“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,