren’t you funny?”

      “I make the occasional effort.” He turned to introduce Nikki but stopped, and she saw his hesitation. It shouldn’t, but that pause hurt.

      Because he had his reasons, she smiled and prepared to move on. “Don’t worry about me, obviously Mrs. Day has something to talk to you about. I’ll be at the baby food.”

      He frowned.

      “Oh, no, dear, you don’t have to run off.” Mrs. Day waved a wrinkled hand adorned by a truly impressive diamond. “I just wanted to thank you, Sheriff Oliver, for suggesting the pot-luck dinner for the community meeting next Wednesday. Such a thoughtful way of getting people involved in community affairs. But I didn’t mean to disturb your time with your new lady-friend and her beautiful daughter.”

      Oh, my, a double whammy. Nikki sneaked a peak at Trace, noted his narrowed eyes and the hard line of his mouth, but before he could correct the woman, Mrs. Day ran right on.

      “I can’t wait to tell the ladies at the Historical Society. I will admit I enjoy sharing happy gossip.”

      Trace turned sideways, so his profile faced the woman, before rolling his eyes. Nikki took that to mean Mrs. Day enjoyed sharing gossip of any kind. The accompanying impatience in his glance revealed his displeasure at being the topic of gossip at all.

      “I’ll tell you straight, we in the society have been worried about you. Many of us are or have been widows, and we know how hard it is to move on, to rejoin the dating pool. But it’s been over a year—”

      “Mrs. Day,” Trace cut in, his voice a strangled growl.

      “It’s okay, Sheriff,” she prattled on, patting his hand where it rested on the handlebar of the shopping cart. “It’s important to accept that life goes on. There comes a time when you have to make a move, or miss your chance at future happiness.”

      A tickle in Nikki’s gut forewarned her this conversation could not end well. Mrs. Day couldn’t know the good Sheriff as well as she thought to make that pronouncement.

      Mrs. Day nodded sagely. “If I hadn’t grabbed him up, the Widow Thompson would have snagged my Mike. He’s a good man. He does like those smelly cigars, but he steps out to smoke them. Does his farting out there, too.” She turned to Nikki. “As you know, dear, a woman appreciates small considerations like that.”

      Nikki met Trace’s stunned and appalled glance, and knew hers was equally bug-eyed. She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. The outrageous statement defied any other reaction.

      “Mrs. Day, you have the wrong impression. This is my son, Carmichael, and his nanny, Nikki Rhodes.”

      Nikki liked the sound of her name on his lips. He continued to be formal with her. Though she called him Trace, and had asked him to call her by her first name, it was always Ms. Rhodes. She suspected he used the formality to foster distance between them.

      “Oh.” The woman blinked, and then smiled, waving her diamond again. “Your son. Of course. He’s a charmer already. These lovely curls fooled me for a moment. And don’t worry about the relationship thing. It’ll happen. I have a feeling about you two.”

      This time Nikki didn’t dare look at Trace at all. He seemed speechless. To add to the ridiculousness of the moment the poodle now popped up from the purple purse and yipped. Twice.

      Mickey jumped, giggled then clapped.

      “Shh, Pebbles.” Mrs. Day quieted the dog as she glanced worriedly over her shoulder. “Mr. Wilson will hear you.” She sent Trace a brazen grin. “I won’t keep you any longer. I have to keep moving. Mr. Wilson and Pebbles have a love-hate relationship. She loves the cool air in here, and he hates the fact she’s a dog. Oh, there’s Millie. Did you hear her mother broke her leg? She was washing windows and fell off a stepladder. Her ma likes to have a cold cocktail on these hot afternoons. I hope she had more sense than to drink before climbing a СКАЧАТЬ