Sheriff Needs a Nanny. Teresa Carpenter

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      “How old were the kids in your care?”

      “Two and four when I started with them.”

      He glanced down at the paper in front of him, which she could see was a copy of her résumé. “And you were with them for two and half years? Why’d you leave?”

      “My parents were in an accident and killed.” She could almost say it now without having her throat close up. ‘My sister needed me. She was in her senior year of high school. I took a semester off to settle my parents’ affairs, and to be there for her until she graduated.”

      “It must have been tough.” A gruffness in his voice reminded her he’d lost his wife just over a year ago.

      “We had each other, which helped.” But it had still been the toughest year of her life.

      “Right.” He cleared his throat. “So you haven’t had care of a baby?”

      “Not as young as thirteen months, no, but I’m sure I can manage. I have a master’s in Child Development, and I love kids. In fact, my sister is expecting, so in six weeks I’ll be an aunt for the first time.”

      He showed no change of expression at the mention of a pending birth. From mild to effusive, most people showed some form of acknowledgment. It made her wonder about the relationship between him and his son, and why Trace was only now taking custody of the boy.

      She knew from the agency that he was a widower, that the baby had survived the accident that had killed his mother, and that Trace’s mother-in-law had had care of the baby until a week ago.

      “So what’s the deal with you? Why are you just now getting custody of your son?” She put the question out there.

      A dark eyebrow lifted at her bluntness.

      She smiled and lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I believe in open communication. Life is simpler that way.” She kept her smile in place and waited. So sue her. She wanted to know, and she’d found asking usually netted answers.

      After a moment he answered. “I’ve always had custody. My in-laws were just helping out until I got settled in a new location.”

      It took thirteen months? But she didn’t voice the thought. Obviously there was something more involved than a simple move. And there would be, of course. A cop and a newborn were hardly a good fit on their own. Plus, something in his voice told her he hadn’t been completely comfortable with the arrangement. She took an educated guess.

      “I imagine it was a comfort to your in-laws to have their grandson close while they dealt with losing their daughter.”

      He leaned back in his seat, his brawny forearms crossed over the wide expanse of his chest. He eyed her suspiciously. “Most people assume I was taking advantage of my in-laws. Not that it’s any of their business.”

      From his defensive posture Nikki guessed “most people” weren’t entirely wrong. But she also heard a note of hurt pride. Five years as a teacher had taught her to read people, be they little or big or somewhere in between. For a man of his control, who made duty a way of life, a shadow on his honor would bite big-time.

      “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.”

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