Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny. Alison Roberts
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She nodded, folded the cloth over the edge of the sink and followed him to the living room. “It’s pretty late. It must have been bad tonight.”
“Bad enough.” He grimly dismissed the accident that had claimed two lives. A lawman couldn’t afford to make it personal. “That’s not what we need to talk about.”
“Of course.” She leaned forward. “Carmichael is such a sweet little boy, but so sad. He must miss his grandparents a lot.”
“He asks after them, yes. They’ve been the constant in his life. He has to get past that.”
“And he will, as you replace them in his affections.”
He frowned, unnerved at being anyone’s emotional stable. But this was his son, so he put steel in his backbone and strengthened his resolve.
“Bonding will take a bit of time,” she continued, right through his moment of panic. “Especially with a schedule as erratic as yours.”
That stung. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Are you?” She flushed and held up a placating hand. “I’m sorry. I understand yours isn’t a nine-to-five job, but it’ll really help if you can find some time during the day to spend together. That’s usually easiest during a meal, or at bath or bedtime.”
“I know the importance of an established schedule.” How exactly had he become the one on the defense?
“I’m sure you do. And it’s early days for the two of you together. I’m sure we’ll find a system that works for all of us.”
He appreciated her enthusiasm even as he resisted it. “Sit down, Ms. Rhodes. We have a few ground rules to discuss.”
“Of course.” The words were terse, reminding him that, as a teacher, she was more used to making rules than following them.
“First of all, there should be no touching.”
Her brow furrowed and a question came into her eyes.
“You’re an attractive woman,” he clarified. “And I’m a healthy adult male. I’ve noticed you’re demonstrative. You talk with your hands and you express emotion by touching. We need to maintain a professional relationship, so no touching.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “That makes sense. What else?”
“I don’t need or want you to cook for me. No getting cozy around the kitchen table or snoozing on the couch.”
“Cozy?” She actually sounded offended by the notion. Perching on the arm of the couch, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I have to cook for the baby and me anyway. It’s just as easy to include enough for you. In fact, it’s harder to cook for one and a half than for three, so it’s just plain wasteful not to include you. If you don’t want me to leave it warming in the oven, fine. I’ll tuck the food into the refrigerator and you can dig it out. As for snoozing on the couch—you were late. I fell asleep.”
Frowning, she reached for the baby blanket she’d used as a throw and began to fold it. When she continued much of the defiance was missing. “From the sound of your schedule that’s likely to happen again, so how do you suggest we handle the problem?”
Good question.
“I’ll put a travel crib in your rooms out back. If you get sleepy, you can take Carmichael with you and I’ll pick him up when I get home.”
“That’s disruptive for the baby.”
“Yeah.” His gaze roamed from her Blushed Rose toenails to her two-inch gold hoop earrings. “Well, I think it’s best. I’d also like you to wear a uniform. It doesn’t have to be formal, just keep to black and white.”
Nikki shifted the blanket she’d folded from her lap to her chest and crossed her arms. “Maybe you should write down all these rules so I don’t forget them.”
He lifted a brow at her tone. “I’ll let that slide, because it’s late and we’re both tired. But know this: I don’t believe in ignoring problems. I believe in addressing the issue to prevent further problems from arising.”
“Now, see, I have a different philosophy. Some problems, yes, need to be resolved right away. Others, if you ignore them, often go away.”
“Or someone else handles them for you.”
“Sometimes, and it’s lovely when that happens. Other times new info comes to light which changes the situation so the original problem goes away.” She stood and gathered her belongings on the way to the door, where she stopped and met his gaze straight-on. “I don’t think you need to worry about us getting cozy around the dinner table.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
Nikki purposely timed her arrival for 7:00 a.m. the next morning. Not a minute before or a minute after. She’d learned her lesson about punctuality when it came to Sheriff Oliver.
As good as he looked in his skin, she was sure encountering him half-naked again would bend more than one of his rules.
She needn’t have worried. He met her at the door fully dressed. He took her suitcase and set it inside the door.
“Carmichael is still sleeping,” he told her. “And I got a call from Dispatch so I have to go.” He grabbed his keys from the bowl on the counter and headed back to the door.
Oh, my, he did look fine in his uniform.
He wore it with an easy air of command that made the olive-green pants and khaki short-sleeved shirt—accessorized with holster and gun—downright sexy. The confidence and authority he projected made her nerves tingle.
She told herself it was in annoyance for his desertion even as she caught herself staring.
He met her gaze. “I’ll show you your rooms tonight.”
“Wait.” She stepped into his path. “What about the time you’re going to spend with Carmichael?”
“It’ll have to be tonight.” He walked around her. “I’ll try to check in during the day. I left my numbers by the phone if there’s an emergency.”
The door closed behind him and Nikki found herself alone in the quiet house. That so had not gone how she’d expected.
That night, Nikki followed Trace Oliver’s broad- shouldered, slim-hipped saunter to the garage behind his house. She eyed his chiseled profile, waiting for the right moment to address her concerns. She’d had all day to plot her course of action. She’d try to catch him in a good mood, but if that failed she’d have to risk the fallout. Mickey had needs and she meant to see them met.
“These will be your rooms.” Trace opened the door and gestured her inside.
Head held high, she squeezed past him, inhaling soap, mint and man, an intoxicating combination. It was enough to distract her from her surroundings—until the wheels of her suitcase bumped up against the threshold and stopped. With a small tug, she proceeded into the room.
He’d been polite but distant since arriving home. Mickey was sleeping, so Trace was taking the opportunity to show her where she’d be staying.
The garage had been converted into a studio apartment. A large living area included a small kitchen in the far right corner. A full bath occupied the far left corner, with a closet dividing the two. Like the main house, the furnishings here were modern, simplistic, in dark gray and burgundy.
Yeah, a few feminine touches might bring it up to the level of an impersonal hotel room. Not a problem. She needed to clear out of her sister’s place anyway. The infusion of her things would brighten this space, bring a warmth and hominess to the small suite.
She moved deeper into the room and caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Intent on fostering the professional relationship they’d agreed