Sheriff Needs a Nanny. Teresa Carpenter

it’s my job to do something when I see a child in need.”

      There was a short telling silence. Then a sigh sounded down the line. “Nikki, do you really know what you’re getting into?”

      “Not at all.” And yet Mickey’s sadness had awakened all her protective instincts.

      “Amanda, he’s thirteen months old and can’t walk.” She ran her fingers through his silky brown hair, the curls so soft and fine they felt like down feathers. Mickey looked up at her with his solemn eyes. Her heart wrenched. “He doesn’t even put his feet out when I set him down. His grandmother must have carried him all the time.”

      “Isn’t all this his father’s problem?”

      “That’s just it. Trace is new at all of this. I’m not sure he’ll recognize the problems. In fact, he may make things worse. He’s all about control and structure, and Mickey is well behaved so there’s nothing for Trace to question.”

      “But, Nikki,” Amanda calmly rationalized, “what can you do?”

      “Trace Oliver is a good sheriff, which means he’s dutiful and honorable. I’m sure he wants to do what’s best for Mickey. He’s just clueless what that is. I can teach him.”

      “Ha!” The rude exclamation tickled Nikki’s ear. “I’m due in a month and a half, remember? I’ve read every book on the subject over the past seven months and I can tell you with little exaggeration that there are twelve thousand ‘right ways.’ Everyone has an opinion, and some of them are really out there.”

      “Yeah.” Nikki smiled. Her sister did like to know what to expect. She took after Mom in that way. “But this is what I’m trained in. I know I can help Trace and Mickey.”

      “I have no doubt you can. I’ve never seen anyone better with kids than you. Because you care, and they can sense it. But that’s the problem.” Amanda’s concern reached through the connection. “You give too much of yourself. This whole thing sounds like a heart-trap to me.”

      “So you don’t think I should do it?”

      Another sigh. “I know it will haunt you if you don’t, but I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

      Yeah, that worried Nikki, too. But she’d promised herself on her eighteenth birthday she wouldn’t live life afraid to feel. She gave herself to life, heart and soul. Sometimes that meant she got hurt, but it also meant her life was full of rich emotions and lasting memories.

      “Life isn’t meant to be pain-free.”

      “Nikki,” Amanda said gently, “are you sure this isn’t the backlash of your relationship with Mom?”

      The question sent sharp pangs of sorrow and regret through Nikki. The frayed state of her relationship with her mother at the time of her death would forever eat at Nikki’s soul. She hated, hated that her last conversation with Mom had been an argument.

      “I can’t say it doesn’t strike a chord. At a time when he should be reaching for independence, Mickey is totally despondent. If he doesn’t develop some spirit he’ll never stand a chance.”

      “You mean, against his father?”

      “No. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Was that how she really felt? Nikki shook her head. She didn’t know. She hadn’t spent enough time with either of them to make that call. “This is what I know—if I can bring them together now, then they’ll have a foundation to build on that will hold them together when the times get rough.”

      After stating her concern one more time, Amanda ended the call. Nikki understood her sister’s hesitation.

      She’d defended him to Amanda, but Trace had barely looked at Mickey, much less touched him before leaving, which burned Nikki’s hide. Somehow she needed to find a way to bring father and son alive, to teach them to love one another.

      Two months. She’d give herself the summer to make a difference, then she’d reevaluate her situation.

      Mickey shyly petted her hair. She sighed and shifted him in her arms. She had a bad feeling she’d lose a part of her heart this summer.

      Long after he’d expected to be home that night, Trace pulled into his driveway. The sight of a light inside sent an odd sense of warmth through him. He’d missed that sign of homecoming.

      The thought of Ms. Rhodes waiting inside sent an altogether different type of heat surging through his blood. But he quickly blanked off the unruly attraction and pushed his way out of the SUV.

      Ms. Rhodes was so far off-limits she might as well be on Mars.

      The balmy night air flowed over him as the pine-scented breeze lifted the hair off his brow. Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside and traded fragrant pine for the savory aroma of roast chicken. His stomach growled, reminding him of the hours since his last meal.

      He moved to the counter separating the kitchen from the living room to place his keys in their regulated dish, and found a note saying a plate was made up for him in the microwave.

      She’d cooked for him.

      He checked it out. Chicken, rice and a melody of mixed vegetables. It looked damn good. Again that mysterious warmth glowed in his depths. He cursed.

      Hell, man, get a grip. What? Was he going soft at the ripe old age of thirty-five? How could a home-cooked meal and a baby in the house throw him so off-stride? So he had a son to raise. He’d do it like he did everything else—with discipline and structure.

      Which in no way explained why he’d hired Ms. Rhodes.

      With her short pants, flimsy sandals and figure-hugging navy vest, she’d looked more prepared for a day at the races than a job interview. And her cavalier “it worked out” attitude, along with her schedule with the Hendersons, spoke of a spontaneity he found untenable.

      But she’d made Carmichael laugh.

      Forking up a bite of chicken, Trace stood over the back of the couch and looked at Carmichael, asleep in Nikki Rhodes’s arms. The four-car pile-up on the interstate freeway had taken hours to clear up and document. The Highway Patrol would do the forensics on the fatalities, but his men had been first on scene, so he’d been responsible for traffic control and dealing with the injured.

      Death. There was no escaping it.

      But then he was used to loss in one form or another. His wife to a car accident, much like the one tonight. His mother had just left—abandoning him and his dad when Trace was ten. And his dad had died two years before Trace married Donna.

      Yeah, good old Mom and Dad. Never a demonstrative man, his father had taught Trace all about integrity and honor, but he’d frowned on any display of emotion. Which was why Trace’s mom had left his dad. Left them. She’d used to say he was just like his dad.

      He didn’t know how to love.

      Hell, he’d had no business marrying Donna. But she’d pushed for it and he’d found her companionable enough. Plus they’d been great in bed. He’d thought that was the best he was going to get.

      Of course she’d wanted more from him than he could give. They’d fought. Often. Then Donna had landed on the idea of a baby. With his dad as an example of what kind of father Trace would make, he’d been against it. Especially when they were so often at odds with each other. She’d gotten pregnant anyway.

      After his initial anger, he’d settled down. She’d been so excited, and he’d figured with a baby to focus her attention on she’d get off his case. God, she’d deserved better.

      No, he should never have married. He wouldn’t make the mistake again.

      He pretended the thought had nothing to do with why his gaze sought out Nikki Rhodes. Seeing her and Carmichael cuddled together, Trace envied the peace on his son’s face.

      God, her porcelain skin looked