Hurricane Hannah
Her plan?Ferry a client's plane to Aruba, play a little poker, get some sun…Not in her plan? An emergency landing on a volcanic island full of lunatics, an approaching hurricane, a dashingly annoying airstrip owner named Buck Shanahan (who seems as fond of poker as she is) and a lonely, lovesick alligator called Buster…Sassy redheaded pilot Hannah Lamont has no time for back-island bumpkins like Buck and his buddies–until the hurricane bears down, grounding her on tiny Treasure Island. Treasure, ha! Aside from a couple of ratty tiki huts, all this flyspeck can boast is a casino–and it's right in the path of the storm. But as Hannah throws her chips in with Buck and the islanders to save the place, the stakes may be higher than she dreamed…and winning brings rewards she never expected.
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What kind of place was this island?
Several seconds passed before Hannah’s brain registered what her eyes were seeing. Pushing through the door was Buster the alligator, his mouth full of wildflowers.
Like a bouquet, she thought wildly as Buster took a step toward her.
That was it. Hannah leaped onto the counter and scrambled over it, landing in a surprised Buck Shanahan’s arms.
“Oh, my God,” Hannah whispered.
“Shh,” he said. He didn’t put her down.
Moving slowly, Buster edged his huge body into the office. His gaze never left Hannah as he made a relatively quiet groan and dropped the flowers on the floor.
“I don’t believe this,” Buck whispered.
Then, slowly, with great reluctance, Buster backed his huge length out of the office. Outside, he offered another mating roar.
“Wow!” Buck said. “Buster just brought you a bouquet.”
Hannah stared at him, seeking balance. “I’m underwhelmed.”
Also by Sue Civil-Brown
The Prince Next Door
Breaking All the Rules
Next Stop, Paradise
Tempting Mr. Wright
Catching Kelly
Chasing Rainbow
Letting Loose
Carried Away
AUTHOR NOTE
NO ALLIGATORS WERE harmed in the writing of this book. No humans were harmed by alligators in the writing of this book.
Poker is not advocated as a way to settle disputes or make money, except on Treasure Island.
Flights to Treasure Island depart regularly. Return flights are unpredictable.
Buster will meet you at the airport. Bring a chicken.
To the survivors of Katrina,
from survivors of Charlie, Frances and Jean.
Our prayers are with you all.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
HANNAH LAMONT DIDN’T have a whole lot of choices left, and she busied herself debating who she was going to skin alive: her mechanic, or the jerk who’d sold her this piece of junk claiming it was in A-one condition.
Because right now, she and the corporate jet she was ferrying were in serious trouble. Evening dimmed the sky, the clouds reddened with warning, the islands below looked too small and unpopulated, and her fuel was running low thanks to something that had blown about fifteen minutes ago. Her radio had quit, so she couldn’t call for help or direction, and her hands gripped the yoke as if they were throttling someone.
She bought and sold used corporate jets for a living. Never before had she ferried one in this kind of condition. Paranoid thoughts of sabotage began to swirl around the back of her brain.
She couldn’t imagine how Len, her mechanic, could have missed anything essential when he checked out this plane. She knew he’d spent four weeks bringing it up to snuff. And bringing these used jets up to snuff kept her in business. She took pride in delivering planes that were as good as new, even though they might have already been flown for a decade or more.
So what had gone wrong this time? Some kind of metal fatigue? Something that there was no way Len could possibly have noticed? Or just plain crazy bad luck?
But what the hell. She could always go out in a so-called blaze of glory.
Then she spied salvation. On an island that was mostly a volcanic cone, she saw not only signs of civilization, but, also, on a plateau, she made out an unmistakable airport. It was a small airport, and she could only hope she would have enough gas for the reverse thrust, because those landing strips looked awfully short.
But what choice did she have at this point? She couldn’t even warn them she was coming in. She just had to go. Dipping down low, she circled in and said a quick prayer. This or nothing.
As she descended to one hundred feet and circled the field in the standard oval approach pattern, she passed over the heads of a gaggle of people who looked at her like she was crazy.
Well, she was crazy. If she hadn’t been crazy she never would have taken over her dad’s business in the first place. No, she’d have found some sane job in an office somewhere where she didn’t have to put her life on the line on a routine basis. Because she couldn’t escape the fact that flying the Caribbean skies was asking for trouble, what with countries that wouldn’t let you land, smugglers who were trying to fly off the radar, commercial flights that thought they owned the airways and small, private planes piloted by people who shouldn’t be allowed to get both feet off the ground at the same time.
And of course, always the risk of being mistaken for a drug runner herself. But her luck there had been pretty good, when all was said and done. She’d only been shot at once, and held at gunpoint twice. So far the local police had been fairly decent to her. Once they ran their drug dogs all over her plane, that was.
