Heart Stealers

by Patricia McLinn

  The dog gave a demanding yip, and rose up on her back legs to plant her front paws against Chance’s thigh.

  “Sadie, get down! You’ll have to excuse her.” Adrian smirked at the unrepentant dog. “The women in this house spoil her rotten.”

  “That’s okay,” Chance chuckled. “Is Aurora ready?”

  “Actually, she’s not even home yet, but she should be here any minute. Come on in and have a seat.” Adrian scooped a pile of newspapers off the sofa and tossed them on the floor. “Bagwell just hit a grand slam, bottom of the eighth. Astros seven, Cubs five, Caminiti’s up next.”

  Instantly sidetracked by the game, Chance took a seat and turned his attention to a TV that had been fitted into an antique armoire. Adrian remained standing, his arms folded over the handle of a vacuum cleaner as they watched.

  “Shit!” Adrian said a second later when Caminiti struck out and the station cut to commercial. “Hey, you want a beer or something?” he asked as he unplugged the vacuum and wound the cord around the handle.

  “No, I better not,” Chance said. “Betsy McMillan may not appreciate me showing up at her tea party with beer on my breath.”

  “You’re probably right—but it’s my night off, and I plan to enjoy it.” Adrian disappeared toward the back of the house with the dog trotting after him.

  Chance took a moment to glance around the room. The furniture was a hodgepodge of antiques, as if the decor had evolved over many years, rather than being professionally coordinated to re-create a certain era. But what really captured his attention were the sheer number of framed photos covering the walls. Some were candid shots, but most appeared to have been taken to promote live stage productions. There were also numerous playbills and framed props.

  Along the mantel, though, were family photos of the St. Claires. He spotted a picture of Aurora as she had looked when he’d first started noticing her. Smiling, alive, beautiful. The first time she’d come to watch Adrian play football, Chance and his friends had spent most of the game trying to figure out who the knockout was sitting with Adrian’s aunt. Probably some actress, they’d decided, and way out of their league. They’d been stunned after the game to learn she was Adrian’s baby sister and out of their league because she was too young!

  That hadn’t stopped Chance from watching her as she grew up, and indulging in a few fantasies along the way.

  Adrian reappeared with a load of laundry and a beer. “Is the game back on?”

  Chance gave a guilty start. “Not yet,” he answered as Sadie jumped onto the cushion beside him and made herself comfortable with her head in his lap. After a moment of surprise, he gave her the petting she obviously expected.

  “Let me know if she’s bugging you,” Adrian said as he dumped the laundry onto the marble-top coffee table and took a seat in a Queen Anne chair. Chance’s eyes widened when he realized the pile of clothing consisted entirely of women’s undergarments: a bright sherbet-colored mound of satin, silk, and lace. As if it were an everyday occurrence, Adrian set his beer on a coaster and started folding and sorting. “Rory says you’re going to help us apply for a loan.”

  Chance snapped his gaze away from the pile of panties and bras. “Actually, I just offered to point her in the right direction for writing a business plan.”

  “Better you than me,” Adrian said, then turned his attention to the TV as the game came back on.

  “Does that mean you’re against her idea of starting a bed-and-breakfast?” Chance asked, trying not to stare at the bits of silk and lace that had tumbled dangerously close to his left knee. Did Aurora wear that lemon-yellow bra? The image that came to mind had him shifting his weight to hide the slight bulge growing beneath his zipper.

  “Not at all. I just hate doing paperwork.” Adrian picked up the bra, folded the cups together, and placed it on a stack of floral-print panties. “So what do you think the odds are that we can get the loan?”

  “I... um, wouldn’t know without reviewing the financial statements of all principal parties.”

  “Well, if Rory manages to pull this off, at least it will solve one problem.”

  “Problem?”

  “Where the three of us will move when Aunt Viv retires from the stage and wants her house back.” He gestured about the room with a frilly-edged scrap of peach satin. “It was crowded enough around here when the three of us were kids. I can’t imagine four adults living in this cramped place.”

  “Yes, I seem to remember your aunt is in theater. Broadway, or something. Right?”

  “She’s starring in Hello, Dolly!”

  Chance glanced around, looking at everything but the lingerie on the coffee table. His gaze fell on a framed playbill from a high school production of Guys and Dolls.

  “Hey, I remember that. Didn’t you play a lead role or something?”

  “Sky Masterson,” Adrian confirmed, then gestured toward the TV with a bra covered in bright butterflies. “Oh, man! That was a strike, you moron. Get some glasses.” Snorting in disgust, he returned to folding laundry.

  Chance studied him, curious. “Everyone always assumed you’d take up acting professionally. Why didn’t you?”

  “I had two younger sisters to raise,” Adrian answered. “Besides, I saw enough of the acting life when my parents were alive—always on the road, sleeping in cheap hotels, eating cold sandwiches backstage. Not exactly glamorous, or the best way to raise kids.” He shook his head. “After our parents died and we came to live here, I promised Alli and Rory they’d never have to sleep on hotel floors or eat bologna again.”

  The sound of a bat crack drew their attention to the TV as a Cubs player charged past first base and headed for second. “Get the ball! Get the ball!” they both shouted, nearly coming to their feet. “Throw it, throw it, throw it!”

  “Yes! He’s out!” Adrian punched the air and the dog joined the celebration with supportive barks. “Good play, eh, Sadie girl?”

  The screen door banged and Aurora bounded in. “I am so sorry I’m late,” she panted, out of breath as Sadie jumped up to greet her. Her skin glowed and her hair tumbled about her in its usual mass of curls. “Our last tour ran long, and then Bobby had a million things he wanted me to do before I could leave. And he knew I wanted out of there early.”

  “No problem.” Chance came to his feet, checking his watch. “We still have time, and the Laughing Mermaid is just a few blocks away.”

  “Great, I’ll be ready in five minutes.” She started to turn, but her gaze fell on the coffee table. “Adrian! What are you doing?”

  “Folding laundry.” He looked at the garments, obviously seeing nothing wrong.

  “You’re folding underwear!” She rushed forward, scooping up piles of panties and bras, clutching them to her chest until the stack reached her chin.

  “Whaaat?” Adrian said. “I’ve been folding your underpants since you were in diapers.”

  “Not in front of company!” Her cheeks turned bright pink. “Oh, and you’re getting them all mixed up again. We’ve told you and told you, the solids are mine, the flowers and butterflies are Alli’s.”

  “Hey! She who complains gets to do double laundry duty.”

  “You’re right. Sorry. Just don’t do it in front of people, okay?”

  Adrian settled back with his beer. “You think Chance here has never seen women’s panties before?”

  “Adrian!” she growled, then sighed in defeat and turned to Chance. “Give me five minutes to change.”

  “Certainly.” Chance offered a stilted smile, even more disconcerted seeing the underwear brush the underside of Aurora’s chin than he’d been with it lying on the table. “Take your time.”

  “Thanks.” With the dog bounding after her, she disappeared toward the kitchen.

  “‘Take your time’?” Adrian raised an eyebrow, looking at Chance as if he were an idiot. “You’re already running late, and you tell a woman to take her time changing clothes?”

  More uncomfortable by the minu
te, Chance shrugged and resumed his seat.

  “You don’t have sisters, do you?” Adrian asked.

  “Actually, no.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Chuckling, Adrian took another draw off his beer and turned back to the game. “Make yourself at home, man, you could be here a while.”

  Chapter Five

  “How late are we running?” Rory asked as Chance opened the passenger door to his BMW.

  He glanced at his watch. “Only a few minutes. It’ll be okay.”

  She smoothed the matte-jersey fabric of her dress as he came around the hood and climbed into the driver’s seat. Alli had taken her shopping the night before and helped her select the outfit. It was a simple sapphire-blue tank dress that draped to mid-calf. She’d belted it with a tropical-print scarf and fixed her hair in a single, thick braid that hung to her waist. Her sister had assured her the outfit was perfect: not too casual, not too dressy. But as Chance drove the few blocks to the Laughing Mermaid Inn, she wondered if she should have worn heels instead of sandals, and her arms suddenly seemed far too bare with the air conditioner blowing on them.

  “How many people do you think will be there?” she asked, trying to sound calm even though the butterflies in her stomach were taking up all her air.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered easily. “With all the B and Bs in Galveston, I imagine their association has quite a few members.” He looked so relaxed, driving one-handed in his white dress shirt and gray slacks. What would it be like to always know what to wear, what to say, how to act?

  Chewing her thumbnail, she watched the houses slip by. They crossed Broadway, the main thoroughfare that connected the island by a causeway to the mainland, then turned down a street where every house on the block had been lovingly restored. The “painted ladies” stood shoulder to shoulder showing off their bright faces and fancy, Victorian trim.

  Chance pulled to a stop before a three-story house painted buttercup-yellow with Kelly-green accents. A picket fence enclosed a tiny yard bursting with flowers. White wicker chairs waited patiently for guests on the veranda. On the rail of the second-story balcony, a fat orange tabby napped in the sun.

  “Oooh.” Rory sighed at the sheer beauty of it, while Chance came around to open her door. “Isn’t it perfect?” she said as she climbed from the car.

  He glanced toward the house. “The McMillans did a good job. The inn was really run-down when they bought it. You ready to go inside?”

  Standing on the sidewalk, Rory held a hand to her stomach. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Chance gave her an odd look. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just nervous.”

  “Why?” He rocked back as if dumbfounded.

  “No reason,” she laughed. “I’m always nervous when it comes to meeting people.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I were.” She pressed her hand harder to her stomach to still the little electrical currents jumping around inside.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “You’ve always seemed so... outgoing, and easy around people.”

  “Outgoing, yes. Easy around people, no. The doctors call it ‘social anxiety.’” She rolled her eyes, trying to make light of it, even as bands of tension tightened around her chest. “Kind of a fancy name for getting the jitters, eh?”

  She thought about telling him the attacks of anxiety were just a side symptom of another problem, but he was already looking at her as if she were weird. He didn’t need to know why the thought of appearing stupid in front of people nearly paralyzed her.

  “You know,” he said, “if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

  “No, no,” she hastened to say. “I want to. Really. And I’ll be fine once I get past the first few minutes. Besides, I’ve never believed in letting a little fear keep me cowering in the corner.” He continued to frown at her, and she forced herself to take her hand off her stomach and place it on his arm. “I’m fine, really. And I want to do this.”

  “All right.” He nodded and turned toward the gate.

  “Just do me one favor.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Stick close to me for a little while, okay?”

  Though he didn’t say a word, he covered her hand with his and gave a little squeeze. Together they went through the gate and up the steps to the veranda. The front door opened an instant after they rang the bell.

  “Chance, hi there! Come on in!” The woman, dressed in shorts, T-shirt, and hand-quilted vest, barely came up to their shoulders. She had a kitchen towel over her shoulder, a cookie sheet in one hand, and a youthful face that called the gray hair on her head a liar. “This must be your friend Aurora.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chance said as they stepped into an oak-paneled foyer. “Aurora, I’d like you to meet Betsy McMillan. She and her husband, Ron, own the Laughing Mermaid.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you.” Rory forced a smile past her anxiety. “Thank you for letting me come today.”

  “We’re happy to have you,” Betsy said. “Come on out back and meet everyone.” They headed down a long hallway. “Just let me put these cookies on a tray,” Betsy said as they entered the kitchen. “Chance, can you grab that other plate?”

  “Certainly.” He lifted a plate of finger sandwiches from the counter and they headed out a back door into a courtyard garden.

  “Hey, everybody,” Betsy called. “I want y’all to meet Aurora St. Claire. She’s thinking about opening a bed-and-breakfast and thought we could give her some advice.”

  “Don’t do it!” called a gentleman who was pouring tea from a porcelain pot at one of the umbrella tables.

  “Oh, Ron, hush!” Betsy waved a hand at the man while everyone else chuckled. “That’s my husband,” she told Rory. “So just ignore him. Now, let’s see, introductions.”

  Before Rory had a chance to take in the whole scene, the woman was ushering her around the tables, reciting everyone’s names, where they were originally from, the name of their inn, and how long they’d been in business. The barrage of information nearly overwhelmed her. Most of the couples were older and had turned to inn-keeping after retiring from other careers. Surprisingly, none were originally from Galveston—until they reached the last table.

  “And this is Daphne Calhoun.” Betsy introduced a heavyset woman with an expansive bustline, carrot-colored hair, and orange lipstick that bled into the creases about her mouth. From a gold chain hung a pendant with the letters BOI, standing for “Born On Island.”

  “St. Claire...” the woman mused in the gravelly voice of a smoker. “Aren’t you one of Vivian Young’s nieces?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rory answered, feeling a fresh flutter of nerves. “I’m the youngest.”

  “I thought so!” The woman laughed and motioned for Rory to join her and the young man seated at that table. “Come sit here. Tell me how that gorgeous brother of yours is doing. He’s the spittin’ image of your father. Not that I knew your father personally, but I surely did love watching him on stage the summer he and your mother did Romeo and Juliet at the Grand Opera House. I’m surprised the women in the audience didn’t flood the building with drool.”

  “Gorgeous brother?” The young man beside Daphne came to attention. “Where?”

  “Calm down, Steven,” Daphne said as Rory and Chance took their seats in the shade of the umbrella. “Her brother’s straight. Besides, you’re attached.”

  “Well, a guy can still look, can’t he?” Steven complained.

  “As long as David doesn’t catch you.” Daphne smiled like a satisfied cat.

  “True.” Steven glanced at a man with a stocky build and military crew-cut who was talking to Betsy’s husband across the courtyard. Turning back to Rory, he held his hand out for a handshake. “Hi, I’m Steven. David and I run a gay-friendly inn.”

  “As if she couldn’t figure that one out on her own.” Daphne rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, don’t knock it till ya try it,
sweetheart.” Steven blew the older woman a kiss.

  “Like I’d give up men.” She snorted.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Steven sighed dramatically.

  Rory laughed, and felt her stomach begin to relax. “Well,” she said, “I can see I landed at the right table.”

  “Oh?” Daphne arched an orange brow. “You’re gay?”

  “No.” Rory shook her head. “But I’m always more comfortable with the rebels in the crowd.” She glanced sideways at Chance and found him studying her with thoughtful eyes. She was glad to see he wasn’t nervous around Steven, as some straight men would be. Well, at least not too nervous.

  “Hey, I like you!” Steven plopped his elbow on the table and dropped his chin in his hand. “What kind of advice can Daphne and I give you?”

  “Anything!” Rory said. “I’m pretty much starting from scratch.”

  “So You Want to Be an Innkeeper,” Daphne said, nibbling on a pastry.

  “Oh, yes, more than anything,” Rory said.

  “No, dear.” The older woman patted Rory’s arm. “That wasn’t a question. It’s the title of a book. After you read that, if you’re still crazy enough to want to run a bed-and-breakfast, I say go for it. It’s not an easy way to make a living, but it’s a great way to live.”

  For the next hour, Daphne and Steven bombarded her with advice on restoration, hotel codes, and names of suppliers. Chance noticed she looked dazed, but the nervousness had faded. In its place he saw a building excitement that refused to crumble beneath the numerous horror stories.

  As the food and the tea finally dwindled, the guests began to disperse. Many of the innkeepers stopped by and invited Aurora to come visit their B and Bs and said they hoped to see her at their next meeting.

  “Oh, yes, definitely,” Aurora promised.

  “And next time, bring your brother.” Daphne winked as she made her departure.

  “I suppose we should be going, too,” Aurora told Chance, although she looked reluctant to leave.

  “Hang on,” Betsy said as she broke away from the few remaining guests. “I thought maybe you’d like a quick tour of the inn.”