Single Dad Needs Nanny

by Teresa Carpenter

  “You say that, but you weren’t here.” Nikki stopped in the bedroom doorway, heartfelt in her efforts to convince him she was right and he was wrong.

  Mickey stirred as Trace changed him. He grinned at Trace, mentioned something about cake, and went back to sleep when Trace settled him in his crib.

  “Amanda was so excited about this outing.” Nikki continued her explanation. “She was in tears when I suggested not going. Her doctor has told her not to drive for a while, but I knew she would drive herself if I didn’t take her. I determined that was the bigger danger.”

  “Leave your sister out of this. You didn’t want to hear a word I said after I mentioned the weather.”

  “That’s because this is San Diego. They’re always wrong about the weather.”

  As if cued, a loud boom echoed overhead, followed by lightning strobing across the sky, backlighting the windows and illuminating Nikki’s features in stark relief. He looked for remorse, found none.

  With nature on his side, he didn’t have to say a word; he simply arched a dark eyebrow.

  She propped her hands on her hips. “Anyway, the weather’s not why I was late. There was—”

  “A rollover accident, blocking the freeway. I know.”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief. “So you did hear about that? Good.”

  “Good? How is any of this good?”

  “You figured out where I was. I kept trying to call you, but the service was out on my cell.”

  “I didn’t know where you were! I speculated, hoped, prayed, but for all I knew my son could have been under that semi.”

  Her defiance drained away, along with the color from her face. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “It was a terrible thing to visualize.”

  “Oh, Trace.” She took a tentative step toward him. “You have to know I love Mickey. I’d die before I let anything happen to him.”

  His anger faded at her words. Any pretense that his overwhelming concern had been for Mickey alone disappeared as he recognized his rage for what it truly was: a poor disguise for the fear he felt at the possibility of losing the people he’d come to love, of losing her.

  He bridged the space between them and framed her face in his hands.

  “That is not an acceptable alternative,” he told her, before claiming her mouth with urgent need.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE demand of Trace’s mouth took over Nikki’s senses. Defenses well and truly down, she returned his kisses with eager demands of her own. His arms tightened around her as he lifted and carried her across the hall. She wrapped her arms around him and clung. Sweet relief added the tang of tears to the embrace.

  He was right. Nikki hated to be told what to do, and she’d thought she knew better. But she’d been wrong and she knew it.

  The thought of Trace waiting here, worried about his son being crushed in a car accident—just like his wife had been—made Nikki sick to her stomach. It had always been about more than the weather, and she should have honored Trace’s wishes.

  “Hey, no crying.” He pulled back to kiss the wetness from the corner of her eyes, to trace the path of despair and erase it with tenderness. He lowered her to the bed, his weight causing the bed to dip as he joined her.

  His pace slowed, relaxed, but was no less demanding. Gentle strokes and featherlight touches stoked the flames of desire started by fierce caresses. He delayed only long enough to ask about protection before taking the loving up a notch.

  The whistle of the wind and the staccato beat of rain against glass, accompanied by the booming drum of thunder, lent music to the tempest brewing inside the sultry heat of the bedroom. Lightning cracked as they arched in perfect harmony, punctuating Nikki’s cry of ecstasy.

  Nikki buttered toast, humming a jazzy little tune under her breath. It was a beautiful day. Mickey sat at the table, eating dry fruity loops, waiting for Trace to finish his shower.

  Nothing was different from every other morning of the past two months—except everything was different.

  “Someone is in a good mood this morning,” Trace said as he stepped around her to grab a plate from the counter. “Hey, buddy.” He rubbed his hand affectionately over Mickey’s head on his way to his customary seat at the table.

  Though his tone was more subdued than teasing, she responded with a sassy grin.

  “I won’t deny it. I’m in a fabulous mood.” Picking up two dishes, she carried them to the table, placing a plate of toast in the middle of the table and a bowl of scrambled eggs on Mickey’s tray.

  She hesitated beside Trace, to see if she’d get a good-morning kiss, but he dug into his food, not looking up.

  “I’d think you’d be in a better mood,” she said, on her way back to the kitchen for her own plate.

  His green gaze shot up to meet hers. As enigmatic as always. She failed to read his mood, but got a clue when he asked, “No regrets?”

  “I regret making you worry.” She slid into the seat to his right. “But spending the night with you? No. What about you?” She tore off a piece of toast, took a tiny bite. “It did get a little out of control last night.” She cleared her throat. “Twice.”

  The thunderstorm had caused some flooding, and he’d been called away not long after they first made love. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for him to get home, and woken up when he’d picked her up and carried her back to his bed for another round of luscious loving.

  “Exactly. I didn’t give you a lot of choice.”

  “Oh, Trace.” Nikki reached for his hand. “Is that what’s bothering you? Believe me, I was exactly where I wanted to be.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve wanted to be with you ever since you kissed me at the station.”

  He glanced at Mickey, as if gauging his reaction.

  She sent him a wry grin. “I don’t think you need to worry. He’s a mite young to understand.” She looked down at her plate and the shredded pieces of toast. “It sounds like you’re the one with regrets.”

  “No, of course not.” He set his fork down. “Last night was amazing. You were incredible.” His hand turned under hers, his fingers lacing with hers. “I’ve wanted to be with you, too.”

  “Really?” Pleased, she flushed.

  “Oh, yeah.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You’ve taught me there are times when control is highly overrated.” Then he released her and stood. “But I have to go.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Flustered by the news he’d been lusting after her, she watched as he took his plate to the counter, then returned to kiss Mickey’s head.

  “Bye-bye, Daddy!” Mickey called.

  Trace rounded the table and stopped next to her chair. He lifted her chin and planted a hard, passionate kiss on her lips. “See you later.”

  It was a promise that had heat flooding her cheeks while she watched him make his exit. After he was gone, she continued to sit in stunned confusion. From his stilted responses she really had begun to believe he regretted what had happened between them. She understood why, of course.

  Honor and duty meant everything to Trace. For him to take advantage of someone in his care and under his protection would be repugnant to him. She liked to think their relationship had progressed beyond employer-employee to friendship long ago, and this was just the next step. But she accepted Trace would be more sensitive to the situation.

  Still, the notion he felt shame for what had been one of the most beautiful nights of her life nearly broke her heart.

  She hoped she’d settled any concerns he had.

  If his parting kiss meant anything, then she had to believe he’d accepted they were both consenting adults, capable of handling an intimate relationship.

  Of course that begged the question: could she handle a relationship with him?

  She loved Trace. And Mickey. A glance at the boy showed he’d managed to get as much egg on his tray and himself as he had in his mouth. Risi
ng, she made quick work of cleaning him up, before placing him in his playpen with a few of his favorite toys.

  “Have fun, kiddo.” Even as she kissed his head and left him to play, her mind roiled with emotions.

  She returned to the kitchen to clean up. So much of the time they’d spent together had been right here, in the dining room and kitchen. Had that given her a false sense of family? Of kinship with father and son? Had proximity caused her to manufacture feelings—?

  No, that didn’t feel right. She loved Trace. He made her feel alive, yet safe. His courage and honor. His seriousness and the fact he believed in what he did. The way he kept saying he was no good at emotions, yet he was infinitely gentle with Mickey and had honestly grown to love his son.

  In truth, they worked well together. Their ideas of child-rearing and household scheduling jived so well she rarely felt suffocated by his need for control—though she’d come to realize that was more her view of him than a reality. His was more a natural confidence, paired with discipline and decisiveness. He didn’t have to have his way; when she gave input he listened. He was considerate, always letting her know when he’d be late, and intelligent, and he needed her to make him laugh.

  Oh, yeah, she loved him.

  And after last night she believed he cared about her, too. But was it enough to make a future together?

  “So, are you going to take the job?” Amanda asked, from where she sat feeding Anthony in her small living room.

  Nikki put the finishing touches to broccoli salad for their lunch. She’d finally listened to yesterday’s cell messages on her way to her sister’s, and one had been from Irvine Central School District. When she’d returned the call, they’d offered her a teaching position.

  “I don’t know,” she equivocated, drizzling her special poppyseed dressing over both salads. She set the bowl of dressing on the counter and licked her finger, enjoying the tangy sweetness. One of her mother’s recipes. “It’s middle school kids.”

  Amanda took the plate Nikki handed her, then opened her arms so Nikki could take the sleeping baby and place him in his cradle next to the rocker.

  “So?” Amanda demanded. “I know you prefer the little guys, but middle school kids need good teachers, too.”

  “Of course.” Nikki waved away the obviousness of that comment. “But—”

  She stopped, unable to come up with anything that wasn’t a flat-out excuse for the truth. Which was she didn’t want to go.

  “But?” Amanda prompted.

  Nikki just shook her head.

  “Oh, Nikki.” Amanda rocked forward in the chair to rest a hand on Nikki’s arm. “You’re not worried about leaving me, are you? Because Irvine is only a few hours away. We’d see each other all the time.”

  “Not like we do now,” Nikki protested. This was one of her main objections. “I’d miss all the important milestones, all Anthony’s firsts.”

  “You love to teach. And you’ll be able to afford the condo you’ve been wanting. I can’t believe you’re not jumping on this opportunity.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then make me understand. Do you have another plan? You’ve always known what you want for your future. This isn’t like you.”

  Nikki set her salad on the coffee table. “It’s not my future I’m worried about right now. It’s my life.”

  Amanda narrowed her eyes and scrutinized Nikki. She groaned. “Oh, no.”

  “I’m in love with Trace,” Nikki confessed, reaching for her iced tea to avoid meeting her sister’s eyes.

  “Nikki, Nikki,” Amanda commiserated, and then her eyes went wide. “Oh, my goodness, you slept with Trace. I knew it,” she crowed, waking Anthony so he cried. “It’s okay, baby,” Amanda cooed, setting her salad bowl aside to pick up her son. “All is good. Auntie Nikki just got her some last night.”

  “Amanda!” Nikki said, outraged, looking to where Mickey played on a blanket on the floor. “There are babies present.”

  “Yeah, right. Mickey is going to run home and tell Daddy we were talking about him. Come on,” Amanda coaxed her. “Give up the details. That man is hot.”

  Nikki fanned herself, agreeing without words, and actually needing the cooling air as memories of the night flashed through her head. Reliving Trace’s slow, sure touch, his demanding kisses and driving passion, spiked her temperature despite the air-conditioner blowing full blast.

  “That’s one word to describe him.”

  When she left it at that, Amanda pleaded for more. “You can’t leave me hanging.”

  “Let’s just say the man is thorough in everything he does.”

  “So it was wonderful?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” Amanda did a little dance with Anthony. “All kidding aside, he’s been good for you. I’m so glad you found your way to each other.”

  “What do you mean, he’s been good for me?” Nikki asked, surprised by the comment.

  “I’ve noticed the difference in you these past couple of months. You’re more serene, less worried about details and protecting your freedom.”

  “Really? Huh.” Now Amanda mentioned it, Nikki realized she did feel more relaxed these days, less pressured to exert her independence—not counting her arrogant episode yesterday. Another indication Trace was the right guy for her.

  “Has he asked you to stay?”

  “I haven’t told him about the offer.”

  “Nikki!”

  “What? I just picked up the message on the way over here.”

  “So, do you think he’ll ask you?”

  There was the question of the day.

  Before she could answer, her cell rang. Perfect timing. She scrambled for her purse and pulled out her phone. Five minutes later she hung up.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Amanda said.

  “No.” Nikki swallowed around the lump in her throat. “That was the nanny agency. Trace contacted them today to ask for a new nanny.”

  Nikki hit the bungalow at full steam. She was surprised to see Trace’s official vehicle in the drive. Lucky for him she hadn’t had to hunt him down to deliver Mickey into his care, because she had a few words to say to the sniveling coward he probably wouldn’t want the world to hear.

  The rat hadn’t even had the guts to tell her to leave to her face.

  Hmm. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel; maybe she should wait until he left? Then she could pack in peace and find him some place highly public to have her showdown. Why should she care what people thought of him when he didn’t care what her agency thought of her?

  He deserved it.

  But Mickey didn’t. She checked on him in the rearview mirror. He’d fallen asleep on the ride from Amanda’s. He’d come so far. Going from a sad little boy, emotionally and physically, to a healthy toddler all giggles and hugs.

  She was going to miss him so much.

  Better to make the break as fast and as quietly as possible for his sake. With that in mind, she let herself inside.

  Trace was in the kitchen, sandwich makings in front of him. Ignoring him, she carried Mickey to his bedroom and put him in his crib. Heart breaking, she ran her hand through his big-boy hair. “I love you, baby,” she whispered. “Have a happy life.”

  When she turned, Trace stood in the doorway. “Hey, I came home hoping we could have lunch.”

  “Right. Even the condemned get a last meal.” She brushed past him.

  “What? Hey.” He grabbed her hand and drew her to a stop. “You’re upset.”

  “You think?” She twisted her wrist to free her hand. “Let go. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

  He frowned, but released her. “What is wrong with you?”

  She shook her head and walked away. Fast and quiet, she reminded herself. For Mickey.

  “Nikki?” For a weak-kneed slug he easily kept pace with her, staying hard on her heels. “Would you stop and talk to me?”

  “Now you want to talk?
Oh, I forgot. You’re real good at talking. To everyone but me.”

  “Okay—enough.” No longer conciliatory, he blocked her way when she headed for the back door leading to her apartment. “You’re not going anywhere. Calm down and tell me what changed between this morning and this afternoon.”

  His supposed obtuseness chafed, making her angrier. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. You may be a coward, but at least own up to what you did.”

  “Coward?” he said, low and fierce. “Explain.”

  She walked away, put the couch between them. She needed distance. More, she needed to pack and get away from here—before she lost any more of herself.

  She paced to the fireplace and back. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t walk away without some answers.

  “You tell me. I was beginning to believe you were going to make the change from broken, unemotional man to a loving man and father. I was wrong.”

  “I’m not broken,” he denied, crossing his arms over his chest, closing himself off. “And I warned you I was no good at emotion.”

  “Oh, did that sting?” It was wrong to take pleasure in hurting him, but something—rage, or a dim hope she might break through the stone fortress he called a heart so Mickey didn’t suffer the same fate in the future—kept her pushing. “The truth usually does. And when you’re so absorbed with dodging the pain of loss and rejection you can’t see the good for the bad, then, yeah, you’re broken.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know I’ve heard the bad parts of your past—how your mom abandoned you and your father, how he was an unemotional man. But I’ve never heard any good memories.”

  His eyelids flickered, but nothing else moved on his frozen features.

  “Before your mother left were there any happy moments? Laughter? Hugs? If not, you were better off without her. And she shouldn’t be given any power over your future at all.”

  “She has no power over me.”

  “Oh, she does. You’re afraid to trust your feelings because you’re afraid it won’t be enough, like it wasn’t enough for her, and you’ll be left hurting again. She has power over you, over Mickey, even over me. And it infuriates me.”