Roz Fox - The Secret Daughter

“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.

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.”