Rules of Engagement

So what did Tess Spencer and Alton Tool have to do with each other?

After a quick knock, Marcia popped inside his office. “Here’s a copy of the only manifest this month from the auction house.”

Scanning the items, he saw that a notebook computer wasn’t listed. Of course not.

Marcia held out another paper.

“What’s this?”

“While I was on the Web I looked up the Spencers in the Chronicle archives.” Her graying eyebrows wriggled with just enough intent to let him know she wouldn’t leave the subject alone.

He started to skim the page. But as the content registered, he slowed down, absorbing the details of the article. It reported the death of Tess’s brother. Sobered, he read about David’s background, his contributions to the community, his close relationship to his family, especially his twin sister.

How had this woman who’d lost a brother in Iraq come to own his computer?

“TESS, IS THAT YOU, HONEY?” Her mother’s voice reached to the restaurant foyer.

“Yes, Mom. I picked up the mail.” She caught up to her mother in the kitchen.

Judith Spencer hugged her, enveloping Tess in the comforting smells of cooking, along with her trademark Chanel cologne. Still attractive at sixty-two, Judith’s dark hair was streaked with far more gray than it had been only months before. The lines in her face had also deepened, but it was her eyes that betrayed her pain. Eyes that changed from gray to green or blue depending on what she wore or the colors around her. Tess had inherited her unusual eyes.

And much of her intuition as well.

Judith stroked Tess’s long dark hair. “What’s wrong?”

Tess shook off her annoyance. “Just more traffic than I expected.”

Judith studied her a moment longer, but she didn’t press. There’d been so much discussion since David’s death they often felt talked out. “It’s quiet here this morning.”

“Dad?”

“He should be here soon. He’s at the linen company, straightening out the order.”

“I told you I’d do that,” Tess protested. The linen supplier was under new management and they’d fouled up the orders for all three locations.

“He needs to keep busy,” Judith explained. “You’re back and forth between here and Dav—your restaurant so much I don’t know when you sleep.”

“At night,” she replied with a smile. “Something not only smells good, it smells different. Are you experimenting?”

“I just got some young peas, picked yesterday. I want a sauce that isn’t too heavy, but that’ll enhance their sweetness.”

“You’ll create something wonderful, you always do. Although Peter is the chef if you run short on time.”

“Or energy, you mean. Tess, don’t worry about us so much. We’re not fragile seniors.”

“As though you could ever be considered senior!”

Judith laughed. “When you turned twenty-one I couldn’t imagine how I’d aged that much. Now, if I could just turn the clock back to then…”

Tess bit her lower lip. If only they could. “I know you’re not fragile, Mom. You and Dad have been incredibly strong.”

Judith took her hand. “It runs in the family.”

Tess felt a rush of appreciation for her parents. They’d been running the landmark Spencers for years now, scarcely slowing down following David’s death. In the past she’d always believed they were invincible. “Then let me be strong now.”

“I don’t think I can stop you. Want to taste the sauce?”

Tess grinned. “Absolutely. Are you going to share the recipe or is it a landmark speciality?”

“I think you can twist my arm. Let me just check on the seafood delivery.”

Tess pinched a fresh croissant from a tray on the stainless steel counter, then sat on a stool, dangling her feet as she had when she was a child waiting for one of her parents. She supposed she could get to be eighty and still feel that way in the downtown Spencers. It was the original restaurant in the family business, established by Tess’s great-grandparents in 1920.

Back then, being right in the heart of the booming petroleum capital, it had appealed to the newly rich oil barons who claimed it as their own.

By the 1940s it was a hub for celebrities in all fields. The Second World War only enhanced its reputation when the three Spencer brothers went to war and only one, Tess’s grandfather, returned. Heroes, Tess thought bitterly.

Continuing the legacy, Tess’s grandfather had opened two additional locations, one in the prestigious Galleria area and one in nearby Galveston.

Patrons spoke of the original restaurant’s unmatched ambiance. Beyond the shimmer of formal china, well-polished silver and flawless linen, Spencers retained its classic Deco style. There was a solidity and elegance to the cherrywood walls and leather seating that only time could produce. Decades.

Tess and David had been groomed in the business since they were able to stand on a stool and reach the kitchen counter. She could remember coming in before opening time as a child, the familiar smells of the restaurant itself—lemon wax, and a mysterious blend of wonderful sauces from the kitchen.

She and David had been taught early on to respect the furnishings, the employees and the patrons—not necessarily in that order. They’d also been taught to love the business, to depend on its history.

But now she wasn’t so sure what to count on. So much had changed…

More than she’d been able to accept.

CHAPTER THREE

COLE TOOK THE TICKET from the parking valet and left his car keys. He studied the restaurant’s two-story entrance. This, the second Spencers, was located in the trendy Galleria area that catered to Houston’s well-heeled elite. Cole had never cared about being seen in the best spots, but many of the patrons probably did.

Also upscale and elegant, this Spencers had its own unique look. Smart, he thought. The locations didn’t compete with one another. It was easy to see why the Spencers were so successful. But their connection to his missing designs baffled him.

“Will you be dining with us tonight, sir?” The attractive hostess was dressed in a white blouse and black skirt.

“I’d like to speak to Tess Spencer.”

The hostess didn’t allow a flicker of reaction in her expression. “May I tell her who’s calling?”

“Cole Harrington.”

“Thank you, sir. Would you care to have a seat while you wait?”

He nodded, then walked down the wide, marble steps that led to the bar. Choosing a table, he barely sat down before a waiter took his drink order. Nearly as quickly, his dark German ale arrived.

“Mr. Harrington?” Tess’s voice was polite, but there was a barely detectable edge.