Patricia Johns - Safe In The Lawman's Arms

“I just got custody of Katherine—” he paused, accepting the new name for the little girl “—Katy—two days ago. She’s my cousin’s daughter.”

“What happened to your cousin?” Malory asked.

“Prison.” He shot her a tight smile. Crystal had been involved in a fatal holdup and she’d been the only one they could pin to the scene, so she’d gotten twenty years without parole. “So Katy has been left to me, the only family member who is stable enough to care for a child.” The old uncertainty swam through his gut and he sighed. “I’m a cop, as you probably figured out.” He put his badge down on the counter with a click. “And I need a nanny for her.”

“Understandable.” Her tone was low and compassionate. “That’s a lot of adjustment for both of you.”

“Afraid so.” As he put the coffee on, she pulled a sheet of stickers out of her purse and stuck one on Katy’s nose. The girl giggled with delight—a sound he hadn’t heard from her yet.

Katy obviously needed more than he had to offer.

“If her mom is in prison now, she may not have gotten all the care she needed,” Malory said. “How is she doing socially?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t know what normal looks like in a kid her age.”

“Is she potty trained?”

Mike shrugged. “Sort of. There have been a lot of accidents. I wasn’t sure how to tackle that.”

She passed Katy another sticker, and the little girl held out her hands for more.

“How is she at bedtime? Is she anxious, afraid?”

“It takes her a while to settle down,” he said. “I haven’t really been enforcing much of a bedtime. I’ve only had her for a couple of days, and I’ve let her stay up with me until she falls asleep around ten or eleven, and then I put her to bed.” He caught a look of faint disapproval crossing her face. “Not a long-term solution, I know.”

“She needs routine and a proper bedtime, but I understand you’ve been thrown into the deep end here.” She smiled sympathetically. “Preschoolers can be a handful at the best of times.”

“Thanks.” He was mildly relieved to be let off the hook. “Your references are excellent, but I’ve got to ask, what made you decide to work as a nanny?”

“I love kids.” She met his gaze with a comfortable smile.

“Why a live-in position?” he countered. “According to your résumé, you worked as a preschool teacher before this. In Billings. You running away from something?”

It was the cop in him. He couldn’t help it. He suspected the worst in everyone, it seemed, and this fresh-faced nanny was no exception.

Her earlier comfort evaporated and she smiled sadly. “Running? No. Walking briskly. I needed a change, and this seemed like a good way to get it.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I’d give you my criminal-record check if I didn’t think you’d already run one.”

Mike chuckled. She had him there. He’d run a thorough check on her the minute the agency gave him a name.

“So what are you walking briskly from?” he asked.

“Oh, it sounds so trite when I say it out loud. I was in a long-term relationship, and we broke up. I needed the change of scenery.”

It did sound a little trite, Mike had to admit, but it was believable.

“Mommy?” Katy said shyly, lifting a sticker up for Malory’s approval.

“At this age, every woman is Mommy,” Malory said, smiling apologetically. Then she bent down to inspect Katy’s sticker. “It’s lovely, Katy. But I’m not Mommy. I’m Nanny Mal.”

“Nanny Mal.” Katy’s face lit up. “I have a bear.”

“Will you show me?” Malory asked, and Katy ran from the room exuberantly.

“I haven’t seen her so happy,” Mike admitted. “She really seems to like you.”

“Was she living with her mother until recently?” Malory inquired.

“Yes. But it wasn’t a good situation. Her mother was in rehab for drug addiction, then relapsed and got involved a crime ring. If I’d known, I would have stepped in earlier, but my family doesn’t have a lot to do with me.”

“Because you’re a sheriff,” she concluded.

“Exactly. Social Services took Katy and brought her to me. Her mother gave up all rights to her. Signed her away.”

“That’s tragic.” Malory sighed. “Are you going to raise her as your own?”

The question didn’t surprise Mike, but he wasn’t entirely ready to answer it, either. He looked toward the preschooler running around the living room, pretending to search for the teddy bear that lay on the floor. She was sweet, but he knew that he was in over his head.

“I’m not planning on it,” he said quietly. “But while she’s with me, I’m going to need a hand.”

Malory didn’t answer, and when he glanced back at her, he found her gaze fixed on his face, her expression conflicted.

“You don’t like that,” he concluded.

“I’m not judging,” she said with a shake of her head. “I think you’re making the best decision you can.”

Mike shrugged. He wished he were equally convinced. He refused to let the girl go into the child welfare system, but he did hope that a family—far away from Katy’s own dogged beginnings—might want to adopt her.

“Well, I can pay what you’ve asked,” he said, his tone turning professional. “Katy seems to really like you. Is there anything else I should know?” He fixed her with an appraising stare.

“No, you have all the pertinent information.”

He paused for a moment, sorting through his impressions of her. She had more to her story, he could tell, but she came up clean in background check. Except for running a stop sign a few years ago, that was, but he could probably forgive her if that was the worst of her vices.

“When can you start?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“Great. You’re hired.”

A smile split her face, sparkling through her brown eyes. She was prettier than he’d been hoping for in a nanny. Too pretty to make this entirely comfortable. With a nod, he poured a cup of the promised coffee and slid it to her across the counter.

“Here you go,” he said. “Your room will be upstairs next to Katy’s bedroom. I hope that will be okay.”

“It’ll be great. Thank you very much, Sheriff—”

“Call me Mike.”

“Mike.” She shook his hand, and her soft fingers lingered in his grip. Then she pulled free and picked up her mug. “If it’s okay, I’ll get moved in today.”

* * *

SUNLIGHT SPILLED THROUGH the windowpane, pooling on the hardwood floor. Malory looked around the little bedroom. A handmade quilt covered a single bed. It looked like a rag quilt, composed of different fabrics with no apparent pattern, but it was cozy nonetheless. A whitewashed wooden wardrobe stood in one corner, a wicker chair angled next to it with a pile of fresh towels on the seat. A full-length mirror hung on one wall, and a twisted rag rug lay next to the bed, completing the homey decor.

The bedroom was on the second floor of the rambling old house. This property was large and rural, so the neighbors were out of sight. It was peaceful, and she paused to listen to a bird twittering happily outside the window that overlooked the spacious backyard. Two large trees provided shade, and an overrun flower garden lined one side of a low white picket fence.

The whole scene was almost impossibly perfect, Malory thought. It reminded her of the house she used to dream about when she was a little girl, sitting alone in the small apartment after school while she waited for her mother to finish work. She used to imagine the perfect home—bright, airy, cozy, well loved. In winter, she’d picture the fireplace, roaring with heat. In the summer, she’d daydream about the backyard, dappled in sunlight.