Authors: Jan Hudson
The more she was around Dan, the clearer it became that he
hated being an executive at Friday Elevators, and he probably always had. How
awful that his sense of responsibility to his family had made him endure it for
years. No wonder his misery had given him headaches and finally eaten a hole in
his stomach and his body had rebelled. He had the soul of an architect. Anybody
with half a brain could see that.
If she had anything to do with it, Tess planned to help Dan
follow his own dreams for a change.
With Tess pointing the way, they crossed the intersection
and walked a block to Water Street, toward a two-story wooden structure
extending over the dark water. From a half a block away, delicious aromas of
cooking seafood filled the air, overpowering the odors from the wharf and its
shrimp boats and fish markets. Her mouth watered.
“Doesn’t it smell wonderful?” Tess asked as they stepped
into the smoky restaurant, where a battalion of cooks and servers scampered
back and forth behind the cafeteria-type counter in a flurry of activity. “I’m
starved. What looks good to you?”
Dan studied the menu painted on a huge wooden sign at the
beginning of the line. “I want a giant platter of fried shrimp, french fries,
and about a quart of catsup.”
Tess drew her brows together in reproach. “Nothing fried for
you, my friend. Say, do you have your medication?”
“In my pocket,” Dan grumbled.
“I’ll order,” Tess informed him as they picked up trays and
slid them along the rail. “Two broiled snapper and two baked potatoes,” she
told the attendant. “Plain rolls—no garlic butter.”
“Not even a small order of french fries?” Dan asked
wistfully.
Tess pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. “Not even
one.”
Dan sighed theatrically. Tess giggled.
“You may have pudding. Do you prefer banana, vanilla, or
tapioca?”
“Chocolate.”
“Chocolate it is.” She plunked a bowl of chocolate pudding
on his tray and banana on hers, then selected milk for him and iced tea for
herself. When he opened his mouth to protest, she gave him her sternest look.
“Yes, Mother,” he said and grinned.
They took their trays upstairs to a large, informal dining
room with walls of windows overlooking the dark outlines of the shrimp and
fishing boats docked at Pier 19.
“This has always been called the ‘Mosquito Fleet Berth,’“ Tess
said, pointing out the insectlike profiles of the small boats along the wharf. “It’s
the same area Jean Laffite’s pirate ships used for docking.”
She could have bitten her tongue off the moment the words
were out of her mouth. Things had been going so well between them.
Right on cue, Dan asked casually, “What about this map you
mentioned?”
Tess sighed and put her fork down. “I know it sounds bizarre
unless you know the family history.” She leaned closer and said in a low voice,
“It’s not something that’s widely known, but Jean Laffite was my
great-great-great-great-great—is that five or six?” she asked as she counted
the “greats” on her fingers. “Anyway, he was my grandfather several generations
back.”
Dan raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“It’s true!” she said, exasperated. “Our branch is descended
from the daughter, and only child, of his second wife, Contessa. I’m named for
her. She was a young woman from South Carolina, and she died in childbirth in
1826. Their daughter’s name was Violet and she grew up on her grandparents’
plantation near Charleston. She stayed with them even after Laffite married
again a few years later, moved to St. Louis, and changed his name. I gather
that there was some animosity between her grandparents and Laffite. When Violet
married in 1843, her father gave her a deed to property in the newly formed
city of Galveston and a Bible with the treasure map inside.”
He continued to eat his fish as if he didn’t believe a
single thing she said. Refusing to look at him or to utter another word, Tess
picked up her fork and attacked her own food with a vengeance.
When he had scraped the last drop of pudding from his bowl,
Dan leaned back and laced his fingers across the green frog on his chest. “Tess,
as a boy I was fascinated with pirates and privateers. I used to have quite a
collection of books about them. As I recall, Jean Laffite died shortly after he
was run off Campeche and Galveston island by the United States government. That
would have been some time in the eighteen-twenties.”
“Nope,” she said, pushing a slice of banana to the side of
her bowl, where she had deposited several others. “He died in 1854.”
“Tess—”
“What?” Irritated, she looked up, ready to do battle. He was
staring at her bowl.
“Why didn’t you get vanilla pudding if you’re not going to
eat the bananas?”
“Because I like banana pudding. I just don’t like the
bananas.”
Dan shook his head and gave a mirthless chuckle. “I suppose
that makes as much sense as anything else you’ve said.”
She put her spoon down and looked up at him. “You don’t
believe me, do you?”
He shrugged as a smile began to play around his lips. “I
guess you should know if you like bananas or not.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
He leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. “Tess, I
promised I wouldn’t jump to any more conclusions without all the facts. And
right now I don’t want to argue with you. I can think of at least ten things I’d
rather do.”
His thumb brushed back and forth across her knuckles and his
eyes were on her lips.
“Oh?” A slow smile came as she began to imagine what some of
those things might be.
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
As the horse’s hooves clip-clopped along the asphalt street,
Tess and Dan sat snuggled close together in the old-fashioned carriage. His
arms were around her and her head rested on his shoulder as they looked up at
the stars and listened to the banter of the driver, an elderly gentleman in a
top hat. A crisp breeze ruffled Tess’s hair and a stray lock tickled Dan’s
nose.
He smoothed the strand back. “Comfortable?”
“Very.”
“This isn’t what we get when we call a taxi in Pittsburgh.”
“But isn’t this better? No exhaust fumes.” She burrowed
closer. “And much more romantic.”
They were content with the quiet and one another as they
rode slowly through neighborhoods of old houses and tree-lined streets. Shadows
of the night kindly disguised the buildings with rotting boards and peeling
paint and revealed only the dramatic lines of their former elegance.
Tess reveled in the comfort of Dan’s arms around her, the
warm pulsations of his strong body next to hers, the smell of him that
permeated the shoulder of the soft sweatshirt where she rested her cheek.
The emotions he aroused in her were almost overwhelming, and
snatches of fantasies she dared not allow full birth made her wiggle with
anticipation. She thought of the things yet to come, things that would come
slowly, to be savored and treasured. Not for a moment did she question that
love would grow between them. She could sense it beginning to stir and send out
roots deep inside her. She imagined the feel of his bare skin next to hers and
she snuggled closer.
“Cold?”
She shook her head. “My frog keeps me warm.”
He chuckled and gave her a little squeeze.
The horse-drawn carriage pulled to a stop in the back
parking lot of a hotel that fronted the seawall. Daniel climbed down and helped
Tess descend.
“I’ll get a cup of coffee across the street while you and
your young man take a walk,” the driver said to Tess.
“We won’t be long, Amos. It’s a bit nippy tonight.”
“Take your time, li’l lady. Me and Snooks don’t have nothing
better to do.”
“Thanks, Amos.” Tess waved at the old man, and she and Dan
crossed the boulevard.
“He’s a character,” Dan said as they walked down the steps
to a deserted strip of beach lit by the moon and street lights along the
seawall. “Do you own fifty-one percent of the horse?”
Tess laughed. “No, Amos and I are just friends. I’ve known
him since I was a little girl and spent every summer here with my grandmother
and Aunt Olivia. I like to ride with him once or twice a week in the off-season
when he isn’t too busy.”
“To make sure Snooks has enough oats?”
She shrugged.
He smiled. “That’s what I thought.” He took her hand and
they walked along the damp sand near the water’s edge. “Where did you spend
your winters?”
“In Galveston until I was about four. My mother died shortly
after I was born, and I lived with my grandmother and Aunt Olivia until my
father remarried. Then I went to live with him and my stepmother in Dallas.”
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Two younger half brothers. They both work in my father’s
bank and are very happy. They’re ‘chips off the old block.’ We’re not close. I
never fit in very well with that part of the family.”
They paused to watch the waves lap the beach and Dan smiled.
“I’m not surprised. Somehow I can’t see you as the conservative banker type.”
“Oh, but I was.” Tess turned to look up at Dan. “Or at least
I tried to be. I have an MBA in finance and was a money manager in the trust
department of Dad’s bank until I was recruited by an investment firm in New
York. I was sort of a whiz kid with investments.”
Dan’s eyebrows raised “You?
“Me.”
“Somehow I can’t picture a woman who plays the bagpipe and
drives a car named Buttercup as a banker or an investment consultant.”
She laughed. “Pin-striped suits, red power ties, and all. I
led the rat race for several years.”
“What happened?”
“Aunt Olivia broke her hip, and I came to Galveston to take
care of her. Once I got off the treadmill and had some time to take a look at
my life, I discovered I hated the city and my job. Funny, I never thought of it
as a career, only a job. I found that I hadn’t really laughed or enjoyed myself
in years. Money and investments had become the prime focus of my world. I was
extremely dedicated.” Tess made a dramatic gesture, then laughed at herself.
She looked down and patted a broken shell into the sand with
the tip of her shoe. “But while I was here and had time to take stock of
things, something in me rebelled against living my life according to what I
thought I should do. When time came for me to go back, I couldn’t do it. And
there was really no reason to. I love this island, the people, the slower pace
and freedom I have here. I’d made enough money so that, properly invested, I
would have enough to last me the rest of my life. So, instead of catching a
plane back to New York, I called and resigned. I’ve never regretted it, and I’ve
never been happier. Now I do what I want to do.”
Dan looked out over the Gulf and was quiet for a moment. The
breeze scattered the rising moon’s reflection across the dark water. Only the
roar of waves splashing against the jetties and tumbling over one another as
they rolled into shore broke the silence. His hand gripped hers tightly, and Tess
could feel his inner turmoil as she watched him. After what seemed like
forever, but was only a few minutes, he turned to her.
Lifting her chin with the crook of his finger, he smiled and
said, “I’m very glad you made the decision to stay in Galveston. If you were
still in New York, I might never have met you.”
He leaned forward and slanted his lips over hers in the
gentlest of kisses. Nuzzling his cheek against the tip of her nose, Dan said, “Your
nose is cold. We should go.”
“Not yet,” Tess said in a throaty whisper. Her arms went
around his waist and she lifted her mouth to him once more.
“Lord, Tess, I ache for you.” He gathered her close and,
with a low groan deep in his throat, covered her lips with his.
She clung to him as his tongue explored the warm secrets of
mouth and his strong hands kneaded the curves of her back. One arm slipped down
to scoop her pelvis closer against him, and Tess whimpered. Waves of warmth,
more powerful than the ocean’s, dashed over her and drove away the chill of
wind and water.
Time and place were swept away in the ebb and flow of
delicious sensation. Fingers clutched and stroked; bodies pressed and arched;
lips and tongues tasted and murmured their pleasure.
“Tess?” Dan said as he nipped and nuzzled along the soft
curve of her neck.
Her knees were like limp rubber bands and she could barely
manage a breathless “Yes?”
“I think my feet are wet.”
Tess looked down at the tide lapping against their ankles
and her shoulders began to shake.
Dressed in electric blue silk harem pants and flowing tunic
top, Tess stood in front of the painting and sipped from her champagne glass.
Her earrings, long falls of gold-dipped shells mixed with fiery blue beads and
hammered gold disks, matched the elaborate necklace that hung to her waist and
tinkled like wind chimes each time she moved. Across her forehead she wore a
headband of blue silk braided with the same beads that accented her jewelry and
on her feet she wore strapped sandals.
She’d fussed endlessly with her clothes and hair and makeup,
wanting to look just right for the formal opening of Sea Song—and for Dan, she
admitted frankly. Strangely enough, she’d been nervous when she walked down the
stairs to meet him earlier. Her efforts had been rewarded when Dan, looking like
a million dollars in his dark suit and the new pink shirt and mauve paisley tie
she’d insisted he buy, had raised one eyebrow and whistled.
She’d looked him up and down and whistled back.
He moved to her side now. “Somebody’s already bought the
cavorting nymphs I see,” she said, pointing to the “Sold” tag.
“Ummm.” Dan took a swallow of water from his crystal stem. “Somebody.”
He slipped his arm around her waist and the heel of his palm caressed the swell
of her hip with tiny strokes.