LITMIR.BIZ

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to knees. A drop of water fell from his hair to land on his cheek, disappearing into his five-o’clock shadow.

      The Sheriff looked good wet. Nikki took new appreciation in why men liked wet T-shirt contests. Transparent cotton clung to his skin, defining hard muscles flexing in motion.

      Enjoying the show a little too much, she knocked on the door. “Hey, what’s all the ruckus about in here?”

      “Save yourself. It’s not safe in here.” Trace only half looked over his shoulder, but it was enough for her to catch the frown of frustration and concentration furrowing his brow. “And it’s a good thing he doesn’t talk yet, because the language is pretty ripe.”

      “Neeki! Neeki!” At the sight of her Mickey renewed his efforts to reach safety, struggling in Trace’s grasp and lifting his arms for her to rescue him.

      “Stay still, you little eel,” Trace said. “We just have to finish your hair and you can get out.”

      “Hang on.” Nikki turned into Mickey’s room across the hall.

      Carrying a plastic blue puppy back to the bathroom, she could swear she heard him mutter, “Coward.”

      “I heard that, but lucky for you I’m going to save your hide anyway.” She knelt next to Trace, glad she’d worn shorts.

      “Oh, I’m lucky,” he grumbled, keeping a hold of his slippery son so he didn’t fall and crack his head. “Mickey, sit down.”

      Mickey’s frown matched Trace’s as he nailed him with a glare and yammered off a string of angry baby talk.

      Nikki grinned. “I think it’s a good thing we don’t know what that means.”

      “Oh, we’ve had quite the conversation. I just need him to stay still long enough for me to rinse the shampoo out.”

      She wiggled her eyebrows at Trace. “Watch how it’s done. Hold him steady,” she told him, and then, focusing on Mickey, she smiled. “Hey, baby, Daddy just doesn’t know the trick, huh?” She brought the blue dog up and wagged it in front of the tearful Mickey. “He doesn’t know Puppy gets his hair washed first.”

      Mickey quieted as Nikki swiped some bubbles up and worked them over the plastic blue head of the toy dog. Distracted, the boy reached for the toy and held it while Nikki made a show of washing the dog’s hair. “That’s the way,” she encouraged Mickey. “We’re washing Puppy’s hair. And next it’s your turn. Smile,” she said to Trace, flashing her gaze over him. “That ferocious look probably works wonders with criminals. Not so much frightened little boys.”

      The frown instantly cleared. A light of humor even touched his green eyes. “Hey, you’ve got it backward. In case you didn’t notice, the kid had the upper hand.”

      She laughed. “Hand me the small pitcher from the left-hand cupboard,” she said quietly to Trace. He placed it in her hand, and she scooped up half a pitcher of water and poured it over Puppy.

      Mickey squealed, and dunked Puppy in the water, splashing both Nikki and Trace.

      “First dog food, now a puppy in the bath.” Trace sent her a sidelong glance. “You’re determined for me to get the boy a dog, aren’t you?”

      “Not guilty,” she denied. “I always wanted a dog when I was a kid, but my mom said we weren’t settled enough to make a good home for a dog, that it wouldn’t be fair. She was right.”

      “So you’re saying we aren’t ready for a dog?”

      “No.” She refused to let him trip her up for his amusement, his own form of distraction. “You said you needed to focus on taking care of Mickey, and I agree with you.”

      “So no dog?” He grinned, proving she’d caught him in his game.

      “Not yet. Good boy,” she praised Mickey. “Time to do your hair. Close your eyes.” She squeezed hers closed for a moment, to show him what she meant. He copied her, and she quickly dumped clear water over his head. He started to whimper. “Hang in there, big boy, only one more time.” She made quick work of it, and Trace was right there with a fresh washcloth to dry Mickey’s face.

      “Nice job.” Trace easily lifted Mickey from the water and Nikki wrapped him in a towel. “Thanks for the help.”

      “No problem.” She shrugged easily. “We adults have to stick together.”

      “I thought you had a birthing class with your sister tonight. What are you doing here?”

      “I do, but it’s later—not until eight. I came to pick up some things I left hanging in the laundry room.”

      “In appreciation for the assistance, you’re welcome to join us for dinner. It’s only hot dogs and beans, but I’m firing up the grill.”

      “Thanks, but I can’t. Amanda is stir-crazy, and since she has permission from her doctor for the classes, she’s sneaking dinner in first and calling it all one trip. But it’s a tempting offer.”

      More tempting than it should be. Plain food in the company of the baby she spent all day watching. Like Amanda, Nikki should be thrilled at an outing away from the house. Instead, she felt curiously deflated as she turned away from daddy and son.

      “Okay,” he said easily. “Thanks for the help.”

      “Good night.” She grabbed her things from the dryer and let herself out the backdoor. Was it her imagination, or had he sounded a little disappointed?

      Chapter Seven

      “THE Mayor’s office called.” Lydia popped her head inside the door to his office. “He’s asked the city council to meet at Sampson Hall twenty minutes before the community meeting.”

      Trace nodded, glanced at the clock on the wall, saw he had over an hour and went back to his report. He’d found it hard to concentrate today, his thoughts constantly traveling back to the scene a couple of nights ago. He’d come close to getting extremely unprofessional with his nanny.

      He so couldn’t go there.

      Mickey needed her. Beyond that she was a complication Trace couldn’t afford.

      The door to the station opened and in walked the subject of his thoughts. She pushed Mickey in his stroller, with a long, shallow basket perched on the hood over the boy’s head.

      Everything in Trace came to attention, his body reacting to the long stretch of her legs in skinny black jeans, the teasing pop of a pink tank at the hem and the cleavage under her fitted white shirt even as his mind raced with questions and concern at her appearance.

      What was she doing here?

      He rose and rounded his desk, watching her chat and laugh with Lydia. Her easy manner eliminated his worry, but not his disquiet.

      He shrugged at the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t want her here. This place belonged to him—well, and the citizens of Paradise Pines. The point was he needed someplace safe as a retreat from her intoxicating presence. But, no, interfering woman that she was, she had to invade his workspace.

      Oh, yeah, he was in serious trouble.

      As soon as he stepped out of his office he got hit with the savory scent of fried chicken, which reminded him of the potluck dinner at tonight’s community meeting. He had an order of fried chicken himself, to pick up from the diner. The scent grew stronger as he approached the front counter, but he was quickly distracted by the tail-end of Nikki’s introductions.

      “It’s so nice to put a face with a name. It’s always good to know when Trace is going to be late. Have you met Trace’s son, Mickey?”

      Lydia had her elbows on the high counter to help her see down to Mickey’s level. The little boy looked up at her with solemn eyes. He switched his gaze to Trace, frowned, and then twisted in

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