Praise for Kate Hoffmann from RT Book Reviews
“Hoffmann’s deeply felt, emotional story is riveting. It’s impossible to put down.”
—on The Charmer
“Fully developed characters and perfect pacing make this story feel completely right.”
—on Your Bed or Mine?
“Sexy and wildly romantic.”
—on Doing Ireland!
“A very hot story mixes with great characters to make every page a delight.”
—on The Mighty Quinns: Ian
“Romantic, sexy and heartwarming.”
—on Who Needs Mistletoe?
“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic … a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then re-read.”
—on The Mighty Quinns: Teague
Dear Reader,
When my editor asked me to write a book for the WRONG BED series, I wanted to find a new and unique setting. I needed a bed and a way to get my hero and heroine into it, but beyond that I knew I wanted to set it in the north woods of Wisconsin. But where? A resort? A luxurious vacation home? A rustic cabin in the woods? Been there, done that!
A comment from my editor brought back a memory of a summer camp I attended when I was in third grade. Even now, I recall the excitement of getting on the bus and traveling to this wonderful place where we had the whole day set aside for fun. I was all about weaving and leatherwork, but it wasn’t hard to see what the older girls liked about camp—boys.
Sometimes ideas for a romance novel can come from the tiniest sliver of a memory. I enjoyed going back to summer camp while writing this book and I hope it brings back some memories for you too.
All the best,
Kate Hoffmann
About the Author
KATE HOFFMANN began writing in 1993. Since then she’s published sixty-five books. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theatre and musical theatre. She is active working with school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.
Not Just Friends
Kate Hoffmann
MILLS & BOON
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To Brenda, my editor, who is always patient and insightful and
the best person I could ever have in
my corner. I couldn’t do it without you!
1
This is page one in my camp jernal. I am ten years old and this is my first summer at camp. I got this book from Gina, my camp consiler, who is really cool and says we should write down what we think. I think there are lots of kids at camp and I hope I make new friends. My cabin is Woodchuck. I sleep in the top bunk. But what if I don’t make any friends?
THE WARM BREEZE filled the car with the scent of pine woods and inland lakes. Julia McKee drew a deep breath through her nose and smiled as a familiar excitement began to grow inside her. Even after all these years, it was still there, that mix of nervousness and elation that came in the last miles to Camp Winnehawkee.
She remembered the exact moment her mother had handed her the camp brochure. It had been the summer after her parents’ divorce and Lorraine McKee had been unable to cope with the stress of raising her five children. So she’d decided to spend the summer with friends in California.
Julia’s four older brothers had been shipped off to sports camps and Julia was put on a charter bus bound for the northwoods of Wisconsin, the brochure clutched in her sweaty hand. She’d read the cover so many times she could recite it by heart. She’d been just ten years old and terrified of what the summer would hold. Friendships for a lifetime? What did that mean?
She really didn’t have many friends at home. Julia spent most of her time hiding out in her room, avoiding the incessant bullying of her rowdy brothers. And at school, she preferred reading to socializing, earning her the nickname “Bookworm.”
Julia squinted against the oncoming headlights of a car, then glanced over at the clock on the dashboard of her Subaru wagon. A late start and a traffic jam in Chicago had left her two hours behind schedule. At this rate, she would arrive at Winnehawkee just before midnight.
She reached over and picked up her cell phone from the passenger seat, then dialed the number for Kate Carmichael Gray, her very best friend from all her years at camp. They’d been cabin mates that first year, along with Frannie Dillon. Over the following eleven summers, they’d formed a lifelong friendship that had survived another seven years apart.
Kate had married another counselor, Mason Gray, and they’d both lived in Madison before moving to northern Wisconsin when they bought the camp. Mason was a high school history teacher and Kate, a social worker.
Kate’s voicemail picked up and Julia sighed. “Hey, Kate. Hey, Mason. I’m still about an hour away. I know it’s late and you guys have probably been working hard all day long s go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll find a bunk in one of the cabins. I think I remember how to rough it. Talk to you soon.”
She hung up the phone, then wondered if she ought to try calling Frannie. She was supposed to arrive earlier that day with another old camp friend, Ben Cassidy. They both lived in Minneapolis now and had jumped at the chance to help out Kate and Mason.
“We’re for you, Camp Winnehawkee, friends forever more,” she sang softly. “Every summer we’re together, makes us love you more.”
She’d graduated from camper to counselor the summer after her senior year in high school, and throughout college she’d returned to the camp each summer as the arts and crafts teacher and advisor for the Woodchuck cabin of twelve- and thirteen-year-old girls.
The camp had been the closest thing she’d had to a stable family. Her brothers had never wanted anything to do with her and she’d rarely seen her father after the divorce, except when he was required to take her for her birthday weekend. And her mother had lost all interest in raising a daughter once she’d begun to date again.
Over the last few years, she’d often thought about the camp. She’d kept in touch with both Kate and Frannie. They’d called on birthdays and holidays and got together once a year for a girls’ weekend. But now they were reuniting to bring the camp back to life.
Winnehawkee had closed six years ago. The previous owners had retired to Florida and left the camp abandoned. Rather than sell to developers, they’d insisted that the new buyers reopen the camp. In fact, they’d even written it into