She emerged with her T-shirt on backward. Cursing mildly, she pulled a quick change without exposing anything but her back and midriff.
Adam grinned. “Nice moves, Hana. Sure you worked in a mill in Hawaii and not some girly bar?”
“I should’ve ridden with Jackson. He’s not so hung up on female body parts.” Bending, she squirmed around, doing her best to pull on her boots.
“Yeah, Jackson Fontaine is a saint. And I’m not referring to our beloved pro football team, either.”
“I don’t doubt he’s a womanizer, too. All you southern men are. Oh, I see the fire truck. Pull over, Adam. I’ll hop out at the gate. I don’t think you’ll be able to find a parking space in the lot. If you want to make a U-turn and head out again, I’ll catch a ride home with Jackson.”
“I’ll park and see if there’s anything I can do. I don’t want to get in the way, but, it looks as if a fair-size crowd has already gathered. What’s one person more or less?”
Noelani released her seat belt and leaped from the pickup while he continued to ramble. She left her dress and her tote on the seat, and took only her purse—in case she needed her office keys for any reason.
She elbowed her way through onlookers and hurried over to stand beside Jackson as he talked with a fireman. An aid car pulled through the crowd with lights flashing and sirens blaring.
The quick glance Jackson shot Noelani was one of relief. “Mason says Rob Dvorak’s alive and alert. He was the driver. Our crane’s involved, but the truck’s not one of ours. They’re transporting Rob to Emergency. If you’ll have Adam take you there, I’ll stay behind and wind up with reports and such. Mason tells me Rob’s wife has been notified. She’s meeting him at the hospital. Either phone me on the cell with the doc’s verdict, or else I’ll join you as soon as we get things back to normal here.”
“Consider it done.”
Adam had no sooner poked a foot out of his truck than Noelani shoved him back inside and scrambled in next to him. “Can you drive me to the hospital?”
He didn’t even fumble for his keys. The pickup roared to life.
She relayed to him everything Jackson had said. “Keep your fingers crossed that Rob’s injuries aren’t serious.”
Adam stuck to perimeter roads and was soon parking outside the hospital.
When they finally got someone to direct them, they found a tall, well-built, swarthy man in his late twenties busy informing the doctor he didn’t need skull X rays. He insisted that what he needed was to check on the condition of his truck. A pale blond woman clutching the patient’s hand tried to get him to listen to the doctor.
“Mr. Dvorak, er…Rob. I’m Noelani Hana, manager of Fontaine’s mill.”
“I’ve heard of you.” He ignored her proffered hand. “Some of the guys are saying that screwy things have been happening on-site ever since the man put you in charge.”
Adam stepped forward to stand hip to hip with Noelani. “Rob, you strike me as too savvy to buy into superstitions about Noelani being bad mojo. Didn’t I see you one night hanging out with Tanya Carson’s college crowd?”
“Yeah. I’m going to night school. I’ve got a wife and a kid to support. I don’t plan on driving a cane truck for the rest of my life like my daddy.”
“A family man who wants to get ahead is to be commended. So why don’t you tell Ms. Hana exactly what you think occurred.”
“I don’t have to think. I know. The truck and cane I was hauling belongs to Junior Mandeville. I’ve complained to him for weeks. The hydraulics on that old crate needed checking. Junior pinches a buck so tight, you can hear the eagle scream.”
“So it wasn’t the fault of our crane operator?” Noelani asked. The sharp pains that had been slicing though her stomach started to ease.
“Nope, Ray Dee Plover, he’s the crane operator, hooked on to my cane bin like always. And that’s the story I gave Mason Trotter, who cut me out of the cab.”
Jackson walked over just in time to hear the last. He lightly punched Rob’s unbandaged arm. “Glad to see your pretty face wasn’t cut, pardner. Scared me, seeing all the blood on the steering wheel. I’m about to invite Junior to dump his cane in a different mill. Before I do, I came to tell you Casey has a truck available if you’d like to drive for us.”
“I’ll be on the job in the morning. Tell me where to collect the truck. And Jackson, thanks. I knew you’d fill Duke’s shoes.”
Jackson grimaced. “Rob, get an X ray, all right? Take tomorrow and Monday off for good measure. Noelani, would you and Adam swing by Wisteria Cottage on your way home? Ask Casey to put Rob Dvorak on the payroll, and make it retroactive to the beginning of this month.”
“I’ll phone her from work. Adam can go on home. If it’s not out of your way, Jackson, would you drop me at the mill? I know how antsy workers can get after any accident. I think management should be on-site to answer questions, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Probably a good idea. Okay, bunk there tonight. I’ll swing by in the morning and take you home to get the Caddy.”
As they went out to the parking lot, Adam had the distinct feeling Noelani had neatly excised him from her life. He didn’t like it, but what could he do except lump it? He had no intention of playing second fiddle to a sugar mill. Already, though, he hated the thought of watching her walk away.
On the lonely drive home, Adam tried but never managed to shake from his mind a spectrum of vignettes. Most featured Noelani as she’d been today, looking like a million bucks, chatting easily with people from the community. Looking as if she belonged here in Baton Rouge.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AS NOELANI PREDICTED, many workers were shaken up by the accident. Walking with Jackson past Rob’s wrecked truck, she felt unease ripple outward in waves from groups of workers who had yet to return to their jobs. “If your work isn’t directly affected by this accident,” she shouted, “it’s time for everyone to return to his or her station.”
Realizing far too many of their personnel stood idly by, Jackson seconded Noelani’s directive. “Here comes Ray Dee,” he said, turning her attention to a workman coming toward them. “I know his take on the accident matches Rob’s, but we should make sure he knows we’re not blaming him in any way.”
Ray Dee Plover, a lion-maned fellow with a beer gut and a lot of tattoos, seemed unaffected by the whole thing. “Not the first bin to fall, Mr. Fontaine. Probably won’t be the last. Mostly they bounce on the cane pile and it’s a matter of straightening ’em out with the front loader so I can hook onto ’em again. Rob’s a lucky sumbitch. Junior Mandeville oughta fix his equipment or be drummed out of the business.”
Jackson rested the toe of one polished boot on a sticky ledge. “We’ll be minus Junior’s cane from now on, Ray Dee. Noelani’s and my main concern is that the accident doesn’t spook the crews. I don’t mind telling you Fontaine’s has dealt with enough accidents this year. We’d appreciate you helping us keep a lid on the tension building around here.”
“You’re the boss. Junior Mandeville ain’t gonna be a happy camper. I advise watching your back.”
“Noelani manages the mill. And Junior’s a blowhard. He doesn’t worry me. Maybe next season he’ll listen if one of his drivers says a truck needs servicing.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Well, the wrecker’s here to haul the truck away. Time to blow the whistle and get that line of cane trucks moving again so we can send all these lazy bums back to work.” The whistle to which Ray Dee referred was an internal system devised to be heard above the noisy machinery. All workmen were required to learn a code of long and short blasts developed to save machinery from damage, or to summon help fast if a worker needed assistance.
“I’m fighting city council over the big whistle we blow at noon and 6:00 p.m.,” Jackson remarked as he and Noelani left Ray Dee to go inside. “Newcomers to our parish complain in letters to the editor and at council meetings about the loud noise. On the other hand, old-timers set their watches by th
e whistle. I’m for progress, but even I believe losing it would be like saying goodbye to an era.”
“You sound like Adam,” Noelani said. “A couple of weeks ago he was lamenting all the changes in and around Baton Rouge. He said the moon isn’t as bright as it used to be. The river’s dirtier, and its course is altered. In general, a whole way of life is slowly being eroded. I told him change is happening in Hawaii, too. Jackson, do you envision a time when there won’t be sugar grown in Louisiana?”
“Yeah, next year if we don’t pull our fat out of the fire.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes had bleak shadows hovering at the edges.
“My program’s working well. A trial run speeded our intake of cane by more than ten percent over twelve hours. Give me the go-ahead and I’ll make the permanent switch tonight. The timing is perfect since I plan to be here, anyway. Sometime around midnight I should be able to reset the computers that drive the conveyors carrying bagasse to the fire pits, too. At 6:00 a.m. I’ll cut in an accelerated program to control the vats. Voila, by noon tomorrow, we’ve increased our across-the-board output.”
“Will you have to tell staff? I’m wondering if we shouldn’t give them a breather following Rob’s accident.”
“The crew handling the liming tanks are aware I’m running tests. They like the idea of firing up the two empties. Same with the men in charge of the vats.”
“I hear a but coming, don’t I?”
“The core samplers, who are already peeved at me over the lunch changes, will have to run two added batches per shift. That equals four full sets of data for the chemists to analyze. I’m prepared to pitch in during the transition if they bog down. Nothing I can do about the core samplers, though. Their room is cramped, plus the ladies are territorial as it is. Not that I blame them. They’re doing a good job, but I believe they can work faster.”
“You’re expecting them to give you flak?”
Noelani smiled as they climbed the steel-mesh stairs to reach her office. “You read between the lines, Jackson. I can handle flak if I’m sure management supports me. Duke had absolute control here. However, I sense everyone thinks they can go over me and gripe to you or Casey. Like Ray Dee, for instance. He looked right through me and spoke to you. If I make changes, I need to be confident you and Casey are one hundred percent behind me.”
“We are.” Jackson stood with his hands buried in his pockets while she unlocked her office. “Have you calculated how many added tons of crystal we’ll get under your new program?”
“Implement it today and by Christmas, oh, an extra fifty thousand pounds.”
In her office, Jackson dropped into what had been his father’s favorite leather chair. “Duke picked up a couple of empty warehouses from Roland Dewalt in the refinery transaction. I hung on to them because Casey’s excited about the prospects for her new hybrids. She said her yield may be up seventy-five percent. The hybrids are all planted on land we own and were funded by us, not by coalition advances.”
Noelani didn’t understand the significance, but she could almost see his brain running calculations. Less familiar with the warehousing and marketing end of the business, she didn’t know what that meant to overall profit and loss. “When will Casey begin cutting the hybrids? I heard her say the stalks are stronger, but that hybrids mature more slowly than the old established breeds.”
“I think she hopes to cut the week after next. She’s anxious to see the core samples. If they do as well as she predicts, we’d benefit from faster processing. So, implement away, Noelani.” After clapping his hands on his knees, he stood. “Time for me to hit the road. On my way out, I’ll detour past the core sample room and tell Rose we’re stepping up production. I’m not going over your head, Noelani, but she considers me a friend. Her brother and I closed a few bars together in our younger days. I can’t decide if I should alert Rose to look for some high-grade cane or not. I’d hate for her to think she’s getting false readings.”
“You’re expecting miracles from Casey’s hybrids,” Noelani exclaimed. She might have said more except the phone on her desk rang. Because Jackson was closer, he answered it.
“For you, Noelani. Eugene Blanchard, from Blanchard Garden Center.” Jackson covered the mouthpiece and grinned. “Gardening in your spare time, are you?”
She snatched the receiver. “Mr. Blanchard? This is Noelani Hana. Ah, you’ve read the proposal I dropped off the other day? Good. You’re interested? Great. A trial from now though the end of November works for us. I should be able to deliver the first product to you by Friday.”
Jackson headed for the door but, unable to hide his curiosity, he stopped and waited for Noelani to finish her call.
She didn’t keep him in suspense long. “Eugene Blanchard wants to stock our bagasse clinkers and our shredded bagasse for landscape materials. All we lose in giving it a try is a few man-hours and possibly a truck and driver for two or three hours a week. We’re ahead if the stuff sells in his nurseries.”
“Somebody might actually buy sugar rocks?”
“I got the idea from the grounds at Bellefontaine. Your gardener lined all the flower beds with bagasse clinkers. They look like lava rock, but they’re far cheaper.”
“Maman’s doing, I’ll bet. I never paid attention to the landscaping,” he muttered. “Well, except when Maman twisted Casey’s and my arms to pick a site for the fountain we’re expected to add. Maman loved the grounds and the fountains. She was fascinated with the concept of each Fontaine generation building a new one. Casey and I always told her we had years to think about our design.” His voice cracked. Indeed, their time to decide on a new fountain had come much sooner than they’d envisioned.
Rallying, he eyed Noelani. “Technically you have a vote in the next fountain. I think Casey has a few possibilities Maman got from a landscape architect.”
“I love the three-tiered fountain with the pineapple. Now I understand why they’re all different. I’d like a voice in choosing the next one, Jackson. Shall we pencil it on our to-do list before I go back to Hawaii? After harvest? And maybe one day I can even come back for a visit and see it operating.”
“I should hope so.”
Noelani said nothing. At times she had difficulty separating her current life from the one she’d left behind. The life she’d return to once they’d settled Duke’s estate. It often seemed far removed from the here and now—like a misty dream.
Jackson, ever pragmatic, dug his day planner out of his pocket and jotted himself a note. They parted with Noelani promising to update him on how the new program was doing the next day, when he dropped off Angelique’s car.
Some women would do anything to avoid spending the night in a noisy, sticky mill. Noelani never felt more comfortable than when she heard the hiss of steam, smelled the ever-present odor of toasted molasses, or felt the very floor beneath her feet vibrate from the steady hum of hundreds of conveyors. This was the world she’d grown up in. The only world she trusted.
She carefully tucked disks from the old program into her back pocket. She’d switched to the new system, and now had to run a check on the lower floors to make sure everything was working smoothly. At Shiller’s, she would’ve left her door unlocked and probably even left the old disks lying on top of her desk. Adam’s repeated warnings about being careful had made her wary.
His face lingered in her mind as she peered over the narrow catwalk to the machinery below. She remembered how at home he’d looked the day of the cochon de lait when Casey sent him up to change the office lock. Other men might be ill at ease if asked to walk strange catwalks high above hot and dangerous machinery. Not Adam. He sauntered with a certain swagger, no matter what the environment. A swagger that never failed to clutch at her heart.
Noelani’s T-shirt began to cling to her skin as she remembered the humid night they’d spent making love in Adam’s bed. When she caught herself smiling and slowing her steps, she knew she needed to shift gears and flush all memories of Adam from her mind. Ac
cidents happened when people let their attention drift. And even if she was in no danger of causing an accident, dreaming about Adam Ross was pointless. She’d cut him loose. If visions of his broad shoulders, narrow hips and rugged face intruded, she had to mercilessly excise them, too.
An exercise made more difficult the next day by her half brother.
Ten o’clock, and Noelani had no sooner returned to her office after a satisfying check of all the systems, when her telephone rang, startling her.
“We’re two blocks from the mill,” Jackson said.
“We who?” Noelani yawned in his ear.
“Jackson and Adam, sleepyhead. Did you forget I said I’d bring you the Caddy?”
“I expected you. But Adam…?” Her voice faltered.
“Yeah, poor guy. I dragged him away from sanding counters. It crossed my mind that you might not be in a position to drive me home. So I asked Adam to take the Caddy, while I’ve got my Jag. That way, I’ll run him back to Bellefontaine and pick up Auntie E, Megan and Tanya for our outing to the Sugar Fest. I phoned because I’m running late. Can you meet us in the parking lot and fill me in on the new system?”
“I can update you now. Park the Caddy and leave the keys in the core sample room. I’ll get them later. Jackson…. Jackson?” Noelani frowned and depressed the switch several times, but ended up with a dial tone. Flipping through the card file, she hunted for his cell number. Nothing. Apparently Duke had kept the family phone numbers in his head.
“Well, damn!” Not only didn’t she want to lock up and dash down three flights of slick steps, but Noelani didn’t care to cross paths with Adam on the heels of severing their ties. But wasn’t that dumb? They didn’t have ties. They were adults, and adults fell in and out of relationships all the time. Not true! She ran a fingertip over the glass pineapple—Adam’s gift. And a persistent little voice pulsed inside her head. He made you feel something you’ve never felt before. Cherished.
The Secret Daughter Page 19
