Trace shifted in his chair. He didn’t know why he felt the need to explain things to her he hadn’t shared with anyone else.
Maybe talking was easier because of the understanding he saw in her intelligent amber eyes, or maybe her honesty called to something in him. Whatever it was, it needed to stop now.
“Carmichael?” she echoed. “I thought his name was Michael?”
“No, it’s Carmichael. A family name on my mother-in-law’s side.”
“Oh. The agency has Michael on my paperwork.”
“Then they have it wrong. He’s been called Carmichael since he was born.” Trace hated the name, but he’d agreed to it to make his wife happy. They probably would have shortened the name if she’d lived. But she’d died. “His mother chose the name.”
“Right. Continuity is a fine family tradition. ” She carefully kept her tone even. He literally saw the struggle it cost her.
“But you don’t like it?” He shouldn’t test her when she’d made such an effort at politeness, but he couldn’t resist.
She struggled for another moment, her smile both brave and patently false. Finally tact gave way to that refreshing honesty.
“It’s just so much name for a baby,” she said in a rush. “They have to learn to walk before they can run, and that’s not just physically. Their little psyches need to grow and develop just like their bodies.”
So much passion for his son, and she hadn’t even met him. Just what any father would want in a nanny.
Right.
“Just be careful not to let guilt motivate your decisions.”
The words hit him like a fist to the gut. This was what he got for sharing. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s called survivor’s guilt. And it causes rational people to make irrational choices. It’s just something to be aware of. You think you’re honoring her because she can’t be here to raise Carmichael. But what she’d really want is for you to love him and raise him the best you can.”
“Love the child, honor the mother?”
“Yes. It’s that simple.”
“Your life may be that easy, Ms. Rhodes, but you know nothing of mine. Don’t presume you know my motive for anything.” Hearing the harshness of his tone, he took a breath. But on this he needed to be clear. “Carmichael is the focus here. Never attempt to psychoanalyze me.”
“Of course.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I only meant to help.”
“Yeah, well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a father it’s that nothing is simple anymore. Life has become one complication after another.”
She nodded. “Families are complicated. Love is what makes it work.”
Good Lord. If that were true, he was in a world of trouble. Rather than dwell on his emotional shortcomings, he switched back to her comments on Child Development.
“I thought you didn’t work with infants.”
“I don’t. But in kindergarten they’re still growing and learning when they get to me.”
She shifted in her seat, smoothing a hand down a cotton-clad thigh, and then completely changed the subject on him. “I understand you’ve already had two nannies come and go in the past week. What was the problem with them?”
He frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
“It’ll help me to know what you’re looking for.”
“Right. I guess that makes sense. The first couldn’t handle the schedule. She was too concerned with disruptions to her time off and the distance from San Diego. The second seemed set in her ways. She had tried-and-true doctrines and regimens, and she made it clear it would be her way or no way. I chose no way.”
“Good for you.” Approval beamed at him from across the room, making him feel twelve feet tall. She was a pretty woman, with even features, a plump mouth and a peaches-and-cream complexion, but what really made her attractive was her animation. This woman lived life; it showed in her perpetual smile and those amazing amber eyes.
She lit the room with energy, just sitting on his slate-blue sofa. He watched as she tossed a flow of honey-brown hair over her shoulder. A slight frown created a furrow between slim dark brows.
“Sadly, a lot of parents want just such an arrangement. It’s almost as if they prefer to be visitors in their children’s lives rather than participants.” Her tone made it clear what she thought of those misguided parents.
Must be nice to live in her merry little world. He knew the truth. “I’m in law enforcement, Ms. Rhodes. I can tell you parents often cause less damage to a kid just by virtue of their absence.”
“You’re right, of course. But that’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. I’ve been a visitor in my son’s life for more than a year. But that’s over. I’m responsible for him now. I’ll decide what’s best for him.”
And chatting up a kindergartener teacher, no matter how blunt and vivacious, wasn’t going to get the job done.
Was she the nanny for him?
On the surface she was too young, too overqualified, too inexperienced. It didn’t take a master’s degree to change a diaper, but it took someone who’d been around babies to know the difference between a fever due to teething or an illness. Something he’d learned just this week.
On the other hand it was a job, and the budget cuts did have a lot of teachers looking for employment.
“Ms. Rhodes—”
“Please,” she interjected, “call me Nikki.”
“Ms. Rhodes.” It was better that way. Better to keep everything professional. “When can you start?”
Chapter Two
“WHEN can you start?”
As soon as Trace said the words the cell phone on the coffee table rang and a cry echoed from down the hall. He stopped and reached for the phone.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to get this. Do you mind checking on the baby for me?”
“Right.” Nikki surged to her feet and tugged on the short hem of her vest. She had the job! So she wasn’t keen to be working for a control fiend—she’d get to stay close to Amanda, and that was what mattered. Nikki could hardly wait to tell her sister. “Which room?”
He nodded toward the hall. “Last door on the right.”
Turned out Nikki needed the directions, because the crying had stopped. She found that odd. In her experience babies wanting attention usually got louder, not quieter.
She pushed open the half-closed door and peered inside. The room held only a crib and a dressing table/dresser set made of fine oak. The walls were white, the sheets and blankets a dark navy. There were no toys in sight.
A brown-haired, solemn-eyed baby sat quietly in the crib.
Nikki’s heart wrenched. She’d never seen such a sad child in her life. Poor baby. He must really be missing his grandmother.
“Hello, Carmichael,” she greeted him softly as she approached the crib. “I’m Nikki.”
She rested her forearms on the wooden railing and smiled, prepared to chat for a moment before plucking him from his bed.