Alison Roberts - Single Dad Needs Nanny - Sheriff Needs a Nanny

“Maybe.” But he wouldn’t be any less responsible for Mickey, wouldn’t be any less alone. He pushed his empty plate away. “Excellent. Your civil servant thanks you.”

She grinned, picked up the plate and carried it to the sink. “You know you’re not alone.” She took a glass from the cupboard, poured some milk and placed it in front of him. “Your in-laws are on the east coast, not dead.”

“I think they’ve done enough damage.”

“What about your parents? Would they be able to help you out?”

“Ha!” A harsh bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “My parents make Donna’s look like parents of the year. At least they erred on the side of caring too much.” Maybe the late hour had his defenses down, or maybe he was mellow after the warm meal, but Trace found himself talking to Nikki.

“My mom was the opposite of yours. She didn’t want to follow Dad around, but he insisted. He wanted me with him. Don’t know why. He wasn’t a demonstrative man. Anyway, she’d had enough by the time I was ten, and she left us.”

“Trace.” Her soft heart overrode the rules and she covered his fingers with hers. “That’s so sad—for you and your father. Was he in the military when she met him?”

Her touch warmed him more than her sympathy. Maybe that was why he’d opened up tonight. Because he’d known the tenderness she showed Mickey every day would be his reward.

“Yes. Within a year after leaving us she’d remarried and started a new family.”

Her fingers tightened on his. “I hope you know she wasn’t a victim. She knew your dad was military when she married him. She changed the rules on him. ”

“I learned all I know about emotions from my dad. She said he had no feelings and I was just like him. We weren’t enough for her.”

“She said you lacked emotion and then she abandoned you?” Nikki’s shoulders went up and a fierce glint lit up her eyes, making them gleam like liquid gold. “Stupid woman.”

He laughed. Something he wouldn’t have thought possible tonight.

God, she made him feel good. Her humor, her compassion, her sheer willingness to go to battle for him turned his melancholy mood into something altogether different.

And altogether more dangerous.

“I like you, Ms. Rhodes.” Again his attempt at lightness failed. The words came out husky, a growl of want.

The momentum of her emotions had pushed her forward over the table, so her weight rested on her elbows and their faces were mere inches apart. Eyeing the delicate curve of her mouth, the silky creaminess of her skin, he sought desperately for control.

Smiling sheepishly, she lifted her gaze from his mouth. As their eyes met, hers darkened, and she licked her lips.

“I like you, too, Sheriff Oliver,” she whispered.

He watched the words form, her lips shiny with the essence of her, and longed to move the few inches necessary to taste her.

Instead he pushed away from the table, creating vital distance between them.

“You should go.”

Nikki let herself in the back door. “Hey, it’s just me,” she called out, though she doubted Trace heard over the wails coming from down the hall. Still, she continued to speak as she went to investigate. “I need to pick up some laundry.”

She stopped in the bathroom doorway. Ah, bathtime. Mickey did not like to be wet. The otherwise sweet and cheerful baby turned into a wild child whenever dipped in water. Throw in a hair-washing, like now, and he was one unhappy, slippery mess.

Trace was kneeling next to the tub on a bathmat, soaked from shoulders to knees. A drop of water fell from his hair to land on his cheek, disappearing into his five-o’clock shadow.

The Sheriff looked good wet. Nikki took new appreciation in why men liked wet T-shirt contests. Transparent cotton clung to his skin, defining hard muscles flexing in motion.

Enjoying the show a little too much, she knocked on the door. “Hey, what’s all the ruckus about in here?”

“Save yourself. It’s not safe in here.” Trace only half looked over his shoulder, but it was enough for her to catch the frown of frustration and concentration furrowing his brow. “And it’s a good thing he doesn’t talk yet, because the language is pretty ripe.”

“Neeki! Neeki!” At the sight of her Mickey renewed his efforts to reach safety, struggling in Trace’s grasp and lifting his arms for her to rescue him.

“Stay still, you little eel,” Trace said. “We just have to finish your hair and you can get out.”

“Hang on.” Nikki turned into Mickey’s room across the hall.

Carrying a plastic blue puppy back to the bathroom, she could swear she heard him mutter, “Coward.”

“I heard that, but lucky for you I’m going to save your hide anyway.” She knelt next to Trace, glad she’d worn shorts.

“Oh, I’m lucky,” he grumbled, keeping a hold of his slippery son so he didn’t fall and crack his head. “Mickey, sit down.”

Mickey’s frown matched Trace’s as he nailed him with a glare and yammered off a string of angry baby talk.

Nikki grinned. “I think it’s a good thing we don’t know what that means.”

“Oh, we’ve had quite the conversation. I just need him to stay still long enough for me to rinse the shampoo out.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at Trace. “Watch how it’s done. Hold him steady,” she told him, and then, focusing on Mickey, she smiled. “Hey, baby, Daddy just doesn’t know the trick, huh?” She brought the blue dog up and wagged it in front of the tearful Mickey. “He doesn’t know Puppy gets his hair washed first.”

Mickey quieted as Nikki swiped some bubbles up and worked them over the plastic blue head of the toy dog. Distracted, the boy reached for the toy and held it while Nikki made a show of washing the dog’s hair. “That’s the way,” she encouraged Mickey. “We’re washing Puppy’s hair. And next it’s your turn. Smile,” she said to Trace, flashing her gaze over him. “That ferocious look probably works wonders with criminals. Not so much frightened little boys.”

The frown instantly cleared. A light of humor even touched his green eyes. “Hey, you’ve got it backward. In case you didn’t notice, the kid had the upper hand.”

She laughed. “Hand me the small pitcher from the left-hand cupboard,” she said quietly to Trace. He placed it in her hand, and she scooped up half a pitcher of water and poured it over Puppy.

Mickey squealed, and dunked Puppy in the water, splashing both Nikki and Trace.

“First dog food, now a puppy in the bath.” Trace sent her a sidelong glance. “You’re determined for me to get the boy a dog, aren’t you?”

“Not guilty,” she denied. “I always wanted a dog when I was a kid, but my mom said we weren’t settled enough to make a good home for a dog, that it wouldn’t be fair. She was right.”

“So you’re saying we aren’t ready for a dog?”

“No.” She refused to let him trip her up for his amusement, his own form of distraction. “You said you needed to focus on taking care of Mickey, and I agree with you.”

“So no dog?” He grinned, proving she’d caught him in his game.

“Not yet. Good boy,” she praised Mickey. “Time to do your hair. Close your eyes.” She squeezed hers closed for a moment, to show him what she meant. He copied her, and she quickly dumped clear water over his head. He started to whimper. “Hang in there, big boy, only one more time.” She made quick work of it, and Trace was right there with a fresh washcloth to dry Mickey’s face.

“Nice job.” Trace easily lifted Mickey from the water and Nikki wrapped him in a towel. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” She shrugged easily. “We adults have to stick together.”