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

He slowly turned, until Mickey’s mouse ears framed his head, but it was the compassion in his eyes that she reacted to.

“She was a wonderful mom. Just because your mother abandoned you, don’t be making judgments on mine. She did what she did because she loved us!”

“Nikki.” He set the paint pallet aside to come to her. He cupped the side of her face, gently running his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear. “I’m sorry. Of course she loved you.”

His understanding only made her feel worse, because she’d believed the same for the last years of her mom’s life.

“No, I’m sorry—so sorry. I should never have said that about your mother. We did fight,” she admitted around a strangled breath. “My mother and me. Once I turned eighteen and got to college I found a freedom I’d never known, and suddenly I blamed her for every restriction she ever enforced throughout my childhood.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a normal rite of childhood to rebel at some point.”

“But I understand now. I just needed more time with her. But she died instead.”

“You said it yourself, Nikki. She loved you, and she knew you loved her, that’s all that matters.”

“No.” She laid her forehead on his shoulder so she didn’t have to look at him when she confessed, “The last time I saw her she was trying to give me some advice. I didn’t want to hear it. We argued. I left mad.” Anguish tightened the constriction in her throat so her voice became a husky rasp. “It was awful. And that’s my last memory of her.”

“Wrong.” His fingers ran through her hair in soft strokes, his touch soothing her. “That’s one of many memories you have. No matter how many disagreements you had, your mother loved you, and she knew you loved her. That’s what you need to hold on to.”

“Right. You’re right. I have lots of memories.” She lifted her head to meet his perceptive gaze. “Thank you.”

He lowered his head and lightly touched his mouth to hers. “You’re welcome.”

Nikki grabbed the hammer she’d set aside and took out the last of her heightened emotions on the nails supporting the shelf—not least of which was frustration over his kiss. He knew it would redirect her thoughts to him.

She felt better about her mom, but more confused about her feelings for him than ever. So did she bless him or curse him?

NOT long after he arrived at work Thursday morning, Trace looked up from where he sat at his desk and saw Nikki approaching the glass doors to the Sheriff’s station. She had her purse hooked over her shoulder, her phone to her ear, and maneuvered Mickey’s stroller one-handed. Her animated expression told him her attention was wholly focused on the conversation.

He hopped to his feet, expecting the heavy glass door to be an obstacle, but it didn’t slow her down at all. She simply turned around and pushed her way in with her nicely rounded backside. He arrived in time to hold the door wide while she swung the stroller around.

“I’m dropping Mickey off now,” she said into the phone, making his brow rise in question. “Yes, I called the doctor’s service again. They said they spoke to him and he’ll meet you at the hospital.” To Trace, she mouthed the words, “My sister is in labor.”

Yeah, being a former detective, he’d figured that out.

Nikki managed to appear both excited and exasperated as she spoke to her sister.

“Do not call a cab. They’d have to come in from the city, and even coming from El Cajon would take fifteen to twenty minutes. Let me talk to Trace, then I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She smiled and waved when Lydia came to the counter. “Yes, yes. Amanda, I’m hanging up now. Remember to breathe.”

Disconnecting the call, Nikki let out a rush of air, and then she grinned big and did a little dance.

“Amanda is in labor. I’m going to be an aunt.”

“I gathered.”

“I’m her labor coach. I have to go.” She bit her lower lip, the excitement replaced by a conciliatory cringe. “I tried Josh, but he’s working. And I didn’t know who else—”

“Stop.” He held up a hand. “Go. Your sister needs you.” And Nikki needed to be with her sister. She’d fret terribly otherwise. “I’ll take care of Mickey.”

“Thank you for understanding. Here’s his diaper bag. I couldn’t carry everything, so I left his car seat out by your SUV.” She wrinkled her nose sheepishly. “Hopefully nobody is foolish enough to steal from the Sheriff.”

“Go. Take care of Amanda.” Trace took the diaper bag from her and handed over her purse, which she’d given to him instead. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“No. Wow.” Her eyes went soft and wide as she thanked him. “You are so sweet, but we’ll be fine. I’ll feel better if I have my own car, in case I need to run and get anything. Plus, if my brother-in-law, Dan, doesn’t get here, I’ll need to drive us home. He’s in a training class in Florida. He was supposed to be back on Saturday, but he’s going to try to get leave to come home early.”

“Hopefully that works out. Call me. Let me know how things are going. Or if you need anything.”

“I will.” Her phone rang. “Oh, my God, I have to go. I’m going to be an aunt!” She gave him a big hug, Mickey a kiss and then ran out the door.

Trace exchanged glances with Lydia. “So, do you think the roads are safe?” she asked.

“I’d have insisted on driving if I didn’t think so. She’ll be all right once she’s on the road.” Slightly bemused, he shook his head. “She thought I was being sweet?”

Lydia shrugged. “Most people don’t take their jobs as seriously as you do,” she explained.

“It’s a serious job.”

“Yes, it is. And you do it well. The whole town takes comfort in knowing you take the creed ‘To Protect and To Serve’ seriously.”

He nodded, gratified by the acknowledgment.

“But, Trace, just because your job is serious it doesn’t mean you always have to be. The girl thinks you were being sweet. Smile and enjoy the perks.”

“Perks, hmm?” Trace had never really thought along those lines. He got paid for his job. Perks were neither necessary nor sought after. But what the hell? He couldn’t get much done in his office with Mickey here, and it would save him from having to hunt up a babysitter.

“Daddy.” Mickey demanded Trace’s attention. He looked down to find little arms in the air. “Up.”

He hefted the boy into his arms and then stowed the stroller in his office, out of the way. “Radio me if you need me,” he told Lydia on his way out the door. “I’m going to take Mickey for a haircut.”

“Oh,” she lamented, “he’ll lose all those lovely curls.”

Trace shoved on his sunglasses. “Exactly.”

Ten minutes later he stood in the alien universe of What a Woman Wants, the new beauty salon in town. Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall in clear view of Mickey, who sat on a booster seat at one of the stations.

Mickey shrank back from all the women fawning over him, and Trace plainly read the plea for escape his son sent his way. He commiserated, but held tough.

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