Roz Fox - The Secret Daughter

“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.

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.”