Courting His Favourite Nurse

I saw you first, Jack. You were supposed to be mine.

He exhaled, broke free, leaned his forehead to hers and whispered, “It’s been a long time coming.”

She sighed, secretly thrilled he’d missed kissing her. “It was definitely worth the wait.”

“I don’t know about the wait, but it was pretty damn spectacular on my end,” he said, grinning.

She made a breathy laugh, still floating from his kiss.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Whispering Oaks, a small, tight-knit community in a rural section of Southern California, and the home of the Grady family. Anne is the oldest sibling, who left home shortly after high school to pursue her RN degree and to start a new life far away from the memories that haunted her. A tragic accident brings her home to care for her parents and opens a Pandora’s box of emotions.

In Courting His Favourite Nurse, Jack Lightfoot has never forgotten his runaway friend, and upon her return, hopes to set the record straight.

Sometimes life throws us more than we can handle, and when Anne and Jack found themselves losing a close friend to illness in high school, neither handled it well. Thirteen years later, they get a second chance to resume their old friendship, but Anne still wants to run away, and this time, Jack is determined not to let her.

I don’t know about you, but I love reunion stories. Won’t you join me in Whispering Oaks to see how this one turns out?

I’m thrilled about my debut Cherish™, and would love to hear what you think. You can contact me at my website, www.lynnemarshall.com, or by mail at PO Box 51, Simi Valley, CA 93062, USA.

Best regards,

Lynne Marshall

LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry she had a serious problem with daydreaming, then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories which always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, a dog lover, a cat admirer, a power walker, and avid reader.

Courting His

Favourite Nurse

Lynne Marshall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks to Jo for getting my feet in the door, to Gail for giving me a chance, and to Sarah for helping me make this book all it could be.

Chapter One

“I’m glad you’re here, Annie belle,” Kieran Grady still sounded groggy from yesterday’s surgery. He seemed too big for the hospital bed with his long legs nearly hanging over the end of the frame, the left with a hip-to-foot cast elevated on three pillows.

“I’m glad I’m here, too, Dad.” Anne patted her father’s hand, making sure his IV was in place and infusing well. An RN for eight years, she couldn’t help herself.

“Take care of your mom until I get home,” he said, drifting closer to sleep.

“Of course I will,” she whispered. Good thing she could get the time off from her new job until Lucas got officially discharged from the army.

Anne’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced at the screen. “That’s the E.R., Dad. Mom must be ready to go home.”

With eyes closed, he nodded.

There was also a text message from Lark: How are Mom and Dad doing? Give them kisses from me. Wish I could be there, but school is crazy! Love you guys. :) No way would anyone expect her sister to leave medical school midsemester when Anne and her brother Lucas could be there for their parents. She texted back: They’re fine. I’ll call you later.

She bent to kiss her dad’s forehead avoiding the scratches and one nasty-looking laceration near his receding hairline. “This one is from me, and this is from Lark.”

He smiled then grimaced. “I swear,” he mumbled. “I never saw that car coming.”

Considering her parents had been on a motorcycle, things could have been a whole lot worse. As an RN she’d seen plenty of motorcycle accident fallouts first-hand, and she didn’t approve of his “hobby” but there was no way her father would give up his Harley. And up until now, Mom was as gung ho about their Sunday rides on the open roads as he was. Anne had a hunch Mom might be singing another tune from now on.

Anne said goodbye to her father and his nurse, making sure the RN had her cell number as well as her family’s home phone, then headed toward the elevator leaving the plaster and disinfectant scent of the orthopedic ward behind.

She’d arrived in California early the next morning from Portland, Oregon, but had still missed their surgeries. She’d found the first available flight out the moment she’d been contacted by the E.R. nurse Sunday night. Adrenaline had burst from the center of her chest and tingled out to her fingers and toes at the news. They could have been killed. Oh, God, she couldn’t bear to think about the pillars in her life falling … and thankfully, their injuries would heal. Not soon enough for Dad, she thought, smiling and shaking her head as the elevator descended down to the first floor.

After arriving in Whispering Oaks in time for her mother’s hospital discharge that morning, she’d taken her home. By midafternoon, when Mom said the pain was excruciating, she’d realized her mother’s full arm cast had pressed on a nerve and she was losing sensitivity in her fingers. Anne had turned right around and brought her back to the E.R. to have it removed and a new cast applied before there was a chance for nerve damage.

The small Whispering Oaks hospital overflowed with patients, and they’d spent the better part of the evening waiting. When the orderly wheeled off her mother to the cast room, she’d gone to visit her father in the ortho ward.

Anne got off the elevator as an ambulance siren blared in the distance. She approached the emergency reception desk noting that every chair in the waiting room was filled. A TV monitor droned on with some reality show that only a few people, besides the desk clerk, paid attention to.

“My mother’s ready for discharge,” she said. “Beverly Grady?”

The distracted receptionist tore away her gaze from the TV long enough to check her list then, without saying a word or offering a smile, she reached under the desk and pressed a buzzer which opened the door to the department.

Anne rushed to her mother’s E.R. cubicle.

“How’s your father?” Beverly blurted out the moment Anne entered. With a twisted waistband on her teal workout pants, and one sleeve of the jacket hanging over her shoulder, her mother looked out of character from her usual jeans and trendy jerseys approach to style. But Mom wouldn’t let Anne bring her to the hospital without makeup and her earrings, the large gold hoops now tangled in her shoulder-length hair, her bright lipstick half chewed off.

“He’s doing well, Ma. The nurses say he’ll be home in a few days.”

“Great news. Why did it have to be my right arm? I’m useless with my left hand. How am I going to take care of him or do my hair or put on makeup?” She shook her head, her layered, bottle brown hair bobbed along. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to hook a bra with one hand?”

“That’s why I’m here, remember?” Anne stifled her smile.

Beverly pursed her lips, brows raised, looking impish. “See the extreme some parents will go to just to get their daughter home?”

Anne shook her head and smiled. “An invitation would have been fine.”

Beverly swiped the air with her one good arm. “You always have excuses.” Her mother laughed wryly, and Anne joined her, avoiding thoughts better left unspoken once again.

“But you and Dad liked visiting Portland.” Other than one Christmas three years ago, Anne hadn’t returned to Whispering Oaks since she’d gone off to college to get her nursing degree. And that Christmas visit had been mainly because Lucas had gotten a leave for the holidays. It wasn’t because she didn’t love her parents, no; she loved them with all her heart. It was the guilt and bad memories that seemed to overshadow everything else about her hometown whenever she ventured back.

“But this is your home, Annie.”

Truth was, Portland felt more like home these days, she just didn’t have the nerve to tell her mother that.

A shrill siren grew closer, soon coming to an abrupt halt outside the rear of the emergency department.

A frazzled looking nurse appeared at their cubicle with dark smudges beneath her eyes, some form of updo gone askew and a wheelchair. “Ready to go?”

Doors flew open at the back of the E.R. and a group of firemen wheeled in a couple people on gurneys. The nurse shot a quick glance over her shoulder, then pushed the wheelchair inside, back to business as usual. Out of reflex from her old E.R. days Anne tensed, but reminded herself she was a clinic nurse now, and that today she was on the patient side of the hospital equation. It felt so different, and yet her curiosity about the latest intake wouldn’t back down.

Anne took a quick look at her mother’s fingers, pressed the nail beds to make sure the capillaries blanched and pinked right back up. “Can you move your fingers?” she asked over the ruckus.

“Annie, this feels a hundred times better than the last cast.”

“Okay then, we’re ready to go.” Anne gave an assuring smile to the nurse.

She helped her mother into the chair and, after signing the discharge papers, began to roll her toward the exit.

“Keep that cast elevated,” the nurse said as she rushed off toward the new patients on the gurneys. So much for patient discharge education.

Across the department a male figure caught Anne’s eye. He stood, legs planted in a wide stance, arms folded, just apart from the health care workers and firemen team huddle.

“There’s my hero,” her mother called out. Then to Anne she said, “Jack was the first on scene Sunday at the accident.”

Jack? As in Jackson Lightfoot?

In a whiplash response, Anne turned toward the man just as he noticed her. A thousand crazy thoughts barged into her head as she peered at an apparition. What in the world was he doing here? She blinked as the ghost of heartbreak past came into full view.

Except he looked so much better than that high school jock she’d remembered. As if that were possible. He wore the standard fireman navy blue T-shirt and slacks—without the yellow rubber pants and suspenders—shiny work boots and a serious expression. His blond hair was shorter and darker, and all traces of boyish features were gone. It’d been twelve years, and he still set off a spark in her chest—a feeling so foreign, it felt more like anxiety.

“Mrs. Grady, what are you doing back here?” he said to her mother, though his gaze had found and stuck to Anne.

“Annie said I needed a new cast.” She attempted to lift the heavy, hot pink, fiberglass-covered arm.

Anne wished she could disappear behind the nearest cubicle curtain, but Jack stared at her and offered a tentative smile, the kind that only lifted half of his mouth.

“Anne.”

She nodded, fighting off the rush of feelings blindsiding her. Nerves zinged, blood rushed to her face and her legs, perfectly stable and strong a moment before, felt unsteady. She was thirty but had taken the fast track back to high school insecurity. “Hey, Jack. Hi.” At a loss for what to do or say, and trying desperately to act composed, she went for inane. “Are you a fireman?”

“I volunteer a couple times a week.”

His chest had broadened and bulked up since she’d last seen him, and his voice had dropped half a scale. He’d definitely turned into the man that swaggering eighteen-year-old had hinted at.

He bent and hugged her mother. “How’s the old man doing?”

“Fine, thanks to you and your quick thinking. The doctor told Annie, he’ll be home in a couple days, come and see him.”

“I will.” Jack glanced back at Anne, and before she could prepare herself, he hugged her. Granted it was nothing more than one of those awkward pat-the-back deals, but it still rattled her. Even though she’d stiffened up, warm fuzzies hopped along her skin and she wanted to swat at them and yell, stop it, stop it!

Well what do you know, he still uses Irish Spring.

She leaned back and noticed a lingering fluster in his eyes that she assumed mirrored her own, and a warm, welcoming expression on his face. Man, he still had a great smile, except now it had parentheses around it, and his eyes, those fern green eyes she could never forget, had the beginning of fan lines at the corners making him all the more enticing.

No. Stop it right now. We already know how this story plays out, and it has a sucky ending.

“Well, looks like they need some help. It’s good to see you, Anne. Beverly, you take care of yourself. I’ll visit Kieran tomorrow after school.”

“He’ll be glad to see you,” Beverly said.

And he was off to assist the other firemen with the patient transfers from their gurneys to E.R. beds.

She knew he was a teacher at Whispering Oaks, but when had he gotten so chummy with her parents?

Bursts of memories hijacked Anne’s thoughts as she rolled her mother to the car. How after Jack had been her friend first, she’d introduced him to her best friend and lost him. Soon being relegated to the third-wheel buddy role, she’d been forced to watch their budding romance bloom and keep her feelings to herself. And later, how the three of them had gone through the toughest time of their lives together. How he’d become her secret hero, the one she had loved with all her heart … but could never have … unless she betrayed her best friend. The details tangled in a knot between her brows.

“Jack teaches with your father at the high school, you know,” Beverly said, while transferring from wheelchair to car. “English and basic mathematics.”

“Yes, you have mentioned that a time or two, Mom.” How many times had he counted down the days until he’d graduate high school? Now, apparently, he went back on a daily basis.

Beverly went quiet, and Anne understood why. Though Anne had never discussed her heartache with her mother, it would have been impossible for Beverly not to sense the pain back then. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had caused it. She closed the car door and pushed the wheelchair to a collection center then got into the driver’s seat.

Shortly after Anne had left Whispering Oaks behind, Jack had, too. Occasionally he’d send a postcard from somewhere around the world, a weak attempt at staying in touch. If he’d felt the way he’d sworn he did—you’re the one, Anne—why hadn’t he ever come after her? Eventually, the cards quit coming altogether.

How many times would she drive herself crazy trying to figure it all out? She started the engine, eager to get away from the hospital with the huge yellow fire rescue vehicle parked in front.

Jackson Lightfoot had been the reason she’d left home, and was the last person on earth she wanted to see now that she was back.

The next afternoon at school, dubbed Sleepless Wednesdays by his students thanks to his Tuesday night volunteer status, Jack nodded off. His chin rebounded off his chest and snapped his head against the chair. The students’ tittering dashed any hope that no one had noticed.

“Okay, anyone ready to read their essay out loud?”

That brought the sudden and needed silence he’d hoped for. Maybe he should have refilled his Best Teacher in the World mug with more coffee after lunch.

As everyone went back to work, he tapped the eraser end of a pencil on his desk and thought about Anne. He couldn’t help himself. Heck, a toddler could have pushed him over using a pinky finger when he’d first seen her last night.

She’d challenged him to be better from the very first time she’d met him, and in the E.R., he could still see the summons there in her eyes. Those brown eyes the exact shade of her shoulder-length hair. He was glad she hadn’t fiddled with the color like so many women did these days. He’d always liked the natural sheen and what he could only describe as the nutmeg color. She’d matured … in a good way. In high school she’d been a little too bony for his type. Now she’d added a few pounds and had smoothed out all the angles.

He laughed inwardly. Her bod wasn’t what had always attracted him to her. It was her straightforward approach. Her honesty. He scrubbed his face and remembered the day she’d first spoken to him at track practice in eleventh grade.

“You’re full of it, Lightfoot,” she’d said. “You’ve been letting everyone think you’re part Native American, but you’re name’s either English or German. I looked it up.”

No girl had ever challenged him before. He’d swaggered up to her and glared right into her face. From her unwavering stare, he knew she’d seen through his bravado.

Though Lightfoot made a great name for Whispering Oaks’ top league hurdler, and having people think he had Native American ancestors made it even cooler, he was as white bread as they came, and she’d called him out on the prevarication.

“I’ll pay you ten bucks to keep that to yourself.”

“I don’t take bribes, but I’m good with secrets.”

Boy was she ever good with secrets. A week to the day before Brianna, his girlfriend and Anne’s best friend, had been diagnosed with leukemia, he’d let slip a huge secret to Anne—how he felt about her. And to make matters worse, he’d kissed her. They’d been horsing around after watching a Star Trek DVD one Saturday night at her house. Bri hadn’t been feeling well and he’d taken her home early. Looking back he should have realized Bri hadn’t been feeling well for a few weeks, but he’d been oblivious, even looked forward to spending some time alone with Anne. What a jerk he’d been.

After the movie, imitating Captain Kirk and Spock, he’d placed splayed fingers on Anne’s face and asked, “May I join your mind?” Good sport, as always, she had giggled but let him and he’d sworn she’d communicated one thing through those soft doe eyes—kiss me.

So he did. Jack pressed his mouth to Anne’s in a tender first-kiss fashion. Her lips were soft and moist, just as he’d expected. She didn’t pull back, but she went still. He shouldn’t push things, what about Bri? Ignoring that thought, he kept kissing Anne, eager to explore more, though taking things slow, he felt her shoulders relax.

Anne’s hands pressed against his chest, a signal to stop, but not before she kissed him back. Jack broke it off searching her eyes for a clue, and saw a mix of shock and held-back longing.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, with a breathy whisper, her nostrils flaring faintly.

“I’m sorry.” Was he really sorry he’d shared the sweetest kiss since junior high with Anne? He was positive there was something between them just waiting to be unlocked. He knew she felt it, too.

“She’s my best friend.” Her hand flew to her mouth, as if to erase the kiss.

He stared at the floor. “You probably don’t think much of me as a boyfriend.”

“Right now, I don’t know what to think.” “I better leave,” he said, refusing to regret what they’d done. He’d shaken her up, felt the pull between them. It wasn’t his imagination.

Their kiss had been loaded with potential—he couldn’t get it out of his mind all weekend and, on Monday he’d seized the moment.

Jack spotted Anne between classes, heading for the science building. He swept in before she noticed him, grabbed her wrist and tugged her behind the ancient oak tree in the center of the campus. He’d thought about doing this all weekend, no matter how rotten an idea it was. He needed to kiss her again.

Like a man possessed, he leaned her against the gnarly bark, hands on her shoulders, and kissed her full-out. Firm and deep, he explored the lips he’d thought about for two days. She dropped her books, and once again she matched him kiss for kiss.

Once he’d planted the kiss he’d dreamed about, and only because he heard some howls and comments from other students, he let up.

He would have been damned proud of that kiss, seeing her dazed and breathless, pupils dilated, eyes wide, but confusion distracted him. Shame edged its way in. How was he supposed to handle this? Damned if he’d apologize for doing what he’d wanted for months, he said something he shouldn’t have and walked away.

A week later Brianna’s mysterious illness got a diagnosis and it turned their world upside down. Nothing else seemed to matter. Anne had never mentioned their kisses again. Under the circumstances he sure as hell wasn’t about to bring them up, and their easygoing friendship had never been restored.

Honor mixed with guilt and disappointment could make a guy do crazy things, like after Bri died, he took off in the opposite direction for Europe instead of heading to Oregon to where Anne was. And life had a way of throwing those mistakes in your face. He’d lost his good buddy Anne, the girl with all the possibilities, and he hadn’t come close to falling in love with anyone since.

There were a million things he’d like to talk to Anne about, but he didn’t have a clue how or where to start. He knew he owed her an apology for the crazy mixed messages he’d given her, and for that bomb he’d dropped just before Bri had died. And if her reaction to seeing him was any indication, he wasn’t sure she was the least bit interested in seeing him again.

Jack grimaced and noticed a couple students with raised eyebrows watching him deep in his battling thoughts. He homed in on the ringleader—a girl whom he suspected had a crush on him.

“Amy, are you ready to read your essay?” He used his benevolent teacher voice, the kind that usually got good results. She shook her head with hummingbird speed.

All curious gazes went back to the desks.

After he visited Kieran Grady that afternoon in the hospital, maybe he’d pay a visit to Beverly … and Anne.

“Lucas, we understand. You’ll get home as soon as you can. What’s a few more days?” Anne said, sitting at her mother’s bedside mindlessly running her toes over the dog’s bristly brown coat. Lucas was undergoing some army discharge testing in Washington, D.C., and kept extending his ETA. “Dad’s doing as well as can be expected considering how banged up he is. I talked to him yesterday and I’ll go see him tomorrow. Mom’s doing fine, too. She’s resting right now. You want to talk to her?”

Beverly lay sprawled on her bed, pink-casted arm elevated above her heart on pillows, and with Bart, her rescued Rhodesian Ridgeback who was too big for the bed, laying dutifully on the rug. With the body of a boxer on steroids and a face more in line with a lab, he was one good-looking doggie, and the newest family addition since their official empty nest.

“I don’t want to wake her,” Lucas said.

He’d been evasive whenever the topic of conversation turned to how he was doing. The last few times they’d spoken, Anne had gotten the impression he wasn’t being completely honest about something. “She’s not really asleep. Here she is,” Anne said, gently pressing her mother’s shoulder.

“Anne!”

She smiled at the sound so clear in her mind. Lucas’s tone had transported her back in time.

“It’s Lucas.” She handed the phone to her sleepy mother, whose face brightened at the sound of her son’s name.