Nadia Nichols - A Full House

Annie Crawford listened to the words, but for a long time they didn’t register. The man’s deep voice continued. “This is Lieutenant Macpherson of the twenty-third precinct. We picked up Sarah about an hour ago with a carload of teenagers and about a half ounce of marijuana.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie finally managed to say, “you must be mistaken. My daughter’s home in bed.”

There was a polite pause. “You may want to come down to the station. I could give you directions.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll just call home and confirm that Sally is there.” Without waiting for a response, Annie hung up and then dialed her home number. The phone rang five times before Ana Lise picked it up, her Copenhagen accent heavy with sleep.

“Ja, she’s in bed, Doctor. It’s after midnight.” Ana Lise sounded bewildered by the question.

“Please check.”

Moments later the housekeeper returned to the phone. Her voice was no longer puzzled or sleepy. “She’s gone. I do not understand this. She is nowhere in the apartment.”

“Damnation!” Trepidation made Annie breathless as she picked up the receiver again to dial the police station.

Dear Reader,

Maine is a place people come to for its unspoiled beauty as well as its graceful and timeless ability to heal weary souls battered by a fast-paced world.

In the innkeeping business one meets many wonderful and interesting people, and while this is a fictional story, it was born of a series of real-life encounters with people who were doing just what Lieutenant Jake Macpherson and Dr. Annie Crawford—hero and heroine of A Full House—seek to do.

Lily Houghton represents all elderly people faced with losing their independence. She wants to remain on the saltwater farm she loves, but after she breaks her hip in a fall, her son decides she’d be better off in an assisted living center, and lists her home with a local Realtor. Annie Caldwell rents it for the summer, and to find out the rest of the story, dear gentle reader, you must open the pages of this book.

If you’ve never visited the grand state of Maine, by all means put it on your list. E-mail me at www.harraseeketinn.com, and I’ll help you plan a vacation you’ll never forget. I’d love to hear from you.

Sincerely,

Nadia Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Zilla Soriano, my much-appreciated editor.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THERE WAS A TIME when Annie Crawford looked forward to the unknown challenges she would face at work and the split-second, life-and-death decisions she made every day. But gradually, over the years, those feelings had changed. What she thought about now when she faced another shift was how long and stressful it would be and how desperately tired she was of holding people’s lives in her hands.

These days, in those rare moments of quiet that sporadically punctuated her chaotic world, she dreamed of being someplace else. Someplace warm, where gentle winds blew all the clouds away. Someplace serene and peaceful, where tall grasses grew and where sometimes, in the midst of this lush green field, there grazed the most beautiful herd of wild—

“Horses,” a man’s voice said, interrupting her reverie.

She blinked, lifted her chin out of her hand and gazed up at the broad, friendly face of the man who was lowering himself into a chair across the hospital cafeteria table from her. He was dressed in casual clothes and looked wide awake despite the lateness of the hour.

“For one incredibly hopeful moment I thought you might have been dreaming about me,” he continued, nudging a second cup of coffee across the table toward her. “But when I saw the sheer rhapsody of your expression, I knew it had to be that dream about the wild horses in the field of green grass.”

Annie accepted the coffee with a slow smile. “There were five of them, and one was a jet-black stallion with a white star. Matt, what are you doing here on your night off? What time is it?”

“Just after midnight. I stopped by to check on Bonnie Mills on my way home from having a few beers at Gritty’s.” Dr. Matt Brink tasted his coffee and made a face. “So, what’s shaking?”

“For a Saturday night it’s been downright boring, so I checked on her myself about an hour ago. She was sleeping like a baby.”

“Still is.” Matt grinned. “She’s going to be walking soon, I’d stake my job on it.”

“That’s the kind of miracle we need more of.” Annie lifted her cup and stared at the black brew briefly before taking a sip. She also made a face and sighed. “Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

“About the beauty of the Adirondacks in spring?” Matt asked hopefully, and Annie shook her head with a rueful laugh. Matt had been prodding her for weeks to commit to a hiking and camping trip.

“Matt, how many times do I have to tell you that I can’t go? I have a thirteen-year-old daughter and I can’t just—”

“I know,” Matt interjected, raising a placating hand. “She’s going through a very difficult period in her life called adolescence and you absolutely cannot leave her without maternal supervision until she is married with several grown children of her own.”

“Matt…”

He heaved a frustrated sigh. “I know,” he repeated. “You’re sorry.”

Annie smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been thinking, too,” Matt said, leaning toward her. “Why not bring her along?”

“Bring Sally?”

“It’ll get her out of the city and away from those friends of hers that you don’t like. The fresh mountain air and sunshine would do her a world of good.”

Annie’s beeper chirped and she reached automatically to silence it, checking the extension. ER. She groaned wearily. “Let me guess. Knife wound to the abdomen inflicted by a drug dealer upon a possessive pimp who tried to talk down the price of a gram of crack for one of his girls.” Annie pushed to her feet and eased a cramp in the small of her back. She smiled down at Matt. “Be seeing you around, pal, and thanks for the coffee.”

“Ask Sally,” Matt pleaded as she swiftly departed. “I betcha she’d love to go on a camping trip.” She waved a hand at his words as she pushed through the cafeteria doors but didn’t look back.

THE SIGHT OF BLOOD didn’t bother her and never had, but Annie sometimes felt as though she should be wearing a full biologic suit when she dealt with some of the shady members of the knife-and-gun club that routinely passed through the ER on a Saturday night. The man she now confronted was being restrained by two uniformed policemen. Male, mid-twenties, black eyes burning with fear and hatred. Blood spurted from his upper thigh while two gloved medics tried vainly to staunch the flow. “We can’t get him to hold still,” one of them tersely stated the obvious, his face beaded with sweat and dark with frustration. Blood was everywhere. “Gunshot wound. Looks like it’s nicked the femoral.”

Annie pulled on gloves and protective glasses and leaned into the youth’s face. She spoke three terse sentences in fluent Spanish, and the struggling instantly ceased. The cops looked at her in amazement as the medics quickly secured the pressure bandage. “What did you say to him?” one of them asked.