Kate Hoffmann - Who Needs Mistletoe?

The seventh book in the 24 Hours series, 2008

Dear Reader,

If a girl is going to be lost for twenty-four hours, my choice would probably be a high-end department store or the food court at a local mall. But throw in a handsome companion and I might opt for a deserted tropical island. After all, where else would clothing be optional?

In Who Needs Mistletoe ? I had a chance to combine a bit of Survivor , a dash of my last Caribbean vacation and a few other secret fantasies to pen my latest effort for Harlequin Blaze. Added to that was a little bit of Christmas, too. It’s not the typical Christmas story-no twinkling tree or stacks of wrapped presents. But hopefully this book will give you more than a little holiday cheer.

So enjoy this escape to the South Pacific while you’re drinking eggnog and sitting in front of the fire. And have a wonderful holiday season!

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann

T HE ARTIFICIAL C HRISTMAS TREElooked even tackier than it had the previous year, the plastic pine needles worn thin in spots and the wire branches drooping. Sophie Madigan hung the last of the ornaments on a high bough, then stepped back, forcing a smile. “Doesn’t that look festive, Papa?”

She glanced over her shoulder at her father, who sat at the huge desk in their parlor, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, aviation manuals and charts spread out in front of him. He nodded distractedly, then took another sip of his whiskey. It was barely noon and he had already poured himself a drink, Sophie mused.

“I should have bought some new lights,” she continued. “Half of these are burned out.”

“Looks fine, darlin’,” he murmured, without even looking up.

Sophie sighed and began to gather the boxes and bags strewn over the plank floor. Why did she even bother? Trying to celebrate Christmas in the middle of the South Pacific was a lost cause. She remembered Christmases past, when she and her parents had traveled to places where entire towns had been decorated, places where it actually snowed.

Outside their small house on the tiny Polynesian island of Taratea, the trade winds kept the temperatures at a constant eighty-three degrees and the wet season made the air thick with humidity. The heady scent of tiare and hibiscus and frangipani seeped through the shutters that lined the lanai and she could hear the soft patter of raindrops on the tin roof. Sometimes it seemed as if it would never stop raining.

Sophie had hoped to spend this Christmas with her mother in Paris. But for the third year in a row, she’d reluctantly refused the invitation, choosing instead to stay with her father, Jack “Madman” Madigan. Christmas in Paris would have been a happy affair. Her uncles and aunts were all excellent cooks and there would have been food, followed by gifts, followed by more food.

When she broached the subject of spending the holidays in Paris, her father had told her to go. But as the time to leave got closer, Sophie saw him sink further and further into a deep depression. He had no one except her. No family, few friends. Since his eyesight had gone bad, he’d cut himself off from nearly everyone.

Sophie turned away from the tree and crossed the room, peering over her father’s shoulder. “What are you working on?”

He had a map of the Society Islands spread out in front of him and he was studying a small archipelago through a magnifying glass, squinting to see the fine print. Her father’s eyesight had been failing for nearly five years. It had become so bad, he’d been grounded, prohibited from doing what he did best.

Since then, Sophie had been forced to take over his air-charter operation, making almost daily flights between Tahiti and any one of the fourteen inhabited islands nearby. To make ends meet, they’d sold off four of the five planes to pay her father’s debts. With one small plane left and only one pilot-Sophie herself-they made just enough to get by.

Sophie had tried to convince her father to sell the last plane and move back to the States where he could get medical care and she could get a better-paying job, but Jack held out hope that his eyesight would suddenly return and he’d be back in business. “Are we going on a trip?”

“I’m mapping out a flight plan for you for tomorrow,” he murmured.

“I didn’t know I had a charter,” Sophie said, frowning. “Papa, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Don’t you think we could take the day off, maybe do a little celebrating? The tree is up. I thought I might make a nice dinner and we could open our gifts and maybe even listen to some Christmas music.”

“This guy is willing to pay ten thousand American for three days’ worth of flying. I didn’t think it was a job you’d want to refuse.”

She gasped. “ Ten thousand dollars? For three days’ work?”

Jack nodded, then handed her a slip of paper. “His name is Peter Shelton. He’s some bigwig for the Shelton Hotel chain. They’re looking for a new location to build some fancy-schmancy new resort and they want to buy a whole island, make it real exclusive. You need to meet him at eight tomorrow morning at Faaa. At the hangar.”

Sophie stared down at the name and phone number written on the scrap of paper. “Quelle chance,” she murmured. “Peter Shelton. Shelton Hotels.” He sounded like a pretty important guy. Anyone who worked on Christmas Eve and paid more than three thousand dollars a day for a charter had to be important. “Why would he choose us?”

“Probably because no one else would take the job on Christmas Eve,” Jack replied. “Here,” he said, pointing to the map. “Fly him up here to this little atoll. There’s a nice-size island with a decent lagoon.”

“Suaneva? Didn’t they try to build a resort there once?”

“About thirty years ago. But the developer ran out of money. The lagoon is a little tight for landing and taking off, but a good pilot should be able to get in and out. Hell, if he decides to build there, I can fly his workers in and out. We’ll haul freight, and later the guests. We could work out an exclusive long-term contract and maybe buy a few new planes. I want you to really impress this guy, Sophie girl. Make him see that a partnership with Madigan Air would be good for both of us.”

Sophie rested her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Papa.” She knew it was all just a pipe dream. Or maybe he did expect her to spend the rest of her life flying for him. She’d found a doctor in Sydney who’d promised a simple but expensive surgery for her father’s sight problems, but when she’d mentioned this to him, Jack had completely discounted the option, preferring to stick to the herbal remedies a local tahua woman had prescribed.

Besides, it wasn’t as if they had the money for the operation. Though ten thousand American dollars would go a long way toward paying for it, it still wasn’t enough. Sooner or later, she’d have to accept the fact her life was here, caring for her father and eking out a living for them both as best she could.

She glanced around the small fare they called home. Built onto a hillside overlooking the water and perched on stilts, the interior of the cottage was small, just enough room for a few bedrooms and a parlor. But most of their living was done outside, on the wide lanai that circled the house.

Tourists would say she was living in paradise, but to Sophie, it often felt like a prison. Unable to enjoy the beauty that surrounded her, she longed for the excitement of living in a city, the noise and the people, never knowing what was around the next corner.