From Brooding Boss to Adoring Dad. Dianne Drake

       “We’ll look until we find Tadeo.” Erin held out her hand to Adam, and he took it.

      “You’re too nice to me, Red. I don’t deserve it after the way I’ve acted.”

      “You’re right. I am too nice to you, and you don’t deserve it. But we’re neighbors. You’re not going anywhere, I’m not going anywhere, so getting along makes it easier. Otherwise we’d have to build a real fence between our properties, and I like the view on your side.” More than she would admit to him.

      He chuckled. “You beat everything. Do you know that?”

      “Is that a compliment?”

      “It just might be.”

      Hand in hand, they walked down the dark path, looking for Tadeo, calling his name. Occasionally they separated, went off in different directions to search, but always came back together in a matter of a minute or two. And each time the way her hand slipped so naturally into his … it felt right to him. Such a simple thing, yet such a significant one.

      Dear Reader

      Many things come to mind when you think about Jamaica—tropical breezes, calypso music, soul-satisfying food, those exotic fruity drinks with paper umbrellas … But, for me, my first thought of Jamaica is family. Years ago I had the rare pleasure of meeting a beautiful family from Jamaica: husband, wife, seven children, all devoted to each other. Everything a family should be.

      When I decided to set a book in Jamaica I knew the theme of my book had to be the strength of family. In FROM BROODING BOSS TO ADORING DAD I threw in some of those tropical breezes, some calypso music and that amazing island food, but I also brought together doctors Adam Coulson and Erin Glover, as well as a little island waif, Tadeo Reyes, and pitted them against some overwhelming and nearly devastating odds to become the family they were meant to be.

      The late humorist and author Erma Bombeck said of family: ‘The family. We were a strange little band of characters, trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.’

      That common thread is love. It’s where every family begins. Welcome to Jamaica!

      Wishing you health and happiness

       Dianne Drake

      PS I love hearing from readers. Feel free to e-mail me at [email protected]

      About the Author

      Now that her children have left home, DIANNE DRAKE is finally finding the time to do some of the things she adores—gardening, cooking, reading, shopping for antiques. Her absolute passion in life, however, is adopting abandoned and abused animals. Right now Dianne and her husband Joel have a little menagerie of three dogs and two cats, but that’s always subject to change. A former symphony orchestra member, Dianne now attends the symphony as a spectator several times a month and, when time permits, takes in an occasional football, basketball or hockey game.

       Recent titles by the same author:

      THE BABY WHO STOLE THE DOCTOR’S HEART

      CHRISTMAS MIRACLE: A FAMILY

      FOUND: A MOTHER FOR HIS SON

      DR VELASCOS’ UNEXPECTED BABY

      FROM

      BROODING BOSS

      TO

      ADORING DAD

      BY

      DIANNE DRAKE

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      CHAPTER ONE

      ERIN looked at the letter she’!d looked at a dozen times before, huffing out an impatient sigh as she crammed it back into her purse. This was such a waste of time, and the one thing she didn’t have these days was time. She’d made the man a fair offer. Promised him every penny he’d asked, then raised that by ten percent when he’d refused … refused, after he’d accepted. But he’d refused the second offer too, then come right back and accepted it, yet refused her the deed when he’d been paid, and that’s what was making her angry. She owned that land now. It was hers, and he was trying to pull paradise right out of her hands, at least that’s what the letter stated. He was reconsidering. Reconsidering.

      It wasn’t like he’d had another offer on the property that had come in late and beaten hers, because her Realtor had been very specific about that. Hers was the only one. No one had bested her. After all, how many people needed an old missionary medical compound on a beach? Not only that, but one located in one of the non-tourist areas of Jamaica? It was hidden away, not easily accessible. Those were fairly restrictive conditions, which were exactly what she wanted.

      Apparently, Adam Coulson didn’t agree with her, though, because he’d dangled the perfect place like holding out a carrot for a hungry rabbit, and when she’d snapped at it, he’d pulled it back. And now, after the deal was done, he was reconsidering. Well, as far as she was concerned, there was nothing for him to reconsider, and she was here to get what was rightfully hers. All she wanted was her property, not a long, drawn-out court battle, since this Coulson had, essentially, swindled her by taking her money and refusing her the land deed. If he handed it over once she found him, good. She’d walk away. But if he didn’t … first, she’d have to find a way to calm her nervous stomach and mushrooming case of aggravation. Then she’d engage the man in the fight of his life. It was just that simple.

      “Excuse me. I’m looking for Adam Coulson,” she said to the bartender. Good-looking man. Broad shoulders, casually long sandy hair. Eyes the color of the ocean, not green, not blue, but a little of both. All nice, all well worth looking at, but the scowl on his face and the fact that he turned his back on her, not after she’d spoken but while she was speaking, painted the real picture of him, and he certainly didn’t add up to the rest of the pleasant ambiance at Trinique’s.

      Trinique’s was a beach-side shack. Rundown, but friendly … except for the bartender. Loud, calypso-type music played in the background. Plastic crabs and fish dangled on fishing line from the ceiling, along with fishing nets and green glass floats, none of which looked like they’d ever seen a drop of ocean water. Obviously, this wasn’t a place for tourists, like so much of the rest of the island was, as the drinks were served in plain glasses, not in the fine crystal seen in the exclusive resorts and convoluted glass pineapples and coconuts found in the more common tourist haunts. And the crowd in this particular bar … definitely not tourist. Not a camera in the bunch. To Erin, this looked like a local establishment that was well past its prime. Good-natured, well used, much appreciated. Judging from the expressions on the faces of the people enjoying their drinks, enjoying the music, enjoying the