by Eve Gaddy
Heading up the road toward the house, Casey swiped an arm across her forehead and sighed. Then she sucked in air and caught a faint whiff of smoke.
Not cigarette smoke, but something heavier. She lifted her head and searched the darkness, barely able to make out the shape of the house. Fire? Probably just her imagination.
As she drew closer to the big plantation house, the sulphuric odor intensified. Suddenly an alarm went off, loud and blaring in the still night.
Fire! Bellefontaine was burning!
Her heart beat a drum roll of panic, and she began to run, her work boots clumping heavily along the dirt road. The yards separating the greenhouse and the house had never seemed longer. Her family was inside. Her niece, Megan, and Aunt Esme.
She burst around the corner, and her heart nearly stopped. Flames erupted from the kitchen window and even above the clamor of the alarm she heard Toodles, her aunt’s miniature schnauzer, yapping madly. The dog never left Aunt Esme’s side….
Dear Reader,
What red-blooded romance writer hasn’t dreamed of writing about a riverboat gambler? I know I have, but since I don’t write historical romance, I didn’t think I ever would. Then Nick Devlin, the hero of Casey’s Gamble, walked onto the page, and I had my chance.
So now that I had my hero, I had to think about a heroine who would suit him. At first glance, Casey Fontaine wouldn’t seem to be the one. Along with her brother, Jackson, Casey is heir to the sugarcane plantation, Bellefontaine. Situated near Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the beautiful antebellum plantation is a sugarcane farmer’s dream. It’s certainly Casey’s.
So how will Nick, a rover who’s never had a home, fit with Casey, a woman with deep ties to her land? Come with me and see what happens as Casey risks her heart and convinces Nick to take the biggest gamble of all.
Casey’s Gamble is the first book in the RAISING CANE trilogy. Next up is Roz Denny Fox’s The Secret Daughter, and the final book of the trilogy is K.N. Casper’s Jackson’s Girls. Hope you enjoy all three.
I love to hear from readers. Write me at P.O. Box 131704, Tyler, TX 75713-1704. Or e-mail [email protected] and visit my Web site at www.evegaddy.com.
Sincerely,
Eve Gaddy
Casey’s Gamble
Eve Gaddy
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Duke and Angelique Fontaine: Owners of Bellefontaine
Cassandra (Casey) Fontaine: Bellefontaine plantation manager and daughter of Duke and Angelique
Nick Devlin: Riverboat casino builder and owner
Jackson Fontaine: Bellefontaine business manager and son of Duke and Angelique
Esme Fontaine: Duke’s opinionated sister
Megan Fontaine: Jackson’s daughter
Roland Dewalt: Neighbor to the Fontaines
Murray Dewalt: Roland’s son, and longtime friend of Casey and Jackson
Adam Ross: Nick’s friend and historic home renovator
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
Remy Boucherand: Police detective investigating suspicious events at Bellefontaine
DEDICATION/ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Although I was unable to go with my fellow trilogy writers on their research trip to Baton Rouge, I certainly benefited from it. I would like to thank Kenneth and Mary Jane Kahao, longtime sugar growers in the Baton Rouge area, for all the help they gave us in gaining information about sugarcane plantations as well as a working sugar mill.
If not for the generosity of Caroline Kennedy, director, and Jim Barnett, curatorial assistant of the West Baton Rouge Museum, our books would lack the history of the sugar industry.
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. They are totally the authors’ doing.
I also want to thank Captain Kenneth of the Hollywood Casino for answering my many questions about floating casinos.
Many thanks to Kathy Garbera, my wonderful critique partner. Much appreciation, too, to Lenora Nazworth for the information on flowers. And last, but certainly not least, many thanks to Christy Marchand for answering my endless questions about Baton Rouge, as well as for sacrificing herself to give me a bird’s-eye view of Brew-Bacher’s and their delicious shrimp po-boys.
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
“ANGELIQUE!” Duke Fontaine yelled up the curving spiral staircase. “If you’re not down here in ten minutes, I swear I’ll leave without you.”
Casey Fontaine bit her lip and refrained from pointing out to her father that if he left without his wife the trip could hardly be called a second honeymoon.
Her brother Jackson came down the stairs carrying yet another piece of luggage, an expensive, flowered hanging bag. With a grimace, he set it down by the growing pile beside the front door.
Duke ran a hand over thick auburn hair, graying at the temples, and shook his head. “My God, how many clothes does one woman need on a trip?” He glanced up the stairs and his face softened. “But then, Angelique is always magnifique.” He turned to his children and scowled. “Jackson, Casey, come into the study. I have some instructions for you.”
“Let’s see, how many sets of instructions does this make?” Casey muttered to Jackson.
“Fifteen and counting. But cheer up. Maman can’t have too much more to do. I think she’s packed everything she owns. They’ll be out of here soon. God willing.”
“I’m really happy they’re going on this trip around the world,” Casey said. “But Duke’s been driving me insane for the past two weeks. I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand.”
“You and me both,” her brother agreed, following her into their father’s study.
It was a beautiful room, papered in a masculine brocade with gleaming wood and lush leather. A rich Aubusson carpet partially covered the hardwood floor. As always, Duke sat behind the imposing cherry-wood desk, an almost tangible aura of power emanating from him.
“You have all the numbers I left? And you’ll call me if anything, anything at all comes up?”
“Of course, Duke,” Casey said, laying a restraining hand on her brother’s arm. It chafed both of them that their father treated them like children unable to think for themselves.
“Casey and I are perfectly capable of running the plantation,” Jackson said, an edge to his voice.
Duke leveled a hard stare at him, then smiled. “You’re wishing me straight to the devil, aren’t you.” When Jackson didn’t answer, he laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Assuming your mother ever finishes packing. Casey, go see what’s keeping her. Maybe you can get her to hurry.”
Her mother would be ready in her own sweet time, but Casey did as he asked, if only to escape the study and more instructions. When she reached the stairs she saw her niece Megan crouching beneath them. “Megan? Honey, is something wrong?”
Megan came out and looked at her solemnly, her dark, curly hair still
tousled from sleep. “Aunt Casey, is Daddy—” She hesitated and dug her toe into the thick rug. “Is Daddy goin’ away?” she finally whispered.
Casey squatted down to get on eye level. Poor kid. She’d only been living with Jackson for a few weeks, and was obviously still unsure about things. “Granmére and Granpére are going on a trip, honey. Not your Daddy. At least, not right now,” she added conscientiously, remembering the business trips Jackson often had to take.
Megan sniffed and looked up at her, big brown eyes sparkling with tears. “Mommy went away.”
“I know.” Casey hugged her. “But your daddy won’t. And if he does, he’ll be back before you know it.”
The little girl stared at her a moment, then nodded shyly. “’Kay,” she said, and scampered away.
“Casey, where is your father?” Angelique asked as she glided down the stairs.
Casey glanced at her mother, wondering idly how the woman always managed to be such a picture of grace. Not much of that grace had rubbed off on her daughter, Casey thought with a grin. “In the study, Maman. He told me to find you and hurry you up.”
Angelique smiled vaguely, her blond, perfectly coiffed hair glinting in the sunlight. “Dear Duke. He’s always so impatient. I must have my makeup kit. My Louis Vuitton. You know the one I mean.”
“But Maman, I thought you’d already packed your makeup.” Oh brother, if she hadn’t even packed that bag, no telling how long it would be before they left. Or how long it would be before some kind of peace settled over the big house. She curbed a sigh of exasperation, knowing it wouldn’t faze Angelique.
“I do have a bag packed, but I discovered a rip in the lining and it simply won’t do. I must have the Louis Vuitton.”
“I’ll see if Aunt Esme knows where it is,” Casey said, resigning herself to a search through the attic.
Half an hour later, the entire household waved Duke and Angelique off. Casey looked at Jackson. “I guess a high-five is out of the question.”
His lips twitched but he shook his head. “How long do you think it will be before Duke calls us?”
“Not as soon as he thinks.” She grinned and shot a glance at her brother. “He told Maman to be sure and take the mobile phone. I saw her dump it in the palm tree right before they left.”
Jackson laughed. “Good for Maman. Well, I’d better get to work.”
“That’s right. We’re in charge now, Jackson,” she said.
“Temporarily, anyway. But that won’t last a day past Duke’s return.”
“Does it bother you so much?” Casey asked. “That Duke thinks we can’t run the plantation without him?”
Jackson shrugged. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t get to you sometimes, too.”
“Of course it does. Luckily for me, he’s not as interested in the farm. And speaking of the farm, I hear the cane calling me.”
Finally, she could get back to doing what she really wanted. Growing sugarcane.
CHAPTER ONE
CASEY FONTAINE hated paperwork. Unfortunately, growing sugarcane in modern times demanded proficiency with a computer as well as traditional farming methods. She sighed and stared at the computer spreadsheet, filled with such data as type of fertilizer, yield ratios and the growth rate of the new hybrid compared to the growth rate of the other cane. It was often a boring part of her work, but someone had to do it.
When she left her office in the greenhouse where she’d spent the better part of the evening, her mind was fixed on the cold soft drink she planned on having the minute she reached the house.
The late August humidity lay thickly on the Louisiana air. The kind of atmosphere that slowed footsteps and made breathing a chore. Casey should have been used to it, since she’d lived on Bellefontaine, the antebellum sugarcane plantation near the Mississippi River, all her life, but sometimes the sultry weather hit her hard. This was definitely one of those nights.
Heading up the road toward the house, she swiped an arm across her sweaty brow and sighed. Then she sucked in air and caught a faint whiff of smoke. Not cigarette smoke, but something heavier. She lifted her head and searched the darkness, barely able to make out the shape of the house. Fire? Probably just her imagination, she thought.
As she drew nearer the big plantation house, the sulfuric odor intensified. Suddenly, a burst of orange and red flame shot from the rear of the house. An alarm went off, loud and blaring in the still night.
Bellefontaine was burning!
Her heart beat a drumroll of panic and she began to run, her work boots clumping heavily along the dirt road. The yards separating the greenhouse and the house had never seemed longer. Her family was inside. Her young niece, Megan, and Aunt Esme. Megan’s nanny, Tanya. Everyone except Jackson was there.
But surely she’d have seen signs of the fire earlier if it was that intense. She’d have seen something—or heard something—when she’d first started walking home. The smoke alarm had only now gone off.
She burst around the corner, and her heart nearly stopped. Flames erupted from the kitchen window, and even above the clamor of the alarm she heard Toodles, her aunt’s miniature schnauzer, yapping madly. Toodles, who never left Aunt Esme’s side.
Shoving the back door open, she coughed and covered her mouth with her shirttail. Through the haze of thick smoke, she saw her aunt Esme. The older woman lay facedown on the brick floor near the old stove. The vintage one Esme insisted on using instead of the perfectly good modern one Casey’s mother had had installed. Toodles stood beside her, alternately barking and licking the side of her face. For the first time in Casey’s memory, the little dog looked happy to see her.
Quickly, Casey rolled Esme over, hooked her hands beneath her arms and started pulling her away from the fire. Her aunt was no lightweight and Casey’s muscles strained with the effort. The slippery fabric of the robe her aunt wore didn’t help, either. Toodles dodged in and out between her legs, nearly tripping her as she hauled her aunt toward the back door.
Flames shot out the window, smoke billowing up from the stove. The smoke was so heavy, Casey couldn’t see how bad the fire was. Sweat dripped off her. She coughed, tried to wipe her eyes, then coughed more. She wanted to carry Esme, but she couldn’t, so she dragged her instead. Finally, they reached the threshold, and as Casey glanced up she saw the fire leapfrogging across the room, coming straight at her. Desperately, she gave a last heave, and she and Esme tumbled through the door to safety.
After pulling Esme farther from the danger, Casey collapsed beside her aunt. Coughing and retching, she reached to check Esme’s pulse. It was strong, thank God. She hesitated, not wanting to leave Esme, but she couldn’t afford to wait. She had to get Megan out. Bellefontaine was old, and for all Casey knew, the whole house could go up in flames any minute.
Esme coughed and mumbled, which Casey took as a good sign. She sprinted away, hoping her aunt would regain consciousness while she was inside. She ran toward the front, thinking that would be the quickest way to get to Megan. Gasping for air, Casey yanked open the front door and ran full-speed up the stately, curved staircase. The higher she climbed, the heavier the smoke became, until she was forced to cover her mouth again. The noise intensified, shrieking in her ears like a din from hell.
Oh my God. How can there be so much smoke? Already? Maybe the fire started someplace else. Her heart gave another lurch of fear at what that could mean.
The fire department! God, why hadn’t she called them first thing? She yanked her cell phone out of her pocket just as she reached the top of the stairs. Punching in 9-1-1, she dashed into Megan’s room. Hurry, hurry, hurry!
“Nine-one-one,” the operator said. “Please state your emergency.”
Megan was sitting up in bed crying. Casey scooped her up, rubbing her cheek against the little girl’s curly hair. She gulped in air and coughed before she could speak, then had to shout to be heard. “There’s a fire! My house is on fire.” Megan’s thin little arms clutched around her neck.
; The operator said something but Casey missed it. “The alarm’s going off. I can’t hear you.”
“I show your address as 512 River Road. Is that correct?”
“Yes. That’s right. Bellefontaine Plantation.” She ran out of Megan’s room and across the hall to Tanya’s.
“We have the fire department on the way,” the woman said calmly. “Are you in the house, ma’am?”
“Yes, I’m trying to get everyone outside.” Flinging open the nanny’s door, she yelled, “Get out! There’s a fire!”
Tanya was sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, apparently paralyzed with fear. At least, that was the reason Casey assumed the other woman hadn’t responded to the alarm. The smoke was so heavy Casey had a hard time seeing her, but at least Tanya hadn’t passed out.
“What? What’s that noise?” The young nanny coughed and glanced around wildly. “There’s a fire?”
“Yes! In the kitchen. Hurry, I’m taking Megan out of here.”
“Is the fire confined to the kitchen?” the operator asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t—I can’t tell. There’s smoke everywhere.”
“Someone will be there soon,” the woman said soothingly. “Can you stay on the line, ma’am?”
“No, I have to get my niece out. Hurry, please!” She stuffed the phone in her pocket as she, Tanya and Megan ran down the stairs.
They reached the ground floor and she thanked God again. Her chest heaved and she gulped in air, still smoky but not as thick as it had been upstairs. She ran out the front door and around the wide, curving drive, carrying Megan around back to where she’d left her aunt. By the time they got there, Esme was moaning and holding her head in her hands.