infinitesimal shake, letting his father know they’d talk about it later. Norm forced a laugh as he turned back to Harry. “The LeRoches have been depositors at the First Bank of Galveston since my ancestors founded the bank. I don’t care if it is the Liberty Union now, or if the LeRoches only vacation in Galveston these days, we still consider them locals. What’s the point of doing business with a local bank, if you aren’t extended a bit of leeway now and then?”
“Well, if anyone needs a bit of leeway right now, it would be John LeRoche,” Harry said. “From what I hear, his first wife took him to the cleaners, and that young model he’s taken up with is spending him out of house and home. Although,” Harry added with a booming laugh, “from the looks of her, maybe she’s worth it! Did you see the picture of her on the cover of that magazine? What’s the name of it?” he asked his wife.
“
Glamour
,” Marcy answered, her lips pursed with disapproval over John LeRoche’s behavior.
Seeing her expression, Norm cleared his throat. “If you want my opinion, few women are worth losing a fortune over, much less making a fool of yourself in public. As for the foreclosure, it’s bound to be a simple mistake.” He scrubbed his face with a long-fingered hand. “I’m telling you, Harry, sometimes I wonder about the folks I sold the bank to. It was the best decision from a business standpoint, just the way of the world in banking these days, but those East Coast Yankees don’t have a clue how we do business down here in the South. It’s as if the term ‘gentleman’s honor’ has no meaning to them.”
“I hear you there.” Harry puffed on the cigar.
“Chance,” his father said, “we’ll meet on this tomorrow. But first, find out who put up that damn sign and see that it’s taken down.”
“I’ll talk to Brian in loans about it,” Chance answered evasively, dreading the inevitable confrontation.
“Norman,” Chance’s mother scolded lightly. “Can’t you men talk about something other than work?”
“You’re right.” Norm nodded. “Sorry.”
“Miss Ellen?” Carmen, the housekeeper, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “I have coffee ready if you like.”
“Oh, yes, I’d love some. Marcy?” Ellen asked her friend. “You’ll have some coffee, won’t you?”
“Only if it’s decaf,” Marcy answered.
“Chance? Paige?” his mother called. “What can Carmen get for you?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” Chance answered, suddenly eager to escape the entire evening. “Paige, do you want anything?”
“Actually”—she hesitated—“I think I’d prefer a walk.”
Her face tipped up to his, and he saw perfect understanding in her eyes. It was this knack she had for reading him that had drawn him to her from the first. For as long as he could remember, Paige had always been there, at her parents’ house just up the street, ready to listen to his problems. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Yes, I would.” He smiled and moved his arm so she could link her hands about his elbow.
“Paige, dear, don’t forget your sweater,” Marcy Baxter said. “It feels like that storm is moving in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a barely audible sigh, Paige ducked back inside and returned with a lightweight cardigan.
Chance took the sweater and draped it over Paige’s shoulders before they descended the wooden steps and headed for the golf-cart path. With the neighborhood located on the west end of the island, where the ground barely rose above sea level, all the houses were elevated. Garages and storage rooms filled in the ground level with the living areas above. The houses on the gulf side of the street backed up to the golf course. Houses on the bay side, like the Baxters’, were set on a series of canals with boat docks in back.
The moment they passed a row of oleanders that shielded them from their parents, Paige pulled the sweater from her shoulders and draped it