Romance, as any true romantic knows, is often found in the unlikeliest of places, and the same appears true for romance novelists.

At least this is true for one of Maine’s newest published authors, a Franklin County woman perfectly content in the great outdoors, who prefers the company of her sled dogs to most people. It would be hard to find two greater opposites than the lifestyle of Nadia Nichols and the world of Harlequin Romance. Like the characters in her books, it’s a case of opposites attracting.

Nadia Nichols is the author’s pen name. She would prefer her real identity not be known.

Nichols’ first novel, “Across a Thousand Miles,” was released this month by Harlequin Romance. Set along the famed Yukon Quest sled dog race trail, the book draws heavily on Nichols’ own experiences as a musher and racer as her characters meet and fall in and out of love. Up until last year, she raced her dogs on the amateur circuit all over New England and Maritime Canada.

This sudden literary notoriety is novel enough (pun intended) that she uses the name Nadia Nichols for all publicity purposes.

“When I submitted the manuscript to Harlequin, they told me it was unlike any they had read before,” Nichols recalls. “I didn’t know if that was good or bad.”

It must have been good, very good. The publisher has just signed Nichols to a three-book contract. The contract may enable Nichols to stay at home full time and tend her beloved huskies.

“I never thought I’d be a romance writer,” she reflects. “Actually, I don’t consider what I write to be romance books.”

Women reclining on overstuffed divans, wrapped in feather boas with fluffy, white dogs perched on their laps, is the stereotypical image that comes to mind – think Barbara Cartland or Danielle Steele – when one thinks of romance novelists.

Cut to Nichols, where any similarities to

these matriarchs of the romance genre begin and end with the fluffy white dog. Come to think of it, none of Nichols’ dogs is either white or particularly fluffy.

A registered Maine Guide, Nichols lives in a cabin tucked behind a tall fence in a clearing about a half-mile down a narrow, rutted dirt road, nestled against the western Maine mountains. It’s a place pretty hard to miss.

If the large pickup truck with the modified box for carrying sled dogs doesn’t give it away, the immediate chorus of barks, howls and cries from the 40 sled dogs will. The din is better than any doorbell or high-tech surveillance gear.

If all that were not enough, the canines are often accompanied by the squawking of geese and cackling of hens.

“I’m a recluse,” the novelist readily admits. “I just can’t deal with company who stays more than five minutes.”

I’ve known Nichols for close to a decade, and have, on several memorable occasions, made it past the five-minute mark. Of course, her hospitality comes at a price. I’m not saying one has to be dog lover to hang out with the writer, but it sure doesn’t hurt. During my last visit several large, aged huskies took turns trying to fit in my lap all evening as we watched a movie on her tiny solar-powered television.

Nichols lives a life that leaves many shaking their heads and seriously questioning her sanity. In fact, she’s been known to question it herself from time to time.

She lives alone in the two-room cabin with no indoor plumbing save for a hand pump for water. A solar panel provides what little electricity she needs to fire up her old Macintosh laptop computer, television and VCR.

Nichols’ yard resembles a mobile home park – for dogs. The grounds are filled with doghouses of all shapes, sizes and colors. There are blue, rounded barrel-style homes and flat-roofed box houses. Some boast porches to shade the canines in summer while others have elevated platforms so a dog can snooze off the ground.

It can be a tranquil scene for very brief periods of time. Any passing car, ATV, snowmobile, person or squirrel sets off a deafening chorus as dogs run in circles at the end of their chains. They are soon joined by a torrent of older, somewhat slower dogs, which come pouring out of special dog doors leading in and out of the cabin.

Anyone entering Nichols’ yard – something only the most brave or foolhardy do without an express invitation – is greeted by no fewer than 10 wagging tails connected to 10 dogs all begging and clamoring for attention.

Walking a tightrope might be easier than walking the 100 or so feet from the gate to the front door with huskies jumping, prancing and weaving between your feet.

Not one to cast aside a dog when its running days are over, Nichols has moved her older dogs indoors where she dotes on the canines in various stages of geriatric care.

Much of Nichols’ day is spent tending to all her dogs. Mornings begin before sunup when she descends from the sleeping loft – the only spot free of huskies but not completely dog-free, as her blue tick hound Molly figured out how to climb the ladder. The dog now has her own bed in the loft.

Picking her way over, among and around sleepy huskies, Nichols lights the first fire of the day and begins making breakfast for her dogs and coffee for herself.

Huge vats of soupy rice, meat and kibble are heated and mixed under the ever-watchful eyes of the wide-awake and hungry indoor huskies.

Nichols carries buckets of stew outside – followed by an entourage of canines – and begins the methodical process of feeding and cleaning each sled dog’s area.

“This is the part of running sled dogs you never see,” she says, scooping fresh poop into a wheelbarrow.

Back inside, the indoor pack is issued its daily medication, wrapped in a piece of a cheese or a hot dog to make the bitter pills easier to swallow.

Weather permitting, Nichols hooks up eight-dog teams for a wild run on the miles of trails she maintains on her 300-acre parcel of land.

Each husky has its own character. Take Bow and Arrow, just over a year in age. Or, as Nichols simply calls them, “The Boys.” After spending a couple of hours with The Boys, I was convinced if these dogs were human teen-agers, they would surely be skipping school to shoot pool in questionable company with packs of cigarettes rolled up in their sleeves.

Boot missing? Check The Boys. Mittens chewed beyond recognition? Check for threads in The Boys’ teeth. An older dog’s bone stolen? One of The Boys has undoubtedly buried it behind the cabin.

Nichols loves all of her dogs, and for good reason. On more than one occasion, they have gotten her out of some bad situations.

During one memorable race in Labrador, Nichols and her brother became lost on the trail in a blizzard. Nichols put her faith in her lead dog and the dog, with no visible path to follow, brought the two teams through the driving snow back to the safety of a cabin.

And it’s not just the dogs that live in Nichols’ lap of luxury.

Imagine being coddled into your old age by a woman who, when her rooster was attacked and plucked almost clean by an angry goose, kept the wounded bird in a box by her bed, nursing him day and night. Then, when he had recuperated to the point of making brief forays outside, was outfitted with a custom polar-fleece sweater to fend off the cold until his feathers grew back.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Nichols says. “But every time he wore that sweater, for some reason he would only walk backwards until he ran into something and tipped over.”

When yet another chick was hurt in a yard brawl, Nichols placed the baby bird, which suffered from two broken legs and was unable to walk, in a box and took it in her truck to and from her weekend job at Freeport’s Harriseekett Inn so she could keep an eye on it.

When the canine and avian chaos at her cabin gets a bit overwhelming, Nichols retreats to an old school bus on her property that she has outfitted with a wood stove and writing desk where she writes on an 1869 Royal typewriter.

“I use that for journal entries and short stories,” she says.

Despite her solitary, doggy life, Nichols has managed to break into the romance-publishing world from her remote outpost.

Still, Nichols doesn’t consider herself a romance novelist. She sees her novels as good stories with characters who happen to fall for each other, just to spice things up a bit – sometimes.

“In one of my books, I’m not sure the characters even like each other at the end,” Nichols says.

As for her pen name, when her publisher told her she had to come up with one, she did what came naturally and turned to her beloved sled dogs for inspiration.

Nadia was the name of her favorite lead dog. It was a pretty good choice, considering the alternative. Her other favorite lead husky is called Peaches.

Julia Bayly is a free-lance writer based in Fort Kent. She has four sled dogs of her own.