Table of Contents
Praise for Denise Hildreth
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discussion Questions
Praise for Denise Hildreth
Hurricanes in Paradise
“Denise is one of my favorite storytellers. With all that charm, she draws me in and gets me laughing; then with a simple phrase or picture, she turns the screws and tightens the lines, touching me someplace tender. Nobody—and I mean nobody—knows or paints Southern women like Denise. This is a beautiful, moving story, tenderly told.”
Charles Martin
author of Where the River Ends
“This book stole my time. But don’t blame the book and don’t blame the author! At times you will laugh out loud, and at other times you’ll have to push through the lump in your throat. Either way, you will not want this book to end.”
Eva Marie Everson
author of This Fine Life
“Oh, how I miss Denise’s many layered characters! They made me laugh and cry while challenging me to remember that people hide heartache behind a variety of facades. Bouquets of praise are due Denise Hildreth for leaving readers filled with hope that healing exists in every storm for all who believe . . . in Paradise.”
Shellie Rushing Tomlinson
TV and radio host of All Things Southern
The Will of Wisteria
“A unique page-turner about the beauty of a place called Wisteria, the wild landscape of the heart, and how sometimes it’s only the miracle of a human touch that can lead someone home again.”
River Jordan
author of The Messenger of Magnolia Street
Flies on the Butter
“Hildreth’s latest shines with humanity and originality. . . . Keep tissues handy for the emotional conclusion.”
Romantic Times
“[N]othing less than a spiritual odyssey of inner reckoning.”
Southern Living
“Beautifully portrays how looking back thoughtfully has the potential to powerfully transform one’s future.”
Andy Andrews
New York Times best-selling author
The Savannah series
“[Savannah from Savannah is] smart and witty.”
Library Journal
“Savannah is a new kind of spirited Southern belle. And Hildreth’s smart, quirky wit is positively addicting. I’m hooked!”
Colleen Coble
best-selling author of Cry in the Night
“Reading Savannah Comes Undone is like taking a virtual vacation. It’s a quirky, fun foray into life in the South. . . . You won’t be disappointed.”
Kathy L. Patrick
founder of the Pulpwood Queens Book Club
“An engaging read of real-life vignettes and relationships. I read it cover to cover. As Savannah discovers her beliefs, values, and passions, the reader will be looking into their own ‘mirror of truth.’”
Naomi Judd
Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com.
Visit Denise Hildreth’s Web site at www.denisehildreth.com.
TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Hurricanes in Paradise
Copyright © 2010 by Denise Hildreth. All rights reserved.
Cover photo copyright © by Alloy/Veer. All rights reserved.
Back cover photo of sunglasses copyright © by Heather Down/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Cover designed by Julie Chen
Interior designed by Beth Sparkman
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson and Erin E. Smith
Published in association with the literary agency of Daniel Literary Group, Nashville, TN.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hildreth, Denise, date.
Hurricanes in paradise / Denise Hildreth.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4143-3557-5 (pbk.)
1. Resorts—Fiction. 2. Hurricanes—Fiction. 3. Female friendship—Fiction.
4. Bahamas—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.I424H87 2010
813´.6—dc22 2009054258
This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever walked through a hurricane . . . and survived.
1
Saturday morning . . .
The salt air of the Caribbean rushed through the open sliding-glass door with the force of a tropical storm gust and blew a picture frame on her coffee table to the floor, reminding Riley Sinclair that her second chance at life was just as fragile. Her bare feet stepped onto the warm concrete of the small balcony, and she leaned against the iron railing. Her pajama pants blew between the teal-painted slats as a soft curl swept in front of her face, its color as dark as the black tank top she wore.
She closed her eyes and breathed in, the oxygen traveling all the way to her toes. This was the smell she knew, the scent of her memories. She also knew the teasing dance that hurricanes played on the coastal waters. And this tropical paradise that she now resided in had avoided another close call in Hurricane Jesse. But rumor had it a new storm churned in the Atlantic. And though the Bahamas had avoided each storm this year, the mere chance was never good for business. She exhaled deliberately and released anything else that needed to go. The first prayer of the day was offered as the sun pressed its way through dissipating clouds.
When the discourse of her morning was over, she headed back inside to get some Dr Pepper, her new a.m. sugar kick of choice. The South knew how to grow its women proper, raise its boys to be gentlemen, and make its tea sweet. But Bahamians had no idea they were as southern as you could get, so sweet tea wasn’t a readily accessible commodity here. So she had switched to Dr Pepper.
She knew that amount of sugar probably wasn’t an ideal breakfast companion, but she figured if that was the only addiction she possessed after what she’d been through, she’d fared pretty well. She set her liquid sunshine down and turned the sleek silver shower handle upward to let the water heat up to just below scalding. When steam had taken over the shower door and made its way to the bathroom mirror, she entombed herself. As warm water cascaded over her, the low, melodic sounds of her hum reverberated through the stone bathroom. She closed her eyes and began to sing softly, letting the thickness of her alto voice take up the spaces the steam had left vacant.
The shower was over when she was finished singing. She dried off, dressed, and released her
