Mistletoe in Paradise (Wildstone #5.5) - Jill Shalvis Page 0,1

Juan on our Puerto Rico stop, and then be with us on the last leg to St. Thomas and back home,” Harry said, reading from his phone. “She got held up at work.”

Hannah’s mouth tightened at the lie. Her mom’s, not Harry’s. Since the separation, her mom had still occasionally joined them—in between boyfriends, that is—just enough times to keep Harry’s hopes up. But now her mom wanted to marry her latest boyfriend. She’d told Harry she’d come on this trip, but she’d lost her nerve and had planned to pay a courier to do her dirty work.

Hannah couldn’t let a stranger serve Harry the papers, she just couldn’t. So here she was, facing more than a few ghosts of her own past as well as her mom’s.

Harry was smiling warmly at her. “I’m so glad you showed up.”

She forced a smile. “When have I ever broken a promise or let you down?”

Guilt flashed across his craggy, been-in-the-sun-for-fifty-plus-years face because he knew he couldn’t say the same. “You’re as sweet as you are dependable.”

Right, just what every woman wanted to hear, a description of herself employing the same adjectives as those applied to a golden retriever.

Harry pulled off his hat and dropped his phone into it. “No more of this on vacay. All it does is bring bad news.” He held out the hat. Guess he could hear her phone, which had been buzzing since she’d boarded. Work, no doubt. She could tell by the sheer level of annoyance in the vibration. Pulling it from her pocket, she eyed the screen. Yep. Her boss, Cynthia, aka the Tyrant, as the office often called her. Cynthia thought it was a compliment.

“Come on now, Smalls,” Harry said. “Drop that evil ruination of modern society into the hat. You’re my gift this year, and I don’t plan on sharing you with your job 24/7 like usual.”

“Okay, but, Dad, remember, I did warn you that I’d have to work some. That was the only reason I got the time away from the office for this trip.”

Harry didn’t say anything to this. Instead, he turned to the woman who’d just come from the bridge to stand at his side. Sally, his longtime stewardess and self-appointed cruise director, handed Hannah what looked like a frothy eggnog and a festive elf headpiece, complete with a little green hat.

Sally laughed at the look on Hannah’s face. “I know. But Harry insisted. All passengers-slash-coworkers have to be in the proper festive spirit this week.”

The thing about boating with Harry this week was that he didn’t make money, so he gave his crew the time off, which meant it was all hands on deck. “Just how many others are we talking about?”

“Well, Susan and Dan, of course,” Harry said, referring to the Webbers. “And you and your mom, and—”

Hannah’s phone rang again.

“Nope,” Harry said and jiggled his hat. He always collected cell phones at the start of a trip, mostly because Harry had never met a responsibility he couldn’t put away, not to be seen until it suited him.

“Dad—”

“Nope. And I’m doing you a favor, trust me.”

She grimaced in apology but answered the phone. “Hannah Banfield.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“So you do live,” Cynthia said in her no-nonsense, perpetually irritated voice. “Is there a reason you’re not checking your damn phone in the middle of a very important week when you’ve got a very big case being decided upon?”

Three years ago, the woman had taken a chance on Hannah, teaching her the ropes when Hannah had started with no specific experience, only her painful ambition. Hannah was now a successful health care advocate, working for the hospital in her hometown and fighting on behalf of insurance rights for terminal patients. She was incredibly proud of the work she was doing. But because she’d made the mistake of asking her dad what he wanted for Christmas, and because his answer had been only one thing—her—she was here, and Cynthia was going to get heartburn and the chance to take Hannah’s case in front of a judge. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I’ve emailed you several files. I’ve marked my questions. The last thing we want is the judge to postpone until after the holidays.”

“I’ll take a look,” Hannah promised and disconnected.

Her dad wriggled the hat for her cell phone. “This is vacation.”

“Come on, Dad, I’m turning twenty-seven years, not twelve. And who’s the other guest?”

Harry just smiled, giving her a very bad feeling. But it couldn’t be. Her mom had told her