Deputy Valenzia stopped a few feet from her to inspect the damage, his face unreadable. Sydney waited for the explosion, for him to berate her for her stupidity. To call her a careless woman driver. When he finally met her eyes, she was jolted with awareness.
Set over a pair of amazingly high cheekbones—cheekbones any woman would sell her soul for—his eyes were black as tar and so bottomless she felt as if she were swimming in them. And…warm? A little amused even, which made no sense at all.
Why wasn’t he screaming at her? Why wasn’t he ranting and raving? If it had been Jeff’s BMW damaged in a fender bender, he’d have chewed the poor driver to shreds by now with harsh words and legal threats.
“So, what happened here?” he finally asked.
“I’m very sorry,” she said. I’m very sorry? Lame, Syd, lame.
Valenzia just nodded, his eyes still locked on hers, as if he expected her to say something else. Or maybe he was checking to see if her pupils were dilated.
“I didn’t mean to hit it,” she said, and the second the words left her mouth, she cringed. That’s a good one, she thought, realizing how dumb that sounded. People didn’t usually mean to hit anything, and if they did, they didn’t admit it. And what had her lawyer told her? Never give more information than asked for, and when they do ask, only give them the basic facts. Never elaborate. Police had a way of tripping people up and making them say more than they meant to, or even things they didn’t mean.
Deputy Valenzia looked at her van, then back to his car, rubbing a hand across his rough jaw. “I have to ask, how exactly did you hit the front of the car with the back of your van?”
“I was, um, backing up.”
One eyebrow quirked up and she could swear she saw another glint of amusement play across his chiseled features. It was unbelievably sexy. And the fact that she thought so was unbelievably wrong. Just because he wasn’t one of Jeff’s men, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a bad cop.
“You make a habit of driving around the neighborhood in reverse?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“I was going home,” she said, hitching a thumb over her shoulder to indicate her house. “I forgot something.” She didn’t mention what she’d forgotten, because then he would probably cite her for operating a vehicle without a license. It would never hold up, but having to actually go to traffic court was a huge inconvenience. She’d found that if it wasn’t a moving violation that would ultimately affect her driving record, it was easier just to pay the ticket and be done with it.
“You have insurance?” he asked.
“Of course.” Did he think she was irresponsible?
He shrugged and pulled out a cell phone. “You never know.”
Here it comes, she thought. He was going to call in his sheriff buddies. She couldn’t begin to imagine the rumors this would start. Maybe they would give her a Breathalyzer test and make her recite the alphabet backward, every third letter, just for fun.
He punched a few buttons, frowned, then banged the cell against the heel of his palm, mumbling a curse. “Phone’s dead.” He stuffed it back in his pocket. “Could I use yours?”
She hesitated. Wouldn’t that be like bringing a gun to her own execution?
“Come on,” he coaxed, giving her a lazy smile that revealed a neat row of white teeth. “It’s the least you can do.”
“Umm…”
“If you’re worried about your safety, I’m harmless,” he assured her. “I’m a cop.”
Hence the cop car. If she told him no, would she look like she had something to hide? It’s not as if there were no other phones in town. In fact, she was surprised he didn’t just call it in on the car radio.
But maybe if she cooperated he would go easy on her. “Sure, you can use my phone.”
“I’ll need your insurance information, too.”
“It’s inside.”
He gestured to her house. “After you.”
She walked up the driveway, acutely aware of him behind her. She could only hope her butt didn’t look as huge as it felt. As if he would even be looking at it. When they approached the side door he reached around her to open it. At least he had decent manners.
“Nice place,” he said as they stepped through the door.
Not nearly as nice as the family estate she’d lived in with Jeff, but appearances had never mattered much to her. A modest three-bedroom, two-bath Cape Cod, this house suited her and Lacey just fine. And though it was older, like the house she’d grown up in back in Michigan, it had character, not to mention almost half an acre of land. And the best part was that it was all hers.
“The phone is on the counter,” she said, and as Deputy Valenzia brushed past, his bare arm grazed hers, making her breath catch. The sheer energy of his presence seemed to somehow shrink the room to the size of a closet. He could have been standing fifty feet away and he would still have been too close.
With sudden alarm she wondered if maybe he wasn’t as harmless as he seemed? What if he did work for Jeff and, now that he had her alone, planned to harass her? Or something worse. Who would people believe? A respected officer of the law, or the local lush?
“Proof of insurance?” he asked.
She grabbed her purse and dug through her wallet for her insurance card, aware that her hands were trembling again. She held it out to him, clutching the purse to her chest like a shield. He just stared at her for a moment and she could swear she saw that hint of amusement again in the slight lift of his brow. Did he think this was funny?
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“You look a little…tense.”
In her situation, so would he. “I’m fine.”
He shrugged, then reached up and took the card from her, his fingers brushing hers. She jerked her hand back, as though she’d touched a hot oven.
He gave her a look that said he might be questioning her mental stability. “Thanks, I’ll just be a minute.”
He dialed and leaned himself against the edge of her kitchen counter, crossing long muscular legs at the ankles. His jeans were tattered to the point of indecency and his T-shirt, in addition to having had both sleeves torn off, was faded black and emblazoned with the state seal.
And he was big. At least six-one, maybe even taller, and at five-three, she felt like a midget.
Sydney stayed close to the door—just in case she had to make a run for it—clutching her purse to her chest. Maybe she was overreacting. Absolutely nothing in his stance suggested he was about to pounce. In fact, he seemed totally relaxed.
But the way he stared at her with those dark, dark eyes, it was as though he could see right through her. Maybe it was a cop thing. Or maybe, playboy that he was, he was checking her out.
Sure he is, Syd. A gorgeous man like him looking at a woman like you.
Not that she didn’t consider herself attractive. She was, in an unrefined way. Makeup, though she’d tried every subtle technique known to man, made her look cheap and her wild red hair never cooperated when she attempted the latest sleek, sophisticated style. Most days it ended up in an unruly mass of curls pulled back in a ponytail or wrestled into a clip.
And clothes? That was another disaster. She wore conservative skirts and blouses to work, but otherwise had the fashion sense of a brick. She relied on her daughter for fashion tips and clothes swapping and as a result was the only thirty-four-year-old resident in all of Prospect who dressed as if she were still in high school. But she was comfortable that way. She liked herself that way, and all of the complaints and criticisms Jeff had dished out over the course of their marriage—and there had been a lot—hadn’t broken her spirit. Though at times he’d come close.
“Hey, Margie,” Deputy Valenzia said to the person on the other end of the line. “My car was hit and I have the insurance info.” He paused, scowling. “Can’t I fill it out the next time I come in?” The answer must have been yes because he read off Sydney’s name, insurance company
and policy number. Glancing up at the clock over the sink, he scowled again. “Could you just take care of it for me? I have to get back before April wakes up.”
April. His latest conquest? Maybe that was her new neighbor. Great. That meant a constant police presence on the block until they broke up, which from what she’d heard, thankfully wouldn’t take long. The only thing worse would be if Deputy Valenzia was living there, but her luck couldn’t possibly be that lousy.
“No,” he continued, sounding irritated. “I’m next door. My cell phone is dead. I think April drooled on it.”
Okay, unless his girlfriend had overactive salivary glands, April had to be a dog. One never could tell though…
He rattled off what she figured was probably his badge number, thanked Margie—whoever she was—then hung up the phone and pushed away from the counter, rising to his full, intimidating height. “Thanks.”
Wait a minute? That was it?
She frowned. “You’re not going to call for reinforcements?”
His dark brows knit together. “For a fender bender?”
“No Breathalyzer?”
“Do you need one?”
“Of course not! I just thought—” She really needed to keep her mouth shut.
He walked toward her, his footsteps heavy on the tile floor, and Sydney stiffened again, even though it was obvious he didn’t plan to arrest her. Maybe he didn’t work for Jeff after all.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.
He stopped barely a foot away, towering a good ten inches over her, until she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He held out the insurance card for her. “Next time watch where you’re going,” he said.
She nodded and plucked the card from between his fingers, careful not to make contact again. God, she hoped he was only visiting next door. She didn’t think she could handle the stress of knowing there was a deputy living so close, monitoring her every move.
“Thanks for the phone.” He stepped past her to the door and as he was walking out he turned back, flashing her a lazy grin. “See you around, neighbor.”
CHAPTER TWO
DANIEL VALENZIA managed to contain his amusement until he was out the door and on his way across the lawn to his rental. Sydney Harris needed to take a big fat chill pill. But he couldn’t really blame her for being tense, considering all she’d been through the past few months.
Her sleazebag ex-husband must have done quite a number on her. Daniel had overheard a few of the mayor’s henchmen bragging about how they’d been harassing her. He’d been half tempted to take his concerns to Sheriff Montgomery, but he knew that as long as Jeff Harris was mayor, no action would be taken.
Call him old-fashioned, but Daniel believed in the law and the principle of innocent until proven guilty. He also believed that what goes around comes around, and eventually the mayor would get exactly what he deserved. And who knows, maybe Mrs. Harris was getting exactly what she deserved for being stupid enough to marry a man like the mayor.
Slipping through the front door, Daniel paused. He’d been sure April would have woken from her nap by now. Rousing every fifteen minutes last night had apparently worn her out. He tiptoed down the hall and paused in front of April’s room, pressing his ear to the door.
Silence.
In hindsight, he shouldn’t have left her alone in the house, but he was still getting used to taking care of a baby.
He opened the door a crack and peeked into the room. The sounds of her faint, whispery breathing assured him she was still sound asleep. He should have just enough time to hop into the shower and take a long-overdue shave.
He crept down the hall to the bathroom. April, however, had some sort of supersonic baby radar, because the second his foot hit the tile floor she started to wail.
Daniel felt like banging his head against the wall. Something had to be wrong with that kid. She never slept! He just wasn’t cut out for this parenting stuff. What if he screwed her up for life? April was so small and helpless and he didn’t know the first thing about what an infant needed.
He hurried back down the hall to her room. She was lying on her back, fists balled up tight, legs and arms extended, face purple as she screamed bloody murder. Boy did she have a temper; just like her mother, if memory served. And yet when April wasn’t screaming she was a pint-size heartbreaker.
When she looked up at him with her big blue eyes, tears rolling down her rosy cheeks, his first instinct was to do something crazy, like run out and buy her a pony. He’d always been good with kids, but usually when they were old enough to toss a football or swing a bat. Like his nephew, Jordan.
He had no idea what to do with this squirming, demanding bundle of attitude.
He lifted her up out of her crib and cuddled her to his chest, patting her warm, little back. Her lower lip quivered pathetically and her cheeks were damp with tears. She looked up at him with wide, accusing eyes, then let loose again with another round of ear-piercing screams.
“Come on, April,” he coaxed, bouncing her gently. “Go back to sleep. Twenty more minutes, kiddo, that’s all I’m asking for.”
Things would get easier when he found a babysitter, he told himself. Which had better be soon because he’d used up all of his paid leave. The next option would be to take unpaid family leave, but he’d already blown through a chunk of his savings buying baby furniture, diapers, formula and the million other things required to properly care for an infant. She’d been dropped on his doorstep by the social worker with little more than a diaper bag with a dozen or so diapers, a few threadbare sleepers and a couple of bottles.
It was no wonder the dads on the force never seemed to have a nickel to spare.
He’d placed an ad in the paper for a sitter, and even put up a flyer at the local high school to find a kid looking for a summer job, but most high school and college students spent their summers working at the resort up the mountain. He couldn’t begin to compete with the hourly rate they paid. So far the ones who had answered the ad either couldn’t work the hours he needed, or were so scary he wouldn’t let them within ten feet of April. The only decent, affordable day-care center in town had a waiting list almost four months long—and he’d still need to find someone else to watch her when he worked the occasional evening or weekend shift. In the past few weeks Daniel had developed a healthy respect for the stresses a single parent faced. He’d never considered having kids, much less having one alone.
He still had no idea why April’s mother listed him as the father on the birth certificate. A simple blood test would have proven the baby wasn’t his. Maybe Reanne didn’t know who the father was, and Daniel’s name was the first to come to mind. Or maybe because he was a cop she felt he was the only person she could trust. She’d told him horror stories about growing up in foster care, being shuffled from family to family, never feeling she belonged anywhere. He could understand why she wanted better for April. But he couldn’t be the one to provide that. He didn’t know a damned thing about raising a baby. But when social services had contacted him after Reanne’s death and he saw April, looking so tiny and helpless, he hadn’t been able to turn her away.
He would take care of her until her real family could be found. He’d hired a buddy of his, a retired cop turned private investigator, to locate a relative willing to adopt her.
Daniel just had to hold on until then, and in the meantime hope he didn’t scar the kid for life.
SYDNEY SMOOTHED the putty knife one last time over the newly patched wall. A little sandpaper and paint and it would be good as new.
After returning home she’d taken a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away some of the festering resentment toward her former employer. It hadn’t worked. And now, as she sorted through the items lying on the table in front of her—handmade gifts from her students, class photos and keepsakes—she felt pitifully empty as well. Teaching was her life. Nothing filled her with joy like spending her day surrounded by her students.
Th
rough the kitchen window she heard a car door slam. Then the side door flew open and the source of her troubles breezed in like he owned the place. Which he did just to annoy her, despite being warned by her lawyer that it was against the law. Law that he carried conveniently in his pocket.
Jeff’s short blond hair—which without the dye would now be mostly gray—was neatly combed and sprayed into place, his dark blue Italian silk suit tailored to an impeccable fit. He never left home looking anything less than perfect.
“Get out,” she told him.
“What, no kiss?” Jeff shrugged out of his jacket, draped it over the back of a kitchen chair and opened the refrigerator. “What’s for lunch?”
She stood and clasped her thin silk robe snugly to her chest. He’d seen her in her robe thousands of times, but not since the divorce. It felt like an invasion of her privacy now. “There’s a Taco Hut two blocks away.”
“I wanted to let you know Kimberly’s class was canceled and I can’t take Lacey out tonight. I’ll pick her up Saturday instead.”
“That’s what the phone is for.”
“And I didn’t think you would mind if I stopped by for a bite to eat, seeing as how I’m paying the mortgage.”
“How stupid do I look?”
He glanced at her over the refrigerator door. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”
“You’re here to gloat, admit it. Someone must have called to congratulate you by now. To let you know you’ve screwed me out of a job.”
He pulled out a package of lunch meat, the mustard and a butter knife from the drawer, and put them on the counter. “You lost your job?” He flashed her that fake innocent look she could spot a mile away.
“Don’t patronize me. Have you even thought about Lacey?”
“What about her?” He opened the pantry, searching for a loaf of bread. She slammed it shut and he yanked his hand away. “Hey! Watch the manicure.”
“Haven’t you noticed what this is doing to her? These mind games you’re playing. Her grades have dropped, her appearance is atrocious. She’s a mess.”
Nanny Next Door Page 2
