LITMIR.BIZ

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at home on bedrest, kept Nikki’s feet planted right where she stood.

      “Have a seat,” he said. “I’m going to grab a clean shirt.”

      Yes, please. Cover up all that gorgeous toned skin.

      “Girl, you are in so much trouble,” she muttered under her breath, watching him disappear down a short hall.

      She had no business noticing a prospective employer in that way. It said so right in her contract with the agency.

      And she needed this job. She’d given up her apartment three months ago, and moved in with her sister while her brother-in-law was out to sea. Her intent was to save for a down payment on a condo. The timing had seemed perfect. Nikki would keep her sister company and help her to get ready for her first baby, then Nikki would move into her own place just before hubby and baby were due to arrive.

      Instead Nikki had received a pink slip. And her brother-in-law had returned two weeks early. Yeah, perfect timing. She was very much the squeaky third wheel in the tiny two-bedroom house, but Amanda wouldn’t hear about Nikki moving until she had a new job.

      She had good credentials, so she didn’t worry about being employable, but this was the only gig in Paradise Pines, and it was important to her that she stay close to her sister until she had the baby.

      But Nikki’s reluctance to walk away was about more than that. Since the day she’d left for college, and discovered a sense of freedom she’d never known at home, she’d vowed to live life—not hide from it.

      Still, she needed to protect herself. She tended to give her heart easily. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to work with young children. They thrived on her affection and were honest in their responses. She could trust them with her soft heart.

      Sheriff Oliver didn’t look as if he knew the definition of soft. He was all about neatness, control and schedules. She’d bet structure and discipline were two of his favorite words. Babies were messy, chaotic and unpredictable. Discipline and structure were important, but so was flexibility and creativity. A baby needed room to grow, to makes mistakes and messes in order to learn.

      If she took this job, Nikki saw nothing but strife and loggerheads ahead, because she would fight for what was best for the baby. Maybe even harder than she needed to, because the situation hit so close to home.

      When Sheriff Oliver returned, he wore blue jeans and a dark green shirt that did incredible things for his eyes. Eyes cooler now than when he’d left the room. As were his features.

      He’d gathered his guard, something he wore with such ease she knew it was what he usually showed the world. They’d only stumbled into that moment of rare unease because she’d surprised him at the door.

      “The agency said you’re a kindergarten teacher,” he said as he sat in the recliner adjacent to the couch she occupied. “You know this is a live-in position?”

      Down to business. Good. Maybe they’d make it through this interview yet.

      “Yes. I’m a victim of the recent state budget cuts.” She gave a jaunty shrug, pretending to him—and herself—that losing her job was just a blip in life’s journey. “But I was a nanny before; it helped pay my way through college.”

      “You juggled kids and school? Quite a feat. Most mothers don’t even attempt it.”

      “I had the kids during the day, so I took most of my classes at night. The Hendersons knew I was in school, so they respected my hours. It worked out.”

      “How old were the kids in your care?”

      “Two and four when I started with them.”

      He glanced down at the paper in front of him, which she could see was a copy of her résumé. “And you were with them for two and half years? Why’d you leave?”

      “My parents were in an accident and killed.” She could almost say it now without having her throat close up. ‘My sister needed me. She was in her senior year of high school. I took a semester off to settle my parents’ affairs, and to be there for her until she graduated.”

      “It must have been tough.” A gruffness in his voice reminded her he’d lost his wife just over a year ago.

      “We had each other, which helped.” But it had still been the toughest year of her life.

      “Right.” He cleared his throat. “So you haven’t had care of a baby?”

      “Not as young as thirteen months, no, but I’m sure I can manage. I have a master’s in Child Development, and I love kids. In fact, my sister is expecting, so in six weeks I’ll be an aunt for the first time.”

      He showed no change of expression at the mention of a pending birth. From mild to effusive, most people showed some form of acknowledgment. It made her wonder about the relationship between him and his son, and why Trace was only now taking custody of the boy.

      She knew from the agency that he was a widower, that the baby had survived the accident that had killed his mother, and that Trace’s mother-in-law had had care of the baby until a week ago.

      “So what’s the deal with you? Why are you just now getting custody of your son?” She put the question out there.

      A dark eyebrow lifted at her bluntness.

      She smiled and lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I believe in open communication. Life is simpler that way.” She kept her smile in place and waited. So sue her. She wanted to know, and she’d found asking usually netted answers.

      After a moment he answered. “I’ve always had custody. My in-laws were just helping out until I got settled in a new location.”

      It took thirteen months? But she didn’t voice the thought. Obviously there was something more involved than a simple move. And there would be, of course. A cop and a newborn were hardly a good fit on their own. Plus, something in his voice told her he hadn’t been completely comfortable with the arrangement. She took an educated guess.

      “I imagine it was a comfort to your in-laws to have their grandson close while they dealt with losing their daughter.”

      He leaned back in his seat, his brawny forearms crossed over the wide expanse of his chest. He eyed her suspiciously. “Most people assume I was taking advantage of my in-laws. Not that it’s any of their business.”

      From his defensive posture Nikki guessed “most people” weren’t entirely wrong. But she also heard a note of hurt pride. Five years as a teacher had taught her to read people, be they little or big or somewhere in between. For a man of his control, who made duty a way of life, a shadow on his honor would bite big-time.

      “Of course.” She acknowledged his distancing comment, and then completely disregarded it. “Death is never easy on a family,” she sympathized. “But from my experience once a grandmother has a baby in her care it takes a bomb and a crowbar to pry the child loose.”

      Sheriff Oliver choked on an indrawn breath.

      “Oops.” Nikki bit her lower lip. Her sister continually warned Nikki that some people didn’t appreciate her chronic bluntness. “Not sensitive enough?”

      Trace threw back his head and laughed out loud. Something he did all too rarely. He ran a hand over his face as he fought to regain his cool.

      “You’re very insightful,” was all he said. Actually, the truth laid somewhere in the middle of what people thought and the need for a crowbar.

      But, Lord, he did appreciate a little blunt honesty. The empathy was harder to accept. From the huskiness in her voice earlier, he had no doubt she still mourned her parents.

      “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she urged him in earnest. “It couldn’t have been easy handling a newborn on a sheriff’s schedule.”

      “I wasn’t a sheriff then. I transferred nine months ago. Before that I was a homicide

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