Sheriff Needs a Nanny. Teresa Carpenter
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Chapter Two
“WHEN can you start?”
As soon as Trace said the words the cell phone on the coffee table rang and a cry echoed from down the hall. He stopped and reached for the phone.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to get this. Do you mind checking on the baby for me?”
“Right.” Nikki surged to her feet and tugged on the short hem of her vest. She had the job! So she wasn’t keen to be working for a control fiend—she’d get to stay close to Amanda, and that was what mattered. Nikki could hardly wait to tell her sister. “Which room?”
He nodded toward the hall. “Last door on the right.”
Turned out Nikki needed the directions, because the crying had stopped. She found that odd. In her experience babies wanting attention usually got louder, not quieter.
She pushed open the half-closed door and peered inside. The room held only a crib and a dressing table/dresser set made of fine oak. The walls were white, the sheets and blankets a dark navy. There were no toys in sight.
A brown-haired, solemn-eyed baby sat quietly in the crib.
Nikki’s heart wrenched. She’d never seen such a sad child in her life. Poor baby. He must really be missing his grandmother.
“Hello, Carmichael,” she greeted him softly as she approached the crib. “I’m Nikki.”
She rested her forearms on the wooden railing and smiled, prepared to chat for a moment before plucking him from his bed.
He watched her with those big sad eyes—green, like his father’s—but made no move toward or away from her.
“Carmichael is a lot of name to live up to. Someday I’m sure you’ll rate every syllable.” Letting him get used to her, she reached out and wiggled his little nose. “In the meantime, you look more like a Mickey to me.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile.
Pleased by his reaction, she asked, “You like that? You like the name Mickey? I like it, too.” She gave his nose another wiggle. “Are you a fan of the mouse? He’d certainly bring a little color to the room, wouldn’t he?”
The boy rolled over and crawled to the side of the crib, using the rails to climb up. Once he stood opposite her, he turned shy again, eying her warily. She kept her smile in place, showing him he had nothing to fear.
Her patience was rewarded when he suddenly poked her in the nose.
“Uh-oh,” she said in mock alarm. “You got my nose.”
He grinned and poked her again.
“Oh, look at you—you got me again. I’m going to get you back.” She wiggled his nose one more time.
And he giggled.
The happy sound sent a buzz of triumph through Nikki. She’d made him laugh! The poor baby needed joy in his life, especially with a father ready to control his every move. Nikki readily admitted over-controlling parents were a hot button for her. If the location and the live-in facilities didn’t make this the perfect job she’d be tempted to turn it down. She didn’t look forward to working for a man with no give in his life.
Mickey raised his arms for her to pick him up, and her heart twisted in her chest. Here was another reason for her to stay. One smile made it worth her while.
She lifted him into a huge hug. One arm went around her neck and he laid his head on her shoulder. A lump grew in her throat. There was no feeling in the world like the soft weight of a baby cuddled trustingly in your arms.
She turned and found Trace framed in the open doorway.
Nikki met his green gaze over the baby’s head. From the raw emotion in the jade depths she knew he’d heard Mickey’s laughter.
“He likes you.” Trace came no further than the threshold, his gaze locked on his son in her arms. “Good. That was Dispatch. There’s been an accident. I have to go in. Can you start now? I tried Russ again, and he’s still not answering, so I need a sitter.”
When he raised his glance to her, his expression was closed again. For just a moment his guard had slipped. Now it was back in full force.
“Sure I can watch him. How long will you be?”
Mickey sat up in her arms and looked at his father, almost as if the baby understood what they were talking about. He couldn’t, of course, but tone and undercurrents were strong in the air. He probably felt the tension pulsing through the room. She bounced him in her arms.
“I don’t know. It could be late.” Trace’s shuttered expression didn’t change.
“Okay, I’ll call my sister and let her know I’ll be late.”
Trace gave one sharp nod. “Okay. I’ve got to change, then I’ll show you where everything is.”
“I’ll change Mick—Carmichael’s diaper and meet you in the living room.”
Trace nodded and disappeared down the hall.
Nikki laid Mickey down on the changing table. He made no move to twist or turn away. He simply lay still and watched her. His listlessness tore at her soul.
She chatted to him as she cleaned him up. He took in every word she said, but showed no reaction.
She suspected his grandmother, in her love and loss, had wrapped him in Bubble Wrap, cared for him to the extent she’d smothered the life from him. And Nikki feared his father, obviously a man of discipline and control, would go too far in the opposite direction, until all sense of laughter and spontaneity were lost to this sad little boy.
As soon as Mickey had laughed she’d known she’d have to find a way to work with the father, because this baby needed her. Mickey needed joy and discovery, activity and a sense of adventure. She’d learned to embrace life, and she wanted to share the world with him.
“You went for an interview and you’re starting now?” Her sister’s droll response to Nikki’s explanation of where she’d be for the evening restated the paradox of Nikki’s unorthodox hiring process. “Sounds like a pretty desperate situation.”
“It is. But it’s in Paradise Pines, so I’ll be close to you, and it’s live-in so I can move out of your place. It’s the perfect setup for our needs right now.” Nikki settled deeper into the corner of the couch, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, Mickey in her lap. “And you should see this little boy. Mickey is so sweet, but so sad. I’m sure he misses his grandparents, but his despondency seems to be habitual more than incidental. He lost his mother; his grandparents lost their daughter. I don’t think he’s ever known happiness.”
“Oh, Nikki, this does not sound good. You know you don’t have to move out.”
“You’re being sweet, but we both know I do need to move out. You and Dan need this time together. Besides, I’m a teacher. Morally and professionally 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