LITMIR.BIZ

      Doctor in Her House

      by Amy Knupp

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      ANN EVANS has been writing since she was a teenager, but it wasn’t until she joined Romance Writers of America that she actually sent anything to a publisher. Eventually, with the help of a very good critique group, she honed her skills and won a Golden Heart Award from Romance Writers of America for Best Short Contemporary Romance of 1989. Since then she’s happy to have found a home at Superromance.

      A native Floridian, Ann enjoys travelling, hot fudge sundaes and collecting antique postcards. She loves hearing from readers and invites them to visit her website at www.aboutannevans.com.

      A Mum For Amy

      ANN EVANS

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      CHAPTER ONE

      ON A TERRIFIC Florida morning like this, there was only one place Maggie Tillman wanted to be.

      The beach. And she knew just who she wanted to be there with.

      She hopped out of bed, dressed quickly in her usual T-shirt and shorts, then galloped downstairs. The house lay silent. Since her older sister, Alaina, had married a big-deal doctor last year, Maggie had lived with her parents in this rambling two-story Victorian that sat on a deadly dull cul-de-sac on the stuffy side of North Miami Beach.

      She skidded to a halt just inside the kitchen. “Good morning,” she called out to her parents. “Have I missed anything?”

      Her mother was at the stove, making pancakes. When she glanced up, one brow went as high as it could go. Her father stood at the counter, engaging in his usual impatient staring contest with the coffeemaker. He made a point of looking at the clock. Both James and Connie Tillman were early risers. Maggie knew that the fact she’d dared to sleep until nearly nine o’clock wouldn’t sit well with either of them.

      “The morning’s half gone,” her father said before turning his attention back to the coffee.

      “Well, it’s still beautiful,” Maggie said in her brightest tone. She threw her arms wide, nearly knocking over one of her mother’s carefully constructed flower arrangements from atop the baker’s rack. “I feel like I could be in one of those old movies, where the woman wakes up and breaks into song.”

      “Spare us, dear,” Connie Tillman said, adjusting the blooms so that they were perfect once more. “We’ve all heard you sing.”

      Her father said nothing.

      Maggie resisted a sigh. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t her parents accept that she would always be different from Alaina? She didn’t have her sister’s clever tongue and vivacious good looks. She knew she was clumsy, spoke too fast, laughed too loud. She might never set the world on fire.

      But Maggie didn’t think she was completely the impulsive, irresponsible slacker they often accused her of being.

      Last night at the dinner table, Mom’s best meat loaf had gone stone-cold while their weekly disagreement played out. Some boring junk about her unwillingness to change her college major and get her mind wrapped around the idea of heading back to school. But she was nineteen, for Pete’s sake, and she was achingly aware that spring break was nearly over.

      There was plenty of time to think about the degree in marine biology she wanted. Later.

      Determined not to allow that unpleasantness to spoil this morning’s lovely possibilities, Maggie swept past her parents, giving them both a kiss on the cheek as she made her way to the fridge. She rummaged through its contents, eager to get out of the house and head for the beach. She grinned when she found a carton of orange juice hiding behind the milk.

      “Do you want pancakes?” her mother asked, then frowned at Maggie. “Use a glass, for heaven’s sake. You weren’t brought up in a barn.”

      Maggie returned the juice to the refrigerator. Yep, the beach was looking better and better, and right there and then she decided neither of them needed to know where she was going. “No pancakes for me, thanks. I’ve gotta run. Lots of business to take care of.”

      Her father looked up from his cup, letting his eyes travel slowly over Maggie from her sandaled feet to the ponytail that held back her pale blond hair. “Dressed like that? Why don’t you spend a whole dollar on your outfit next time?”

      James Tillman might be comptroller for one of the largest corporations in the Greater Miami area, but he had the communication skills of a drill sergeant—at least when it came to Maggie.

      “Don’t start, Dad,” she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted to feel warm salt air on her cheeks and the tide tickling her toes. “I’ve got three Go Fish calls to make, and then—”

      “Go Fish,” her father said with a look of such disdain that Maggie wished she had simply walked out the front door and never stopped for a sip of juice. “What kind of silly name is that for a business? Like I said last night—”

      “James…” her mother cautioned. “Come eat your pancakes.”

      Maggie watched him concede to his wife, but she felt her own resentment swell. She refused to be bullied about the decisions she’d made, and he really was ruining this beautiful day.

      She looked her father right in the eye. “Give it up, Dad. I’m never going to change my major to accounting.

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