“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!”

Adam kicked at the ladder again.

“Quit swearing at the roof and hold still.”

Adam wondered if he’d imagined the woman who appeared to be digging through the honeysuckle below and to the left of his swinging feet.

“Are you hurt?” a low melodic voice inquired.

“A few scrapes,” he muttered. “Probably a bruised rib or two. If you can lift that ladder, sweet thing, chances are I’ll live.”

“Chances go down if you call me sweet thing again.”

Adam couldn’t see much of his Good Samaritan. But he fell instantly in lust with her sweet-as-sugar voice. Despite a downpour few women of his acquaintance would’ve ventured out in, this one had come from nowhere, raised his ladder and then climbed a few rungs to guide his feet to safety.

“Are…are you Jackson Fontaine?” she asked, her voice suddenly hesitant.

“I’m Adam Ross. I restore historic homes. I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Noelani. Noelani Hana. I’m…Duke Fontaine is…”

So this lovely woman was the secret daughter. Duke’s little indiscretion. The illegitimate Fontaine heir.

Dear Reader,

One of the biggest challenges in writing linked books like the Raising Cane trilogy—especially a project involving three individual authors—is finding characters we love to love. Seeing the characters as people you’d want to know and live with for an extended period of time is essential to writing any book. When three writers carry over characters from each other’s stories, it’s like populating a small town.

Eve Gaddy, K.N. Casper and I met and brainstormed probably twenty scenarios and twice as many possible heroes and heroines before we decided to set our family in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the heart of sugarcane country. Casey and Jackson Fontaine have roots in their ancestral plantation, Bellefontaine, stretching back to the Civil War. They’ve grown up in the sugarcane business and are itching to prove their worth to a controlling father. When their parents go off on an around-the-world second honeymoon, it seems the perfect opportunity. Except the Fontaine family has enemies and family scandals. Love interests show up, which further complicate their lives. It takes three books to solve the family’s problems, bring in the crop of sugarcane and unite three sets of lovers. I hope you’ll enjoy Casey’s Gamble, The Secret Daughter and Jackson’s Girls.

Sincerely,

Roz Denny Fox

P.S. I love to hear from readers at P.O. Box 17480-101, Tuscon, AZ 85731, or e-mail me: rdfox@worldnet.att.net.

The Secret Daughter
Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Duke & Angelique Fontaine: Owners of Bellefontaine, recently deceased

Cassandra (Casey) Fontaine: Bellefontaine plantation manager and daughter of Duke and Angelique

Nick Devlin: Riverboat casino owner and builder; married to Casey

Jackson Fontaine: Bellefontaine business manager and son of Duke and Angelique

Megan Fontaine: Jackson’s four-year-old daughter

Esme Fontaine: Duke’s opinionated sister

Noelani Hana: Illegitimate daughter of Duke Fontaine and Anela Hana

Adam Ross: Nick’s friend and historic home renovator

Roland Dewalt: Long-standing neighbor of the Fontaines

Murray Dewalt: Roland’s son and longtime friend of Casey and Jackson

Vivian (Viv) Pontier-Renault: Casey’s best friend

Luc Renault: Jazz musician and Viv’s husband

Tanya Carson: Megan’s nanny

Betty Rabaud: Fontaine family cook

Bruce Shiller: Owner of sugar plantation in Hawaii where Noelani grew up

Denise Rochelle: Current Fontaine employee, romantically interested in Adam Ross

Chuck Riley: Copilot who flew with Duke Fontaine

Remy Boucherand: Police detective investigating suspicious events at Bellefontaine

In researching the trilogy, we discovered that everything we’ve ever heard about Southern hospitality is completely true. Our heartfelt thanks go to Kenneth and Mary Jane Kahao, longtime sugar growers in the Baton Rouge area, for squiring us around. Because of them, we were able to tour cane fields during cutting season and get an in-depth look at a working sugar mill.

Nor would our books be so rich with the history of the sugar industry if not for the generosity of Caroline Kennedy, Director, and Jim Barnett, Curatorial Assistant, of the West Baton Rouge Museum. (Caroline was quick to inform us she wasn’t that Caroline Kennedy.)

Our apologies for any errors or bits of poetic license we may have taken in order to weave the fictional fabric of our linked stories.

I also want to thank my husband for driving us to and from Louisiana, and for the hours he and Mary Casper spent reading our stories for continuity. They’re the best.

And thanks to Paula, Laura and Beverley, our editors, for their coordination, support and the insight needed to move this project from start to finish.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PROLOGUE

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

“BETTY! BETTY RABAUD. I thought it was you. Wait, let me catch my breath. I’ve been hoping I’d run into you one of these days. I declare, can anything else go wrong for Casey and Jackson Fontaine?” Ignoring a stiff October wind, Mary Louise Chastain ran up to her friend outside a local café. She used to be a cook at the Woodlands, owned by Roland Dewalt, the Fontaine family’s nearest neighbor. And Betty was her counterpart on the larger plantation.

Betty Rabaud loved few things in life as much as she loved gossip. Her role as housekeeper-cook at Bellefontaine certainly gave her access to lots of the good stuff. She couldn’t help it if her affluent employers had been involved in so many disasters—each one worthy of gossip—during the past few months.

Today it happened to be news that had somehow leaked into the community. The recently deceased Duke Fontaine had fathered an illegitimate child. Glancing both right and left before pulling the ever-present unlit cigarette from between her lips, Betty tucked it over one ear and said in hushed tones, “Ain’t it something, Mary Louise? But how did you hear?”

“Murray Dewalt dropped by to see how I was getting on. I’d already heard rumors about the arson at Bellefontaine, how they had an expensive harvester go missing, and about Casey Fontaine taking up with that riverboat casino owner. Murray’s not one to talk out of turn, mind you, but I squeezed some information out of him. ’Cause he feels so bad for the way his dad fired me in one of his fits of temper. Not that I’d ever go back to the Woodlands, and Murray knows it.”

“Humph,” Betty grumbled. “I figured maybe it was Roland spreading dirt about Duke’s family, seeing how Duke stole the woman Roland had his heart set on marrying.”

“Isn’t that water down the toilet? Oh, sure, Roland bellyached to his old cronies, although he’s a loner, that one. If you ask me—and no one does—Roland Dewalt’s becoming a hermit.”

“Let’s go inside where we can eat and chat some more, Mary Louise. Today’s my day off, so I’m not in any rush.”

“Mine, too. Having a day off is new for me. Roland Dewalt expected me to work seven days a week, and for a lot less than I’m making working a shorter week for Baumgartner’s.”

The friends went inside and sought an out-of-the-way back booth.

Mary Louise lowered her voice further, mostly to avoid being overheard by a chatty group seated at a nearby table. “Do you think Angelique knew her husband was playing around? Or would she ever tell you such a thing, since you’re only a shirttail cousin?”

“Angelique didn’t tell a soul. Truth is, I overheard Casey pitching a royal fit. I guess in some letter she and Jackson found, it more or less said their mother forgave Duke his little transgression. Know what else I heard, though? This tickles me pink.” Betty gave a smug smile. “Esme Fontaine had no earthly clue.”

“My, my. Considering how hard it was for her to swallow the idea of Jackson’s love child, that little girl, showing up to live at Bellefontaine, I’m surprised Esme didn’t have a stroke over learning her brother had one of his own hidden away.”

“Well, she won’t be hidden for long. She’s coming for the reading of Duke’s will tonight. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that meeting. Which is why I’ll bet you Esme arranged for Shelburne Prescott to read it on my day off. Mademoiselle Froufrou would like nothing better than to keep this secret inside the family. Mark my words, Esme’ll have that girl in and gone again before she can do any more damage to Duke’s reputation.”

“Doesn’t matter whether you get along with Esme or not, Betty, you can’t fault her for feeling like that. She’s lived half her life with everyone in town snickering over the way Roland broke their engagement when he fell for Angelique.

“If this was just about Esme’s feelings, I’d say tough. But Casey doesn’t deserve to have this kind of shadow over her marriage. And poor Jackson. Now that Duke’s dead, that boy’s been left in charge of an operation his father barely let him touch.

“It’s the same with Murray Dewalt, God love him. Duke and Roland, for all their petty squabbles, seemed to think a son proved their virility. Yet both of ’em were too stubborn and arrogant to equip their boys to take over if anything ever happened to them.”

“Ain’t it the truth. But I’m sure Duke didn’t plan on going.”

“Yep. I imagine he’d have done a whole lot of things differently if he’d had any idea he and Angelique were going to get killed in that plane crash. To make matters worse, the poor kids had to learn their papa was flying the plane that day.” She shook her head. “Still, any way you cut it, Duke left Jackson and Casey in a thorny situation.”

The women’s friendly gossip session ceased abruptly as a waitress showed up to take their lunch orders.

CHAPTER ONE

Maui, Hawaii

“HI, MIDORI.” NOELANI HANA breezed full-tilt into the executive offices of Shiller Cane Company, the same way she’d moved through life for most of her twenty-seven years. Her long, straight hair settled like dark rain over her olive-toned shoulders as she skidded to a stop in front of Bruce Shiller’s secretary. “What’s so urgent to make the boss send a runner to the mill to get me? I’ll have our vat computers running fine before the first load of cane’s delivered, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

“He didn’t give a reason, just opened his door and told me to find you ASAP.”

Noelani peeled off her leather work gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of her khaki walking shorts. “Guess I’d better go see. Oh—has he met with those truck farmers again? You know, the ones who proposed turning the cane fields into a tomato patch or some ridiculous thing?”

“Bruce hasn’t mentioned them in weeks. He’s still muttering about selling, though. You know this is the fourth year in a row our profits have dropped.”

Noelani knocked on Shiller’s door. Pasting a smile on her face, she burst gaily into his office. “You rang, oh great master?”

Seated behind a huge mahogany desk, a gaunt, sixtyish man, with a weathered face and white hair, glanced up. Probably for the first time ever, he didn’t return Noelani’s smile. “Take a seat.” Rocking back in his chair, he idly twirled a pencil.

Unable to read his expression Noelani grew uneasy. “If this is going to be another lecture about flagging profits, Bruce—don’t worry. I’ll coax more from our worn-out equipment. We haven’t given the new computer program I wrote a chance to show what it can do.”

“Sit, Noelani. I didn’t call you here to talk about the mill.” Tossing the pencil aside, he peeled open a creamy envelope and removed an official-looking letter.

She did as he asked this time, throwing herself into a chair. Bruce’s office was like home. Until her mother died of lymphatic cancer, Anela Hana had kept Shiller’s books. Noelani had barely turned thirteen the day Bruce informed her Anela had died. It was the only other time she recalled seeing such deep sorrow in Bruce’s eyes, and her stomach reacted accordingly.

“Noelani, it grieves me greatly, but I have the task of telling you that Duke Fontaine and his wife, Angelique, died in a plane crash.” Bruce Shiller pushed the letter toward her. “This lawyer, Shelburne Prescott, says you’re named in your father’s will, along with Cassandra and Jackson Fontaine. They, of course, live at Bellefontaine. Duke’s plantation…on the mainland,” he clarified as Noelani stared at the letter without touching it.

“He had other kids? Well, if they’re named Fontaine, I guess they’re legitimate.”

“Noelani!”

She crumpled the page and threw it back across the desk. “What am I supposed to feel, Bruce? Sorrow…for someone who didn’t give a damn about me? I’ve never even met the man!”

“You should’ve gone there after your mother died.”

“I didn’t need him. I had Grandmother. And I had you.” She shook her head. “Did he come to her funeral or even send flowers? I know you notified him.” Furious now, as she always was when she thought about the man her mother had thrown away her life for, Noelani twisted a lock of hair. The auburn streaks and her five-foot-six-inch height were attributes she’d probably inherited from Duke Fontaine. If Noelani felt curious about anything, it was what traits, if any, she shared with half siblings she hadn’t known existed until this minute.

“Duke cared enough to name you in his will. His sugarcane operation makes mine look like small potatoes, kid. You think it’s not obvious that you’re practically killing yourself in my mill, trying to achieve what Duke’s children have by birthright?”

The initial shock of Bruce’s news had begun to fade. In purely mercenary terms, Noelani considered what she could do with a windfall of cash. Do here—at Shiller’s, she hastily corrected. Except…wasn’t there always a catch when it came to money? In this case, she’d have to admit she was Duke Fontaine’s bastard.

She eyed the balled-up letter belligerently. “I can’t imagine that Duke’s legitimate kids want me appearing on the scene to muck up their lives. How old are they?”

“Cassandra is thirty or thirty-one. Jackson’s a little younger. Nearer your age. Girl, you owe it to yourself to at least go see what this inheritance is all about. Who knows, you may like Louisiana and Duke’s family well enough to stay.”

“Never! If I have an inheritance coming, let them mail it. Depending on how much it is, maybe we can upgrade our equipment.”

“Noelani, you’re not sinking money into my operation.”

“Why not? You’ve been more of a father to me than Duke Fontaine ever was. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I want to buy you out when you retire. Please, Bruce, would you phone Prescott and ask him to mail whatever I have coming from the estate?”

The man across the desk sighed. “All right. I’ll ask. But then we have to talk about what’s happening to the sugar industry in Hawaii, Noelani.”

Five minutes later, she’d heard enough of his one-sided conversation to know Prescott wasn’t going to merely cut her a check.

Bruce confirmed as much after signing off. “Duke’s will states you have to be present at the property distribution settlement to inherit. His firm’s wiring you a ticket out of Honolulu for tomorrow. So you’d better go pack. Your connecting flight leaves Kahului in five hours.”

“Forget it! Let them keep Duke Fontaine’s guilt money. I don’t need anything from him. I never have,” she blazed.

“Noelani, do this for your mother. Anela never stopped loving him. Anyway, aren’t you curious? Over the years you’ve asked questions about your biological dad. This is your chance to get answers.”

Vaulting from her chair, Noelani stalked to the door, angry tears glistening in her eyes. “That’s dirty pool,” she finally said in a hard-edged voice. “Okay, I’ll go. But the minute his affairs are settled, I’m on the next plane home to Maui. Have Midori’s son tend my computers while I’m gone, okay? If it was up to me, I wouldn’t touch a cent belonging to Duke Fontaine. I will, though, because I want to buy Shiller’s when you retire. Maybe this will allow us to be a contender in the world sugar market again.”

“Noelani…wait. I’m thinking seriously of sell—” Bruce heaved his arthritic bones from the chair and hobbled around the desk. She slammed the door, cutting off a statement she didn’t want to hear.

NOELANI OPENED ONE EYE and was relieved to discover that the 747 she’d boarded at Honolulu International was safely aloft. This was her first ride in a jumbo jet. Not that she’d care to broadcast her inexperience. Easing her death grip on the armrests, she tugged at the short black skirt of a linen suit she’d worn to meet the family in mourning.

An elderly woman seated next to Noelani smiled. “I’m always nervous during takeoff and landings, too. Are you continuing beyond Dallas?”

“Uh…yes, I’m going to Louisiana.”

“A vacation, how nice. I hear New Orleans is having a mild fall.”

“It’s not a vacation. I’m visiting family. Near Baton Rouge. They grow sugar.” Noelani shocked herself by referring to the Fontaines as family. Then, uncharacteristically, bared her soul to a stranger. “Actually, they’re my father’s family. I lived with my mother, who was Hawaiian.”

“So you’re hapa haoli. Your Caucasian half must account for the lovely auburn highlights in your hair. They’re quite striking, my dear. Is your father Scottish?”

“I don’t know. We never met, and now he’s gone.” Noelani shut her eyes. “I was ten before my hair turned this funny color. My tutu, that’s my mom’s mother, said I was born with jet-black hair like all the other Hawaiian kids in our village—on Maui. My mother kept the books for Shiller’s. The largest sugarcane plantation in the islands,” she added proudly.

The woman’s face fell. “Divorce affects so many families these days.”

Noelani didn’t bother to set her straight.

“It’s a shame, dear, especially as sugar must’ve been something your parents once had in common. But I’m sure your father’s relatives will appreciate that you’ve come so far to pay your respects.”

“Hmm.” Noelani mumbled something noncommittal as she recalled her first glimpse of Duke Fontaine’s photo. She’d often seen Anela crying as she gazed at a snapshot of a stranger. Noelani recalled stealing into her mom’s bedroom to get a better look at the picture one day, after kids at school had taunted her about her lack of a father. Instinctively, she’d known it was the man in the faded photograph.

Noelani’s seatmate moved on to another subject. “Hawaii is a wonderful vacation spot. I own a time-share on Kauai and fly over for two weeks every year. Is it boring, living full-time on an island?”

“Boring?” Noelani was never bored. But then, she had nothing else with which to compare her life. “Ours is a seaside town. Two out of three adults work in cane. Shiller’s office operates year-round, so my mother never really got time off, even though the mill shuts down for two months to overhaul equipment. Social life picks up considerably during that period. My tutu took me to all the luaus, hukilaus and huli hulis.”

“I’m familiar with luaus, where they pit-roast a pig. Locals net fish, I believe, at a hukilau. Huli huli is beyond my scope,” the woman said, and then laughed.

“Mainlanders would probably call it a chicken barbecue. But we use a sweet molasses-based sauce. And islanders grab every opportunity to sing, dance and eat.”

“I’ll bet you do the hula.”

“No way. I’m a good kick-boxer, though.”

“My, that sounds more like something men would do for sport.”

Because their lunch was served, Noelani let the subject drop. Her grandmother had believed it was a fitting outlet for a young woman’s pent-up hostilities. She’d signed her only granddaughter up for lessons at age thirteen, insisting it’d help Noelani work through her grief and anger. A wise woman, her tutu.

Following lunch, Noelani’s seatmate took a nap. The woman slept all the way to Dallas. Noelani barely had an opportunity to say goodbye, as she had to run to catch her connection to Baton Rouge.

Her arrival there was greeted by pouring rain. Thunder shook the baggage terminal. If this was mild weather, as her seatmate had intimated, Noelani hoped she didn’t encounter bad weather during her brief stay in Louisiana.

And her stay here would be brief.

Gazing out at the ominous skies, Noelani was engulfed by a wave of homesickness. She watched people chatting with those who’d come to pick them up and felt more alone than ever.

In Dallas, she’d seen greeters carrying signs with the names of various travelers. She peered around, hoping to see someone displaying her name—maybe even one of her half siblings. Until now, Noelani hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on being met by someone from Duke’s family.

What were they like, these relatives she hadn’t even known about?

As the carousel began to empty it became patently obvious that Duke’s kids weren’t imbued with the famous southern hospitality her mother had touted the one and only time Noelani succeeded in getting her to speak about the man she loved. She was always shuffled off to her tutu whenever she asked questions about her father, but on that one occasion Noelani refused to be ignored. In a rare unguarded moment, Anela described her absent lover as a dashingly handsome and charming southern gentleman. A hard man with a soft heart. Anela said then she’d love Duke Fontaine until the day she died. Noelani was sure she had.

It wasn’t until much later that Noelani inadvertently learned that Duke had neglected to mention his marriage at the outset of his relationship with Anela. According to Tutu, Duke had also wanted to divorce his wife and leave his Louisiana home, but Anela refused to hear of it. It wasn’t until after he’d left Maui that she discovered she was pregnant—a fact that never altered her decision to let him go.

Talk about decisions… After ten minutes of watching the baggage department clear out, Noelani collected her bags and went in search of a cab. If money to help shore up Shiller’s mill hadn’t been her prime objective in coming to this dreary place, she’d have asked the driver to take her straight to a hotel.

But according to a terse telegram from Jackson Fontaine that had accompanied her ticket, a room awaited her at Bellefontaine. It was that address Noelani reluctantly gave the cabbie.

Through a streaked window, she watched the skyline of Baton Rouge disappear in a mass of black clouds. Her cab crossed a wide, churning expanse of muddy water the driver said was the Mississippi River.

Never before had Noelani felt so out of her element.

Soon the city gave way to wet fields of tall cane. The knot in her stomach began to uncoil. As a child she’d played hide-and-seek in similar cane rows. Friends often broke off stalks and chewed them for the juice, but Tutu had warned it would ruin her teeth, so Noelani rarely sneaked a nibble. But, oh, how she loved the smell of burnt sugar that used to hang like mist in the air when they burned fields. More of life’s changes, she mused, watching field after field slide past. Agricultural developers had introduced new cane that was too tough to chew, followed by better fertilizers, which made it more advantageous to plow under old ratoons. As well, environmentalists had forced an end to burning.

The driver pointed. “Up ahead, through those magnolia trees, is Bellefontaine. In French, Bellefontaine means pretty fountain. There are fountains all over the grounds. I’m not sure how many.”

Noelani scooted forward as far as her seat belt allowed and craned her neck for her first look at Duke Fontaine’s home. A home he’d purportedly been willing to give up for her mother. Right! The gift of a lei promised that its recipient would return to the islands, but Duke had never made another trip to Maui. Plainly, by the look of this place, he’d gone on with his life in grand style while Anela pined hers away.

Noelani counted four fountains on a huge manicured lawn. Not even the downpour detracted from the effect of tall white pillars and wide balconies supporting a mansion larger than Queen Emma’s summer palace. As a special treat one time, Tutu took Noelani on a tour of their most beloved Hawaiian ruler’s part-time residence. This home was more ostentatious.

Unable to catch her breath, Noelani didn’t immediately realize the cab had pulled around to the back of the house. Awed by the home’s magnificence, and heedless of the falling rain, she stepped out for a better look. The fresh, rain-washed scent failed to cloak an acrid odor of charred wood.

Standing several yards away from a jutting porte cochere, Noelani saw that a section of the mansion had burned. Recently enough so that a workman was even now attempting to spread tarps over a gaping hole in the roof. He leaned far out from the top rung of an extension ladder. The man was bare-headed, and dark hair lay plastered to his skull. Faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt were molded to his wet skin.

Suddenly the ladder slipped out from under the man’s sneakers and fell hard into a flower bed below. The man was left clawing at a sagging rain gutter. He managed to grab the tarp with one hand seconds before the gutter cracked and a large section canted crazily. If he continued to kick, the section would break and plummet him to the ground below. Granted, that section of the house was only one story tall, compared to three in the main structure. Nevertheless, the man could break his neck.

Heedless of her strappy leather heels and new linen suit, Noelani tore across the soft lawn, leaving her cabbie in the process of requesting her fare.

ADAM ROSS, WHO’D BEEN HIRED by Casey Fontaine to restore Bellefontaine to historical perfection, swore roundly at his ladder. He maintained a tenuous grip on the canvas tarp and had one elbow buried in a weak rain gutter that had sustained damage during a recent kitchen fire. It wasn’t bad enough that this storm had blown in from the gulf, calling a halt to the job of his dreams; now Adam feared he’d break a leg or worse and lose the contract altogether. “Dammit to hell!”

He kicked experimentally to see if maybe the ladder hadn’t fallen all the way to the ground. A warning crack and further sagging of the gutter forced him to freeze. Even at that, his hundred-and-ninety-pound weight was liable to rip the entire gutter from its shaky mooring.

“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!” He kicked again, only halfheartedly.

“Quit swearing at the roof and hold still.”

Adam wondered if he’d imagined the woman who appeared to be digging through the honeysuckle below and to the left of his swinging feet.

“Are you hurt?” a low melodic voice inquired.

“A few scrapes,” he muttered. “Probably bruised a rib or two. If you can lift that ladder, sweet thing, chances are I’ll live.”

“Chances go down if you call me sweet thing again.”

Adam couldn’t see much of his Good Samaritan. But he fell instantly in lust with her sweet-as-sugar voice. Lately, women hadn’t figured in Adam’s life. He’d been too busy building a business after working his butt off to graduate from LSU in restorative architecture. Certainly he’d never been smitten with a woman based solely on her voice. That was about to change, however, if this one got him out of his current mess.

Damn, any woman capable of standing his heavy ladder upright the way the Amazon below had managed with the ease of a seasoned construction worker definitely owned a big piece of Adam’s heart.

Despite a downpour few women of Adam’s acquaintance would’ve ventured out in, this one had come from nowhere, raised his ladder and then climbed a few rungs to guide his feet to safety.

“Thanks,” he panted. “You saved my—” he’d been about to say job, but that sounded too parsimonious “—my life.”

“Hardly anything so dramatic. But you’re welcome.”

Now that the dangling man was safe and her heart had stopped hammering wildly, Noelani retreated and squinted up for a clearer look at him. She judged the man to be in his early thirties. Even on this overcast day, she could tell that his eyes were very blue. The steaming T-shirt plastered to his broad chest sported the logo of a local university. “Are you…Jackson Fontaine?” Her throat went dry as it struck Noelani that she might have given aid to her half brother.

Adam stared down on a mass of black hair framing a face that seemed to be all eyes. He also noted a lot of leg below a short black skirt. A very nice package from his bird’s-eye view. “Stay put,” he ordered, having more pressing matters at the moment than cataloging his helper’s pleasing attributes. “Could you hold the ladder, please? I’ll secure these tarpaulins so they won’t blow away.”

Either he hadn’t heard or else he chose to ignore her question. The fool hoisted himself off his safe perch onto the roof and left the metal ladder vibrating under Noelani’s fingers. She barely caught his request—or more to the point—his edict.

He must be Jackson Fontaine. Who but the lord of the manor would deem it his right to keep a woman standing in the rain while he covered his castle? Oh, well. She couldn’t get much wetter. And it was a warm rain. Since she needed to speak to him, anyway, she might as well ensure he didn’t break his fool neck.

“Hey, lady. How about you pay your fare and let me be on my way?”

Adam slipped again when he heard the rough male voice heckling his savior. He tied the last tarp and quickly descended the ladder. As he did, he saw that his helper was having trouble unsticking one of her spiky heels from the mud around the honeysuckle.

Skipping the last three rungs, Adam landed hard and grasped her elbow. He jetted her across the lawn to keep her from sinking those stilts she wore into the rain-softened grass.

She jerked away from his hold. “I can walk on my own.”

But Adam didn’t release her until they reached the asphalt drive. “The least I can do for causing you a problem is to pay your cabbie,” he said gallantly, peeling some bills off a money clip he’d dug, with great difficulty, out of the pocket of his soaking wet jeans.

Noelani wanted to get out of the rain before she squared the debt she now owed her host. As the driver snatched his fare and jumped back into the cab, she hefted her suitcases and again wobbled gingerly onto the wet lawn, aiming for the front door of the mansion. All at once she was left clutching air.

“We’ll go through the back door. It’s closer.”

His second abrupt order in no way endeared him to Noelani. She stomped after him, kicking mud off her shoes and muttering darkly.

Striding across slick cobblestones, Adam halted beneath a high-ceilinged breezeway. He propped her large suitcase against the wall and drew a hand through his dripping hair. “If you’re huffy because we’re going in the servants’ entry, sweet thing, don’t think you’re being slighted. This is where carriages used to deposit elegant women in ball gowns who visited the plantation during the social season.”

“Really? Well, I’m going to drip water all over the ballroom floor.”

Adam laughed. He was glad to see that this exotic-looking woman, who’d bowled him over with her competence, also possessed a sense of humor.

More used to giving orders than taking them, Noelani felt at a disadvantage. Flipping aside her soggy hair, she said, “If you’ll tell me how much my fare was, I’ll reimburse you.” She unzipped her purse.

“Forget it. You saved my bacon. We’ll call it even.”

“I’d rather not. If you won’t take cash, then I insist you deduct what I owe you from my portion of the inheritance.”

Adam blinked. As a good friend of Nick Devlin, the new husband of Casey Fontaine, Adam had observed the shock reverberating through the mansion when the siblings first discovered their father had a love child no one knew anything about. Adam recalled hearing that this secret daughter of Duke’s was coming for the property settlement. But not in a million years would he have imagined that he’d foolishly develop a sudden adolescent crush on the illegitimate Fontaine heir.

Damn, the rumors floating around didn’t do her justice. With her uptilted eyes and black hair falling halfway to a narrow waist, wet or not, she was a beauty.

But wait. She thought he was Jackson. A mistake Adam needed to rectify. “I’m Adam Ross, not Jackson Fontaine. At the moment, I occupy one of the family’s two garçonnières.” He jerked a thumb toward a squat tower Noelani had noticed and wondered about. “Jackson moved into the main house after his daughter came to live with him. Today he’s in New Orleans on business.”

Noelani gaped at Adam, feeling foolish but not at all sure how to extricate herself from this conversation. Certainly they were now both aware that she’d mistaken his identity.

“I restore historic homes,” he said pleasantly. “I guess you saw the fire damage.”

“As you aren’t family, Mr. Ross, would you be so kind as to direct me to Cassandra Fontaine?”

“Devlin,” he corrected smoothly. “Casey doesn’t go by Fontaine anymore. She married Nick last week. She’s out on the property overseeing the cane cutting. Their harvest was delayed but— That’s beside the point,” he muttered, getting a grip on his runaway tongue.

Noelani narrowed her eyes. This guy didn’t have a clue. You couldn’t cut cane in this deluge; it’d only mash the stalks into the mud.

“I suppose I could take you to Auntie E,” Adam continued. “She’s their aunt, uh…your aunt…not mine.” Adam floundered as the woman to whom he spoke seemed slow to comprehend. “Esme Fontaine is Duke’s sister. She lives here at Bellefontaine.”

More blank looks from the dripping newcomer.

“Esme’s the only one around right now. Megan’s nanny, Tanya, left to collect her from preschool right before you showed up. Jackson’s daughter, Megan—are none of these names ringing any bells with you?” he finally asked.

Shaking her head, Noelani rubbed her temples. She’d started out expecting to meet two relatives, and this man— Adam Ross—stood here blathering on about an aunt, a niece and a brother-in-law. Or would Nick Devlin technically be her half brother-in-law?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Adam said bluntly.

“Noelani. Noelani Hana. I’m… Duke Fontaine is… My mother, Anela Hana… It’s too difficult to explain,” she said, blinking back tears. “Look, I’ve had a long flight from Honolulu, and I’m wet to the skin. Do you think I could see someone about getting a towel?”

“Damn. Excuse my manners.” Adam reached around her and thrust open the screen, then the door. He grappled with her bags, accidentally brushing against her as he shoved his way inside, bellowing, “Auntie E! You have company.”

Turning apologetically to Noelani, Adam added, “Jackson thinks Esme’s losing her hearing. Casey claims Esme plays her TV so loud she wouldn’t hear if dynamite went off on this level. Excuse me a minute, please. I’ll go knock on her sitting-room door.”

Adam hurried away. Noelani found herself gazing around a tall-ceilinged shotgun hall, twelve to fifteen feet wide, that ran from one end of the house to the other. Scarred hardwood floors were glossy black. Large oil paintings of flowers and landscapes hung on walls illuminated by three chandeliers, whose diffused light shivered through hundreds of intricate crystal prisms. Off to her left, she saw Adam lope up a sweeping staircase.

Tiptoeing over to double French doors, Noelani peered through beveled glass panes into a room too elegant to be livable. The furniture looked uncomfortable, and there were no pillows, books or toys lying around. Everything shone with polish.

A noise had her jerking back, turning toward the stairs where a stiff-backed elderly woman slowly descended. Damn Adam Ross. He’d abandoned her to this aunt she’d never met.

Yanking discreetly at her wrinkled short skirt, Noelani also attempted to straighten the damp collar of her blouse. If she’d dared hope Esme Fontaine would be plump and jovial like her tutu, she would have miscalculated. The aunt wore a jade crepe dress sprigged with yellow flowers, an ensemble made dressier by a citrine choker and matching earrings. Not a hair of her perfectly coifed auburn hair was out of place. Even the jeweled collar worn by the small gray dog prancing at her heels cried out pampered wealth. She crooned to the animal in French.

As her father’s sister drew nearer, Noelani was faintly relieved to see curiosity and not hostility in the pale ocean-green eyes. She recalled her mother mentioning how captivating she’d found Fontaine’s green eyes. Noelani took immense satisfaction in knowing she, at least, didn’t share that family trait.

“So, you’re Duke’s secret daughter?” Esme murmured in a slightly nasal inflection, as if English wasn’t her first language. Noelani found it reminiscent of the many French-speaking South Seas islanders. Anela had spoken French fluently, and Noelani had a passable command of the language.

“Oui,” she murmured, considering whether or not she ought to curtsey.

“My dear, you are wetter than Adam indicated. I sent him to check the towels in your boudoir. We’ve hosted a round of guests this past week, what with two funerals.” She shook her head without displacing even a hair. “Even though Jackson knew the property settlement meeting was scheduled for tonight, he gave Betty Rabaud, our cook-housekeeper, the day off. But come, we mustn’t keep you shivering in the hall.” Esme scooped up the yipping dog and started back up the curving stairs.

Noelani shouldered her purse and her overnight case. She gamely grasped the handles of her two larger bags.

“Leave those,” Esme said sharply. “Adam will bring them. Won’t you, mon chèr?” She fluttered an age-spotted hand. Fire shot from her many rings.

Glancing up, Noelani caught sight of Adam Ross striding down the stairs. His nut-brown hair curled over his forehead as it dried. The man she’d more or less dismissed suddenly had alarm bells clanging in her head as he closed in on her.

Noelani stepped aside. Even if he was about as perfect a specimen of manhood as she’d ever chanced to encounter, she hadn’t come to Baton Rouge to dally with men. And if she did feel like indulging in a fling, she’d never choose some honey-voiced southerner. Her mother’s bleak existence had taught Noelani that much.

Work. Hard work. She’d found that to be far more satisfying than either of her own brief romances. Both had occurred while she was attending college and were irrelevant to her life—then or now.

Dropping her bags at Adam’s feet without a word, she carefully skirted his broad shoulders and ran up the stairs to catch Aunt Esme of the poker back.

Esme crossed a hall at the top of the stairs and flung open a white door. “This will be your room throughout your stay at Bellefontaine. I must say you aren’t what I expected. It appears your mother at least taught you to dress like a lady.”

Noelani thought of the suitcase brimming with shorts and jeans. She’d brought one suit and two semidressy outfits in case she had to be here a week or two. But she wouldn’t, not if the property settlement was tonight.

As she stepped into the room, everything else flew right out of her mind. “Oh! This room is beautiful. Look—carved pineapples on the bedposts. On the cornice, as well.”

“I thought you’d like the pineapple bedroom.” Esme seemed pleased.

“Oh—there’s a pineapple carved on the ceiling medallion.” Now Noelani saw that the bedspread, too, had been crocheted in a pineapple motif. “Do you grow pineapples at Bellefontaine?”

“Mercy, no. It’s generally thought that early Louisiana plantation owners hosted visitors from the islands.” Esme lowered her voice. “There’s an old custom in Louisiana of delivering a fresh, whole pineapple to guests on their arrival. It’s said that if guests overstayed their welcome, they’d wake up to a cut pineapple on their dressers, signifying it was time to leave.”

“Uh, thanks for the warning, but I’m not planning to overstay my welcome.”

Esme chuckled as she backed out the door. “You’re Duke’s daughter, all right. I do believe you’ll give Cassandra and Jackson a run for their money. If you’d like a tour of Bellefontaine after you’ve had a chance to freshen up, I’m in the last room at the south end of the hall. Dinner is at eight. Cocktails at the table tonight. Except for Adam, you and I have the place to ourselves until seven. Tanya, Miss Megan’s nanny, has taken the child to an after-school movie in town. Ah, here’s Adam with your cases.”

She moved to one side, allowing him room to enter. “I know you’re impatient to get back to work, Adam. However, I was telling Noelani we’re dining at eight tonight. I trust we’ll see you then?”

He gave a brief jerk of his chin, which sent a gold cross he wore around his neck swinging. Even though the room was large, he seemed to fill it as he entered and set her bags near the bed. Ignoring Noelani, he turned and went out again, chatting amiably with Aunt Esme about dinner.

Overwhelmed and more homesick than ever, Noelani flung herself across the crocheted pineapple spread. She blinked up at a frothy canopy hooked to the four corners of the tall bedposts. The tears that stung the backs of her eyelids didn’t fall—but only by the sheer force of her will. She hadn’t expected to be welcomed like a long-lost sister, but she didn’t need hired help like Adam Ross slighting her as a blatant reminder that she didn’t belong at Bellefontaine.

Vaulting off the bed, intent on changing out of her wet clothes, she made up her mind. By damn, she’d give Cassandra and Jackson a run for their money, just like Esme had predicted. Their money? Well, her portion of it, anyway.

They were divvying up Duke Fontaine’s guilt money tonight, and all the people involved knew it.

CHAPTER TWO

ADAM ESCAPED NOELANI’S ROOM not a second too soon. Her light, spicy perfume seemed to follow him. He’d promised Esme he’d show up for dinner, but he doubted it’d be an enjoyable occasion given the vulnerability he’d noticed in their guest’s eyes as they left her alone in the pineapple bedroom.

Once Jackson got back, maybe Adam would beg off. The storm had delayed his project; he’d had to cancel the roofers. It should be finished already, but he’d had trouble matching the mansion’s old shingles. The historical society’s rules for preservation made no exceptions when it came to building materials.

As Adam busied himself measuring for kitchen cabinet hardware, his thoughts kept straying—to Noelani Hana. He hadn’t liked leaving her in that big old room where she looked so small and lonely. Maybe not so small, he mused. He’d assumed that as a rule Hawaiians were short. She had to be five-seven or eight. Still, short compared to his own six-two. And she certainly wasn’t very big.

He had to stop thinking about her, had to keep his mind on his work. He didn’t need distractions, Adam reminded himself. Refurbishing Bellefontaine was his lucky break. Not only because of the generous fee he and Casey had negotiated or the way this job would enhance his reputation, but because of Bellefontaine’s proximity to Magnolia Manor, his old family home. His mom had been forced to sell it after a nervous breakdown that resulted in permanent hospitalization. Adam’s goal had always been to buy it back one day.

Right before Nick invited him to leave Natchez and bid on this job, Adam learned Magnolia Manor might soon be offered for sale by the state. He couldn’t help feeling the renovation of Bellefontaine had been an omen, bringing him within reach of his heart’s desire. So no matter how pretty, lost or vulnerable old Duke’s illegitimate daughter was, Adam had to forget her and stay focused on his objective.

Which proved easier said than done, especially as the afternoon wore on. Several times Noelani Hana’s laughter interrupted Adam’s work as she toured the house with Aunt Esme. No, he wouldn’t be skipping dinner tonight. Even though he should…

NOELANI NEEDED TO REST after the tour. Aunt Esme had brought Bellefontaine’s history to life, and Noelani’s head throbbed with facts. While she might forget these facts in time, the pride with which Esme had imparted her family history would linger. Built in the early 1800s, Bellefontaine had withstood the ravages of the Civil War. Noelani knew little about that war, but Esme made it sound as if it had been fought yesterday. For the first time, Noelani was glad she didn’t have what Esme called Yankee blood in her. Auntie E was a southern belle from the top of her coiffed hair to the toes of her designer shoes.

Rechecking her watch, Noelani thought she had an hour or two for a nap before changing for dinner. She drifted off quickly, and had no idea how long she’d slept when she awoke to voices and hurried footsteps in the hall. Her room was dark. Turning on a lamp, Noelani saw it was seven-thirty. She sprang off the bed in a panic. Her bags still sat where she’d left them after pulling out the slacks and blouse she’d hurriedly donned for her house tour. She felt rumpled again and pawed through the larger case, this time removing both of the dresses she’d packed. Why hadn’t she asked how dressy people would be tonight? She eyed a sleeveless red linen shift. The other, a black crepe, was definitely dressier. The red, she decided, digging out red sandals. Faced with meeting Duke Fontaine’s legitimate heirs, her spirits needed the bolstering red offered. She’d originally thought the family might be in mourning, but as Esme had worn a flowery dress today, Noelani doubted anyone expected her to wear black.

She splashed water on her face, then slipped into her dress and sandals. She started down the stairs with five minutes to spare. All the while, she prayed she wouldn’t be the last to arrive.

She was. Talk stopped dead. The men’s chairs scraped back the moment she appeared in the archway. Her knees knocked. Her palms were sweating. Determined not to show her nervousness, she breezed into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I fell asleep. Must be jet lag,” she said as though she were a seasoned traveler.

Esme was slower to rise. “You’ll sit here,” she directed. Her miniature schnauzer, Toodles, lay curled on a velvet pillow under Esme’s chair.

Noelani gripped the back of her assigned seat. A place mat peeked out from beneath off-white china. She spotted lead crystal and real silver. A soup bowl sat perfectly centered on her dinner plate, and a matching soup tureen steamed as it sat just so between etched, hand-blown glass fly-catchers. Esme had explained that before Bellefontaine was fitted for air-conditioning in the 1940s, the bottom of these globes were filled with sugar water to attract the flies that came into the house through unscreened open windows.

Noelani tried to remember what the odd contraption hanging beside the light fixture above the table was called. Ah, yes. A shoo-fly fan. According to Esme, a slave child would sit out of sight in a corner and operate the fan with a rope pulley, which controlled the sweeping blades. It was impossible for Noelani to comprehend what life must have been like back then.

Anytime she felt as nervous as she was now, trivia tended to cycle over and over in her head. Aunt Esme had given her plenty of trivial facts.

“Noelani, you’ve met Adam. Jackson’s at the end. His daughter, Megan, is to your right next to her nanny, Tanya Carson.” Esme inclined her head toward a thin young woman. “And this,” she finished breathlessly, “is Noelani Hana.” Esme smiled through a series of greetings. At last, she suggested they all sit again, and she requested Jackson serve the soup.

Noelani detected a similarity between Duke Fontaine—as he looked in the snapshot she’d tucked into her purse at the last minute—and his son. Brown hair streaked blond by the sun had been recently cut. His navy eyes were shaded by indecently long lashes, which Noelani noted his daughter shared. Megan’s eyes were gray, however, and her mop of curls a much richer brown. Athletically built, Jackson Fontaine appeared tanned, fit and stylish, although casually put together with that look only top designers could achieve.

Tanya Carson, young for a nanny in Noelani’s estimation, had pouty lips and wore big glasses that gave her violet eyes a permanently myopic look.

Adam and Tanya had been discussing music, and they continued their conversation after everyone sat. Noelani deduced that jazz was Tanya’s area of study. Although the young woman chattered nonstop with Adam, her eyes followed Jackson’s every move. In fact, she gazed dreamily at him, although Noelani doubted he even noticed.

It was just as well that Adam and Tanya were talking, considering no one else at the table bothered. Megan was practically falling asleep in her soup. And no wonder, given the late hour. Noelani tried to draw her out several times to no avail.

Really, though, she was dying to inquire if what Adam had said about cutting wet cane was true. If so, what type of harvester did they use? Bruce’s operation could benefit from cutting stalks beaten down by Maui’s heavy rains. Maybe she’d have to wait until Casey joined them before she could ask. Since Jackson seemed preoccupied, and his silent wraith of a child didn’t respond to her overtures, Noelani endured a tense meal except for an occasional word from the stiff-backed Esme.

The soup, a creamy yellow squash with just a hint of nutmeg flavoring, was delicious. Ravenous, Noelani ate every drop. By the time she finished the fresh spinach salad that came next, she was full. As she avoided red meat, she was dismayed to see the others load roast beef, potatoes smothered in brown gravy and creamed baby carrots onto their plates.

Declining the beef, Noelani dipped out small portions of the side dishes. At that point even Tanya and Adam ate in silence. The knot in Noelani’s stomach grew.

Toying with her carrots, she glanced up once and found Adam staring at her. He gave her a warm smile, and she mustered a small one in return.

“Red is your color,” he said offhandedly, as if he ought to make some remark, simply because she’d caught him staring at her.

“That’s good. It’s my favorite color.” To her own ears, her voice sounded rusty from disuse. Understandable, considering how long it’d been since she’d mumbled hello to a tableful of folks who virtually ignored her.

Jackson set his fork down and used a napkin to blot his lips. “I have no doubt you are who you say. But did you by chance bring your birth certificate, Noelani?”

“Not by chance. Your lawyer requested it. But if you’re hoping to verify your father’s name on it, I can save you the trouble. It’s not there. I’m Noelani Hana, daughter of Anela Hana, period.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes without blinking.

Jackson’s cheeks reddened under his tan. “Duke had a copy of your birth certificate in his files. You were born October 8, 1975, at Wailuku, Maui. The purpose of asking for the original is to match it to Duke’s copy.”

“Fine. It’s in my suitcase. I’ll get it and you can study it to your heart’s content.”

Esme arched an eyebrow. “It’s plain the jeune fille has Duke’s short fuse.”

“The girl also understands French,” Noelani muttered. “I throw that out so no one will assume they can talk around me that way.”

Esme coughed discreetly. Jackson made no effort to disguise his scowl. “We aren’t trying to dispute your cla—” He broke off as a three-toned doorbell played loudly up and then down the scale.

“Excuse me.” Rising, he slid back his chair. “That’s probably Shel Prescott. I’ll take him to my office. Aunt Esme, will you phone Casey, then bring Noelani over after the two of you finish eating?”

“I’m through.” Noelani folded her napkin. “Shall I help clear the table?”

“Tanya will stack dishes tonight. Betty will wash them in the morning. You run along and find your document. By the time you return, I’ll have notified Cassandra of Shelburne’s arrival.”

Inclining her head, Noelani left the room and slowly climbed the stairs. Had Jackson been about to say they weren’t disputing her claim on Duke’s money? She hadn’t made any claim. They’d contacted her. She wondered if his comment implied they were looking for a way to cut her out of Duke’s will.

She wouldn’t put it past anyone raised by Duke Fontaine. Noelani knew Bruce liked the man, but what had Fontaine ever done to earn the love her mother reserved for no one but him until the day she died?

Noelani retrieved the certificate. She detoured past the bath long enough to press a damp washcloth to her face and put on lip gloss. Making her way downstairs again, she let out a surprised “Ack” and threw up an arm to ward off a bulky form appearing suddenly in her path.

“Careful,” drawled a soft masculine voice. “Were you planning to karate-chop me in the old jugular?” Adam asked with a laugh.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Noelani was a master kick-boxer. Had she not recognized him when she did, Adam Ross might have been flattened by a well-placed kick. Of course, she thought wryly, in the process she’d have ripped off every button from hem to waist of her red dress.

Adam eyed her, still trying to decide whether or not she was joking.

“Why were you sneaking around?” She deftly sidestepped him.

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was waiting for you. Casey and Nick showed up two seconds after you left the table. They and Esme went on to Jackson’s office. I’ve been appointed your escort.”

“Aunt Esme showed me the office on our tour. I don’t need escorting, but thanks, anyway. Or…were you instructed to delay me long enough so they can plot how to get rid of me?”

“Get rid of you? That’s a pretty paranoid statement, don’t you think?”

She lifted a shoulder delicately as they fell into step. “I imagine the lawful duo wishes Papa had drowned the mongrel at birth.”

“Can’t say you look like any kind of mongrel I’ve ever seen,” he teased.

Their shoulders brushed as they walked down the hall. Noelani moved a step to the right to avoid touching him. The man was far too big—and far too quick with his flirtatious comments. Adam Ross made her uneasy.

“There.” He pointed to a door at the end of the hall. “I was going to offer to go in with you if you feel you need protecting. But you give the impression you can take care of yourself.” Walking backward a short distance, Adam mockingly doffed an imaginary hat, then turned and left her on her own.

“Honestly,” she muttered, feeling the doorknob slip under her sweaty hand. Darting a glance down the hall to make sure Adam wasn’t spying on her, Noelani quickly wiped her palm down her dress. Taking a firmer grip on the knob, she threw back her shoulders and opened the door.

The instant she entered the room, her eyes landed on Cassandra Fontaine Devlin. Except for weepy, bruiselike smudges under her eyes, and a long, dark auburn ponytail, she shared the Fontaine look. A narrow face and foxlike chin proved a foil for her unsettling green eyes. At least they unsettled Noelani, because she sensed a vulnerability akin to her own in Duke’s daughter. His legitimate daughter.

Jackson straightened away from an antique desk made of dark cherry. A white-haired, paunchy man sat behind it, swirling ice in a tumbler of amber liquid. The minute Jackson noticed Noelani, he came to greet her. “Casey. Nick. Shelburne. This is Noelani Hana.”

Nick Devlin unfolded his rangy body from a chair to extend a hand.

Flustered by the hurt expression on her half sister’s face, Noelani almost didn’t shake Nick’s hand. She did in the end, although she clamped her teeth tight to keep her chin from quaking.

“Shall we get on with this?” Casey abruptly demanded in a husky, scratchy voice. “Some of us get up at dawn to earn our keep.”

Jackson frowned a bit. Nick sat quickly and slipped a bracing arm around his wife’s narrow shoulders.

“Noelani, there’s a vacant seat next to Aunt Esme,” Jackson said.

Actually there wasn’t. Toodles had claimed the brocade cushion. But Esme scooped the dog into her lap, allowing Noelani space to sit.

“Shelburne promised this won’t take long.” Jackson crossed the room again.

“It won’t,” the lawyer reiterated. “I already told Jackson that Duke and Angelique’s property disbursement is fairly straightforward.” Prescott pushed aside a stack of papers. Opening his briefcase, he removed a set of stapled documents.

“Cassandra and Jackson, Angelique made a list of her jewelry for insurance purposes. With the exception of her wedding set, which was previously earmarked for the woman Jackson will one day marry, she split the items equally between you. As she did the cash in her personal account. I must say, since she financed their recent trip abroad, it’s a modest sum. Thirty thousand, give or take a few hundred.”

Casey leaned forward, tension stiffening her slender back. “Why would Maman finance their trip? Duke said he planned it as an anniversary gift—or more of a second honeymoon,” she said, telegraphing Noelani a smug “so there” message.

“I’ll get to that. Let me finish. Duke has allotted a yearly stipend for his sister, Esme. While technically the house passes to Jackson, a codicil gives Esme the right to live out her days at Bellefontaine. Wisteria Cottage, which belonged to Duke’s mother, and its five acres, is in a separate trust for the use of current or future Fontaine heirs. I understand, Casey, that you and Nick are currently living in the cottage.”

“Yes. Temporarily. What about the mill and the cane fields?” Casey asked, sliding to the edge of her straight-backed chair.

Shel again scolded her with a glance over his half glasses. Nick ran a hand up Casey’s back and lightly massaged her neck. She automatically slumped sideways, curving into the hollow below his arm.

“The cane fields, outbuildings, mill, all warehouses and the refinery Duke purchased a few weeks before his death are to be divided equally among Jackson Fontaine, Cassandra Fontaine Devlin and Noelani Hana. I’ve prepared an inventory of all assets, liabilities and cash connected to the aforementioned properties. The bank has provided this independent audit, which Jackson requested.” Getting up, Shelburne handed each of the three siblings a packet.

Noelani watched Jackson, Casey and Nick pore over the pages. She folded hers in half and cleared her throat. “Jackson, I…ah…don’t know if you’re aware that I knew nothing of this prior to Mr. Prescott’s letter. It was never my intention to intrude on your lives. I feel the best thing for everyone would be if you and your sister cashed out my part and let me be on my way.”

Casey sat up in a rush. “Finally, something that makes sense. I’m agreeable. Aren’t you, Jackson?”

Jackson emerged from a stupor. “Casey, have you checked the bottom line? Except for the funds Maman left, which if we’re lucky will cover this month’s operating expenses, we’re property rich but cash poor.”

Casey flipped to the last page of the report. “How can that be?” She glared at Shelburne, while she repeated the question.

He set his tumbler aside. “Obviously Duke didn’t expect to die on this trip, Casey. Both his banker and I advised against buying the refinery from Roland Dewalt. Duke wanted it. Thank God, he didn’t second-mortgage the house to get it.”

“No,” Jackson snapped. “But he speculated on raw-sugar prices last season, banking prices would go up. They fell several cents a pound instead. We took a major loss. I had no idea until I saw the bank audit.”

“Even so,” Casey said stubbornly, “the last five years our yield has been up. Way up.”

Noelani’s head whipped back and forth as she tried to follow their talk. Among other things, Duke Fontaine had apparently been a worse businessman than he was a father. Well, to her, anyway.

Prescott held up a hand. “Duke always walked a financial tightrope. He gave you all free rein with spending. Angelique went overboard on clothes and cars for herself and you kids. She entertained lavishly—the Fontaines did everything first class. The upkeep alone on Bellefontaine is horrendous. Casey, you asked Duke to update the fleet of trucks and cane trailers. He bought everything new. You wanted the most expensive harvester. He bought it. Then you figure in college for three. To say nothing of the years he’s subsidized Anela Hana and her child.”

“Wait, a darned minute!” Noelani sprang up. “I went to Hawaii State on a full scholarship. My mother kept books for Bruce Shiller’s company for her money. We took nothing from Duke Fontaine.”

Prescott’s eyes darkened sympathetically. “Duke allowed you to think that. He insisted on providing for Anela and you. He said she was a proud woman, and you were filled with anger. Through Bruce Shiller, Duke arranged to pay your mother’s salary, including periodic raises. After she died, he continued the practice for you. He funded your scholarship, Noelani. Read the audit. It’s all there in black and white.”

Eyes suddenly awash in tears, she couldn’t have seen the figures if she’d looked right at them. Shaking her head vigorously in denial, Noelani ran headlong from the room. She’d phone Bruce. They were lying! They had to be. This was all a trick to make her feel bad so she’d say they didn’t owe her anything.

She’d seen a phone at the base of the stairs. She found it, figured out the time difference in her head, then dialed Hawaii. Bruce would still be in his office. “Hi, Midori, it’s Noelani. Let me speak to Bruce. It’s urgent.” She tapped a toe impatiently until he came on the line. “Bruce, the Fontaines are trying to imply Duke paid Mama’s salary. And mine. They claim he…he funded my scholarship.”

There was a silence.

“Bruce? Did you hear me?” Noelani’s hand tightened as the man at the other end sighed, then began talking fast.

“How could you?” she said in a hushed tone. “Guilt money, Bruce? You helped Duke Fontaine ease his guilty conscience. You let him trade money for Mama’s broken heart. How could you?”

Shiller talked faster. Noelani chewed her lower lip to keep the tears at bay. And she cast her eyes toward the high ceiling. “I know the cost of shipping sugar from the islands has risen twentyfold in as many years. I’ve seen other growers sell out.”

Noelani slumped against the wall. She was tempted to cut her losses and wash her hands of the Fontaines. But if she did, she could kiss her plan for Shiller’s goodbye. “You said yourself this inheritance is mine by right of birth. I’m not leaving Louisiana until I have what’s due me. I only wish you’d told me the truth before I had to hear it from Duke’s legitimate kids.” She couldn’t stay angry with Bruce, the man who’d been more of a father to her than her own. Her voice softened. “Bye, Bruce. I’ll keep you posted.”

She set the receiver down gently, dried her eyes and lifted her head in time to see Jackson Fontaine hovering half in, half out of his office.

“Are you okay?” He stepped out of the room and she steeled herself to meet him.

“Your figures are apparently correct. I swear I had no idea my mother or I took one cent from your father. I’m sorry for my outburst.”

Jackson rubbed his neck. “It’s okay.” His lips twitched. “Yours was nothing compared to the fit Casey threw when we first learned about you.”

“I imagine it was a shock. Only I didn’t ask to be born, remember?”

He spread a hand and invited her to enter the office ahead of him. “This is a situation none of us asked for. We’re all in the same boat. And there’s a lot at stake here, so we’re going to have to make the best of it.”

“You propose doing that how?”

“Well, you could go back to Maui and leave the resolution in our hands.”

“Not on your life! Is it necessary for me to hire a separate lawyer?”

“God, no. In my experience, the more lawyers involved, the muddier a situation gets, to say nothing of tripling costs.”

“So there you have it. I suspect you have a plan up your sleeve.”

“Not up my sleeve, exactly. Would you be willing to sign an agreement to defer finalizing your portion of the property until Casey and I bring in this year’s crop? Or at least until we settle the outstanding insurance claims?”

“I don’t think I’m willing to sign anything. At least not tonight.”

“Mind telling me why not?”

“When it comes down to it, Jackson, I know cane as well as you and your sister do. We all have a vested interest in bringing your crop in at a high yield.”

“You say that now in the heat of the moment. Tomorrow you might feel differently.” Looking unhappy, he returned to the desk where Shel Prescott still sat, having obviously refreshed his drink. Noelani returned to her seat beside Aunt Esme, who still stroked a snoring Toodles.

Jackson spoke up. “In spite of our denials, accusations and disbelief, I believe we can agree this problem isn’t going away. I propose we sleep on it and meet again at breakfast, to see if anyone’s been struck by some great revelation during the night. Shel’s promised he’ll recheck the status of our insurance claims.”

Casey twisted her ponytail and lifted it off her neck. Sighing deeply, she deferred to her brother with a shrug.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Nick said. “Everyone’s pretty emotional tonight.”

Dropping her hair, Casey got to her feet. “It’ll have to be early, Jackson. If saving our butts depends on bringing in the cane, that’s all the more reason for me to be out in the fields rather than stuck in some meeting.”

“Betty’s due at six. Is six-thirty okay with you, Noelani?”

“Sure. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

“Aunt Esme. You’re remarkably quiet this evening.”

“Bellefontaine has survived many ups and downs. It passed to my brother during one of its worst slumps. He built it into the voice of sugar in Louisiana—indeed, in the whole South. You’re all of his blood. If the three of you pull together, I have no doubt we’ll get through this.” She stood, managing to look regal even after a long day. Carrying the yawning schnauzer, she marched to the door. “Toodles and I will skip breakfast at that uncivilized hour. We’ll see everyone for cocktails before supper.”

Casey and Nick followed Esme out after all good-nights were said.

Jackson remained by the desk. It was clear to Noelani that he wanted some time alone with the lawyer.

“I napped before dinner, so I’m wide awake. The rain’s stopped. Is it all right if I change clothes and go for a walk?”

“Fine with me. There are night-lights in the upper and lower halls. Oh, and carriage lamps on the fence posts. The fence marks the perimeter of Bellefontaine.”

“Is there danger of falling in an abandoned well if I hike out to the cane? I love hearing the wind rustling through the stalks at night. It relaxes me.”

“Casey, too. Hmm. I guess you have that in common. But to answer your question—no wells. Feel free to wander. Except the rows aren’t lit.”

“I won’t go into the cane. I doubt your sister would approve of me touching her precious stalks.” She gathered her papers and left the two men.

“Noelani,” Jackson called before she disappeared. “Casey idolized Duke. He let her down. It’s him she’s furious with. Not you.”

“My mother gave him up, you know. She only spoke to me about him once. She swore she never had any idea he was married when she first got involved with him, and when she found out, she sent him away. To the best of my knowledge, she never asked him for anything. No money. No contact. Nothing. But she never stopped loving him. Which made no sense to me, and I’m pretty furious at him, too. I’ll see you at six-thirty tomorrow.”

Noelani returned to her room, where she tugged on jeans, a tank top and a lightweight white cotton sweater. Pinning her hair into a loose bun, she tiptoed softly down the hall so as not to wake Tanya, Megan or Aunt Esme. In the aftermath of the squall, the night air was heavy. Too muggy for jeans, but Noelani was no stranger to the biting bugs that came out at night around cane.

Bellefontaine in all its glory made her catch her breath, not for the first time. She was used to living in a two-bedroom, single-story duplex. The bedrooms had no glass at the windows, but screens to let in cool ocean breezes.

The minute she stepped outside, Noelani dragged in a huge lungful of the heavy, humid air.

She wandered around front, where she paused and listened to the varied tunes played by the fountains. Closing her eyes, she let the day’s tensions slowly seep away.

Noelani dug in her pocket and found a stray penny, then made a wish, tossing the coin at the top tier near a carved pineapple decorating the largest fountain.

Something scraped off to her right. Crouching instinctively, she whirled.

“Easy. Easy there.” A rich, lazy voice reproached her from the darkened porch of the nearby garçonnière. Adam Ross disconnected himself from the shadows and stepped into view. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt, and held a frosty beer.

“I’ve heard that people throw coins in fountains. I’ve never seen anyone actually do it. Is it more effective than wishing on the first night star?”

Noelani glanced upward. “I’d be out of luck tonight. There are no stars.”

Adam leaned a shoulder against the rough siding and took another drink. He gestured with the bottle. “It’s muggy as hell tonight. Want one of these?”

“Sure.” She sauntered toward him. “Is the weather keeping you up?”

“Nah. I’m a night owl. Always have been.” He bent, reached behind him, opened an ice chest and pulled out another cold bottle.

“Staying up alone, drinking the night away, seems a sure path to perdition,” she said lightly. She accepted the bottle after he wrenched off the top.

Adam toyed with the idea of suggesting she come inside and keep him company—then he wouldn’t be alone. He settled on a different tack. “Worried about my soul, sugar pie?”

“No. But I think you should be.” The man was certainly glib with his cutesy endearments. Maybe it was the look in his eyes when he called her sugar pie that made it feel less insulting than when he’d thrown “sweet thing” at her. Anyway, she let it pass.

“If it’ll ease your mind, two of these is my limit. Throughout the day I drink bottled water. How did your meeting go?”

She didn’t know how to answer without going into the whole convoluted story. And the Fontaines had enough troubles without her spreading tales of their financial woes. Lifting her beer, she sipped, then rolled the cold bottle across her cheek.

“That bad, huh? I saw Shelburne Prescott peel out of here right before you came out. Figured something happened.”

She shrugged. “I went up to change. He stayed to have a word with Jackson.”

“Too bad you ditched the red dress. I liked it.”

“Dresses aren’t exactly conducive to walking in the cane. I’m on my way to have a look at it. Thanks for the beer.” She wagged the bottle at him and made ready to leave.

“Does Jackson know you’re out roaming the property this late?”

“He said it was fine. Why?”

“Doesn’t seem too wise, considering the stuff that’s gone on lately.”

“What stuff?”

“Well, the kitchen fire was set. Plus, the arsonist cut all the garden hoses before starting the fire. Casey’s new harvester mysteriously went poof one night. She’s only recently taken delivery of its replacement. Stuff like that.”

He’d managed to stop her cold in her tracks. “The Fontaines have enemies?”

Adam didn’t answer.

“Who’d do such terrible things?”

“Maybe a disgruntled former employee. Casey also caught him in the greenhouse office where she keeps records on her hybrids. Supposedly he confessed to setting the blaze. He’s in jail now.”

“So, if they caught him, I should be okay. You’re trying to scare me, aren’t you.”

“Call it erring on the side of caution. The guy swears someone hired him anonymously. There’s no proof. Even so, I think I’ll mosey along with you to be safe.”

A thrill shot Noelani’s pulse skyrocketing. But she’d be darned if she’d let Adam Ross see she welcomed his attention. “How do I know I won’t be safer alone than with you?” She gazed at him demurely through her lashes.

“You’ll have to take my word for it, sugar pie. Or if you prefer, I’ll escort you straight upstairs to your little ol’ bed.”

Noelani debated whether or not she should deflate his ego, and decided not to bother. She was more concerned about what he’d said. If the Fontaines had enemies, by virtue of her connection to Duke, they became hers, too. Come to think of it, Adam Ross had pretty free access to the property any hour of the day or night. Maybe someone should keep an eye on him. Someone like her.

CHAPTER THREE

JACKSON, NICK AND SHELBURNE rose quickly to their feet when Noelani entered the dining room the next morning. Casey stared at her over a mug of steaming coffee, her jade eyes still distant and cold.

“Coffee and juice are on the sideboard,” Jackson said. “If you want what we’re having, Betty’s cooking on the stove out back on the screened porch. Most years it’s used for canning during hot summers. But until Adam restores the kitchen, Betty will prepare our family meals there.”

“Coffee’s fine. I’m not big on breakfast.” Noelani poured a cup and wondered whether to take a seat next to Prescott or one beside Casey. She chose to be nearer the sideboard, and caught Casey’s unapologetic shift closer to her husband.

Noelani blew on her coffee to cool it. “You’ve got healthy-looking cane,” she said casually. “Depending on how much acreage you have, your yield could be spectacular.”

Jackson said “Two thousand acres,” a figure large enough to impress Noelani.

“Stay out of my cane,” Casey said, slamming down her mug. “The fields are my responsibility. Duke left me in charge before he went on the trip.”

“Casey.” Jackson and Nick cautioned her simultaneously.

Noelani wasn’t going to be walked on. “I distinctly heard Mr. Prescott say the cane, the mill, the refinery and everything to do with the business is a three-way split.”

“Maybe Duke wasn’t of sound mind,” Casey said, clenching her hands.

Nick stroked her tense arm. “Let me figure a way to help you buy Noelani out.”

“No. You sank a bundle in the boatworks, and now with Moreau defaulting…”

“Casey’s right. Thanks, Nick, but we’ll manage.” Jackson drank from his mug. “So, Noelani. You slept on our last discussion?”

“Yes. I’m staying until the business is solvent. I hadn’t planned to, but I phoned Bruce again last night. He’ll send me more of my clothes and things.”

Turning to Prescott, who’d mopped up the remaining egg on his plate with a pancake, Jackson said, “You reran those figures? There’s no way Casey and I can cash out Noelani today with whatever Maman left?”

Wiping his pudgy face with a napkin, Shel tossed it down and tilted back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his portly middle. “The way I see it, Jackson, you need every dime you can scare up to pay your crew. Plus, you’ll have to borrow to meet the mill payroll.”

Casey came hissing out of her chair. “We have money coming in from twenty-five growers and forty or so landlords who dump cane at our mill.”

Jackson scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thank God for that influx of cash, since the insurance companies are delaying until the National Transportation Safety Board finishes evaluating the crash. Casey, we’ll need those funds to buy supplies and to pay the landlords based on the core sampling of their loads.”

“That’s your end, Jackson. Mine is to grow the best damned cane in the state. I’m doing that,” Casey said. “My hybrids are thriving.”

A wiry woman of undetermined age, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, stepped into the kitchen through a side door. “Y’all want any more food before I dish it up and stick it in the warming oven for those lay-a-beds?”

“No thanks, Betty.” Jackson spoke as he glanced around the table. “Noelani?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Betty, this is our…uh…Noelani Hana. You’ll be adding a plate for her, maybe until Epiphany, which is when we tally our tonnage at the refinery.”

“I don’t eat meat,” Noelani supplied, smiling at the woman.

“Well, I ain’t no short-order cook,” Betty returned, propping her hands on skinny hips.

“I didn’t mean…” Noelani scrabbled to rephrase her intent. “Don’t add extra for me if you’re preparing a meat dish.”

Everyone at the table skewered her with a glance. She glared back defiantly. “I’ll make do with salads and vegetables if you’re serving them, anyway. If none of you eat fruit, I’ll shop for some. I’m sure you must have a free corner in the fridge.”

“Not a problem,” Jackson injected smoothly. “Make a list. Betty can pick extra fruit up each week when she shops.”

Shelburne shoved back his chair. “Since you’re leaving Duke’s disbursements in limbo for now, I’ll be on my way. Good vittles as always, Betty. ’Course, my cardiologist won’t thank you.”

“If you’re gonna eat like that, you’ve gotta exercise,” she said, then withdrew.

Prescott clapped a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Say, Harold Broderick might be in jail, but he’s some piece of work. Good thing Nick and Casey ID’d him as your vandal. I hear he’s not giving in, though. Seems he’s hired a pricey New Orleans defense lawyer. Who’d think selling a cane harvester on the black market would pay well enough to afford that kind of counsel?”

Jackson tugged at his lower lip. “Maybe Broderick got the proceeds from other robberies.”

“Yeah? Could be. Well, like I said, I have to hit the road. No, don’t get up, Jackson. I know the way out. I’m sure you have things to do.”

Casey stacked her plate and Nick’s. Reaching over, she added Shelburne’s. “Are you finished?” she asked her brother. “Time I made my rounds of the fields.”

Nick drained his cup. “I should’ve brought my car. I have an appointment with a company I may hire to do the interior of my next floating casino.”

Jackson went to the sideboard and refilled his travel mug. “I’ve got a growers’ meeting in town at eight. Afterward, several of us are taking a few of our D.C. lobbyists to lunch. We’d like them to bend somebody’s ear on the Beltway. Get them to raise the cap on the three cents we get for sugar on the world market. Either that or tighten controls on Mexico to make sure they aren’t shipping more than their quota.”

“You know they are,” Casey said with a snort.

“Apparently our friends in high places aren’t aware of that. Or else they don’t care.”

Noelani found their discussion interesting. But she didn’t want them to walk out and leave her twiddling her thumbs. “What shall I do today?”

“Your nails?” Casey said too sweetly.

Noelani displayed her short, efficiently clipped nails. “In Hawaiian, the name Hana means work. I’m not sitting on my butt for five months when I have thirty-three-and-a-third percent interest in your operation.”

Casey all but lost her grip on the plates she’d gathered.

“You and Nick shove off,” Jackson said quickly. “I have just the job for Noelani. What with the funeral, the wedding and the delay caused by the missing harvester, we put off our yearly cochon de lait. The workers are grumbling. So, Casey, I’m giving Noelani the file and putting her in charge of arranging a pigfest.”

“Like a luau, you mean?” Noelani straightened in anticipation.

“Brother!” Casey rolled her eyes. “This ought to be a farce and a half.”

Nick exchanged unreadable glances with Jackson, then aimed a kiss at Casey’s neck. He hustled her through the archway into the makeshift kitchen.

“Top off your mug and follow me, Noelani. Our cochon de lait is similar to a luau. It’s a party that usually kicks off harvest. Several whole pigs are roasted either on a spit or in a pit. We happen to use spits.”

“Then a pua’a? That’s a plain pig roast.” She shook her head. “Disgusting practice to a vegetarian—but I understand if it’s your tradition.”

“Whatever. It’s all spelled out in the file. But instead of ukuleles and hula dancers, we hire Cajun and Zydeco bands. We serve mint juleps.” He opened his office door, crossed the room and pulled an accordion folder out of a cabinet. “If you need help finding caterers or musicians, or wording the flyer, Aunt Esme can advise you.”

“Is there a place you’d like me to work on this?” She gave a sidelong glance at his cluttered desk.

“There’s a desk in the kitchen—the fire missed it. You can use it if you’re not in Adam’s way. There’s another in the family room upstairs. Tanya and Megan hang out there, reading, playing or watching TV. That may turn out to be a little noisy if you’re trying to talk on the phone. Oh, hey—speaking of Megan, I promised I’d get her up and read her a story before I leave for my meeting.”

“She’s sweet. Do you have her full-time or do you split custody with her mom?”

Jackson stopped abruptly. “Since you’ll be living here temporarily, you should know Megan’s history. Her mom and I were never married. Unfortunately, Janis fell in with a bad crowd. She’s doing time. If she phones, she’s not to talk with Megan. In fact, it’s better if no one discusses her mother.”

“As you wish.” Noelani put some distance between herself and Jackson. She’d been feeling more comfortable with him, but what now ran through her mind was like father, like son. Spawning illegitimate children seemed no big deal to the Fontaine men. No wonder Megan looked lost. Well, Noelani figured, she and the little girl had a lot in common. Still…Jackson tucked his daughter into bed at night and cared enough to read her stories. Perhaps he was a cut above his father, after all.

She hung back as he took the stairs two at a time. Turning left, she shoved open the door that led to the kitchen. As she stepped inside, she stumbled over Adam Ross. She dropped her folder and splashed coffee on Adam and a second man, who leaped away, but not fast enough.

“Did I burn you?” she gasped. Putting down her mug and hopping across a tape measure the men had stretched in front of the door, Noelani left her papers strewn everywhere and found a tissue in her shorts pocket. She dabbed at coffee splotches on Adam’s neck and arm. “Hold still.”

“Stop, you’re rubbing too hard.”

“Oh, sorry.” She stepped back, only to bump squarely into the fair-haired stranger.

“Hi. I’m Murray Dewalt. I live next door at the Woodlands plantation. If you’re one of Adam’s subcontractors, I’m seriously going to consider a new occupation.”

“Uh…I’m Noelani Hana.”

“Ah. The thorn in Casey’s side.” Blue eyes assessed her quite thoroughly.

“Excuse me?” Noelani said coolly.

“Murray, after that comment I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Ah…gotcha. See you later, Adam. And you, too, sweet thing.”

“Now you’ve really done it,” Adam murmured just as Noelani took a deep breath. “Run, Murray, and if you value your life, don’t ever call her that again.”

Their neighbor left, but instead of running he sauntered out, chuckling all the while.

Adam stopped to scrape together some of the papers decorating the floor. The Fontaine letterhead at the top of one sheet gave him pause. “What’s this? Are you making off with important family documents? Have I foiled your attempt?”

“Very funny. Ha, ha! Give me those. You and your friend are both too funny for words.”

“Murray’s Jackson and Casey’s friend. Well, maybe not Casey’s,” he muttered. “And definitely not Nick’s. Murray wanted to be more than friends with Casey. She didn’t want that, and then he proposed and it got messy.”

“Oh? Oh, I see.” She paused. “Jackson put me in charge of arranging a cochon de lait. This file is my guideline. Darn, I hope these pages weren’t in any kind of order.”

She ripped a stack of papers out of his hand and stuffed them back into the collapsed accordion file.

In the act of rising from his knees, Adam was left staring at Noelani’s bare legs.

He did what any red-blooded man whose tongue had just about dropped on the floor would do. He mustered enough spit to peal off a wolf whistle.

“Oh, grow up.” Noelani leaned down to collect her mug from where she’d set it on the floor.

He slapped a hand over his heart. “May God strike me dead if I ever get too old to appreciate a woman’s legs.”

“And well He may. Hmm. I see you have stuff all over the desk. Jackson said I could use the phone here to make some calls.” She began backing toward the door. “He said if I’d be in your way there’s also a desk upstairs in the family room.”

“Hey, you won’t be in my way.” Adam hurriedly gathered up blueprints from the desk. “I’ll throw these on one of the counters.”

“What’s that racket?” Noelani tipped her head back to stare at the smoky ceiling. It sounded as if a herd of elephants had landed above and were tromping about.

“Roofers. They’re tearing up burned shingles today. With luck, they’ll have time to lay plywood, too. Then tomorrow, they can spend the day putting on a new roof.”

She set her mug on the desk, wrapped both arms around the bulky file and plastered her nose against the window. “If those scattered bundles are new shingles, I can’t tell them from the old ones—except for the charred spots.”

“That’s the idea, sugar pie. When I finish, this place will look exactly like it was before the fire.”

She released a dark strand of hair caught on her lips. “Is my name too much for you to manage, Adam? No-eh-lon-ee. Four simple syllables.”

He grinned rakishly. “It’s a wonderful name, too. Straight out of James Michener’s Hawaii. What a book.”

“Actually, I was named after a Maui resort. It’s where Duke Fontaine stayed when he and my mother met. Quite frankly, I’d rather be named for Michener’s character.”

“Did you ever pick up a phone to tell your father how mad he made you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She stalked to the desk and slammed down the file.

“I’ll bet it would have eased the load you’re lugging around. And we both know I’m not talking about the folder you just took out your aggressions on.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ross, for that two-bit psychoanalysis. But it hardly falls under the heading of historical restoration. I’m sure you have something important you’re being paid to do.”

“Ouch! I scored a direct hit on a sore subject, I see.”

“You see nothing. You know nothing about me, and you have no idea what it was like growing up in my shoes.”

Adam held up his hands, palms out. “That’s right. We can rectify that over dinner. I’m talking about a meal in town. You ever had fried alligator? There’s this cool Cajun place near the river. Alligator is their signature dish.”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“They do a mean crab salad. Wait, wait, I see you crossing your eyes. Aren’t crabs technically crustaceans and not mammals?”

“Did it never occur to you that I don’t want to go out with you?”

He raised a shoulder. “That’s plain enough. Tell me, did I say something last night to annoy you? I enjoyed our walk. I thought we’d hit it off.”

Noelani shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. Without uttering another word, she snatched up her file and mug, and left the same way she’d entered.

Adam watched the door swing forward and back on its hinges. Damn, but he’d never met such a prickly woman. He’d assumed, after last night’s uncomfortable meal, that she’d jump at the chance not to repeat that experience. Somehow, he really doubted breakfast had gone better. Adam had been leaving the garçonnière and chanced to overhear Casey ranting to Nick about Jackson going soft on their father’s little indiscretion. Adam thought if anyone could use a friend, it was Noelani Hana.

But if he offered an olive branch and all she wanted to do was wrap it around his neck, that was A-okay with him. He didn’t need the distraction from his work. He had precious little free time as it was. Why waste it in the company of a bad-tempered, hotheaded woman who wasn’t planning to stick around? Adam had heard Casey say to Nick that if they’d had the means, Noelani would take her money and run. With an estate of this size, surely it wouldn’t be long before they had funds to send her packing.

Slamming outside, Adam shoved the whole kit and caboodle to the back of his mind and went to have a word with his roofing subcontractor.

UPSTAIRS, NOELANI SPREAD the information on previous parties out on the desk and tried to make sense of the various lists. She heard a noise behind her. It wasn’t much, and sounded as if it came from behind the couch, which stood near a row of floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

She slipped from her chair and tiptoed across the room, aware of each creak in the old floor, wondering who or what had made that sound. She didn’t expect to find Jackson’s daughter, Megan, huddled in a corner behind the couch, hugging a tattered rag doll and crying. Not really crying, Noelani decided. More the kind of body-racking sobs that followed a crying jag. A child’s book lay forgotten on the floor.

“Hi, Megan. It’s Noelani. Do you remember meeting me last night?” Afraid of scaring the little girl if she hung over the back of the couch, Noelani walked around it and sat cross-legged on the floor. Not too near so as to appear threatening, but close enough for comfort.

Megan hugged her doll tighter. The girl wore a long, frilly pink nightie and fuzzy bunny slippers. Her beautiful dark curls were tangled from sleep.

“Does your tummy hurt?”

Megan shook her head until her curls bobbed.

“Did you get up to go to the bathroom and forget the way back to your bed?” Esme had skipped Jackson’s end of the house on her tour, so Noelani wasn’t sure if the child shared a bath with Tanya, or if she had one en suite.

Noelani sighed. “I’m not a good guesser. Maybe you should tell me why you’re crying.”

“I came to wave bye-bye to Daddy. And I fo…found Emmylou in a s-sack. In the trash.” She pointed a quivering finger toward a waste basket tucked between a lamp and the bookcase.

“Mommy gave her to me. I lost Emmylou and Miss Tanya said she was gone. She said I could only sleep with the dolly Daddy bought me. But…but she’s hard. Not soft like Emmylou.”

Several thoughts as to how the doll might have accidentally ended up in the trash flitted through Noelani’s mind. None made sense, especially since there was no denying that the crumpled plastic bag bore the name of a local boutique. Obviously someone had tried to dispose of the tattered doll.

Nanny Tanya, with eyes that coveted Jackson, fell several notches in Noelani’s estimation. But would a young woman who was infatuated with her boss take anything so drastic upon herself?

But Noelani preferred to blame Tanya rather than Jackson. This morning he’d acted concerned about his daughter’s transition into the household. He wouldn’t sink so low as to dispose of a harmless toy.

“Did your daddy read you that book this morning?”

Megan nodded. Hooking the doll under one arm, she pulled the book onto her lap. “He woke me up. We read half. Then he had to go to a meeting.”

“I see it’s Dragon Tales. That’s one of my favorite stories. Would you like me to read the second half now?”

Nodding her head, Megan lifted the large book and handed it to Noelani.

“Shall we go sit on the couch? The light’s better, and I think we’d be more comfortable.”

The child weighed that thought carefully. Finally, she got up and scampered over to perch on the very end of the sofa.

Noelani sat at the opposite end, near the lamp. She found the place where Megan’s daddy had left off, and she began to read.

Little by little, Megan edged closer. Until finally she wriggled right up next to Noelani, who used various voices for the characters, from tiny to gruff to scary. Megan started out not smiling. Ten minutes later, she was giggling out loud.

They were both laughing when Tanya Carson rushed into the room looking as if she’d thrown on her clothes haphazardly.

“Megan! You gave me a scare, disappearing right out of your bed like that. It’s time for you to dress and go downstairs for breakfast. Oh, my, how…where did you find that pitiful thang?” Tanya shoved her glasses up her nose and glared accusingly at Noelani.

Megan edged closer, shifting the doll, whose threadbare dress was badly torn and whose button eye was missing, into the space between her and Noelani.

“Isn’t it lucky Megan found her favorite toy, Tanya?”

“But Jackson bought her a perfectly beautiful new doll. She has long blond curls, eyes that move and three changes of clothes. Oh, you don’t understand. Jackson wants her to play with her new doll.”

“Jackson wants his daughter to be happy here,” Noelani said flatly. “This morning he asked if I’d seen this doll anywhere.” She crossed her fingers below the book and silently begged forgiveness for such a blatant lie.

“He did?” Tanya blinked several times.

Noelani smiled at Megan. “Honey, I have a sewing kit in my room. If you’ll leave your baby with me while you go with Tanya and get dressed, I’ll mend her so she’ll be almost as good as new.”

Tanya stuck up her nose. “There’s not enough thread in the universe to accomplish that miracle.”

“You’d be surprised what a little cosmetic surgery can do. How about it, Megan, would you like me to sew up Emmylou’s rips?”

The four-year-old gave her doll one last squeeze before placing her trustingly into Noelani’s hands. “Please,” she said in a very small voice. “Take good care of her. I was so afraid Emmylou got taken somewhere far away—like Mommy.” Little face sober again, Megan slid off the couch and walked sedately from the room.

Even as Tanya flounced out and snatched the child’s hand, Megan kept darting glances back at Noelani, as if checking to make sure her most cherished possession was safe.

Anger mounting for that poor, motherless girl, Noelani leaped up the second she heard the door at the end of the hall slam. Hurrying straight to her own room, she made a mental note to have another talk with her half brother. Megan needed to be able to ask honest questions about her mother. The child needed to know she hadn’t been abandoned. Noelani could attest firsthand to the fact that avoiding mention of an absent parent only led to frustration, mistrust and outright dislike on the part of the child.

She found her sewing kit and stitched quickly. A button for the missing eye presented the biggest problem. Her kit had come with white buttons in three sizes and an assortment of safety pins. The doll’s eyes were half an inch around and black.

The black suit she’d worn on the plane had exactly the right-size buttons on the jacket cuffs. “Emmylou needs this more than me.” A snip of the scissors and Noelani had her button.

After she’d finished, she held the doll at arm’s length and eyed her critically. With felt and yarn maybe she could fix the shoes and the hair. But she had none, and anyway, Megan loved the rag doll exactly as she was. Tucking the doll under her arm, she went off in search of the little girl.

It turned out she didn’t have to go far. Noelani opened her bedroom door and practically fell over the child. Tanya leaned against the wall by the stairs. “There you are. Thank goodness! Megan refused to go have breakfast without her doll. Betty’s going to throw a hissy fit ’cause we’re so late.”

Noelani tuned Tanya out. She focused in on the beautiful smile slowly blossoming on Megan’s face.

“Emmylou’s all well. You found her a new eye, No’lani. Oh, thank you. I’ve worried and worried ‘bout her not being able to see so good.”

“You’re welcome, honey. Maybe one of these days, you and I can go to town and find yarn to spruce up her hair. Give her a new look.” She smiled gently at the child.

Tanya pretended to stick a finger down her throat and gag, but Megan kissed her doll and nodded, making her own curls dance.

“Emmylou, it’s time for us to go eat,” she said, darting off ahead of Tanya.

Noelani buried her hands in her shorts pockets and watched them disappear down the stairs.

“That was a nice thing you did for Megan. First real smile I’ve seen outta her.”

Noelani whirled and saw Adam standing quietly a few feet away, his fingers tucked loosely under his leather belt.

“Must you always sneak up on me?” she demanded. “Where on earth did you come from? We’ve been standing right next to the stairs.”

“I came up the back steps. I had to check something for Jackson in his office. He phoned the kitchen wanting you, actually. I transferred him to the library, but you didn’t answer. Now I see why. He’ll be pleased, you know. He worries a lot about his kid. Cut Tanya some slack, though. She watches Megan okay. It’s just that Auntie E is always harping at her, and those two clash. Tossing the doll was probably Esme’s doing. I suspect she was trying to erase Megan’s background.”

“That child’s hurting. Jackson should put his foot down. By the way, what did he want me for?”

“Oh, here.” Adam took a folded message from his pocket. “He ran into Nick downtown. Nick said the White Gold has a new Cajun group performing a couple of nights a week. Jackson thinks you should check them out and maybe book them for the cochon de lait.” Adam grinned. “Nick said they can be had cheap.”

Noelani read the message. “Is the White Gold a night club?”

“A riverboat casino. Building and staffing them is what Nick does.”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve barely begun to read through the notes on what the family did in the past. I’d just noticed the date he gave me is only two weeks away. I’d hit panic mode when I heard Megan crying. She found her doll in the trash.”

“So I gathered.”

“Really? You spied on us that long?”

“I came down the hall about the time you left your room. You walked over to the stairs to talk to Tanya. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Likely story.” She stuck the note in her pocket.

“That band’s performing tonight. I’ll run you downtown.”

“Thanks, but you have your own work to do. I’ll phone a cab.”

Adam fidgeted. “We’re talking about the waterfront. At night,” he added.

She considered his subtle warning, glad he hadn’t felt the need to make a big deal about her being a defenseless woman. In truth, she didn’t know the area. They warned tourists against going into some parts of Honolulu at night. Her seat companion on the commuter flight from Dallas had mentioned that crime was on the rise in New Orleans. Perhaps it was also true for Baton Rouge. “If you’re quite sure it won’t disrupt your schedule, I may take you up on that offer.”

“No problem. I can’t do a lot until the wood for the cabinets arrives or the roof is finished. With any luck, both will be sometime next week.”

“What time, then? Is it all right if I wear jeans? I may have packed a white pair, but my wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired. I hadn’t planned to stay. Since I’ll be here until they divvy up the property, I phoned Bruce and asked him to ship a better assortment of clothes.”

“Who’s Bruce? I never thought to ask if you had a boyfriend or a live-in.”

She elevated an eyebrow. “Not that it’s your business, Mr. Nosy, but Bruce is a contemporary of Duke’s. I work at his sugar mill, as did my mom and almost everyone else in our town. I live in one of his rentals. Bruce has a master key, and that’s why he was the person I called. Although his secretary, Midori, would have a better eye for choosing shoes and accessories. Oh, well.” She grimaced. “It’s already done.”

“So you worked in sugar? Doing what?”

“I set up Shiller’s computerized vat and fermentation system. Most recently I developed a program to speed up the creeper feeders. They carry the cane to be crushed, in case you aren’t familiar with the process.”

“I’m not. But it sounds interesting. Do Jackson and Casey know they have all this experience under their roof? I’d think they’d want you overseeing the mill instead of coordinating a party. Not that I have anything against parties, mind you.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m probably the least likely party animal you’ll find living in the deep South.”

“Ri-ight,” she drawled.

“It’s true. I took over as man of the house when my dad, a pilot, went to ’Nam. My mother never worked outside the home until we got word that his plane had been shot down. She attempted retail, hoping to take her mind off his disappearance, but…she wasn’t well.” Adam’s face reflected the state of his memories. “The longer it dragged on without his being found, either dead or alive, the tougher it was for Mom.”

Noelani’s demeanor changed at once from sarcastic teasing to total empathy. “That’s awful, Adam. Was he okay when they found him?”

“He’s MIA. The navy assumes he’s dead.” So does Mom, when she’s lucid. He now had Charlotte Ross in a good sanatorium upriver. Shadows clouded Adam’s blue eyes as he fingered a cross worn around his neck. He ran it back and forth along a gold chain. “Some mornings I still wake up thinking this’ll be the day Dad walks through my door.”

Noelani nibbled her lower lip. Finally, she squeezed his arm. “Stop. I can see that talking about this bothers you. I understand, because I hate talking about my—about the man who fathered me.” She glanced at her watch. “We both need to get back to work. What time shall I be ready to go to the White Gold?”

“I’m sure Betty would be happy to have two fewer people for dinner. Remember the place I mentioned last night that has great alligator? It’s near the casino. We can eat after you hear the band.”

Having softened toward him in the aftermath of his sad tale, Noelani agreed. “I’m not eating alligator, Adam, but I guess I can see what else they offer.”

“Good. Great.” He galloped toward the stairs before she could change her mind. “I’ll let Betty know. Be out front at six, okay?”

“Yes. Sure, I’ll be ready.”

She listened to him clatter down the stairs and slowly made her way to the library to start listing her duties as cochon de lait organizer. Adam was right; this probably was wasting her talent. On the other hand, she liked to excel at any job she did. So the Fontaines had better get set for the best darned party they’d ever experienced.

Noelani couldn’t help it if her mind detoured every now and then. On paths that led to thoughts of Adam…

She was touched by what he’d said about his growing up—and what he hadn’t. A boy, not very old, forced to deal with a mother who was sick and whose heart was probably broken, as well. Relatives and neighbors probably hadn’t understood. She could be summing up her own life. The similarity between them was almost uncanny. It certainly made her take a different view of Adam Ross.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE MISSISSIPPI WAS SWOLLEN and brown with mud after recent rains. The night air pressed in, covering her body with a fine sheen of perspiration. Noelani was used to a bright moon suspended over a white-capped ocean. Here the moon barely cleared the rooftops, and it glowed an eerie, sickly yellow. Still, embarking on a new adventure, she could hardly contain a shimmer of excitement.

“There’s a haze clouding the moon,” she said. “It’s like you’re viewing the moon through gauze. In Hawaii, the moon and stars are clear and bright.”

Adam squinted up through the windshield. “Used to be southern harvest moons were fantastic. But gas refineries have sprung up along the river. They pollute the air and belch smoke and carbons into the river and sky. Cane farmers and residents alike complain, but the powers-that-be look the other way. They want the tax revenues.”

“Is there a possibility pollution will drive cane growers out altogether?” Her thoughts were on the declining Hawaiian cane industry as Adam found a place to park.

“You’d have to ask Jackson or Casey. I know Jackson’s working with lobbyists.” Adam held the door as she got out, and then locked his pickup.

“I heard Jackson tell Casey he had lunch planned with some lobbyists today,” she said. “It’d be a shame if the cane fields wither away as they are in Hawaii. I intend to see Shiller’s become what it was in my mother’s day. If I envy Duke’s kids anything, it’s…well, never mind. You don’t want me going on about that, I’m sure.”

“Duke didn’t play square with any of you.”

“You won’t hear objections from me on that score.”

Adam placed a hand on her waist as they navigated the first of a series of ramps leading to the White Gold—a replica of a paddle wheeler. The walkway was crowded with jovial people all headed into the boat.

Noelani moved closer to Adam. “Are all these people here to listen to the band?” By now the catchy beat of a familiar tune spilled from the gently rocking boat.

“They’re here to gamble. Music and liquor are perks to keep patrons on the boat spending money.”

“Do you gamble?”

“I have better things to do with my hard-earned cash. But feel free to throw some of yours in the slots, sugar pie.”

“I’ve never been to a casino. I wouldn’t know what to do. I have better things to do with my money, too,” she said as they entered the dimly lit interior. The noise intensified; music and laughter now competed with the spin of slots and the clank of falling coins. Someone jostled Noelani, knocking her into Adam. She pressed both hands against his chest to remain balanced, and felt his heart pick up its tempo. Usually she shied away from closeness. Not this time. She maintained contact, liking the feel of his muscles under her hands.

Adam slid his arms protectively around her back. “Boy, it’s packed tonight. There must be some big convention in town. Let’s see if we can work our way upstairs to where the band is.”

She nodded but was reluctant to leave Adam’s arms—certainly much more so than she ought to be. In marked contrast to the smoke, whiskey fumes and cloying perfumes rising from a row of women at the slots, Adam’s shirt smelled of crisp, clean starch. His aftershave was a subtle mix of lime and some nice scent Noelani couldn’t name. She liked it, though. A lot.

“Whew!” Adam stumbled with her out onto the upper deck, where the crowd was thinner. In place of slots, this deck offered roulette, craps and other game tables. A polished wood bar curved in a large horseshoe around a compact dance floor. Off to their right was a raised stage on which five musicians sat, belting out lively tunes.

“There’s Nick and Casey. I wonder what they’re doing here.” Adam clamped a hand on Noelani’s upper arm and literally dragged her across the room.

The men shook hands. Casey, who leaned against the bar, tightened her hold on her shoulder purse and stepped well to their right. “Are you about finished, Nick? You said this wouldn’t take a minute.”

“What’s your hurry?” Adam asked, smiling at her.

Casually looping an arm around Casey’s waist, Nick continued talking to a snazzily dressed older gentleman. A shrug was Casey’s only response to Adam’s question.

Noelani propped a foot on the rung of an adjacent bar stool. “Every time I see you, you’re in a rush to take off. I have a question about your harvester.”

Casey’s head snapped around. “What about our harvester? I’m paying Len Forsen extra to keep an eye on it night and day.”

“Adam mentioned you’d had one stolen. That’s terrible. But I’m interested in learning the make, model and where I can get a brochure. I’ve been so concerned with increasing production on the mill end of harvest, I’ve paid no attention to the cutting process. In Hawaii, if it rains, cutting comes to a standstill. According to Adam, you cut the day I arrived, and it rained cats and dogs.”

Casey looked her half sister up and down. “You really do work in cane?”

“At the mill.” Noelani felt her temper flare. “The islands—Maui, in particular—were once the world’s leading sugar producer. Didn’t your father ever tell you about the month he spent on Maui studying Bruce Shiller’s operation?”

“Leave my father out of this.”

“Like he conveniently left me out of his life, you mean?”

“Ladies, ladies.” Adam stepped between the two bristling women.

Nick interrupted his conversation to glance their way. “The band’s taking a break, I see. Noelani, here’s their card. I assume you’ve come to talk to them about performing. You’ll want the guy with the accordion. He books all their gigs.”

“What’s she want with a band?” Casey peered around Adam.

“Short memory,” Noelani said sarcastically. “Have you forgotten that at breakfast, Jackson put me in charge of your annual pua’a?”

“Our what?”

“Sorry. Your pigfest.”

“Oh. I did forget. Nick, here’s Viv, Luc and Murray. Let’s go. You said you wanted Mr. Dardenne to meet Luc.” Dismissing the others, Casey spoke to the man with whom Nick chatted. Linking her arm through his, the two of them left.

Noelani watched Casey flag down a handsome couple and a third party. She recognized Murray Dewalt as the extra male, the friend and neighbor she’d met that morning in the kitchen. The man she didn’t know had midnight-dark eyes, killer good looks and carried a worn instrument case. His companion, a smartly dressed, racehorse-thin blonde, enveloped Casey in an effusive hug.

“Viv is Casey’s best friend,” Nick said for Noelani’s benefit. To Adam, he said, “Henry Dardenne is considering picking up the casino contract Guy Moreau reneged on. Henry requested a meeting with Luc Renault, because he wants some reassurance that Luc will continue performing if he buys the casino.”

“Um, excuse me.” Noelani ducked away from the men and made a beeline for the band leader, now packing up his equipment.

Adam’s gaze followed her. “Nick, I understand that Casey’s suffering from the loss of her folks. But she’s got to face facts. Noelani didn’t write Duke’s will.”

“Don’t push, Adam. For years Casey’s poured her heart and soul into growing the best cane in the state—mostly to please her dad. Duke did more than die. He fell from his pedestal. And…this isn’t for publication, but Casey had a miscarriage. The day before the property settlement meeting. Emotionally, she’s going through hell.”

“God, Nick. I’m sorry. For your sake, too. But maybe she’d benefit from having a sister at a time like this. Don’t women connect over babies?”

“Casey needs time. I wish she and Jackson would let me help them come up with the money to get rid of Noelani.”

“I hope you mean buy her out, rather than get rid of her. That sounds…sinister.”

“You know what I mean. If Dardenne signs tonight, I could give them a loan. But my question is—why are you involving yourself, Adam?”

“From the vantage point of an outsider, it strikes me that Casey and Jackson were dealt a majority of the aces in this hand. They grew up with Duke’s love. Noelani’s the one who got shortchanged.”

“Be that as it may, you can’t force people to like each other.”

“I’m not advocating force. Casey listens to you, Nick. It’d help if you put in a good word now and then for Noelani.”

“I’ll think about it. Meanwhile, don’t forget who hired you.”

“I know who hired me.” Adam felt the sting of Nick’s rebuke.

“Yeah? Well, you’re awfully damn chummy with our foe for a guy who usually keeps his nose to the grindstone. Why are you out with her tonight?”

“Jackson expressly requested I escort her here.” Adam’s temper frayed as Nick turned and walked away without a backward glance. “For another thing, she’s not the enemy,” he muttered. But dammit, he couldn’t afford to blow this job at Bellefontaine. And Nick knew full well that Adam needed the job if he had any hope of buying back Magnolia Manor.

Noelani paused a foot behind Adam. Close enough to catch the heated exchange that had passed between him and Nick. Adam’s terse admission that he’d driven her to the casino at his employer’s request cut deeper than any of Casey’s recent barbs. Noelani froze. First shame, then fury buzzed in her ears.

As if sensing her presence, Adam glanced over his shoulder. Damn! Had she heard?

She blindly jammed a paper in her purse. “I signed a contract with the group for a hundred dollars less than Jackson paid last year. If you’re reporting back to him, I think that news should please him.”

Damn, she had overheard. Adam didn’t know what to say to make matters better. “So, we’re ready to head home, then?” He avoided her eyes.

Noelani read that as guilt. And had he forgotten about their going to dinner, or had he changed his mind? Darned if she’d ask. Obviously more had happened between the men than the few lines she’d heard.