said.
“I guess I’ll hear from you later?” She stepped safely into the hall this time. “As soon as I talk to the McMillans.”
“Okay, then.” She waved and took a few steps backward before she turned and headed across the lobby. His gaze followed her all the way to the door, mesmerized by the spring in her stride and those long, bare legs.
The moment she disappeared, though, doubt raised its head. He hoped his father wouldn’t take offense at his offering to help a descendant of Marguerite Bouchard buy Pearl Island. He knew his father wanted to give John first right to buy the place back, but so far the man had showed no interest in doing so. Rumor had it John LeRoche had fallen into some serious financial difficulties since he’d put the house up as collateral.
Those rumors were almost enough to make Chance wonder if Pearl Island really was a good-luck charm—that is, if he was the type to believe in magic and ghosts.
Chapter 4
Rory left the bank and headed on foot for Pier Nineteen. Throughout the historic downtown district, tourists wandered in and out of antiques shops and art galleries, admiring the facades of nineteenth-century buildings. A horse-drawn carriage clopped by, and she smiled at the tour guide who sat sideways pointing out attractions to his passengers.
On Harborside Drive, the buildings changed to newer shops and restaurants built of weathered wood. Flowering baskets hung from replicas of old-fashioned street lamps along brick walkways. She breathed it all in, enjoying the sounds and scents of Galveston, a blend of fried seafood and salt water, the shriek of seagulls and the blast of a tugboat bringing in a barge. Somehow, today, it all seemed brighter, more vivid.
“Hey, there, gorgeous,” Captain Bob said when she stepped into the small metal building that served as the tour-boat office. “ ‘Bout time you got here.”
“Sorry I’m late,” she offered, still lost in dreams of the future, plans and possibilities. Slipping behind the counter, she tucked her bag away.
“Catching up on your beauty sleep?” He leaned on the opposite arm of the L-shaped counter, crunching on a peppermint with those flashing white teeth of his. “Not that you need it.”
“No, I just had an errand to run this morning.”
“Hey, you okay?”
“Hmm?” She looked up to see the smile had vanished. “Oh, sorry,” she laughed, understanding his concern. Normally, she matched him tease for tease, which was why they got along so well. She never took Bobby or anything he said seriously, while other women trailed after him with their tongues hanging out, making absolute fools of themselves. And heaven forbid he should flex his tanned muscles, or favor some female with one of his wicked grins. Then they melted into cooing puddles at his feet.
Rory, however, had never put much stock in physical appearance. She came from a long line of legendary beauties and her own brother was so good-looking, tourists frequently asked if he was a movie star. But the lesson Marguerite had passed down to her daughter, and all the Bouchard descendants, was that beauty wasn’t always a blessing. The true measure of a person was what lay beneath the surface. So while Rory found Bobby charming at times, she’d realized early on how irresponsible he could be about everything but his boat.
When it came to the
Daydreamer
, however, responsibility was his middle name. Moving to the doorway, she admired the pontoon boat tied to the concrete landing. The open area for passengers took up the forward half of the vessel with a cabin and small deck aft. Up top was an observation and sunning deck with a slide to the water. In addition to guided tours, Bobby chartered the boat for private parties.
On the dock, a steady stream of tourists passed by on their way to the nearby shops and restaurants. More than one stopped to look over the boat and pick up a pamphlet for prices and schedules.
“Was it hard to start your own
“I guess I’ll hear from you later?” She stepped safely into the hall this time. “As soon as I talk to the McMillans.”
“Okay, then.” She waved and took a few steps backward before she turned and headed across the lobby. His gaze followed her all the way to the door, mesmerized by the spring in her stride and those long, bare legs.
The moment she disappeared, though, doubt raised its head. He hoped his father wouldn’t take offense at his offering to help a descendant of Marguerite Bouchard buy Pearl Island. He knew his father wanted to give John first right to buy the place back, but so far the man had showed no interest in doing so. Rumor had it John LeRoche had fallen into some serious financial difficulties since he’d put the house up as collateral.
Those rumors were almost enough to make Chance wonder if Pearl Island really was a good-luck charm—that is, if he was the type to believe in magic and ghosts.
Chapter 4
Rory left the bank and headed on foot for Pier Nineteen. Throughout the historic downtown district, tourists wandered in and out of antiques shops and art galleries, admiring the facades of nineteenth-century buildings. A horse-drawn carriage clopped by, and she smiled at the tour guide who sat sideways pointing out attractions to his passengers.
On Harborside Drive, the buildings changed to newer shops and restaurants built of weathered wood. Flowering baskets hung from replicas of old-fashioned street lamps along brick walkways. She breathed it all in, enjoying the sounds and scents of Galveston, a blend of fried seafood and salt water, the shriek of seagulls and the blast of a tugboat bringing in a barge. Somehow, today, it all seemed brighter, more vivid.
“Hey, there, gorgeous,” Captain Bob said when she stepped into the small metal building that served as the tour-boat office. “ ‘Bout time you got here.”
“Sorry I’m late,” she offered, still lost in dreams of the future, plans and possibilities. Slipping behind the counter, she tucked her bag away.
“Catching up on your beauty sleep?” He leaned on the opposite arm of the L-shaped counter, crunching on a peppermint with those flashing white teeth of his. “Not that you need it.”
“No, I just had an errand to run this morning.”
“Hey, you okay?”
“Hmm?” She looked up to see the smile had vanished. “Oh, sorry,” she laughed, understanding his concern. Normally, she matched him tease for tease, which was why they got along so well. She never took Bobby or anything he said seriously, while other women trailed after him with their tongues hanging out, making absolute fools of themselves. And heaven forbid he should flex his tanned muscles, or favor some female with one of his wicked grins. Then they melted into cooing puddles at his feet.
Rory, however, had never put much stock in physical appearance. She came from a long line of legendary beauties and her own brother was so good-looking, tourists frequently asked if he was a movie star. But the lesson Marguerite had passed down to her daughter, and all the Bouchard descendants, was that beauty wasn’t always a blessing. The true measure of a person was what lay beneath the surface. So while Rory found Bobby charming at times, she’d realized early on how irresponsible he could be about everything but his boat.
When it came to the
Daydreamer
, however, responsibility was his middle name. Moving to the doorway, she admired the pontoon boat tied to the concrete landing. The open area for passengers took up the forward half of the vessel with a cabin and small deck aft. Up top was an observation and sunning deck with a slide to the water. In addition to guided tours, Bobby chartered the boat for private parties.
On the dock, a steady stream of tourists passed by on their way to the nearby shops and restaurants. More than one stopped to look over the boat and pick up a pamphlet for prices and schedules.
“Was it hard to start your own
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