Silversword

By Krista Janssen

Krista Janssen's highly acclaimed talent for combining adventure and romance with historical accuracy are a delight for fans who enjoy a fast-paced, sensual read. After a brief hiatus while relocating to Florida, Krista is back with her best novel yet - SILVERSWORD - a dramatic new mainstream romance with a magnificent ranch setting on the Big Island of Hawaii A young and determined Paris McKinsey is fighting to keep her huge newly inherited ranch, SILVERSWORD, intact for the benefit of her mother's people, the native Hawaiians on the Big Island. She is up against the powerful haoles in Honolulu and desperately making changes to avoid bankruptcy. In San Francisco, wealthy dashing entrepreneur, Alan Sakura, has been ordered by his aging Japanese grandfather to purchase SILVERSWORD at any price. Alan doesn't know that his grandfather has close ties to the Japanese warlords in Tokyo and intends to acquire the ranch to use as a base during the secret planned invasion of the Hawaiian Islands. Paris and Alan seem to be at cross-purposes, but their love for each other cannot be denied. Alan finds he is irresistibly attracted to the heritage of his own Hawaiian grandmother, a heritage he learns to cherish, as his love for Paris blooms in the exquisite environment of hidden valleys and secret pools on the island. Their passions explode even as they are swept into conflict by powerful opposing forces and the winds of war. Theirs is a love worth fighting for, in a world where freedom is threatened and grave danger awaits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781633557536

Krista Janssen

Enjoying writing since age twelve, when she first penned a short story for publication, Krista Janssen received her college degree in Fine Arts and English from the Univer-sity of Oklahoma. She currently lives in Florida with her husband, Robert, and their precocious pup, Amber, who di-rects traffic in their household. When not writing, Krista en-joys gardening, golfing and romantic beach walks along nearby Atlantic shores.

Book preview

Chapter 1

April 1941

Naked, like a dusky shadow, Paris stroked down through the azure liquid near the bottom of the grotto. With her eyes open, she was aware of the change in light, the tiny effervescent bubbles, the occasional sparkle of a darting fish. The water temperature was constant, warmed by some inner finger of fire from the not too distant Mauna Kea.

For these few idyllic seconds, she gave up her humanity to the water and became one with nature, surrounded by a blue-green atmosphere that drew every raw nerve from inside her and replaced it with a serenity she found nowhere else.

Here on the Big Island, in this most secret place, she was home. Her grotto had become a substitute for the mother she had never known, replacing loving arms and a mother’s wisdom, a place where she could come for succor and renewal in a silent, luminescent bath. Now she was totally alone. The healing waters would have to suffice for mother and father.

Paris touched bottom and pushed swiftly back toward the surface. When she broke free, she sputtered, inhaled deeply, then tossed her hair back from her face. Paddling to the flat rock, she pulled herself atop it and stretched out to dry in the sun. The plunge had been refreshing, but the ache in her heart still consumed her. Lying on her stomach, she lifted her damp hair, allowing the breeze to tickle the back of her neck. It had all happened so fast, everything had changed so completely. If only…if only…but her meandering thoughts led her nowhere, only to the finality of it all. Her father was dead. His death had been so sudden and so devastating, that she still couldn’t accept the reality of it. It was as if a boulder had rolled over her heart, crushing her with grief. The weight was there inside, and wouldn’t move away. Oddly, she hadn’t had a good cry yet. Her friends said she was still in shock; the tears would come later and bring relief. Maybe, but she knew nothing could ever completely fill the empty space left by the man who had been her whole world for as long as she could remember. The two had been inseparable since she was a toddler. He had hoisted her across his saddle before she could walk. Though all the years, they had ridden hundreds of miles side by side on their blooded mounts, overseeing every aspect of the sprawling Silversword Ranch. My little bud, he had called her. Then he would chuckle and say rosebud, lass, ’tis what ye are. But she knew he really meant little buddy. And that’s what she’d always been to him—his buddy as well as his daughter. He was proud of the way she took to her duties on the ranch. She could rope a calf as well as Malo, and she worked round-up right along with the hands, keeping up with the best of her paniolos, the cowboys trained by Hispanics from the American West. He had rarely mentioned her mother, but she often saw him standing before the portrait in the living room, gazing at the beautiful young dark-skinned woman who had died in childbirth. She compared her mother to the silversword plant, the rare and exotic Hawaiian species that grew only on these islands and for which the ranch was named. It would produce one spectacular silver bloom, then lose its own life at the moment of its ultimate glory.

Together, she and her father had planned her future. First, college in Boston, then law school. She had expected to return home this very summer and enter a law firm on Oahu. She wanted to be an advocate for her mother’s people if and when Hawaii became a state. The few native Hawaiians who were left needed a mentor, someone knowledgeable who could champion their cause in the white man’s world. She was qualified to do it with her dual heritage and her powerful connections. She sighed deeply. Now her dreams would have to wait.

Paris rolled over on her back on the warm, flat slab of granite and laid her arm across her eyes. She didn’t worry about being naked here in this secluded grove surrounded by ferns and hibiscus. She guessed the time to be around four in the afternoon as the cooling breeze sent goose bumps along her flesh. She tried to relax, but the recent tragic events continued to haunt her thoughts. Seven short days ago, she’d been in Boston, finishing her final law school exams. Malo’s call had changed everything.

Mac is dead, Malo had said, his voice heavy with his own grief. Heart attack. Two hours ago. Come home, Paris, as soon as you can.

She had sagged against the wall by the phone, her knees turning to jelly. Finally she had whispered, Yes. I’ll call the airline right away and see what’s available through Los Angeles. I’ll get there as soon possible, Malo. After she hung up, she sat on her bed in the dorm room and stared blankly at the window. No, impossible, kept spiraling through her mind. Angus McKinsey was invincible. Everyone knew that. She had pulled herself together and begun arrangements to withdraw from school. She packed her bags, gathered her belongings and said a few goodbyes. Her days as a student in America were over. She loved and respected her half-brother, Malo, but he could never manage Silversword alone. It was her ranch, her responsibility, the role for which she had trained since birth. More than a place or a business, Silversword was a way of life that had to be guarded from outside forces. Her father had kept it intact for her, and for his wife’s people. Now she must carry on his work, with or without her law degree.

* * * *

Yesterday had been a dark blur of half-familiar faces and whispered words from people offering their last respects. Her father would have been pleased by the large turnout of friends and dignitaries, the solemn service at the Episcopal Church in Waimea followed by a native Hawaiian ceremony on the beach. Her mother’s Hawaiian relatives had come from all the villages to honor Mister McKinsey, the Scottish immigrant who had been their neighbor and friend for decades; a white man who had respected them, their rights, and was generous in every way. Her father had always acknowledged his debt to his native wife. The land that comprised the ranch had been hers from the beginning, thanks to her royal Hawaiian blood. Through her connections, he had acquired enough fertile acreage to make the ranch enormously profitable.

Lying there in the sun, listening to the gentle splash of the waterfall and the sound of the wind in the fronds around her, she felt her resolve mounting. She could do it; she was certain of it. Silversword Ranch had always been her destiny. That destiny had just arrived sooner than she expected.

Chapter 2

San Francisco

Kobe Sakura faced his grandson, Alan, across the luncheon table. Here on the sheltered veranda of his mansion, the air was soft and the sun gentle following the lifting of the morning fog. At seventy-nine, Kobe was proud of the fact he still kept a tight rein on all his worldwide enterprises. His company, Sunport, was thriving. He had groomed Alan to take over the business and the young man was doing a fine job as president.

Kobe scrutinized Alan over the lip of his teacup. At almost thirty, Alan was handsome, intelligent, and single-minded in his drive to take Sunport to new levels of success. Lately, Alan had been taking on more responsibility, pulling at the reins like a young thoroughbred eager to race down the stretch. Kobe was certain he could trust Alan to handle his new, extremely important venture with skill and cunning.

Do what I say, Kobe ordered, pointing his shrimp fork toward Alan. Remember, I still keep up with the business. I built Sunport Enterprises from one simple sugar refinery in the valley to what it is today. You’ve heard the statistics on the Sandwich Islands plan. Now is the time to act.

Alan nodded. I talked to the San Diego office yesterday. Harry Cooke swears Silversword Ranch is on the verge of bankruptcy. The place was in financial difficulty, and then the owner died suddenly of a heart attack. The only heir is a young woman, a college student actually.

Then it’s a propitious time to step in. The girl should be no problem. Certainly not for a sophisticated man-of-the-world like you.

Alan chuckled. You flatter me, Grandfather Kobe. What I’ve learned through the years is that money talks every time. Since the ranch is in financial straits, we should pick it up for ten cents on the dollar. The girl should be glad to unload it.

I’m sure you’re right, Kobe observed. But I want this done my way. I want you to consult me regularly. He watched Alan’s face. He sensed he had hit a nerve. His grandson was eager to take charge, but this venture was far more complicated than had been revealed to him. If Alan should discover the real reason for obtaining the ranch, he would have no part of the deal, regardless of its potential profit. Kobe knew his grandson was devoted to the United States, blindly patriotic. In his opinion, this was Alan’s single fault—his naivety in trusting the American government.

Kobe said sharply, You are president of Sunport, Alan, but you must not forget the past. You wouldn’t have the refineries, the freighter, all those contracts with the Middle Eastern bloc unless I had made it happen. You’re the only person I speak to so frankly. It’s not the Japanese way to flaunt our success, but your mother was an American. I prefer to deal with Westerners on their own terms while I maneuver them into doing things my way.

Alan cocked an eyebrow. Kobe was sure he had annoyed him, pushed him a bit too far. "Naturally, that doesn’t include maneuvering you. I stopped doing that when you were five."

Alan appeared to relax. I appreciate all you’ve done, Grandfather Kobe. I’ve learned everything I know from you.

Kobe suspected Alan was patronizing him, but that was appropriate under the circumstances. As the head of a dynasty, he should command respect as well as obedience. That was the reason he had worn his kimono today. Usually he dressed in western attire, but at this meeting, he wanted to appear every inch the master. He suspected his appearance in traditional dress had a slightly intimidating effect on Alan, as if the full force of their mutual Japanese heritage was being brought to bear on the occasion.

As you know, there is a crisis in the making, he said sternly. I believe Japan and the United States will soon go to war.

Alan gazed across the table. His dark green eyes narrowed. I disagree with that, sir. Not while Roosevelt is dealing with German U-boat attacks in the Atlantic. Besides, most people are opposed to war, according to every report I’ve seen. I’m certain the U.S. won’t start anything, and I can’t believe the emperor would let his military leaders go so far as to attack the United States.

Kobe kept his thoughts carefully concealed. His secret information from Tokyo was quite the opposite. Perhaps not, but I have little faith in the negotiations between the two countries.

Alan squared his shoulders and suddenly smiled. Well, I’m optimistic. Let’s hope for a peaceful settlement. Of course, all this turmoil has cost Sunport millions.

Kobe shrugged. No doubt, but business is still good. We may need another freighter next year.

The contracts I worked out with Spain and the Saudis have done well for us. Extremely well. But we can’t do business with Japan or China when they’re fighting each other.

Kobe waved his hand. Stay away from Europe. Don’t bother with the British Isles. All that will belong to Hitler within a short time. Then you can deal with his government, if necessary.

God forbid, Alan muttered. Whatever happens, I still hope for peace…as do most Americans.

Kobe averted his eyes and then cleared his throat. He must conceal his inner thoughts as he had done for years while raising his two grandsons. It would have been different if they had been in Japan. After all, he was the descendant of Samurai warriors and would have expected his orders to be carried out or heads would have rolled. But in America, more diplomacy was required. Of course, he said. Yes, peace is most desirable. Now, we must discuss this new venture—the Hawaiian Ranch enterprise and the need to acquire Silversword Ranch."

I’m well prepared, grandfather. Alan pulled a map from his briefcase and laid it on the table. This is a survey of the property. The ranch is enormous and runs from the top of Mauna Kea, the extinct volcano, all the way to the coast. The shoreline extends about fifteen miles above Kona. He traced his finger along the map. Aunt Mikko’s small farm is here on the southern tip. There. Right there is Mikko’s farm. It fronts the only deepwater cove in the entire area. That’s got to be an annoyance to the owners of this immense cattle operation.

Kobe gazed at the map—as if he hadn’t already done so many times. The deep cove was the secret to his plan. While the ranch was a necessary addition, the cove itself, facing the open Pacific, was the key to success.

We can build the resort along the coast, Alan explained. The hotel and cottages will go there. Yachts from Honolulu will land in the cove. Freighters can bring in all the supplies we’ll need. The Japanese workers in the nearby settlement will be delighted to work for us at good wages. The setup is ideal. We control the cove, thanks to Aunt Mikko. All we need is Silversword Ranch—and that’s as good as done.

Kobe nodded. Excellent. My sister is old and very senile. She will welcome you, but not interfere with our plans. I want you to go to Hawaii as soon as possible, Alan. Charter a plane and fly over the ranch.

Right. While I’m gone, Winter can keep an eye on the company.

Kobe scowled. Never mind Winter. Your brother is a wastrel, useless to us. You know that. You have other staff members who will look after things for a few weeks, do you not?

Alan folded his napkin. I understand, but it could be awkward. Winter carries a huge chip on his shoulder. Ever since you passed him over as president of Sunport last year, his resentment has deepened.

Not resentment, Alan. It’s jealousy. I’ve seen it though the years. As my eldest grandson, he should have been a strong arm for me. Instead, he became a whiner, a cowardly boy and lazy. I’m deeply disappointed in Winter—but…he carries my blood the same as you. I still have hope he may find his path in time to salvage his life.

I hope so, too, but Win is the quintessential playboy. He’s determined to crack elite San Francisco society. And he’s just charming and good-looking enough to pull it off. Maybe he will marry well. But as a businessman, he’s utterly incompetent.

Well, keep him as busy as possible.

Alan thought a minute. All right, I’ll give him some vague assignment to keep him occupied while I’m gone. He can’t do too much damage in a couple weeks. When I’m in Honolulu, I’ll meet with Harry Cooke. He’s an excellent manager. Related to one of the leading families, as you know. That’s important, so I’m told, to get anything done politically in Hawaii.

Kobe’s mouth tightened. Then he said in a low tone, Yes. He’s a descendant of the first Americans to settle there. Powerful, like gods. The Big Five, they’re called. Those five families control almost everything in the islands. They came as missionaries, then killed off the natives with their diseases. They needed cheap labor so they imported minorities to be slaves in the cane fields. Chinese, Japanese, Philippinos. Living like dogs and making their masters rich.

And causing grandmother’s death in the process.

And don’t ever forget that, Kobe said sharply.

Of course I won’t. As for Winter, I’ll assign him some P.R. work. There’s a big fundraiser coming up at the Fairmount. Only top-drawer society. He mixes well with that group.

Kobe grunted. Just keep him out of trouble. I don’t know how I could have raised two such different boys under the same roof.

I’ll begin arrangements in the morning.

Good. Time is of the essence with Japan already at war in China. And now the emperor must look south to Indochina if Japan is to fulfill its destiny.

What destiny is that, grandfather?

Kobe shifted his gaze toward the bay in the distance. A superior culture will eventually rule. This I believe. I prefer a peaceful path, of course, but frankly, I would not be unhappy if the Rising Sun of Nippon transcended the American continent. In fact, I believe this is inevitable. He looked back at Alan. Naturally my opinion is extremely private—just between us.

Thank God it’s private! We’ve discussed this before, Grandfather Kobe. You’re tying yourself too much to your past life. You must let go of that. You’re an American now, and this country has been good to you.

Kobe bristled inwardly. No offspring in Japan would speak thus to his elder. Alan had adopted too many American habits by far. I am not an American, he snapped. I was denied that great privilege because of my birth in Japan. His voice was heavy with sarcasm. And I did not desire it anyway. I would never have abandoned my homeland unnecessarily. Never. I only left to make my fortune. Then I planned to return. But Moana died in Hawaii and I came to the United States and prospered, thanks to my hard work and mental superiority. He touched his forehead. Here, he said pointedly. This is where the power is. Westerners have yet to learn this. I doubt they ever will. But you and Winter have my blood. I stayed here to raise my grandsons, to teach you, to guide the two of you in the family business.

Your sacrifice is deeply appreciated. Alan inclined his head slightly. And your success with the business is remarkable. Don’t misunderstand me. I know how hard you’ve worked. That’s why you should enjoy yourself now—relax—see old friends. You spend too much time alone. It’s not healthy. But please do guard your words. As you know, the American public, especially the Californians, don’t trust the Japanese since Japan has begun to expand its empire. It doesn’t make any difference if Japanese children are born on American soil and behave admirably. It seems to me that the typical American has an instinctive fear of anyone of a different color or religion. Or maybe it’s greed, the reluctance to share any of the wealth they’ve accumulated during the decades following the discovery of gold.

You know them better than I, Kobe snapped. Now we shall discuss our plans for the development on Hawaii. With resorts springing up around the world, I see great possibilities for the future. But we must move quickly. The Big Five will snatch it up if they can. That’s why you must travel at once. You should go there as soon as possible.

I’ll make arrangements this afternoon. I’ll stop by my office on the way home.

We’ll speak again before you leave. I want to send special greetings to my sister, Mikko. Naturally we won’t tell anyone what we have in mind. You’ll work with Cooke in Honolulu. And, Alan—money is no object here. I consider this project absolutely imperative. Kobe watched his grandson’s expression, thinking how fate had brought them to this moment. If the boys’ parents hadn’t died when Alan and Winter were toddlers, they would have grown up as members of upper class white society under the auspices of their influential parents. Their maternal relatives, the Suttons, had brought inherited money from the East Coast and enjoyed a comfortable life in the benign climate of the Bay Area. There had been quite a scandal when Kobe Sakura’s only son married the beautiful Sutton daughter. Kobe had grudgingly admired his daughter-in-law’s courage. After the boating accident, the Suttons wanted little to do with their golden-skinned grandsons. The little boys’ one-quarter Japanese blood was simply not socially acceptable. Kobe had taken the children into his mansion with the intention of raising them as close to Japanese standards as possible. Handsome boys, but so different from each other. The boys were an unusual racial mix. Kobe had once overheard them called mongrels. But all Americans were mongrels if the same rules were applied fairly across the board. Unlike Winter, Alan had striven for perfection in whatever he attempted. Mostly he had succeeded: at sports, with his studies at UCLA, in the business where he had started as an errand boy years before. He had always excelled. Yes, Kobe thought, Alan would do a fine job of carrying on the business once he himself had gone to join his ancestors. Winter’s shortcomings could be overlooked.

* * * *

After lunch was finished and Alan gone, Kobe stepped into his office and closed and locked the door. The room was airy and spacious and furnished with imported bamboo chairs and a plain teak desk. He removed a small key and unlocked the bottom drawer of his file cabinet, then pulled out a manila envelope. Sitting at his desk, he put on his eyeglasses and removed the papers from the envelope. The documents were in Japanese and had been delivered to him yesterday by a trusted friend who lived in the Japanese section of town. Kobe knew his courier would lay down his life at any time for the cause of Japanese world domination.

The communiqué was brief and contained specific information from direct sources in Tokyo. It said: Matsuoka is in Berlin. Hitler is most cordial and the Tripartite—Rome, Berlin, Tokyo—has been signed. All is agreed. The signatories are bound to assist one another with all political and military means when one of the three contracting parties is attacked by a power at present not involved in the European War or in the Sino-Nipponese Conflict.

Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto now commands the Combined Fleet, six hundred thousand tons of ships and five hundred twenty-five aircraft. Yamamoto continues to disagree with War Minister Tojo on a course of action.

Kobe’s reaction was mixed. He was dismayed that the Japanese leaders were still at odds, but Tripartite was a great victory, one aimed specifically at the United States. It was appropriate and timely for Japan to expand its empire without interference from the self-righteous bigots in America. Japan needed resources—rice, tin, oil. Also living space beyond the narrow confines of its island kingdom. Japan was at its powerful zenith now. It could wait no longer. And for the moment, the United States was in the mood for peace and ill-prepared for serious warfare. In a few years, that would change. So the Pacific was ripe for the taking. China was nearly subdued, so it was time to move toward Indochina and the Dutch East Indies with its critical supply of oil.

Kobe perused the report. Hitler was the most dedicated warrior of the age, but as mentally incompetent as other Westerners. Kobe feared that if Japan delayed much longer, the United States might go to war against Hitler, then use its immense resources to stop Japanese expansion.

He folded the paper and replaced it. In his opinion, one man held the key to it all. Yamamoto. This brilliant commander of the Japanese Pacific Fleet had suggested sending mother submarines carrying midget subs to enter the mouth of Pearl Harbor. And he knew that submarines were secretly surveying the coastlines of America.

Kobe liked the plan. He himself knew Hawaii well—the land, the people, the politics. He had learned about dealing with the whites when he was forced to live in rat-infested housing and watch his young wife, who had dared to marry a Japanese, die of overwork and disease. Whatever tenderness he had felt had died with Moana. After that, all he had left was hatred for the Americans who had killed her and for his own searing ambition. Now his chance for revenge was at hand as the country of his birth rose to do battle with his enemies. He intended to put everything he owned, whatever power he possessed, toward the ultimate victory. All he needed now was to acquire the property called Silversword Ranch. It would be invaluable once the invasion was underway.

He gazed at the Samurai sword in its case suspended on the far wall. It had belonged to his great grandfather, and his ancestors before that. It inspired him now to hope for the best for his beloved homeland. For war was on the horizon. The die was already cast.

Chapter 3

Hawaii

The day of her father’s funeral would forever remain burned in Paris’ memory. Afterwards, exhausted, numb with grief, she faced her attorney across the neatly arranged desk in her dad’s office. She found it an effort to concentrate on Milton Greene’s words. But she had to pull herself together. Her future, as well as that of Silversword Ranch was at stake.

What do you mean—nearly bankrupt? she asked hoarsely. That’s impossible.

"No, my dear, it’s true. Your father didn’t want to upset you, but if things don’t change in a few months, you’ll have no choice but to sell off large portions of the ranch, if not the entire place. Actually, Paris, you may want to do that. You’re a young and beautiful woman. Smart too, with a brand new law degree. You could come into our firm in Honolulu. We’d be thrilled to have you. Get rid of this archaic cattle operation. Let some of the haole families take ownership and make better use of the place."

She couldn’t believe it. Surely this was impossible. Silversword Ranch boasted one hundred and fifty thousand acres, some of the best cattle country in the world, miles of fencing, abundant water and a locked-in clientele for all the beef and hides the ranch could produce. How could it lose money? Her father had been a pioneer, a tireless worker, and an astute businessman, one of the most respected men in the Hawaiian Islands.

My father fought off the Big Five for years, Milton, she said finally. I’m not about to sell out the minute he’s gone. Maybe there’s some mistake. An error in the books. If dad hasn’t been feeling well, maybe—

I’m sorry, dear, there’s no mistake. Ten years ago, the profits began to slip, then the negative cash flow accelerated. It’s like a slow leak in a normally good tire.

But why? What caused the leak? Beef prices have never been better. Dad told me when I was here last summer that we were selling everything we could ship.

Exactly so. Therein lies the problem.

What problem?

The shipping. Or more specifically, the loading of the cattle. It’s so old-fashioned, so time-consuming, so dangerous and expensive, it’s running the ranch right out of business.

For several seconds, Paris considered his words. She had heard her dad complain about this for years. Okay, she said. I understand. Next week, I’ll personally supervise the loading. Maybe something can be done to facilitate the operation.

Not likely. Not without deep water to bring the freighters closer into shore.

Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. Just leave the will and the books, please. I’ll look them over tomorrow. Thank you for your help, but maybe you should leave now.

After Milton left, Paris strolled around the simply furnished office, lingering over the last vestiges of her father’s final workday. This would be her office now, she thought. And she had more to deal with than she could imagine. Her dad had spoken often about his need for a deep cove to bring in the freighters, but she hadn’t realized how critical the shipping problem had become. Tomorrow she would try to escape to her private grotto, find some time to relax and think things through. She would saddle Bamboo and ride over to that secluded place she loved so much. Finally she lowered the blinds and turned off the lights. She wanted to get out of the black dress she’d worn to the funeral, take a nice hot bath. This terrible day was over at last.

* * * *

Three days later, Paris sat astride her quarter horse and watched the absurdly archaic operation of her cattle being loaded into the steamship beyond the breakwater. In the past, she had found the sight fascinating, but now she knew that this was the albatross of Silversword Ranch and was forcing them into bankruptcy.

Yesterday she had spent hours in conference with Malo, then gone over the ranch books studying each entry for the past twenty years. The ranch should have been in the black, should have been prospering and making a sizeable profit. But gradually, this old-fashioned way of loading the cattle had sucked the ranch’s income like a bog of quicksand. Malo told her that their father tried to buy the deep-water cove from their neighbor, Mikko Sukura, but she was elderly now and refused to negotiate a sale. The cove fronted her cottage near where she farmed her taro crops with help from the Japanese immigrants living on her small acreage. Rumors had it that Mikko was soon returning to Japan. If that was true, maybe the farm could now be purchased. Paris would make the elderly woman a wonderful offer for her property. After all, Mikko would have no further need for the cove and might be willing to sell to a neighbor who had always been friendly and respected her privacy.

From this shady spot on the beach, she watched her paniolos rope each steer, then lead five of them into the calm surf where they were secured to rails along the sides of an eight-foot motorboat. Three animals were put on the starboard side and two on the port. Then a cowboy tied his horse into the empty port slot from where he could supervise the operation and also balance the boat. All this took time and was dangerous for both the men and the animals.

At a signal, the boatman started up the little outboard engine and moved slowly into deeper water. Now the other paniolos rode alongside making sure the cattle were in tow and able to swim. Paris knew that one terrified steer could unbalance the boat and cause pure havoc.

At first, things went smoothly. The clumsy craft, with its live cargo struggling alongside, putt-putted its way ever so carefully through the protected harbor, through the opening in the stone breakwater, and close to the steamship. The cattle were swimming, nose to boat, through the gentle waves.

She pulled off her wide-brimmed hat and squinted toward the ship anchored in the glittering midday sun. A sling was lowered from the ship and looped by a swimmer around an unhappy steer, which was then hauled dripping and bawling to the deck.

Paris barely breathed as each animal was lifted upward. When the last of the five was aboard, the boat began its return to the beach. She relaxed in her saddle. Only thirty more to be rounded up, roped and readied for the trip to market.

This was pure insanity. Considering that as many as a hundred steers needed to be loaded on a given day, the whole operation was excruciatingly slow and outdated.

She trotted her mare over to Malo who was directing the roundup. "We’ve got to change this, Malo. It’s simply barbaric. This isn’t the 19th century, you know."

Malo swept off his Spanish sombrero and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. I know, Paris. Last week, one of the boys nearly drowned when a steer broke away and pulled him across the lagoon.

That’s reason enough, but it’s money, too. I’m going to Honolulu tomorrow and talk to Milton about buying Mrs. Sakura’s farm.

I think it’s our only hope.

She studied Malo’s round Hawaiian face. She loved her young half-brother, and she had great affection for his Hawaiian mother, Kapua, a woman who had become her father’s mistress after her mother’s death. Malo was the product of that relationship, illegitimate, but a child born of love. Her father had provided a home for Kapua and Malo and had been generous to the boy, sending him to a good school for natives in Honolulu, giving him steady work and finally, advancing him to foreman of the ranch. Yet, he had never publicly acknowledged that Malo was his own flesh and blood, and in the end, there were no provisions in his will for either Malo, or his mother. Paris supposed it was his strict Protestant upbringing that made him hide the fact he had a native woman as a mistress for over fifteen years. Then six years ago, when Paris had gone away to college on the mainland, Kapua had left the ranch and returned to her own people in secluded Wiapio Valley.

Paris fanned her face with her hat. I’d like you to go with me tomorrow, Malo.

Malo nodded, but was suddenly distracted. Watch it! he yelled. "It’s headed for the brush. Get it, hombre. Uh, oh, it’s getting loose." He spurred his horse toward the water’s edge.

Paris watched Malo work, admiration and affection swelling in her heart. Always gentle and soft-spoken, Malo rarely lost his temper, but ruled his tough paniolos with his personal strength and absolute superiority of handling cattle. The men idolized him. Malo had earned his leadership the hard way, by proving himself day after dusty, endless, grueling day, in and out of the saddle.

He was all the family she had now, she mused. And she had only his broad shoulders to lean on in the challenging days ahead. It was up to her to save the ranch her father had spent a lifetime building into one of America’s largest privately-owned cattle operations.

Suddenly a plane broke from the sky and flew low over the area, tipping its wings as it curved around the bay.

Paris stared upward. Her horse moved restlessly. Ho, Bamboo, she