Heart Stealers

by Patricia McLinn

  “Is that how you plan to spend your weekends?” his father asked, his voice tight with disapproval. “Waiting tables?”

  Chance glanced at him, surprised. He hadn’t expected his father to be thrilled about his venture with the St. Claires, but he hadn’t expected the objection to be this strong. “I do what needs to be done.”

  Paige shifted in her chair across from him. A confused frown dimpled her brow before she turned back to his mother. “Have you been out to see the house yet?”

  “Not yet.” His mother smiled, ignoring her husband’s dark mood. “I’m waiting for an invitation.”

  “You’re welcome anytime,” Chance said. “Although the place looks like a demolition site right now.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Paige countered. “It’s just the usual mess that comes with construction. Oh, but Mrs. Chancellor, it’s going to be beautiful. Allison gave me a tour yesterday, and I can just picture how it will look when it’s finished. In fact...” She let her voice trail off as excitement built in her eyes. “That’s why I’m so glad you invited us for lunch. I wanted to talk to you about my idea.”

  “Oh?” his mother asked.

  “Yes.” Paige folded her hands on the edge of the table. “You know what trouble we’ve been having, trying to find a new location for the Buccaneer’s Ball. So, what would you think of renting Pearl Island? They haven’t finished installing the landscaping, but the grounds will be as lovely as anything Galveston has to offer.”

  “Pearl Island?” His mother turned thoughtful. “Now there’s an idea. I’ve never been inside the house, though. Do they have adequate space?”

  “Oh, yes,” Paige said. “And we wouldn’t even need to scramble for a separate caterer since they have catering facilities at the inn. In fact, Adrian St. Claire is a chef at Chez Laffite, and you know how wonderful their food is.”

  Ellen glanced at her son. “I didn’t know you were going to offer catering.”

  “We might as well.” He shrugged. “The place has a huge kitchen, and Adrian is a phenomenal chef.”

  His father snorted. “And we all know the failure rate for catering companies.”

  Chance took a slow breath and ignored his father’s barb. Later, they would talk in private, where they could each be as frank as they wanted.

  After an uncomfortable look at him, Paige turned back to his mother. “There’s another reason I’d like to have the ball at Pearl Island. And that’s their deepwater cove.”

  “Oh,” Ellen prompted.

  “Yes.” Paige seemed to brace herself for objection. “Yesterday while Chance was serving lunch, I visited with Captain Bob. He’s the owner of the tour-boat business down at Pier Nineteen. When I told him of my idea to have the ball there on the lawn, overlooking the cove, he said all we needed to complete the picture was a pirate ship.”

  “A pirate ship?” Ellen sat back, her expression intrigued. Chance felt more surprised than intrigued, since this was the first he’d heard of the idea. “You mean like the Elissa?” his mother asked, referring to the fully restored tall ship docked by the Texas Seaport Museum on Pier Twenty-one.

  “No, not the Elissa.” Paige shook her head. “She’s a fine ship, don’t get me wrong, but everyone in Galveston has already seen her. Besides, she’s too big since she’s built for hauling cargo across the Atlantic. What we need is the smaller, faster type of vessel a pirate would have used, like a wooden-hulled Baltimore clipper.”

  His mother laughed. One couldn’t live on Galveston Island without knowing a little bit about old sailing vessels. For years, the Historical Society had been wanting to buy a Baltimore clipper, the type of ship most likely used by the pirate Jean Laffite during the time when he’d lived on the island. But they were outrageously expensive and extremely rare.

  “And where would we get one?” Ellen asked.

  “Corpus Christi.” Paige’s smile broadened. “Captain Bob has a friend who owns one that’s available for charter. A real one, not a replica. She’s even named the Pirate’s Pleasure. Oh, wouldn’t it be perfect? To have the Buccaneer’s Ball on Pearl Island, a place rumored to have been frequented by pirates, with a pirate ship docked in the cove?”

  “Paige, my dear, you are a true romantic.” Ellen chuckled. “And yes, it’s a splendid plan—if you can pull it off on such short notice.”

  “You mean it?” Paige’s face lit up.

  “Absolutely.” Ellen turned to Chance. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a great idea,” he said, knowing Aurora was going to love it since it would have people talking about the event and the inn all over the state for years to come.

  “Very well,” his mother said to Paige. “Put a proposal together and present it to the committee. As long as you don’t go over budget, you have my vote.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Chancellor.” Paige squeezed her hand. “I just knew you’d agree.”

  “Oh, yes, by all means, let’s turn the event into a real spectacle.” Chance’s father pushed his plate away with a look of disgust. “What better way to keep people talking about this sordid business with John LeRoche?”

  The women’s enthusiasm dimmed instantly. Chance turned to his father, knowing he should let the comment lie, but he’d had enough. “Is that why you’re so against my going into partnership with the St. Claires? Because of the LeRoche foreclosure? Which is a dead issue at this point.”

  “It should be dead, yes, since I let Brian Jeffries have his way. Then you come along and start adding grist to the mill.” His father faced him head-on. “Or don’t you realize how it looks for you to be part owner of a house we foreclosed on? It makes the bank look as if we had ulterior motives in calling in the loan.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Chance shot back. “First of all, I don’t own any part of the house. I only bought into the business. And secondly, even if I did own part of the house, bank employees can purchase foreclosed property any time they want, as long as they don’t take advantage of prior knowledge to make early bids. And that’s all I am, an employee of the bank. An employee who had nothing to do with the decision to call in John LeRoche’s loan.”

  “No”—his father leaned forward—”you’re the son of the bank president who used to own that bank. Whether your behavior is legal or ethical doesn’t matter, what you’ve done looks suspect. And it looks even worse for you to be involved in a business that doesn’t even bank with us.”

  Anger tightened Chance’s shoulders. “The St. Claires wouldn’t be banking with a competitor if we hadn’t turned them down.”

  “As much as I hate to agree with Brian Jeffries, if we turned them down, it was with good reason.” His father stabbed the table with his index finger to punctuate his words. “For you to turn around and go into business with them makes people wonder whose judgment is faulty, the bank’s or yours. Either way, you’re undermining people’s faith in the bank.”

  Chance dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. “So I’m supposed to pull out of my investment because it might shed a bad light on the bank? The bank doesn’t own me, Dad. I have a right to spend my personal time as I choose.”

  The fury that flashed in his father’s eyes startled him. “I did not devote my entire life to that bank so my son could thumb his nose at it!”

  Silence fell.

  Chance glanced around. Both his mother and Paige sat uneasily toying with their food. Hoping to end the conversation, Chance turned back to his father and spoke as calmly as possible. “Dad, I appreciate how you feel, but the fact is, we don’t own the bank anymore.”

  The fury shifted to hurt. An emotion far more uncomfortable to witness. “Do you hold that against me?”

  “No, of course not!” Chance assured him, his chest aching. “You made the decision that was best for everyone concerned. I have no problem with it. You’re the one who’s having trouble letting it go.”

  “Because nothing changes the fact that Chancellors built that bank. Chancellors made it what it is tod
ay, saw it and this town through boom times and through recessions. No matter who owns it now, the people of this community will always associate it with the Chancellor name. How can you think to sully that name just to play innkeeper on the weekends?”

  “I’m not playing at this,” Chance shot back in frustration. “All right, yes, I’m enjoying myself. So what? Why shouldn’t I enjoy being part of a new business and watching it grow?”

  “Is it worth jeopardizing your career?”

  “I don’t think I am.”

  His father snorted. “If you think that, you’re living in a dream world, son. You’re a grown man now. It’s time you pulled your head out of the clouds, settled down, and started thinking about your obligations to the Chancellor name.”

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing my whole life?” Chance sat back, stunned. How could his father think of him as an irresponsible dreamer when everyone else saw him as a “chip off the old block”? Another dependable, dedicated, upstanding, boring Chancellor. Shaking his head, Chance laughed at the absurdity of his father’s comment. “I wonder what the first Chancellors who came to Galveston would think of us.”

  His father straightened in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “At least they had the courage to travel to a frontier town, risk their lives, as well as every dime they could scrape together, to do something adventurous. Something daring. When’s the last time anyone in this family had the guts to risk anything?”

  “It’s easy to take risks when you have nothing to lose. Our forefathers came to this island with little more than the clothes on their backs.”

  “And the balls in their pants, apparently,” Chance snorted.

  “You’ll watch your mouth when you’re sitting at my table in mixed company.” His father pointed his finger at Chance’s face.

  Chance clenched his fists against the urge to slap the finger away, to tell his father he wasn’t a child, and he damn well wouldn’t be disciplined like one, especially not in front of his date. But the lifetime of rules that had been drummed into his head, to respect his elders and behave properly at all times, could not be slapped away in an instant. He forced his hands to uncurl. “My apologies, Paige, Mom, if I offended either of you.”

  Paige let out a nervous laugh. “You forget I grew up with Harry Baxter as a father. It takes a lot more than that to offend these ears.”

  Dropping his napkin onto the table, Norman Chancellor thanked his wife for lunch, then rose and left the room with the excuse of seeing to his coin collection. The mutual release of tension was like an audible sigh.

  After a moment, Ellen rose to clear the table.

  “Here, let me help,” Paige said, and gathered her own plate and silverware.

  Chance sat a moment, feeling his muscles relax one by one. The women moved around the counter that divided the breakfast room and kitchen. Their soft voices and the sound of running water soothed his frayed nerves.

  “So,” his mother asked Paige, “what do you two have planned for this afternoon?”

  “Well, I don’t know about Chance,” Paige answered, “but I promised Mom I’d go into Houston with her. Nordstrom’s is having a shoe sale.”

  “Shopping in Houston? On such a pretty day?” His mother made a face of disbelief. “I can see that for Marcy, but not you. You and Chance should spend the day together. Go out on the boat, take in a round of golf, or rent some horses and ride along the beach.”

  Chance felt his mother’s gaze and looked up. Her pointed look silently said, “Ask the girl out, you goof.”

  “I can’t,” he said, checking his watch. “I have to get out to Pearl Island to help the others.”

  “Will I see you this evening?” Paige asked him as she came back to the table for more dishes. “We don’t have to do anything special. We can just go over the plans for the ball if you like.”

  “Actually, that’s a good idea.” Setting his napkin down, he rose and gathered his own plate. He carried it to the kitchen, then stood back, out of the women’s way. “I know Aurora’s completely confident we can pull this off, but I’d like to get a firm handle on what needs to be done when in order to be ready.”

  “Aurora?” his mother asked. “Isn’t she the youngest of the St. Claires?”

  “The youngest, maybe, but the unofficial leader on this project,” Chance answered. Leaning against a counter, he smiled. “She’s really something. In fact, the whole idea of buying the house was hers. I was skeptical at first. More than skeptical.” He laughed. “I thought she was insane, but she pulled it off. I’m beginning to think she can pull this off, too.”

  “Pull what off?” his mother asked, rinsing dishes to put in the dishwasher.

  “Having the inn ready in time for the ball,” he answered.

  His mother raised a brow. “Is there a question about that?”

  “Actually”—he cocked his head, thinking of Aurora— “I don’t think there is. We’ll be ready on time, even if Aurora has to pull the place together by the skin of her teeth. She’s incredible. And a very demanding taskmaster. Or -mistress.” He laughed.

  His mother stared at him, an unreadable expression set-fling over her face. Then she turned to Paige. “Paige, if you and Marcy are going to Houston, you should probably get moving. You know how your mother is if you make her late to a shoe sale.”

  “Do I ever,” Paige agreed, rolling her eyes. “Just let me finish helping with the dishes and I’ll be on my way.”

  “No, no.” His mother shooed her away. “Chance can help me finish.” When he and Paige both looked at her, startled, she sighed. “If he can pull kitchen duty at Pearl Island, he can pull it here.”

  “Very well,” Paige said, doubt lining her brow.

  “I’ll, um, walk you to the door,” Chance offered, wondering why his mother wanted to speak with him alone. He escorted Paige through the family room to the more formal part of the house. In the white marble entry a stairway curved upward, around a crystal chandelier. “I’ll come over this evening after I finish whatever chores Aurora has planned for me today.”

  “Yes, that will be fine.” She seemed suddenly nervous standing alone with him.

  He realized she was waiting for him to kiss her. Not the buss on the cheek they usually exchanged—but a touching of lips more appropriate to their new status as a dating couple. He chastised himself for forgetting the altered state of their relationship. After years of being friends who knew someday they’d be more, the time had arrived for that “something more.”

  He leaned down and fitted his mouth lightly over hers. She stiffened briefly, then relaxed. One of her hands came to rest against his chest but their bodies didn’t touch. He thought of deepening the kiss, but it didn’t seem right with his parents so near. Still, the exchange was pleasant, not nearly as awkward as their first real kiss that night by the footbridge.

  When he straightened, she gave him a timid smile. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  When she was gone, he headed back toward the kitchen. “Well?” he said. “You wanted to speak with me?”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” his mother asked with a poor attempt at innocence. “I just wanted you to help clear the table so Paige could be on her way.” He raised a brow, and she sighed in defeat. “Oh, very well. I did want to talk to you.” She took a breath. “Chance, I’m concerned about you and Paige.”

  “Mom...” He sighed.

  “I know.” She held up a hand. “I promised not to pry. It’s just... you two seem so... formal together.”

  “We’re just going through a period of adjustment,” he assured her. “It’s hard to go from thinking of her as a friend to thinking of her in... other ways. Which is why I asked you to let Paige and me handle this at our own pace. The last thing we need is our parents pressuring us to get on with things.”

  “I agree, and I’m not pressuring. Truly. In fact... I’m doing just the opposite.”

  “Excuse me?” He stared at her.


  “Chance...” She closed the dishwasher. “Your interest in Paige—it isn’t solely based on the fact that us old folks want you to get together, is it?”

  “What old folks?” he teased her.

  “Stop that.” She blushed. “You know perfectly well I’m old enough to be a grandmother.”

  “Yes, I know.” He sobered.

  “I just... I just don’t want to push you into something you don’t want.”

  “You’re not pushing me. I simply want to take things slowly. Marriage is serious business.”

  “Yes, it is.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “But sometimes I fear you take it too seriously.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Chance, don’t you ever want to say to heck with what’s right and proper and just have fun?”

  “Fun?” He rocked back.

  “Yes, fun,” she said. “Falling in love is like making mud pies. It’s not any fun unless you’re willing to get dirty.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do.” She got that indulgent look in her eyes she always did when she told him he was just like his father.

  Fun. He let the concept roll around in his head, but failed to fit it with something as serious as deciding who to spend the rest of his life with. “Is that how it was for you and Dad?”

  A humorless laugh escaped her. “We’re not talking about your father and me.”

  “I’d still like to know. The two of you are so well suited, so comfortable together. But how did you know it would work?”

  “We didn’t. And...” She looked away. “I’m not always sure it does.”

  Her words were quietly spoken, yet they rocked the very foundation beneath his feet. “But... you get along so well.”

  “We’ve learned to make do. Your father has the bank, and billiards, and his coin collection. And I have”—she trailed a hand through the air—”my clubs and things.”

  He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. They refused to stick in his brain, to make sense. “Are you saying you don’t love him?”

  “Oh, no.” A soft smile settled over her face, but sadness crept into her eyes. “I love your father more than anything, including my pride, apparently. Like I said, love is messy business.”