“Life goes on,” he reminded himself, voicing the mantra he’d used for years as he stretched, then tested several of the floorboards on the old porch as he headed down the stairs. The first half of his life made hel dim in comparison, but Ric had always found the energy to push himself forward. “You never would have thought you’d be here, though, did you, old man?”
Ric was only thirty, but he didn’t see any reason to try clinging to his youth. He hadn’t started enjoying life, or learning how to move ahead in it, until he’d let go of his childhood. Not that years in foster homes, being used so a family who didn’t want him could receive a government check every month, had been much of a childhood. Once he managed his emancipation at seventeen, Ric had final y taken charge of his own destiny.
Thirteen years later, he hadn’t made any mistakes yet. The old banana plantation didn’t look like much right now, but with funding, he’d turn the place around. Sweat and sore muscles didn’t bother him when they came from hard work. He wasn’t running from anyone anymore, and he knew who he was.
Ric’s ful name was Ricardo Karaka. It wasn’t until he reached col ege, managing grants so he could attend UCLA, that he had learned anything about who he was and where he’d come from. He was the son of Julio Karaka and Maria Winston, two people who’d loved the hel out of each other but were ripped from life before they were real y able to live it. Ric was al that was left of both of them. He didn’t resent their dying, especial y since he never knew either of them. And he didn’t resent the state for taking him in and placing him in foster care.
Julio Karaka came from a family of farmers. The Karaka family dated back generations here on the island. The moment Ric had discovered that, he’d hopped on a plane and flown to Lanai. The chances of him not being related to al of them, with such an odd last name, were slim to none. And he’d been right. There were stil quite a few Karakas around on the island, although none of them farmed anymore. Meeting his father’s side of the family helped explain his coal-black hair and dark skin that got even darker when he worked outside in the summer.
His mother, though, had been a blonde goddess. Ric remembered the first time he saw her picture. No wonder his father had fal en head over heels for the rebel ious daughter of a bil ionaire.
It wasn’t until he came to the island that he learned that much about either of his parents. His grandparents, Pedro and Alicia Karaka, took him in for a while. But when they lost the banana plantation, there was barely enough food, or room, for the two of them in the smal house they had moved into on the other side of the island. During the time he stayed with them, he had learned a lot about the hot, sultry romance between Julio and Maria.
Ric had politely listened to Alicia as she fanned herself and looked at him dreamily as she told him how Maria Winston had become smitten with her oldest son. Julio didn’t care about her money, and Maria didn’t blink an eye when her family cut her off for marrying a poor farmer’s son.
The Winstons never knew Julio and Maria had a son, since Julio’s death had cut them off from Maria.
Ric had managed the research and learned the details about his birth. Maria had been pregnant and alone. Her family had disowned her, although Ric would never know why she didn’t turn to the Karakas. Maybe she believed they wanted nothing more to do with her. Possibly she’d been extremely depressed after her husband’s untimely death. She could have been destitute, penniless. Whatever the reason, she gave birth to Ric in a hotel room al by herself. The motel maids found him crying in his dead mother’s arms the next morning. His mother had lived in a home with several other women for a while while she was pregnant. According to the records that fol owed him through life, Maria’s roommates said she knew she was having a boy and named him Ricardo. She had cal ed him Little Ricky while he was in her womb. Ric never went by Ricky, but he got more than many orphans received. He knew his name.
Al of that was ancient history. Ric survived, grew up, went to school, and managed a loan from the bank to buy back the Karakas’ banana plantation. It got him a warm welcome from his father’s side of the family, since the farm had been lost in a foreclosure. His grandparents and uncles weren’t convinced he would make a good farmer and were even a bit more cautious when he told them he would turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. The Karakas were wel known in the local community. Today they might be poor, but they were proud. When he shared with his grandparents and two of his uncles, Juan and Jose, his plan to renovate the old plantation house, their silence spoke volumes. They feared their newfound grandson and nephew would bring shame to their good name.
Ric turned as the screen door behind him opened, then shut with a bang. Colby, his bloodhound mix, sauntered to the edge of the porch and stared at the land in front of the house.
“They’l learn soon enough I don’t discuss plans if they aren’t solid,” he said, reaching to scratch her head as she stared up at him with soft, brown eyes. Colby might not say much, but she was the best addition he’d made to the large, rambling old house so far. He watched her prance down the steps, then fol ow her nose as she started a spiraling pattern through the yard. “It’s Karaka land. Can you smel that?”
Colby wagged her tail and continued her urgent sniffing unti
l she found the right spot to take care of her morning business. He wasn’t sure what had compel ed him to take in the bloodhound mix when she’d shown up at his door shortly after he’d moved in. No one knew who she was or where she’d come from. Ric understood her plight.
Colby was an orphan, just as he’d been. She had no family, no home, no roots. Ric had lived on the streets long enough to know there was no such thing as coincidence. Colby’s gift for tracking had brought her to the one house on the island that needed a family. Ric once believed he would find the perfect girl, have kids, and be the perfect father he never had. That dream was long gone. Ric and Colby were family, and together they would show his newfound family, and enemy one on the island, just how successful he could be.
Timing was everything. Ric knew how to keep his credit score high enough to do business. And right now, times were hard. He’d qualified for the loan and convinced the family who bought it off the bank for next to nothing to sel it to him.
As one of his foster mothers used to brag when she’d come home from her Realtor job—ignoring him and the other foster kids and drinking with her husband—“Location, location, location.”
His negligent foster parents had nurtured him more than they’d ever know. Ric stared off the front porch, down the long, one-lane driveway leading to the highway that circled the island, and at the endless ocean beyond. He had location nailed down. Some might see this old house and the untended land as an eyesore and a wasted investment.
There were stil pineapple bushes growing on the property. Ric had no intention of turning it back into a farm, though. He might plant a few banana trees just for atmosphere. It was going to take a lot of hard work to turn the place around. Sweat labor would be his saving grace. That, and a solid investor.
He had the first, and by the end of the day, he’d have the latter.
Colby finished doing her business at the same time that someone pul ed off the highway into his driveway. She bounded across the yard, baying loudly as her ears flopped, and she ran toward the old faded blue Buick Skylark. Ric made sure the door was locked and the screen door secure before fol owing his dog to greet his grandparents. They knew he was going to meet Samantha Winston today, his maternal grandmother, with whom he’d been exchanging letters for the past few months. The last thing they would do was tie him up so he couldn’t get business under way.
Ric was a realist. He prided himself on the fact. No one knew his private excitement to meet another family member—his mom’s mother.
He’s barely slept a wink last night. When he had, it had been fil ed with heaving stories about his mom, stories that would bring him closer to the woman who died giving him life. He would soon know more about the woman he’d been clinging to during the first few hours of his life.
Anyone would think him weak with thoughts like that. Ric had been clear and to the point with the Karakas and Samantha Winston, his grandparents, concerning this meeting today. He wanted this meeting to discuss a business venture—the bed-and-breakfast. Samantha would hear the details in person. The Karakas already knew, and they thought he was crazy. Samantha wouldn’t think he was crazy. She was a very successful businesswoman.
Ric had done the right thing, keeping the letters between him and Samantha business related. His mom’s mother spoke the language of big business. Ric couldn’t wait to meet her. He knew he got his ability to turn a dol ar from her.
Pedro Karaka climbed out from the driver’s side of his Buick and patted Colby’s head as he walked around the front of the car, then opened the door for his wife, Alicia.
“Ricardo!” Alicia Karaka extended her arms, greeting Ric as if it were the first time they’d seen each other and not less than twenty-four hours since he’d been at their place on the other side of the island. “So today you take on the Winstons,” she said, not waiting a minute before jumping into her reason for being there. “You remember what we told you last night, your grandfather and I. These are not good people. Keep your head high and remember you are a Karaka, good blood and good people.” She reached him and clasped his face, squeezing it with her damp, arthritic hands as she grinned up at him.
“I’m half Winston, too,” he reminded her, smiling down at her leathery face and twinkling dark eyes. There weren’t many people on this planet capable of giving unconditional love so easily. Alicia Karaka was one of them.
“And half Karaka, which is why I’m not worried one bit,” she said, laughing and giving his head a little shake before releasing him. “Now, what are you going to say?”