Single Dad Needs Nanny: Sheriff Needs a Nanny

“Shh, yes—Daddy is sleeping.” Not wanting to disturb Trace, she took Mickey to the kitchen and put him in his highchair with some grapes. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed she and Mickey had been away just over an hour. How long had Trace been here? And how long could he stay?

Checking to make sure Mickey was okay, she picked up the phone and called the Sheriff’s station. After Lydia answered, Nikki explained the situation.

“I just wanted to make sure he doesn’t have any appointments or anything I might need to wake him for,” she finished.

“Let me check his schedule.” Lydia went away and Garth Brooks sang about the rodeo. “He has a meeting, but I’ll call and reschedule for tomorrow. Let him sleep. He’s had a couple of late nights.”

“Yeah, it was after eleven when he brought Mickey to me last night. I kept the baby for the rest of the night, so I don’t know what time he got home.”

“It was a bad scene last night. Domestic disturbance. Trace went with the wife and kids to the hospital, then saw them settled in a shelter. Husband will do jail time if she follows through with pressing charges.”

“Tough night.” How many times had Nikki already said that to Trace? She admired him for his courage and fortitude. His wasn’t an easy job, but a necessary one, and he handled it with calm efficiency.

“Tough job.” Lydia echoed Nikki’s thoughts. “Tell him to forget about coming in unless I call him. I’ll get the guys to split his shift. He deserves the rest.”

“I’ll tell him,” Nikki answered dryly. “But I make no promises.”

Lydia laughed. “I wouldn’t expect you to. The man does have a stubborn streak.”

“Do tell. Duty is his life.”

“But life doesn’t have to be all duty.” With that cryptic message Lydia hung up.

Did she mean duty didn’t always have to be a heavy load? That the lighter side of responsibility was companionship and caring?

Nikki bet Trace didn’t see it that way. Now that father and son were well acquainted—they didn’t run the other way when they saw each other coming—it was time they started enjoying each other’s company.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Finished with his snack, Mickey banged his empty bowl on the highchair tray and called out for his father.

“Shh.” Nikki shushed the boy again, and quickly snagged the bowl away from him. “Daddy is sleeping. And it’s time for you to take a nap, too.” She wiped his hands and face. “That’ll give me time to figure out an activity for the both of you for tonight.”

“Night-night?” he said, a scowl forming on his tiny features.

“It’s daytime, so just a nap.”

“No,” he protested, even while a little fist rubbed his eyes.

“Yes, Mickey is a sleepy boy.”

“Boo?” He asked after his favorite stuffed animal.

“Yep, it’s Boo’s naptime, too.” Nikki settled Mickey and his stuffed giraffe, Boo, down, and then put in a load of laundry. While she puttered and cleaned, she plotted.

A barbecue might be just the thing. The boys could cook the meat while she put together a salad or dessert. Humming, she took out a couple of steaks to thaw.

Something soft and damp landed on Trace’s cheek, then slid toward the corner of his mouth. He opened one eye and found Mickey in his walker, right next to the couch.

“Hey, buddy.” Trace yawned. The kid was cute, but the curls had to go. He made a mental note for Nikki to schedule a trip to the barbershop.

Mickey flashed his four-toothed grin and patted Trace’s cheek again. “Daddy night-night?”

Trace stretched and glanced at the window. He hadn’t slept that late, had he? No, the sun still shone, but the shadows indicated he’d slept longer than he’d intended.

“Nope just a nap.” He sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Now Daddy has to go back to work.”

“No, no.” Mickey jumped up and down in the walker, stood still, and then jumped some more. “No, no.”

“Good boy, work those muscles.” Some of the anxiety Trace had held on to since the visit to the doctor’s office eased. In the past couple of weeks the boy had grown visibly stronger.

Trace glanced at his watch and groaned. “Great. I missed my appointment with the principal.”

“No, Lydia rescheduled you for tomorrow,” Nikki said from behind him.

Frowning, he turned so he saw her. She stood at the kitchen table. She pulled one of his T-shirts from a laundry basket, folded it, and set the shirt in a pile on a clean towel she had laid out on the table.

“How do you know that?”

“You were dead to the world when we got back. I didn’t want to wake you unless you had something scheduled so I called Lydia. She said it had been quiet today and to let you sleep, and that you shouldn’t bother coming in unless she called you. She was going to get some of the guys to cover for you.”

“Huh, the woman thinks she runs the station. Late nights come with the territory. I can handle it.”

“The point is you don’t have to. Lydia juggled the schedule.” She hit him with a knowing look. “You’re just afraid the guys will think you’re weak because you came home for a nap.”

“I didn’t come for a nap. I brought home a file last night to go through before my meeting today and I forgot it this morning.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Which means you came in, sat down and conked out. I think that says something.”

Picking up a couple of plastic blocks from the floor, he placed them on the tray of Mickey’s walker. The boy immediately grabbed one in each hand and clapped them together.

When she was right, she was right. Deciding to drop an argument he couldn’t win, Trace addressed a new issue. “I told you not to bother doing my laundry.”

“I’m not doing your laundry. I’m doing Mickey’s laundry,” she said, as she shook out another extra-large T-shirt, crisply folded it and set it on top of two others.

“Either those are my shirts, or you’re dating a man named Mickey.”

She grinned. “They are your shirts. But I only threw them in because I needed to fill up the load. You wouldn’t want me to waste important resources, would you?”

“You always have an answer, don’t you?”

Standing, he rubbed a hand over Mickey’s downy soft hair. He was now trying to eat the blocks. Trace maneuvered the walker into the middle of the room, giving Mickey space to move around. He immediately pushed himself back three inches. Backward was his main directional pull. He still needed to master forward.

“I am a teacher. I’m supposed to have the answers.”

Trace hid a chuckle in a cough. Not wise to encourage the woman. She already challenged his authority at every curve. But she did make him laugh.

“And the towels?” He fingered the stack next to his shirts.

She shrugged. “I love the feel and smell of a warm towel fresh from the dryer. It’s a small delight. I didn’t think you’d mind.”