Safe In The Lawman's Arms. Patricia Johns
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making her look a little more girl-next-door than he’d been expecting of a nanny. She wore a loose pink tunic-style top and a pair of blue jeans.
“Hi,” Mike said. “Miss Smythe?”
“Call me Malory.” She shook his hand firmly. “Do you have my résumé?”
“Yes, the agency emailed it.” He stepped aside and gestured her in. She paused in the doorway and looked around the sitting room in silent appraisal, her gaze falling on little Katherine. She bent down to the girl’s level.
“Hello, sweetie,” she said quietly. “What’s your name?”
Katherine didn’t answer, big blue eyes fixed on Malory’s face dubiously.
“This is Katherine,” Mike said. “She’s three.”
“Katherine,” she said with a nod. “That’s a very big name for a very little girl. Can I call you Katy?”
A smile flickered at the corners of the toddler’s lips and she sidled closer to Malory, holding up Mike’s badge. Malory’s eyes widened in admiration and she let out an exaggerated gasp.
“What do you have there?” Malory asked, pointing at the badge. “Can I see it?”
Katy held out the badge and Malory took it, then looked up at Mike, one brow raised.
“Thanks,” he said sheepishly, accepting the badge from her. “I’ve been trying to get that back all morning.”
“Thank you, Katy. That was nice of you,” Malory said and stood up.
He sighed. She hadn’t used any special trick. The little girl already seemed to like this woman better than she liked him.
“Why don’t you come through to the kitchen and I’ll get you a coffee while we talk,” Mike suggested, and he led the way through the living room, past the fireplace. This room used to be his sanctuary—big-screen TV, a wall of bookshelves, a comfortable leather couch with a footrest where he watched the game with friends. Now it was covered in Katy’s playthings, snacks and half-finished juice boxes. The kitchen was spacious, and so far still in one piece. He gestured to a stool at the counter and headed for the coffeemaker. Katy followed them, her gaze still locked on Malory.
“I just got custody of Katherine—” he paused, accepting the new name for the little girl “—Katy—two days ago. She’s my cousin’s daughter.”
“What happened to your cousin?” Malory asked.
“Prison.” He shot her a tight smile. Crystal had been involved in a fatal holdup and she’d been the only one they could pin to the scene, so she’d gotten twenty years without parole. “So Katy has been left to me, the only family member who is stable enough to care for a child.” The old uncertainty swam through his gut and he sighed. “I’m a cop, as you probably figured out.” He put his badge down on the counter with a click. “And I need a nanny for her.”
“Understandable.” Her tone was low and compassionate. “That’s a lot of adjustment for both of you.”
“Afraid so.” As he put the coffee on, she pulled a sheet of stickers out of her purse and stuck one on Katy’s nose. The girl giggled with delight—a sound he hadn’t heard from her yet.
Katy obviously needed more than he had to offer.
“If her mom is in prison now, she may not have gotten all the care she needed,” Malory said. “How is she doing socially?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t know what normal looks like in a kid her age.”
“Is she potty trained?”
Mike shrugged. “Sort of. There have been a lot of accidents. I wasn’t sure how to tackle that.”
She passed Katy another sticker, and the little girl held out her hands for more.
“How is she at bedtime? Is she anxious, afraid?”
“It takes her a while to settle down,” he said. “I haven’t really been enforcing much of a bedtime. I’ve only had her for a couple of days, and I’ve let her stay up with me until she falls asleep around ten or eleven, and then I put her to bed.” He caught a look of faint disapproval crossing her face. “Not a long-term solution, I know.”
“She needs routine and a proper bedtime, but I understand you’ve been thrown into the deep end here.” She smiled sympathetically. “Preschoolers can be a handful at the best of times.”
“Thanks.” He was mildly relieved to be let off the hook. “Your references are excellent, but I’ve got to ask, what made you decide to work as a nanny?”
“I love kids.” She met his gaze with a comfortable smile.
“Why a live-in position?” he countered. “According to your résumé, you worked as a preschool teacher before this. In Billings. You running away from something?”
It was the cop in him. He couldn’t help it. He suspected the worst in everyone, it seemed, and this fresh-faced nanny was no exception.
Her earlier comfort evaporated and she smiled sadly. “Running? No. Walking briskly. I needed a change, and this seemed like a good way to get it.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I’d give you my criminal-record check if I didn’t think you’d already run one.”
Mike chuckled. She had him there. He’d run a thorough check on her the minute the agency gave him a name.
“So what are you walking briskly from?” he asked.
“Oh, it sounds so trite when I say it out loud. I was in a long-term relationship, and we broke up. I needed the change of scenery.”
It did sound a little trite, Mike had to admit, but it was believable.
“Mommy?” Katy said shyly, lifting a sticker up for Malory’s approval.
“At this age, every woman is Mommy,” Malory said, smiling apologetically. Then she bent down to inspect Katy’s sticker. “It’s lovely, Katy. But I’m not Mommy. I’m Nanny Mal.”
“Nanny Mal.” Katy’s face lit up. “I have a bear.”
“Will you show me?” Malory asked, and Katy ran from the room exuberantly.
“I haven’t seen her so happy,” Mike admitted. “She really seems to like you.”
“Was she living with her mother until recently?” Malory inquired.
“Yes. But it wasn’t a good situation. Her mother was in rehab for drug addiction, then relapsed and got involved a crime ring. If I’d known, I would have stepped in earlier, but my family doesn’t have a lot to do with me.”
“Because you’re a sheriff,” she concluded.
“Exactly. Social Services took Katy and brought her to me. Her mother gave up all rights to her. Signed her away.”
“That’s tragic.” Malory sighed. “Are you going to raise her as your own?”
The question didn’t surprise Mike, but he wasn’t entirely ready to answer it, either. He looked toward the preschooler running around the living room, pretending to search for the teddy bear that lay on the floor. She was sweet, but he knew that he was in over his head.
“I’m not planning on it,” he said quietly. “But while she’s with me, I’m going to need a hand.”
Malory didn’t answer, and when he glanced back at her, he found her gaze fixed on his face, her expression conflicted.
“You don’t like that,” he concluded.
“I’m not judging,” she said with a shake of her head. “I think you’re making the best decision you can.”
Mike shrugged. He wished he were equally convinced. He