Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny. Alison Roberts
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his own hand fisted in her curls, holding her captive for his mouth, made Trace a little jealous of his kid. He didn’t blame Mickey for using any opportunity to get his hands on those soft and lustrous tresses.
“Hey,” Trace said, not wanting to startle her.
She turned to glance at him over her shoulder. For a moment her features lit up at the sight of him, and then she remembered her irritation and her expression closed up.
“Hello,” she responded softly.
Another good sign. A man knew where he stood with Nikki. When she had a mad on she was all cold tones and go-to-hell glances—after she’d told you what a dork you were being.
Donna had locked herself away and sulked, and half the time he hadn’t even known why. Was it any wonder he’d given up trying?
“Daddy, Daddy.” Mickey’s legs twisted and bucked as he tried to sit up, and Nikki fought to finish the changing job.
Trace moved closer, hoping the boy would settle down if he could see him.
“Hold still, you little octopus.” She deftly pushed little legs into tiny blue jeans and pulled them up over his butt. “There, all done.” She threw up her hands, as if finished tying off a steer.
Mickey rolled into a seated position and grinned at Trace. His little arms popped into the air—a bid for Trace to pick him up. Trace hesitated only a moment before lifting Mickey. The boy immediately wrapped little arms around Trace’s neck and laid his head on Trace’s shoulder. Trace patted his back.
“Is he sleepy?”
“No. He’s just happy to see you.”
“Oh. Good.” He jiggled the baby, as he’d seen her do. “I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”
She eyed him warily. “I can watch Mickey.”
“Actually, we’d like you to join us on an outing to the park.”
“You’re taking Mickey to the park?” A hopeful note mingled with surprise.
“Yeah.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “I have a picnic meal and everything.”
“Hmm.” She considered him, and then left the room. He followed her down the hall and to the dining room table, where she peeked into the picnic bag. “Sandwiches, apples and grapes, pasta salad.” She turned her head and swept him with a speculative glance. “A nice assortment of goodies, but you’re missing dessert.”
Moving to the counter next to the stove, she picked up a foil-covered platter. Bringing it to him, she lifted the corner to reveal chocolate-chip cookies. “Perhaps these will work?”
Her playfulness drew him forward. But he stopped short of reaching for her as he wanted to. Instead he bent to smell the cookies.
Looking up at her, he grinned. “Perfect.”
Nikki leaned back on her hands and sighed. It didn’t get much better than this: a mild summer evening, a soft place on the grass, and a view of father and son feeding ducks at the edge of the pond.
Trace handed Mickey some breadcrumbs and the boy threw them into the water, where five colorful ducks fought over the soggy meal. Mickey giggled and clapped and the whole process repeated.
She had their meal spread over the red gingham tablecloth Trace had included. They could have sat at a picnic table, but Trace wanted the full picnic experience. And Mickey had more freedom to move around on the ground.
“Dinner’s ready,” she called out.
Trace waved, and a moment later joined her on the makeshift blanket. “This looks great.”
“You put it together. I just laid it out.”
“Yeah, all my favorites.” He settled Mickey between them and put a bib on him.
“Let’s give him a few grapes to start out, and I’ll feed him after we’ve eaten.”
“Good idea.” He took a big bite of ham and turkey sandwich.
She went for the pasta salad and some apple slices and watched him eat. She owed him an apology, and it was going to take more than the chocolate-chip cookies to salvage her conscience.
She didn’t know where the conversation had gone so wrong the other night, but she knew it was her fault. Her bluntness landed her in awkward moments. When would she learn the virtue of tact?
Trace deserved his privacy, to grieve in his own way, to make peace with himself, or not, in his own time.
“I’m sorry.” The apology came out strong and crisp, the sincerity clearly evident.
But it didn’t come from her.
Trace met her gaze over the napkin he used to wipe his mouth. “You were trying to help and I jumped all over you. It was uncalled for, and I hope you can forgive me.”
“Only if you forgive me first. I had no right—”
“Stop right there. Never apologize for caring. Not to me, not to anyone.” His vehemence startled Mickey, and the boy’s chin wobbled until Nikki smiled and tickled his cheek. Mickey grinned and popped a grape in his mouth, happy again.
“Being in the military, in law enforcement, I’ve seen more situations than you can believe that would have been cured simply if someone had cared.” He peered into her eyes until she had to blink to escape the intensity in his. “From the beginning, I’ve told you things I’ve never spoken to anyone about. It’s because it’s there in your beautiful eyes—a genuine sense of caring.”
He thought her eyes were beautiful. “Trace, I’m not some rare creature. Lots of people care.”
“You’re more rare than you think. Look at Mickey.” They both focused on the baby, who’d snagged a cookie while they’d been talking and was smeared with chocolate from eyebrows to chin.
Nikki groaned. Now, there was the picture she wanted her boss to see right when he was telling her how attentive she was. Oh, well.
“Kiddo, you’re a mess.” She leaned over and kissed a clean spot on his cheek. “But you taste good. I might just eat you up.” He giggled, and she laughed with him.
Gathering him into her lap, she looked around for the diaper bag. Once she’d located the bag, she found the wipes. “Sorry about that. I’ll have him cleaned up in a snap.”
Trace took the wet wipe from her and went to work on Mickey’s face himself. Mickey giggled and wiggled, trying to dodge his father’s efforts. Trace met her gaze over the boy’s head. “This is what I’m talking about. A month ago he wouldn’t have even touched the cookie, and now look at the fun he’s having. He was despondent and sad and now he’s happy.”
“You have as much to do with Mickey’s transformation as I do.”
“Not nearly.”
“You’re wrong. He recognizes he’s safe with you. Your steadfastness and the routine you’ve set give him necessary boundaries. He’s thriving in the environment you’ve created.”
“I wish I believed that.”
“You can. Before you know it he’ll be challenging those boundaries, but that’s okay, too. In fact, it’s great, because it means he trusts you.”
Doubt played over his features as he leaned back on his hands and kicked his long legs out in front himself. “I still say you’re the miracle-worker here. Mickey adores you. I’m totally second string.”
“Not true.” The man needed some strokes. “Mickey isn’t the only one that’s come a long way in a month. You’ve made strides, as well.” She gently touched his fingers where they lay on the blanket. “He loves you, Trace.”
A flash of longing crossed