The Secret Daughter Read online

  “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: [email protected].

  The Secret Daughter

  Roz Denny Fox

  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 tomorr
ow. 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.”