A Full House. Nadia Nichols

days replaying the sequence of events that had landed him in this hospital bed. Damning himself, over and over, for his carelessness. Berating himself for not listening to the skinny hooker when she’d said to Joey Mendoza, little drug runner extraordinaire, “I won’t let him arrest you, Joey, I’ll shoot him first.” A hollow threat. Surely she didn’t have a gun, and even if she did, no one would shoot a cop for Joey Mendoza.

      But surprise, surprise, when he’d started to cuff Joey, she’d pulled this tiny pistol out of her purse. He’d had time to defend himself. He’d seen her move, seen the little pistol in her hand, and was pulling his own gun even as he pushed Joey away from him, out of the line of fire. He could have shot her but didn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger on a woman.

      And so he lay on his back in the hospital bed, hour after hour, counting the tiny holes in the acoustic ceiling tiles, finding geometric patterns in random chaos, endlessly defining the perimeters of his life and waiting for the early mornings when Annie Crawford would walk into his room at the end of her shift, give him one of her quizzical little smiles and say, “Hey, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?”

      Whenever she came he tried to engage her in conversation about her daughter. About her life. About the hospital. About the weather. About the dog-eared Down East magazine she’d been reading. About the camp his grandparents had owned. Anything to extend her visit. Eventually she showed him a classified ad in the real estate section, an old saltwater farm for rent for the summer in a place called Blue Harbor. “It’s a wild, crazy dream, spending a summer in Maine,” she admitted. “But, oh, so tempting.”

      He advised her to call the listing Realtor. “Live dangerously,” he said. “Take the summer off and be wild.”

      She’d laughed at the absurdity of such a notion, but the next time she came into his room she confessed that she’d called about the rental. “It’s still available and sounds wonderful, but there’s just no way I can take the whole summer off, and they won’t rent it by the week.” Still, she was thinking about it, he could tell. She was thinking about it enough that he called the Realtor himself, remembering the name from the ad she’d shown him. An elderly sounding man answered. “I’m wondering if you carry any summer rentals in the Blue Harbor area,” Jake began.

      “Sure do. What exactly are you looking for, and in what price range?”

      Jake told him, and after a brief pause the voice said politely, “I’m afraid you won’t find anything that cheap in this area. The closest thing I have listed in your price range is a very primitive camp about twenty miles inland.” Twenty miles wasn’t that far to drive to see a woman like Annie Crawford. He logged the information, thanked the Realtor, and hung up.

      Annie’s visits became less and less frequent. She was always busy, whisking in and out, cheerful but impersonal, shining—like the sun—on all things equally. Nonetheless, he was secretly smitten with her, and he supposed that just about every red-blooded man she met fell under the same spell. How could they help themselves? Annie Crawford was smart, warm, compassionate and highly skilled in a very challenging profession. As if those attributes weren’t enough, her eyes were a shade of marine blue that made him think of some exotic tropical paradise. Her hair was a thick, glossy mahogany, shoulder-length and pulled back in a simple twist. Annie and her daughter looked enough alike to pass as sisters, but Sally didn’t have her mother’s Australian accent or the bone-deep beauty that only spiritual maturity could give a woman—and Annie Crawford was a deeply beautiful woman.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ON THE AFTERNOON of his fifth day in the hospital, a little girl walked into Jake’s room. She had pale blond hair plaited in two braids and large, dark eyes. She was wearing denim coveralls and a red-and-black plaid shirt. The sight of her rendered him momentarily speechless. He half believed she was an illusion his mind had created to while away the endless hours.

      “Amanda?” He pushed himself onto his elbows, afraid she would disappear, but instead she approached the bed cautiously.

      “Daddy?”

      “C’mere, Pinch. Don’t mind all this medical stuff. Come give your daddy a big hug.” He reached out for her, and she was very real. She smelled sweet, her cheek was warm and smooth against his, and her chubby arms felt marvelous as they tightened around his neck. He tightened his own arms around her. “Amanda,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Ah, my sweet baby girl.”

      “Hello, Jake.” His ex-wife stood just inside the doorway, hands clasped loosely in front of her. She wore a white silk blouse, black trousers, a sage-colored linen jacket. Her hair fell in dark glossy curls upon her shoulders and she wore minimal makeup with a touch of lip gloss. She looked fresh-faced, young and beautiful. If she’d gone through the same hell as he had during and after their divorce, it certainly didn’t show.

      “Hello, Linda,” he said, reluctantly relinquishing his embrace. Amanda squirmed out of his arms and climbed on the bed beside him, as endearingly affectionate as a puppy.

      “Amanda, be careful,” her mother warned.

      “It’s all right,” Jake said. “She can’t hurt anything. Thanks for bringing her.”

      Linda nodded. “She’s your daughter. She has a right to see you.”

      “It’s a long way for you to come. I appreciate it. I’ll pay for your plane tickets.”

      Linda shook her head. “Your captain made all the arrangements. A police car picked us up at the airport and delivered us to the hotel and another car brought us here.”

      Jake thought about this for a moment. “They must have thought I was going to die,” he said.

      “From what I’ve just been told, you almost did.” Linda’s fingers were intertwined tightly. He could tell what a strain it was on her, just being in the same room with him.

      “I had a good doctor,” he said.

      “Yes, I know. I met her at the nurses’ station. She was the one who directed us to your room. Dr. Crawford, isn’t it? She seems very nice.”

      Amanda tucked herself up against him, her little fingers tugging at his bandage. He took her hand in his as a sharp bolt of pain made him catch his breath. “Whoa, you with the quick fingers. Now’s not the time to be pinching your dad.”

      “Get off the bed, Amanda,” Linda ordered, frowning.

      “No, really. She’s fine.”

      “What happened to you, Daddy?” Amanda asked. “Why are you all wrapped up?”

      “I got hurt, honey, but I’m going to be okay. What about you? How’s my little Pinch? Still tearing up the house? How’s school?”

      “Miss Markham’s very mean,” Amanda said gravely. “She made me stand in the corner.”

      “What for? You didn’t pinch anyone, did you?”

      “I pulled Jenny Flagg’s hair. Jenny said I didn’t have a father. So I told her I did, and I pulled her hair, and then Miss Markham made me stand in the corner.”

      Jake pulled his daughter back into his arms. “You do have a father, Pinch. You have a father who loves you very much. Your teacher had no business making you stand in the corner. You’re my shining angel, you know that, don’t you?”

      “Yes,” Amanda said.

      “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and don’t you ever forget it. I’m going to call that Miss Markham and tell her a thing or two.”

      “Jake,” Linda cautioned with a disapproving look.

      At that moment Annie entered the room, brisk and businesslike in a white lab coat with stethoscope draped around her neck. Jake tweaked one of Amanda’s braids. “Amanda Macpherson, meet Annie Crawford, best doctor east of the Mississippi, and west of it, too. Pretty good, huh?”

      “Pretty