Praise for New York Times bestselling author
LORI FOSTER

“Say YES! to Lori Foster.”

—Elizabeth Lowell

“Lori Foster delivers the goods.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Known for her funny, sexy writing, Foster doesn’t hesitate to turn up the heat.”

—Booklist

“One of the best writers around of romantic novels with vibrant sensuality.”

—MyLifetime.com

“Foster outwrites most of her peers and has a great sense of the ridiculous.”

—Library Journal

“Foster proves herself as a bestselling author time and again.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Filled with Foster’s trademark wit, humor, and sensuality.”

—Booklist on Jamie

“Foster supplies good sex and great humor along the way in a thoroughly enjoyable romance reminiscent of Susan Elizabeth Phillips’ novels.”

—Booklist on Causing Havoc

“Foster executes with skill…convincing, heartfelt family drama.”

—Publishers Weekly on Causing Havoc

“Suspenseful, sexy, and humorous.”

—Booklist on Just a Hint—Clint

Lori Foster
Bewitched

CONTENTS

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MARRIED TO THE BOSS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IN TOO DEEP

To Malle Vallik.

Though you’ll no longer be editing at Harlequin Temptation, you’ll be forever remembered as “one of the great ones.” I take comfort in the fact that your Harlequin Temptation novels will go on, pleasing readers for years to come.

CHAPTER ONE

SHE HAD THE soft, sweet mouth of a woman. And as she bent slightly at the waist, peeking out the front window of the quaint grocery shop, he inspected her bottom—and found it equally sweet. His palms itched, and he wasn’t certain if it was with the need to caress—or swat.

Maybe she was a cross-dresser. Or she just had really bad taste in clothes. But she was definitely female, of that Harry was certain. He hadn’t even noticed her until she’d gotten too close to him, and then he’d picked up on her scent. It made him feel like a buck in mating season, it hit him so hard. He stared, unable to help himself, until she noticed he was staring. Then she gave him a sour look and moved away.

And still he stared. The battered brown leather jacket was a couple sizes too big, ripped at one shoulder seam. And the flannel beneath it was baggy and hanging loose over ill-fitting, patched jeans. Scuffed, low-heel boots with chains on the back gave the impression she was trying for a bad-boy biker look. Absurd. Even her slicked back, glossy dark hair, held in a short blunt ponytail at her nape looked more female than rebel male. She had only one pierced ear, a small spent bullet dangling from the tiny silver hoop.

She kept her hands in her back pockets and a sneer on her face. Harry wondered what she’d done with her breasts, for they weren’t noticeable through the bulky clothing. Of course, maybe she was naturally small. He wouldn’t mind. He was a bottom-man himself, and he liked petite women, he…

Harry drew up short, appalled at the direction his wandering mind had taken. He wanted nothing to do with the woman, absolutely nothing.

Whatever her excuse for aping a man, she didn’t need to be here now, at this precise moment, possibly screwing things up for him, definitely distracting him.

Harry Lonnigan eyed the unfortunate female with annoyance, now dividing his attention between her and the two men working their way to the cash register. He had a job to attend to. Yet there she was, trying to saunter like a man, trying to sneer in a manly way. Harry snorted, then despite himself, he breathed deeply, trying to detect her sweet scent again. Not the smell of perfume, but the smell of warm woman, a smell proven to drive men crazy.

He wanted to ignore her, but couldn’t. Who was she and what was she up to with her outrageous costume and bizarre acting? Only a complete imbecile would believe her to be male.

But just then one of the two men turned, eyed her, and gave credence to her costume by dismissing her without so much as a raised eyebrow. Harry was stupefied.

He came out from behind the rack of chips and strolled casually forward, in no hurry to draw attention to himself, but the female was getting entirely too close to the two men, trying it seemed, to keep surveillance out the front display window without being seen. Whatever she was up to, she apparently wasn’t aware of the danger. Harry had no claims on being a hero, far from it, but he also wasn’t callous enough to watch a woman get injured, not if he could stop it.

“Go away.”

Harry halted, then blinked. The little imposter—she barely reached his shoulder—had hissed at him out of the corner of her mouth. How had she known he was behind her? He hadn’t made a single sound!

The two men looked up. They were cocky and obnoxious young men, overly confident because they’d been running their scam in this area for far too long, at least that’s what Harry’s friend, Dalton, had said. He owed Dalton, and stopping these ruffians from their petty extortion would be adequate compensation, but it was a nuisance. Especially if some stray with a weird agenda was determined to interfere and complicate matters.

One of the men turned to face them, propping his elbows on the counter and giving them both an assessing look. “What are you doing?”

Harry pretended not to understand. He stared at a shelf filled with canned goods, finally selecting some potted meat. He shuddered. Nasty looking stuff, potted meat. The little female remained frozen beside him.

After an extended silence where no one seemed willing to move, Harry looked up. “Hmm? You were talking to me?”

The guy pushed off the counter and started forward through the narrow, crammed aisles. His blond hair was long and greasy, like the rest of his body, and his eyes were a pale, washed-out blue, red-rimmed and with lashes so light they were nearly invisible. Scraggly whiskers dotted his chin, a discredit to every manly beard ever grown. His partner, heavier and darker, also turned to watch while the proprietor, a man close to seventy, seemed to grow more agitated by the moment.

“Yeah, you. Who did you think I was talking to? The kid?”

Harry smiled. So the guy was a dolt, believing she was a man. Or rather a boy. Was he myopic? Couldn’t he smell her, for God’s sake? Harry cocked an imperious brow. “I didn’t hear the question.”

Irritation flashed on blondie’s face as he struck an insolent pose, one hip thrust out, his arms crossed on his narrow chest. “I asked what the hell you’re doing.”

Bells jingled as a customer started in, then jingled again as the woman took in the situation in a glance and hurried back out. Obviously the denizens of this area were well aware of what went on. They were all simply too old or too wary to stop it on their own. Harry wasn’t old or wary. He stared down at the man with utter disdain.

“I’m shopping. What concern is it of yours?”

Blondie’s face darkened and he straightened slightly. “You’ve been hanging around since we got here. Why haven’t you bought anything yet?”

Harry raised both brows. Pushy little bastard. “I’m selective.”

The young man scowled, his pale eyes going even paler, then he obviously decided not to pursue it, probably given the fact that Harry stood a good six foot five, nearly half a foot taller than him. Though Harry dressed like a gentleman, few people ever thought of him as one. It was something, they said, to do with his eyes, though he tended to disregard such nonsense.

“Well, get done and get out. I don’t like you hanging around.”

Harry was willing to play along—up to a point. Right up until the punk turned to the girl and poked her in the chest with his finger, almost knocking her over. “Same goes for you. Beat it.”

Harry wasn’t a hero, he truly wasn’t, but he detested bullies. Beyond that, he couldn’t tolerate violence of any kind toward females, regardless of the fact the fellow was too dense to realize she was a female.

When he started to add an additional poke, snickering at the way she’d stumbled, Harry dropped the potted meat—no big loss there—and snatched the fellow’s finger into his fist. Harry squeezed.

A loud wail of outraged pain filled the store.

Unconcerned, Harry asked, “Now, why would you want to inflict abuse on someone smaller than yourself?”

The guy’s knees were starting to give way as Harry ruthlessly tightened his grip. Blondie stared up at him, his face pinched in a grimace. “He’s almost as tall as I am!”

“Not an adequate excuse. You’re obviously older. And moreover, I’ve decided I don’t like you.” Using a deft movement of his own hand, Harry twisted the hapless finger, attached to an equally hapless arm, until the man was forced to go on tiptoe, high-pitched curses winging from his mouth.

Pandemonium broke out.

The little female overflowed with umbrage. “I don’t need your help, you pompous ass!” The men either ignored her, or didn’t hear her.

The bully’s dark friend rushed forward. “Floyd!” he called out, as he pulled a gun from his pants. His gaze lifted to Harry, narrow-eyed and mean. “Turn him loose before I shoot your head off!”

The hard nose of a gun barrel poked into Harry’s ribs. He cast a wry expression on the friend. “Now, that’d be rather difficult, with you aiming there. My head’s a bit higher up.”

His ill-advised insult got the gun immediately raised, and now he felt the cold metal against his ear. This comedy of errors was getting out of hand. Slowly, he loosened his grip.

Floyd shook his hand and cursed, then shook it some more. He looked up at Harry with red-rimmed eyes. “Shoot him.”

“What?”

“Damn it, you heard me, Ralph! Shoot him.”

Harry said a quick prayer. The girl, finally showing some small signs of intelligence, began inching her way nonchalantly toward the door.

“Get back here, damn it.” Floyd wasn’t about to let her, or rather him, get away. “I think you two are working together to distract us. Who sent you here?”

The little female blinked and her smooth cheeks were suffused with color. “No one sent me! And I never saw that guy before in my life.”

Harry waited for a gasp, waited for the recognition because her husky voice had obviously been that of a female’s, despite her efforts to lower it accordingly.

He waited in vain.

“We can’t jus’ shoot him, Floyd. You know what Carlyle said. Keep it tidy. Besides, it’ll be easier if we jus’ let him go. He’s nobody.”

“Then what was he buttin’ his nose in for?”

Ralph lowered his brows in thought, all the while keeping the gun steady on Harry’s head.

Trying to placate them, Harry shrugged and said, “I simply can’t abide a bully.”

The gun smacked against his head, making his ears ring. “You can abide anythin’ Floyd tells you to! That’s how it’s done in these parts.”

Floyd grinned, and Harry was amazed to see he had fairly even, white teeth. “So you didn’t like me pushing the scrawny runt around?”

Knowing he’d handed Floyd his revenge on a silver platter, Harry almost groaned. Damn his mouth anyway. He started to speak, his brain searching for words to defuse the situation, and in that instant Floyd backhanded the woman. She went sprawling, landing with a clatter in a stacked display of canned tuna.

Harry growled, discretion forgotten, and lunged forward to grab Floyd by the neck. The proprietor shouted. Ralph, the only one thinking at this point, snatched the woman up and held the gun on her. “Stop now or the little bastard’s gonna be in some serious trouble.”

Harry stopped. The woman was dazed, he could see that, a bruise already coloring her jaw, but she was otherwise unharmed. Breathing hard with his anger, Harry slowly opened his hand and Floyd stumbled back two steps—and threw a punch. Harry caught the fist an inch from his nose, then made “tsking” sounds of disapproval. “I do believe your associate said to stop.”

“He was talking to you, not me!”

Harry heaved an annoyed sigh. “Look, gentlemen, you obviously had business here and it’s gotten sidetracked. Perhaps you should let us innocent bystanders go and finish up whatever it was you started?” Rather than observing, as he’d wished, Harry had managed to complicate things hideously. Now he only hoped to salvage what he could.

The proprietor nodded his head in frantic, disgruntled agreement. His low, scratchy voice was that of an aged sailor, used to taking command. “Yeah, take the damn cash. But put the gun away.”

“Shut up, old man, and let me think.”

Harry considered that an unlikely prospect given that Floyd obviously had very little brain to work with, but he held his peace. He didn’t want to rile anyone further, especially the proprietor who looked ready for violence. That would be all he’d need to tip the scales into the never-imagined.

After a considerable amount of time, Floyd nodded. “I think you’re a cop.”

That straightened his spine. Harry blustered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

A low whistle slipped past Ralph’s drooping mustache. “Now that you say it, Floyd, he does look like a cop. Check out that coat he’s wearing.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, “You’ve been watching too much Columbo. It’s drizzling today, therefore I wore a trench coat. I hardly think it’s standard dress for the police force.”

“Come to that,” Ralph added, “you speak damn fancy for someone from these parts.”

“I’m not from these parts.”

Floyd jutted his chin forward. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I was in the area on business and I remembered I needed to pick up something for my dinner. It’s no more complicated than that, I assure you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Well, hell, Harry thought, eyeing the female who now remained blessedly silent, her eyes downcast. Was he to be done in by a damn coat?

“Just to be on the safe side,” Floyd said, grinning, “I think we’ll take the boy with us. You call the cops, or try to follow, and I’ll kill him.”

The situation had gotten completely out of hand. “No, you can’t do that.”

Ralph tilted his head, his smile taunting. “And why not?”

The woman began to struggle. “I’m not going anywhere with you two! If you want a hostage, take him!” Her slender finger pointed in Harry’s direction, disconcerting him for just a moment.

“Somehow I think you’ll be easier to handle.”

She kicked at Ralph’s shin and he neatly sidestepped her, but Harry could see he was nonplussed by her somewhat feminine, awkward reaction. “What the hell?”

She tried to run. Harry was helpless, seeing the gun held steady, knowing any move on his part could get her injured. He wanted to curse at her theatrics, since she only complicated things further.

Floyd made a grab for her, and after his arms circled her chest, he too stopped, stunned. He released her as if burned, his eyes wide, going over her entire body in a single sweep.

“Take off your jacket.”

“Go to hell!”

Floyd began to laugh. “I’ll be a son of a… He’s not a boy at all.”

Dryly, for he was tired of the whole thing, Harry muttered, “How very astute of you.”

Floyd swung around to glare at Harry, his voice a sneer. “I suppose you knew?”

“Of course.”

Ralph drew a deep breath. “I don’t like you much, mister.”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t like him at all.”

Of all the nerve! Here he was, trying to preserve her ungrateful slender neck, and she—

“I said take off your jacket. Now. I want to get a better look at you.”

Ralph held the gun pointed at her chest while Floyd did his ordering. Gently, buying some time, Harry said, “Better do as they ask.”

She glared at him. “Go to hell.”

Trying to be reasonable, Harry said, “There you have it, gentlemen. Surely you can see you’re wasting your time.”

The elderly owner, fairly bristling in outrage, slapped an envelope down on the countertop, offering it like a bribe. “Here’s your damn money. Forget the girl and get the hell out of my store!”

“Be quiet, Pops. Now, even if you don’t take off the jacket, I won’t shoot you. That’d be too messy and would probably ruin the fun of this. And Ralph and I do like a little fun every now and again, don’t we Ralph?”

Ralph snickered.

“But if you don’t take the damn thing off, and right now, I’ll have Ralph shoot him.”

The gun dutifully switched so once again it pointed at Harry.

After the briefest of hesitations, the girl shrugged, her chin elevated. “Go ahead, shoot him. What’s it to me?”

Harry’s chin hit his chest. Why that miserable little… “Now, see here!”

Enjoying himself, Floyd laughed. “So maybe you two aren’t working together after all. It doesn’t change anything. I want to see what you have under there, girlie. What are you hiding?”

She seemed to calm, and her eyes, which Harry just noticed were a very deep, dark blue rimmed with thick lashes, held steady. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

Both men laughed at that. Even Harry felt a small grin. The girl was so tiny, she couldn’t hurt anyone, yet she had her fair share of bravado. He shifted, moving a little closer to the front window. No one noticed.

“Maybe I’ll just have you get naked.”

The owner was outraged. “You’ll do no such thing! I have customers who come in regularly this late. It’s not a quiet time. You need to take the money and—”

“I told you to shut up.”

Harry moved another few inches toward the window. Between the girl and the store owner, things were far too unpredictable. Was he the only one to realize how grave this situation had become? If he could just get in view and signal Dalton that things had gone wrong, they’d have backup in a matter of moments. Dalton’s jewelry store sat directly across the street and was likely next on Floyd’s list of stops.

He could see Floyd getting agitated, and besides being stupid and a bully, Floyd could well be trigger-happy. Harry didn’t consider it wise to push him too far.

To distract the men from his subtle movements toward the window, he suggested, “You don’t want my death plaguing your conscience, sweetheart. Remove the jacket. You can’t have anything all that singularly special to hide.”

“Huh?”

Floyd wasn’t as confused as Ralph. “Yeah, it ain’t like all of us men here, even Pops, haven’t seen a woman naked before. And I really will have Ralph shoot him. Hell, I’m looking for a reason.”

Her brows beetled down and her eyes narrowed. “It’s no skin off my nose what you do with him.”

At that moment Ralph looked out the window and cursed, then cursed again. “There’s a couple of cops over at the jewelry store.”

He was distracted for that moment, and Harry started forward, only to be brought up short as Ralph swung around, the gun moving wildly in his hand from Pops to the girl to Harry. “What do we do now, Floyd?”

But Floyd was already moving, snatching the envelope from Pops with a muttered warning, then pulling his own gun. He pointed it at Harry. “Out the back. You’re coming with us.”

Harry’s first thought was, Thank God, they’re taking me instead of the girl. Not that he was a hero, but he was trained for this, knew how to handle it. But then Floyd grabbed her, too.

Harry’s muscles tightened all the way down to his toes. “Stop and think, Floyd. You don’t need her. She’ll just slow you down.”

“If she tries that, she’ll be sorry.” And he sounded deadly serious, all fun and games over.

“One hostage is more than adequate.”

“Be quiet, damn it. I’ve heard all I want to hear from you. Now move.”

With guns at their backs, Harry and the girl were forced to exit out the rear of the store. Was Dalton still waiting for a signal? He wouldn’t get one, not now. But why were the police there? Had Dalton somehow known things had gone wrong even without Harry’s signal?

There were no answers to be found, and no more time to consider the circumstances as they were led through a light rain to a rental truck left parked in the dark alley. The sun was all but gone, and the mid-June air felt cool and thick. Floyd waved his gun, directing them into the open back of the truck. After hopping in, Harry turned to assist the woman, but she scrambled awkwardly in on her own, disdainfully ignoring his hand.

“You drive, Ralph. I’ll ride in here with the little lady.” His grin was more of a leer. “You two, into the corner. Sit and keep your mouths shut.”

Harry took off his long trench coat and gallantly spread it over the dusty bottom of the empty truck floor, then signaled for the woman to sit. She gave him a furious look and perversely retreated into an opposite corner, slumping down and wrapping her arms around her bent legs. Her position pulled the jean material tight around her thighs and he could see she was slender, her bottom rounded. He forced his gaze to her face.

She looked dejected and in deep thought, but not, thankfully, as frightened as she should be. Her cheek was dark and swollen where she’d been hit, spurring his anger. Harry carefully lowered himself, keeping his eyes alternately on Floyd and the woman.

He hadn’t counted on such a predicament when he’d agreed to take care of things for Dalton. He certainly hadn’t counted on his attention being diverted by a woman. Any woman, but much less one who was trying to be a man and had an attitude problem. Out of all the female types in the world, headstrong, bossy, controlling women were his very least favorite. He’d had his fill of them long ago.

Yet he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.

Dim illumination filled the back of the truck as a small, battery-operated light came on. Ralph pulled the door down from the outside, sealing the three of them in. Harry knew he had to adjust his plans. He couldn’t risk the possibility of being taken among the conspirators. The odds wouldn’t be good and now he had an outsider to think about.

He eyed the woman again. Why was she involved? He didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d been up to something, but his brain couldn’t dredge up a single plausible motivation. She hadn’t been aware of what she’d blundered into until it was too late, of that he was certain.

Floyd paced the back of the truck, agitated, for a good fifteen minutes while the truck raced farther and farther away from the police. No sirens sounded in the distance; there was nothing but the gentle patter of the rain and the grinding of the shifting truck gears.

“Sit together,” Floyd said as he slid down the opposite wall and propped the gun on a knee. “I want to be able to keep you both in my sights.”

Harry merely raised a brow at the woman and with a muttered oath, she stood and came to him, then plopped back down. “Bastard,” she whispered.

Taken aback, Harry said aloud, and with a good deal of annoyance, “I beg your pardon?”

Suddenly she turned and slugged him in the arm. “This is all your fault! They were paying me no mind until you drew their attention to me.”

He rubbed his arm where she’d socked him, more out of indignation than actual hurt, as he eyed her furious expression. “How was I to know Floyd and Ralph were too ignorant to recognize a woman when she presented herself?” Unaccountable female hysterics. He knew he was frowning at her, knew his frown was enough to frighten most grown men, and didn’t care one whit. If he scared her, it served her right.

She slugged him again. “I was disguised, you fool!”

He caught her fist and held it, careful not to hurt her, then leaned so close their noses almost touched. Through clenched teeth, he growled, “Obviously not well enough since I picked you out right away.”

He heard her swallow. Her eyes shifted on his face, nearly crossing, then finally narrowed in suspicion. “How?”

Knowing he held Floyd’s fascinated attention, Harry saw no reason not to explain. In fact, he relished the moment. “Actually, you have a woman’s mouth.”

He looked at her mouth again—now set in a mulish line—and felt his stomach muscles tighten. He swallowed. Damn her. His gaze came back up to hers and stayed there. “You have a woman’s bottom,” he said with a taunting smile, “despite the baggy jeans. You also move like a woman.”

He grinned, pulling her slightly toward him, primed for his last tribute. “And you smell very much like a woman.”

The hit was direct; she stiffened and sputtered. “Don’t be stupid! I’m not wearing perfume.”

He searched her face, amazed by his own reaction. He answered softly. “I know.”

Floyd laughed, once again showing his perfect white teeth. “I hadn’t looked at her butt.” He shrugged. “I thought she was a guy.”

Effectively distracted, Harry blinked and moved a little away from her, but maintained his grip on her punching arm. “Yes, well, she afforded me an unimpeded view. And since I’m a…healthy male, and I noticed, I knew she had to be female.”

“Warped male logic,” she accused with excessive heat, and tried to jerk her hand away. He held firm. “So why did you have to make my sex known to the other two idiots?”

“Careful.” Floyd was no longer amused.

“That was unintentional.” When she huffed, he added, “I was trying to protect you, you ungrateful child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“How old are you?” Floyd asked. It amazed Harry that Floyd could be so easily diverted.

“None of your damn business!”

The rain began to come down in earnest, sounding like gunshots on the roof of the truck. Gears shifted, throwing Harry slightly off-balance and completely toppling the girl.

Floyd stretched out his legs to brace himself. “I’d say you’re young, but not too young.” He frowned in consideration. “No one’s following us and we have a ways to go yet. Maybe you should just get naked now so I can judge for myself. You look a little too flat for my tastes, but you never know.”

The truck shifted again and they were all three caught scrambling for balance. Floyd crudely cursed Ralph’s driving abilities. The woman landed on her hands and knees and, looking comparable to a rabid dog, she shouted, “For the last time you miserable worm, I am not taking anything off!”

Harry silently applauded her bravado, misplaced as it seemed.

Judging by the incredulous look on Floyd’s face, he wouldn’t be patient much longer, and with each mile that passed, their odds of getting out of this unscathed decreased.

They rode steadily uphill. From what Harry could tell they were heading out into the farming area. No residential homes there, and people would be scarce. He had to do something before they covered too much ground.

Harry got an idea. Risky, but he had to make an effort.

He bent a stern look on the woman and demanded, “Why not? For heaven’s sake, your bosom can’t be so spectacular that it’s worth my life. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you were willing to see me die to protect your dubious modesty.”

She looked surprised, frozen, for only a heartbeat. Slowly, she turned to face him, her back to Floyd, her hands on her hips. Then to his shock, she gave him a wink, no smile, just that understanding wink that nearly floored him. At the same time she yelled, “I should have known you weren’t really a hero! You’re as bad as the other two.”

He almost grinned. He did surge to his feet to tower over her. “Almost as bad? I’ll have you know they’re babies compared to me.”

Floyd sputtered, no longer enjoying their show.

The woman leaped at him, the truck veered sharply left and they went down in a welter of arms and legs. Floyd yelled for them to stop, but they paid no heed. Their bodies rolled toward Floyd, twisting and fighting.

Harry made feigned attempts to subdue her while she did her best to bludgeon him with fists and feet. He caught himself alternately chuckling and struggling to keep from getting his nose broken. A sharp elbow in the ribs made him grunt.

Finally, finally Floyd got within reach, determined to end their scuffle. The woman neatly tripped him, and as he stumbled Harry snatched his gun hand and raised it to the roof, then clipped him hard in the chin.

He had very large, solid fists and Floyd went down without a whimper.

Breathing hard, the woman turned to him, stuck out her hand and said, “Thanks. I was starting to worry. My name’s Charlie.”

Harry laughed. “Charlie? I suppose that fits as well as anything else. You may call me Harry.” He took her hand, noticing how slim and warm her fingers felt, then asked, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She snorted rudely as her eyes darted around the truck. “I say we toss his sorry butt out the back. I have things to do and they don’t include going…wherever the hell it is we’re going. Plus I have no desire to meet their pal, Carlyle.”

Harry studied her, again stupefied. “You’re not at all upset? You weren’t frightened?”

“’Course I was.”

She didn’t look frightened. She looked determined to drag poor Floyd’s body to the edge of the truck bed so she could throw him out. Never mind that it would probably kill him. Wasn’t she squeamish about such a thing?

“Don’t just stand there, give me a hand here. He’s heavy.”

Nope, not squeamish. Damn vicious female.

She could at least pretend some feminine qualities. He really didn’t like bossy, overbearing women. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, miss, since you do seem rather set on your course, but I’m not up to killing a man.”

“Coward.” She heaved and pushed and dragged the body closer to the edge. “Besides, who says he’ll die?”

“Now listen here—”

She jerked upright, her face flushed, one thick wisp of glossy black hair now hanging over her right eye. “No, you listen! You got me involved in this with your damn nosiness and misplaced heroism. This is all your fault. The very least you can do is…is…” Her voice dropped off and she covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.

Harry had the horrible suspicion she might be crying.

Good God. He hadn’t wanted her to be that female.

CHAPTER TWO

“DON’T YOU touch me.” Charlie stared at the behemoth coming toward her, his expression now bemused. She drew a deep breath, absolutely refusing to give in to her tears, her disappointment. She felt humiliated and decided most of it was his fault. She lifted her chin in the air and said with disdain, “You’ve done plenty, already.”

He held up his hands—very large, capable hands. “I’m sorry. But we don’t have time for this.” She started to speak, but then he put the gun in the back of his belt, and she wanted that gun, damn him. She didn’t trust him, didn’t trust anyone at this point, and needed to be able to protect herself. Whoever would have thought a simple Monday could get so dastardly confused?

After all her efforts to move Floyd—and she really did want to toss his body out—it took Harry only a second to heave him to the other end of the truck bed, well out of danger from falling out.

He pulled a knife from his own pocket, stripped off Floyd’s jacket, and proceeded to cut it up. He used the cloth strips to tie and gag Floyd in record time.

“Now.” He stood and dusted off his hands.

He seemed to have things well in control and that annoyed her anew. At first, he’d seemed too pretentious to get involved in a scuffle. But once he’d gotten involved, he’d been beyond impressive. It wasn’t what she’d expected of him at all.

She was used to being the one in control, the one people came to for help. This man acted as though getting kidnapped and held at gunpoint was a regular part of his workweek. “Now what?”

The truck shifted again and Harry braced himself before giving her a wary, probing look. “You’re not going to cry?”

“No.” Charlie almost laughed at his look of relief. She hadn’t figured him to be the type to fall apart over female tears. She gave him a sideways look. “How about you?”

He paused, stared at her a moment, then raised his brows. “I’m holding up. Completely dry-eyed.”

“Good, because I can’t stand blubbering men.”

He gave her a small smile—a very charming smile actually, and she was beyond shocked that she noticed. She ducked her chin to avoid looking at him.

“We’re on an incline,” he noted thoughtfully. He picked up his coat from the corner, shook it out, then slipped it back on. “Let me get the door open and see where we’re headed.”

Charlie bit her lip and mustered up a calm tone. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she’d always heard. “Since you have the knife, I’ll hold the gun.”

“No.”

She bristled at his blunt reply. “Why not?”

Harry carefully lifted the door a foot or so, then lay on his belly and peeked out. He kept looking at her over his shoulder, as if he expected her to push him out as she’d planned to do with Floyd. It wasn’t a bad idea, except that it’d be impossible; he was twice as big as Floyd and very alert. Besides, she didn’t particularly want to get that close to him.

His thick brown hair dripped with rain when he pulled his head back inside. “We’re near the Wayneswood exit.”

Charlie gasped. “Wayneswood!” She hadn’t realized they’d traveled quite so far. Her heart started an erratic pounding. “I have to get home.”

“Come here.” Harry lifted the door a bit more and sat, hanging his legs over the edge. He took the time to overlap his long coat, protecting his trousers as much as possible from the pounding rain.

Once Charlie had settled beside him—accepting whatever his plan might be, because she had none of her own—Harry took her hand. She jerked and had to struggle not to pull away. She didn’t want to look like a wilting ninny.

“As the truck travels uphill,” Harry explained, “it will have to slow down even more. We can jump out then. Luckily the rain will help conceal us, in the event Ralph glances out his mirror.”

“It’s too dark for him to see us.”

“Perhaps. But a flash of movement might draw his attention and we can’t take the chance. So lie low as soon as you can. Just flatten out on the road and we’ll hope the truck keeps going. I don’t relish the idea of getting into a shoot-out.”

“Coward. Give me the gun.”

He grinned and shook his head at her. “Valiant try, but I don’t provoke that easily, so you can hold the insults.”

He completely ignored the rude sound she made.

“Besides, I have experience in handling guns.”

His large hand felt so warm, and his muscled thigh pressed hard against her own. She shivered. Hand-holding with an appealing man was definitely not on the agenda for today. For the most part, it hadn’t been on the agenda for her entire life. Raising her free hand, she flicked her earring with the flattened bullet attached. “So do I.”

“You mean that trinket is real? And here I thought it was part of your costume.”

She ground her teeth. He was humoring her, and she wouldn’t put up with it. “It’s real.”

“Hmm.” She was very aware of his thumb rubbing along her knuckles, and his close scrutiny. “Whatever could you possibly be involved in that would require a gun?”

To ease her own tension, and defuse his attentions, she said, “I own a bar. Usually it’s as dull as dishwater, but one night things got too rowdy and there was gunfire. This particular bullet missed my head by an inch. I decided it was lucky. You?”

He watched her too closely and far too long before he answered. With an elegant shrug he said, “I’m a private investigator.” And that was that.

With no more confidences forthcoming, Charlie turned her attention back to the weather. “We’re going to be drenched.” Already her jeans were wet at the bottom. Her legs didn’t extend nearly as far as his, but the rain blew furiously in all directions.

“True enough. However, it’s not all that cold yet and the rain helps to mask the noise we make in the truck. I’m grateful to Mother Nature for her assistance.”

Charlie made a face at him, though he didn’t see it. So calm, so sure of what he planned to do. She wanted to know what was going on, who he was and what he’d been up to, why Floyd and Ralph had taken money from the store owner and what a private investigator had to do with it. Her curiosity was pricked, even though she had no room for other mysteries, other ventures. And now definitely wasn’t the time. First she had to get back to Corsville. All her plans, shot through.

“You’d truly have let them shoot me?”

She lifted her face to see Harry studying her. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant. So damn good-looking. “Of course,” she lied, disconcerted with his stare and just annoyed enough to goad him. She evidently used enough sincerity because his fierce frown reappeared.

Despite his obvious polish, he looked almost demonic with that evil glare. His incredible light brown eyes seemed scorching hot and far too probing, as if he could see inside her. She shivered, then shook off the fanciful thoughts. He was just a man like all the others, bigger, definitely stronger and more eloquent, but still fairly basic and ruled by simple motivations. She could, and would, control him.

His gaze lowered to her chest. “I can’t imagine why. You don’t appear to have anything all that spectacular to conceal.”

He was going for the jugular, but Charlie, having worked in a bar for the past seven years, wasn’t even tempted by the familiar baiting. At least her disguise had worked well. She was wearing enough layers to keep her warm and conceal any feminine curves at the same time.

Harry squeezed her hand to regain her attention and his expression was still too intent. “It’s not that I haven’t been shot before, you understand, but—”

“You should be more careful with your gun.”

His eyes darkened, grew hotter. “Not with my gun, you little—”

“Listen. Isn’t he shifting now? And if I’m not mistaken, the truck is slowing.”

Harry gave her a long look of promised retribution. “Yes.” He pulled his long legs up against the bed of the truck, bracing himself. “Time for us to go.”

Charlie gulped. She looked down at the passing roadway beneath her and winced. True enough the truck had slowed, but the road still flew by them.

“One…”

“Ah, maybe—”

“Two…”

“Wait a second!”

“…three.”

“Harry!”

“Go.” And with that, he gave her a shove while using his muscular bulk to propel them out. They landed together, their hands still linked, and somehow Harry managed to get beneath her so that he cushioned much of her fall, not that his hard body felt much more giving than the roadway. They tumbled before coming to a dead stop, her on top, their legs tangled together. But just as quickly he rolled to the left, putting her beneath him—and into a very large icy puddle. She sucked in her breath with the shock of it.

His enormous body covered her completely, unmoving, heavy and hard. For the moment she was unable to think with any clarity. It felt as though her teeth had been jarred loose and with his great hulking weight on her, she couldn’t draw a deep breath. Rain struck her face, icy cold and stinging against her flesh.

After a moment he lifted his head and looked behind them. Rain ran in rivulets from his hair to her chest. “The truck lights are going around the bend. I do believe Ralph is totally unaware that he’s lost his guests.”

When she didn’t respond, he looked down at her. Charlie stared at his shadowed features in the darkness, struck again by his perfect handsomeness. He seemed such a contradiction. A fancy-pants, but with a lumberjack’s body. A gallant hero, but still a bit earthy. She couldn’t help but be awed by him, and she hated it.

His head lowered until he blocked the worst of the rain from her face, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Her chest constricted the tiniest bit more.

It was absurd! She’d long ago learned the truth about men and their deceptions. But now, at the most unlikely of times, her mind had gone wandering along wayward paths.

Still, she could feel him from breasts to knees, and he was firm and muscled and big. The wet ground and the danger seemed to fade for just a moment.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was low and deep and she wondered at it, even as she felt her belly curl in response to his tone. “I can’t breathe.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered for long moments. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “My apologies.” Gingerly, he removed himself, groaning every so often. He offered her a hand and together they sat there in the middle of the road. “I lingered in the hopes of feeling something worthy of my life, but you seem to be all pointy bones.”

“What are you whining about?” As she stood, forcing her wobbly legs to support her, she squished. The puddle had seeped beneath her leather jacket to the layers of padding beneath. She was soggy as an old dishrag and probably holding about a gallon of water.

“Your breasts, sweetheart, those magnificent assets that are worth my life.”

Oh for pity’s sake. “Are you still harking on about that?” She looked around and saw nothing but darkness and endless stretching highway. The rain continued to fall, but luckily there was no traffic. None at all. “Where are we?”

“Yes, I’m still harking. It is my life, after all, though it obviously means little enough to you. And I’d say we’re in the middle of the damn road, somewhere between Corsville and oblivion, getting more sodden by the second.”

She started walking, leaving him behind. With every step, her boots, two sizes two large and now slick with the rain from the inside out, rubbed against her heels. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and she knew before long she’d have horrible blisters. But what else could she do? Stand around and wait for Ralph to return? Miss the grand performance she’d waited a lifetime to witness?

Probably, her thinking continued, she’d already missed it. That prospect angered her so much, she ignored Harry when he called to her.

“Hold up.” His large hand closed on her arm and pulled her to a halt. “We can’t just traipse down the middle of the road. In case it’s escaped your notice, Floyd and Ralph are not nice men. They could double back looking for us. We need to get out of sight.”

True enough, she thought, and nodded. “Yeah, and I suppose that means the woods.” She glanced down at his dress shoes. “And with this downpour, it’ll be a swamp.” Her smile wasn’t entirely nice. She started in that direction, and Harry followed. Both sides of the highway were lined with thick trees and little else.

“I can see by your snide expression you expect me to have a certain aversion to mud?”

She kept walking. “I hope not, ’cause big and heavy as you are, you’ll sink up to your knees.”

Harry turned up his collar and swiped the rain from his face, then shaded his eyes. “With all those trees acting as an umbrella, the ground might not be as saturated as you think.”

“You hope.”

He ignored her. “And likely the woods abut a farm or some sort of residential dwelling. We could get access to a phone.”

She turned to face him. “All right, have you convinced yourself?”

His look of condescension had her grinning again. “I was attempting to reassure you, but I see the effort was wasted. Allow me to lead.”

“Sure thing, Harry.” At least his big body would block some of the rain. She stumbled along behind him in her heavy, soaked clothes, more miserable than she’d ever been in her life—not that she’d let him know it.

Harry took her arm. “You surprise me. I didn’t expect you to be so agreeable.”

She hunched both shoulders against the rain and trod onward, pulled along by his hand on her arm. “I’m easy.”

His chuckle could be heard even over the rainstorm. “No grand confessions here, if you please. Not when I can’t do anything about them.”

She tried to stare at him, lost at his words, but he more or less dragged her behind him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned again; she couldn’t see it, but she could hear it. “I appreciate an easy woman as much as the next man. But these conditions aren’t exactly conducive to seduction.”

Appalled, she forgot to watch her step and tripped over a tree root. Harry pulled her upright before her face hit the mud. Of all the outrageous!… “I wasn’t talking about sex, you idiot!”

They continued a few more feet, and luckily, though the mud did suck at her too-big boots, it was drier, the rain not so blinding, filtered by the many trees.

“That’s for the best, I suppose, since I don’t as yet know what you have to offer. All I know is that you apparently think it’s worth a man’s life.”

She rolled her eyes and decided to ignore him. Several minutes later, she was wincing in pain.

Harry stopped and turned to frown down on her. Without the rain lashing her face, her eyes were able to adjust to the darkness, and once again she found herself scrutinizing him.

He was by far the biggest man she’d ever seen, tall and thickly muscled, but with grace, if such a thing was possible. And he had the strangest eyes, a shade lighter than his medium brown hair, almost a whiskey color, but bright and thick lashed. Intense, bordering on wicked. When he looked at her, she actually felt it; she’d felt it even back in the store. That’s how she’d known he was creeping up on her, intent on telling her something. She hadn’t wanted his attention or anyone else’s. She’d wanted to be able to concentrate on her first small victory in her private war.

But the plan had fallen through. Damn Dalton Jones.

Harry touched her chin, his fingers gentle. “What’s the matter? I expected a tenacious little mug like you to keep up, not lag behind.”

She sighed. Showing a weakness to this man, any weakness, went against the grain. He was the one out of his element, yet he hadn’t offered a single complaint. But there was no hope for it. “My feet are killing me.”

“Ah, I see. Well, since I may want to retain that pleasure for myself—killing you, that is—why don’t you explain to me exactly what the problem is?”

The threat didn’t alarm her. She was already used to his wry sense of humor and didn’t fear him at all. “My boots are too big and now that they’re wet they’re sliding up and down and I can feel the blisters on my heels. It hurts.”

He stared down at her, those eyes of his bright in the darkness, like a wild animal surveying prey, making her shiver with a strange and exciting feeling. But his voice, in comparison, was soft, inquiring. “Why are your boots too large?”

She scowled, attempting to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. “Because I hadn’t exactly planned on trudging through the woods in them.”

Coming down on his haunches in front of her, he said, “Give me your foot.”

“The bottom is covered in mud.”

“I’ll survive.”

He lifted her foot and wiggled her boot, judging the size while ignoring her cry of pain—the jerk.

“I have some knit gloves in my pocket. Do you think you could stuff them into the heels as a little padding?”

Her sore feet loved the idea. “Yeah, thanks.”

To her surprise, he picked her up.

To her further surprise, he cursed and hastily set her back down again when streams of rainwater squished out of her clothing to run down his chest. “What in the world are you wearing? You feel like a sodden mop and weigh a ton.”

She flushed, both from his initiated gallantry and his censure. She wasn’t used to either. No man tried to schmooze her, and they sure as hell didn’t try to boss her around. Through gritted teeth, she explained, “I have a few…layers on.”

Though she tried to duck away, one large hand reached beneath her jacket and clutched at the material over her rib cage. He squeezed, and it was like wringing out a rag. “Ah. I assume this is why your precious breasts are invisible?”

Overcome with embarrassment, ready to drown him in the nearest available mud puddle, she nodded. “And you can shut your mouth on any more questions because it’s none of your damn business anyway!”

“My curiosity grows in leaps and bounds.”

“I hope you choke on your blasted curiosity.”

He laughed. “Come on, and no, I won’t carry you regardless of how your feet hurt.”

“I wasn’t going to ask!”

He assisted her to a fallen log amidst tons of greenery. Charlie prayed it wasn’t poison ivy vines twining everywhere. Harry crouched in front of her again and tugged off the boots.

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” He pulled the gloves from his pockets, folded one in half and put it inside her sock. “Let’s try this and see how it works.” After both feet were repaired and her boots back on, she stood.

“How does it feel?”

The gloves were soft and thankfully dry. She took a few careful steps, then smiled. “Much better. Thanks. You’re a handy man to have around, Harry.”

He opened his mouth and she said, “If ever again I find myself kidnapped and then abandoned in a rainstorm on an empty highway bordering the woods while wearing boots that are too big, why then, you’re just the man I’d want to…”

A beep sounded, interrupting her teasing, and they both jumped. Harry started to shove her behind him and she laughed. “I appreciate your efforts to save me from my pager, but I think I can handle it.”

He muttered a low curse.

Charlie looked at the lit dial and added her own, more heated and descriptive curses to his.

He tsked her language, then asked, “An important call?”

“My sister.”

“Will she worry about you and send someone to find you? Did she know where you were today?”

“Yes and no and no.”

“I forgot the order of my questions. Care to clarify?”

Charlie felt like crying. Her poor sister. She hadn’t wanted Charlie to go through with her scheme. She’d said it didn’t matter. And now she’d be sick with worry.

“Charlie?”

It was the first time he’d called her by name and she liked the way his cultured tones made it sound. Everyone she knew called her Charlotte, despite her protestations. Her mother had set the example, and everyone had followed it. Except for her sister, but then her sister loved her.

“I hate to say it, Harry, but no, no one will look for us. My sister will worry when I don’t call her back, but she won’t know what to do, or where to check.”

She fell silent for a long time, her thoughts dark and troubled, when Harry touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

That particular tone was new coming from him, and it surprised her. No one worried about her. “Of course.”

“You’re quiet and I don’t like it.” His hand touched her cheek, her ear. “I don’t want you to turn too brooding on me. It unnerves me and won’t help anything.”

“So distract me.”

She saw the flash of his grin before he tried to hide it. “I’d be glad to oblige you, even though you’re too short and your assets are still rather questionable, regardless of the high value you’ve put upon them—”

“Harry.”

“—but again, it’s just too messy out here. Too much mud and too many weeds I don’t recognize and don’t want my more private body parts to come into contact with. Plus, I don’t know anything about you, why you’re dressed as a male, if you’re possibly gay—”

“I’m not gay.”

“Well, being that we’re alone for who knows how long, that’s a comfort of sorts I suppose.”

Charlie stopped. She turned to face him, her hands fisted. “Will you stop blathering on. And what possible difference could it make to you if I’m gay or not?”

“We may never find civilization again. Or at least, it could take more hours than I’m willing to ponder. Feminine company might come in handy. Think about it. It’s almost romantic. All alone in a dark woods, silence all around us. Only my body to keep you warm and protect you.”

Though she knew he was being sarcastic, her stomach tingled at his words. She could almost feel his heat.

Men never flirted with her, if indeed that’s what he was doing. Men threw lewd comments her way on occasion, but she doubted Harry could sound lewd if he tried.

She dredged up her own sarcasm to mask her response. “All we need is candlelight and wine?”

His voice lowered to a sexy rumble. “I never imbibe when with a woman. It dulls the senses, you know, and I prefer to feel everything as it’s supposed to be felt.”

Despite herself, she drew in a long breath of surprise.

He laughed, then flicked her nose. “Also a flashlight is more economical. Candlelight is far too vague.” He pulled a small penlight from his pocket, dangling with his keys from a key chain. “I think I’d like a nice sharp beam of light so I can fully explore things. Especially these mysterious breasts of yours.” A skinny beam of light flashed over her shoulders and she jerked around, giving him her back. She saw the light coast lower.

“Harry,” she warned.

“Hmm?”

“You’re being outrageous.” She started walking again, no better reply forthcoming.

“Thank you.” When she snorted, he said, “I did manage to distract you, didn’t I?”

She paused in her stride, but just for a moment. “I suppose. Now tell me why you were in that store, what a private investigator has to do with Floyd and Ralph. And, oh yeah, who’s Carlyle?”

“If I tell will you tell?”

“Kind of like, show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

“I’m willing if you are. Of course, I don’t have the added pressure of having to produce something worth a man’s life.”

Charlie laughed, she couldn’t help herself. For several years now, she’d disdained men, her supposed father especially, though she didn’t remember the man all that well anymore, the long ago memories and her mother’s words mixing together in confusion. Today might have been the day to end the confusion, but everything had gone worse than wrong.

As to the others, the men who sat in her saloon night after night, drinking themselves into a stupor, claiming their wives were responsible or irresponsible or dull. And her mother’s old boyfriends, no accounts without a future or the urge to motivate. They were all jerks and users and she had nothing but contempt for them all.

Harry was different. He was outrageous, true, but he made her laugh and his outrageousness wasn’t a threat or an insult, but rather a game, a certain charming wit that he employed with skill. She had no fear he would force her, or that he’d actually try to humiliate her as Floyd had. He was big and brave, and something of a hero, a fact she couldn’t deny since she’d seen herself the efforts he’d made to try to protect her, even with a gun to his head.

“How old are you, Harry?”

“An odd question, coming out of the blue like that, but why not? As a conversational gambit, it beats the obvious chitchat of weather, and it’s as good as any other. I’m thirty-two. And you?”

“Are you a good private eye?”

“Meaning?”

“Do you make much money at it?”

He cleared his throat. “Less of a gambit, but yes, I support myself nicely if that’s what you mean.”

He was probably expensive, too expensive, but maybe she could figure something out. “How long have you been in the detecting business?”

“Detecting? Well, let’s see. About six years now.”

“Are you kind to animals?”

He laughed. “There’s a purpose to this interview? All right, I’ll trust there is. I have two dogs and a cat and they love me or at least they pretend to in order to get me to do their bidding or sometimes when I find a chewed up shoe or a mess in the corner. Does that answer your question?”

“Are you married?”

“Did you have an unemployed dog in mind that you’re hoping to foist off on me?”

A small lump of dread formed in her stomach and she struggled to keep her tone light. “So you are married?”

“Divorced, actually, not that it should concern you.”

She turned to face him. He was big and gorgeous and funny and a hero. He might well be the man she needed. God knew her level of success on her own hadn’t been anything to boast about, especially given today’s incredible fiasco. “I think I like you, Harry.”

“Look there,” Harry said, pointing over her head and studiously ignoring her last statement. “A building of some sort. I do believe salvation is at hand.”

Charlie looked in the direction he indicated. They’d wandered completely through the woods to another road. A small block building, bludgeoned by the rain, sat close to the road, looking indeed like salvation.

Harry, his face averted, plodded onward and Charlie gladly let him lead the way, content to follow behind. To say she trusted him now would definitely be going too far, but he’d made her laugh and that was a huge accomplishment. As to the rest, she’d just have to wait and see.

CHAPTER THREE

“WELL WHAT DO you know, it’s an abandoned gas station.”

Harry stood in a spot of grease, thankfully out of the rain, and studied their little Eden. He’d had to kick in the door, which had proved remarkably easy given the rotting wood and rusty lock. Likely inhabited by any number of critters, it was still dry and safe and a block against the growing breeze. The rain finally began to taper off, but with that concession came a chill that sank bone-deep. The temperature had dropped by several degrees and he could see Charlie’s lips shivering. Nice lips, sort of pouty in a seductive way, especially for a woman who wasn’t all that attractive and seemed to have a problem with cordial behavior. Would she have really let them shoot him?

Damn her, he just didn’t know.

“How long has it been empty do you think?”

She stood huddled in the middle of the floor, her arms wrapped tight around herself, her knees knocking together, determined not to utter a single complaint, as if admitting to the cold was a weakness. Strange woman.

A growing puddle formed around her. Her hair had mostly come loose from the rubber band and was starting to curl just the tiniest bit.

“Perhaps from the time they put in the highway some five years ago. This is the old county road. No one travels it anymore which is, I presume, the reason this particular station closed up.”

“The road must still lead somewhere though, to a house or two.”

“No doubt, but we won’t be finding any help in this storm. You’re the picture of misery, half-frozen and too tired to budge. Time to get as dry as possible.” He looked at her, saw her staring back wide-eyed, and added, “That means removing your ridiculous costume.”

She froze in the process of rubbing her arms, sluicing off more water. “Is that the only tune you know? All right, damn it, I lied. I wouldn’t have let them shoot you, not if I could help it. But I knew if they thought I cared, they’d think we were together. I wanted them to take you and forget about me.”

Well, that was brutal honesty of a sort. Not quite what he’d had in mind, but… “Believe it or not, Charlie, it was my wish as well.” He found a crate, tested it for sturdiness and sat down with a deep groan of pleasure. “I had no desire to be responsible for you, and in fact I could have defused this entire situation if you hadn’t screwed things up.”

“It was you—”

He held up a hand. “No more bickering. And no more ridiculous modesty. Your belated concern for my safety has nothing to do with anything. I don’t want to be lugging a half-dead woman back to town tomorrow, and that’s what you’ll be if you don’t make some effort to warm yourself. It has nothing to do with my curiosity over your precious body parts.”

“You have only my welfare in mind?”

“Quit sneering.” He felt a smile tug at his lips and firmly repressed the urge to grin at her. “Come now, you must be in your mid-twenties at least. Surely you can’t claim all that much modesty. I promise not to be impressed no matter what you unveil.”

She looked ready to strike him, so he quickly added, “I’ll make the grand sacrifice. My coat is still fairly dry on the inside, given that it’s made for this weather and water repellent. You can wrap up in it after you’ve gotten out of your wet clothes.”

She chewed her lips, thinking of heaven knew what, and finally shaking her head. More hair slipped free and clung to her forehead and cheeks. She didn’t look like a boy now; she looked like a drowned rat. A wide-eyed, nervous rat. “No.”

“What if I insist?”

She went stiff as a poker. “Insist all you want! I’m not taking anything off and I’m not—” Her voice dwindled into a very ratlike squeak when he started toward her. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

“You’re being unreasonable, Charlie. I hadn’t thought you the type to submit to hysterics, but what else can it be? You can’t be comfortable and if there was enough light to see, I have no doubt you’d be a pale shade of blue.” He caught her arm and she tried to jerk away. He easily caught the neck of her jacket and stripped it off her, despite her efforts and the volume of her rank curses. The woman had the vocabulary of a sailor. “It’s too dark in here for close observation anyway. What exactly do you suppose I’ll see?”

“You’ll see nothing because you’re going to take your hands off me right now.”

That calm tone of hers should have given him a warning, but he was too intent on forcing her to accept his benevolence. He was wet also, yet he’d offered her his coat, which would leave him with only his dress shirt and undershirt. Contrary to popular female opinion, men were not impervious to the cold. She should be thanking him, not cursing his ancestors. Why were women always so stubborn?

And then he felt the gun press into his ribs. He almost laughed. She’d done nothing but surprise him since he’d first spotted her. It was entertaining when it wasn’t so annoying.

“Ah, you’re fast. Don’t tell me. You were a pickpocket once, weren’t you, as well as a saloon girl? No, don’t lie to me.”

“I wasn’t going to lie! I’m not a saloon girl, I’m the owner, and no, I was never a pickpocket. It’s just that you weren’t paying attention.” She pressed the gun harder against him. “And you’re slow.”

In the next instant he jerked up her wrist and snatched the gun from her hand. In the process, it fired, the sound loud and obscene, sending particles of ceiling plaster to rain down on their heads. They both heard a flurry of scurrying from around them.

The shock left them still as statues. “Good grief, what was that?”

Harry was aware of her uneasiness, even her breath held. “Rats. And at the moment, they’re the least of your worries.” This time he stuck the gun a good distance inside his pants, then dared her with a look to try retrieving it. “Now.”

She quickly regained her aplomb. “You’re lucky you didn’t shoot me!”

“I’d say you were luckier, being that you would have been the one shot.” He took a firm step toward her.

“All right.” She held up her hands. “Give me your coat, then turn your back and close your eyes.”

“No.” The silly woman persisted in her belief that he was an idiot.

“You’re not going to watch, Harry.”

“In case it’s escaped your notice, it’s exceedingly dim in here. What miserly moonlight there is can hardly penetrate the rain and the dust on the broken windows. I can’t see my own hand in front of my face.” That was an exaggeration; he could see just fine, but she didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll give you the coat, and if you’ll promise not to do anything else foolish, I’ll try to find a propitious spot for us to nest in until this storm completely blows over.”

She curled her lip at him. “Your diction is astounding.”

“Thank you.” He handed her the coat and turned away, kicking debris with his feet as he carefully walked.

“It wasn’t a compliment!” she called out, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “You’re what the regulars at my bar would call a fancy-pants.”

“I’m wounded to my soul by their censure.” The station stunk, literally. He could smell oil and rotting vegetation and heaven only knew what else. He preferred not to ponder the possibilities. He retrieved his tiny flashlight, flicked the light around in a wide arc, avoiding Charlie’s dark corner, then settled on an area that would have to do.

“I’ve found a spot that’s fairly dry and empty, and there’s an old car bench seat. I suppose it’ll support us and keep us off the cold cement floor.”

He heard a “plop” and knew she’d dropped part of her disguise. He smiled in the darkness. “What exactly did you have on under your shirt?”

“Some old linen, pinned in place.” Another plop. “Why don’t you sit on the bench just to make sure nothing else is nesting there. I’m not keen on sharing with rats.”

“I’m sure they feel the same about you.” He kicked the seat with his foot. Nothing happened. Holding the flashlight in his teeth, he lifted one end and dropped it. And then did it again. “Nothing but an abundance of dust.”

Another plop.

He turned off the flashlight before the temptation became too overwhelming. His eyeballs almost itched with the urge to peek. “Exactly how many layers did you have on?”

“Enough to get rid of any lumps or bumps, which was easy since my femaleness isn’t all that noticeable anyway.”

Temptation swelled. He looked toward her voice, but could only see a vague outline. He felt cheated and stared harder, but still only got shifting shadows and a stinging sense of guilt.

A wet length of toweling slapped up against his face. “You can use that to wipe off our nest.”

Grumbling, he did as instructed then turned to her again. “I beg to differ. About your femaleness, I mean.” He noticed her voice shook when she talked, more from cold now than anything else. His concern doubled. “If you’ll recall, I knew right away that you were a female sort of person.”

“I don’t understand that. No one else noticed.”

He could hear the chattering of her teeth. Definitely the cold. “Come here, Charlie. Let me warm you.”

Not a sound. Not a movement. The irritating little twit.

“Oh for pity’s sake.” Though he tried to hide it, his irritation came through. “Charlie? Come on, I’ve proven myself by now, haven’t I? We may have the entire night ahead of us, with nothing but the rain and the rats for company. Regardless of how stoic you might be, I don’t mind admitting I’m cold. Let’s at least make the attempt to get warm.”

She took a step out of the shadows and he could see her vigorously rubbing her hair with her discarded shirt. His coat covered her from neck to ankles, enormously big on her petite frame. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

“A little cuddling.” He smiled, already feeling the anticipation which was surely odd considering she really wasn’t all that attractive and she had a penchant for insulting him with every breath. It was a unique feeling for him, being insulted by a woman. Even his ex-wife had refrained from that, at least until the very end. Before that, she’d been cajoling and sweet, even as she tried to manipulate him. Unaccountably, Charlie’s bluntness piqued his interest. There was no understanding the workings of male hormones. “I’m willing to sacrifice myself by being on the bottom. You can sit on my, ah, lap and with our combined body heat we should stay warm enough.”

“I don’t know.”

Her hair was a tousled dark mass of shining black, some locks hanging down to her eyes, other flipping around her ears. She looked almost cute, in a disheveled, bedraggled way. “Charlie, did you take everything off?” Now his voice shook. Damn it.

“No, of course not! My jeans are wet, but that can’t be helped. I did remove those muddy boots, though, so you don’t have to worry about them.”

“My gratitude knows no bounds.”

“What about you?”

He cleared his throat. “Just damp around the collar. Except for my pants, which are soaked.”

“Leave them on.”

He grinned again, but kept his tone mild. “I have no intention of lacerating your dubious sensibilities by strutting around naked. Now come here.”

The stillness was palpable.

Harry sighed. “If you’re hesitating because I said you smelled nice, well, keep in mind I feel the same about new leather and burnt sugar, but neither has ever inspired me to levels of uncontrollable lust.”

He heard her grousing and mumbling, heard her shifting, then she moved a little closer. And damned if he didn’t catch a whiff of her elusive scent again, now mixed with the dampness of the rain and the fresh outdoors. With his eyes closed, he breathed deeply.

“Why burnt sugar?”

She’d sidled close, near enough that he could see her clearly, could reach out and touch her. He did, his fingers first landing on her narrow shoulder, and when she didn’t bolt, he let them slide down to her slender wrist. His coat sleeves had been rolled up but still hung down to her fingertips. She’d buttoned up all the way, but the coat was so big on her, the neckline hung disturbingly low. All in all, she looked adorable in his coat, all wet and stubborn and mulish. Only, he didn’t like stubborn, mulish women.

He sat on the bench and tugged her down to his lap, giving her a moment to get used to the feel of that and giving himself a chance to calm his stampeding heart.

Ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason to react so strongly to her. She was just a woman, caught up in the same bizarre circumstances as he. Masculine interest hadn’t prompted his offer to share body warmth. No, his motives were altruistic, they were—

“Harry?”

He could feel her breath on his throat when she spoke, feel her shivers. His awareness of her as a woman was acute. Slowly, wary of getting slugged at any moment, he wrapped his arms around her. “A friend of my father’s used to make me this candy. He called it burnt sugar, and I suppose that’s exactly what it is. He puts plain white sugar in a small buttered metal dish, melts it in the oven until the edges are dark brown, then lets it cool and harden. It’s sort of like a sucker without the stick, and has a different taste since it isn’t flavored at all. As a child, I forever had sticky fingers from eating burnt sugar.”

She relaxed slightly, her body settling more closely into his and he could feel her heartbeat, could hear her breathing. “I can’t imagine you as small, or with sticky fingers. You’re so big now, and you seem so…fastidious.”

“Yes, well, we all must grow up.” Hoping to catch her off-guard, he asked, “What were you doing there, Charlie? And why the cross-dressing costume?”

She turned her face inward, doing the cuddling he’d suggested. Moments before he’d been cold and uncomfortable. But now he felt abundantly warm, almost too much so. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if his damp clothing started to steam.

She was a very soft, very feminine weight nestled into his lap. And he really did enjoy her scent; something about it hit him on a gut level, very basic and primitive, forcing him to react in spite of himself. Overall, it was the kind of thing men fantasized about. Except for the kidnapping and the irritating storm.

“I was there to spy on someone.”

He hadn’t expected that, and the immediate conclusion he came to had a volatile effect on him. He stiffened, his voice sounding cold and hard even to his own ears. “A lover? A husband?”

She chuckled. “Nah, I have no interest in either of those, thank you very much.” There was a heavy silence, then she added, “I suppose you could say I was actually spying for someone else.”

“A friend?”

“Mmm. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me.”

“Well, you blundered into a mess and now I have to rescue you.”

“Just like a fabled hero?” Her hair tickled his chin as she shook her head. “Not likely. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m the first one to admit I’m not hero material. But I am bigger and stronger and I know the situation, whereas you’re small and weak—”

She punched him in the stomach and he wheezed, then immediately flattened her against him so she couldn’t retaliate further.

“—and you obviously don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Okay, so tell me. Who are these clowns who grabbed us and what are you going to do about it?”

He twisted to look down at her, and she lifted her face at the same time. Their noses bumped. Harry’s thoughts scattered, and he struggled to bring them back to order. It wasn’t easy.

“First I’m going to get you home and safe and out of my way. Then I’m going to get Floyd and Ralph, on my own ground, and pound some sense into them.” He hesitated, pondering his own words and the probability of enacting them. “Maybe. I still have to weigh my personal vendetta against a promise I made to get them both legally stopped.”

“A promise to who?”

“The friend who makes burnt sugar. He owns a shop in the area. Floyd and Ralph work for Carlyle as petty extortioners, and my friend refuses to pay. He’s been threatened, and I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“What had you planned to do today?”

As she asked it, her gaze dropped to his mouth and one small hand opened on his chest. She looked vaguely confused, as if dealing with unfamiliar feelings. Harry understood completely, since he was in a similar predicament.

He forgot to answer her for the longest time. He could feel that small palm, warm and still, like a brand against his flesh. It aroused him, and surely that was insanity.

“Harry?”

He forcibly shored up his flagging wits. “Today I was just sizing things up.” He touched her cheek where the bruise was visible, along with a little swelling. His tone lowered with regret. “Damn, I’m sorry you got hit.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Given her backbone and courage, he didn’t doubt she’d led a hard life, but hearing of it made him want to hold her closer, to protect her. They stared at each other while Harry’s fingers gently coasted over the bruise. If for no other reason than this, Floyd deserved to feel his fist, Harry decided.

“Answer me something, Charlie.” His hand cupped her cheek and she didn’t protest. He smoothed wet tendrils of hair away from her face, marveling at how soft her skin felt. Surely all women were as soft, but he couldn’t seem to remember.

She didn’t move away and he felt his heartbeat thud, felt his muscles harden. “Did you mean what you said about not being interested? Not at all?”

Her gaze met his, so close. “Interested in what?”

“A lover.”

“I don’t know.” She frowned, then looked at his mouth again. “I’ve never given it much thought.”

He drew a slow breath, filling himself with her scent. “And now?”

She looked away, then back up again with a sort of daring grin. “I admit I’m thinking about it.”

She was so bluntly honest, he smiled. Charlie might be demanding, but she would never be manipulative.

Her arms looped around his neck. “You know, Harry, this is turning into a romantic moment after all, isn’t it?

Harry gently kissed the bruise on her cheek, his lips just grazing her skin, his nose nuzzling her temple. “Hmm. And I don’t even have my flashlight out.”

She chuckled. “I’m starting to like you, Harry.”

It was the chuckle that did it, low and husky. He turned his face and she met him halfway and their mouths met, open and hot and devouring. Oh damn, Harry thought with some surprise. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t thought she’d be this way, avaricious and hungry, clinging to him as if she’d never been kissed before or was starved for it. He was the starving one, and the hunger had come on him so suddenly…. It turned him on so much he groaned.

Sweeping one large hand down her back, he fondly cupped the adorable backside he’d admired earlier. Soft and sweet, the feel of her made him want more.

But before he could allow things to progress, he felt he owed her a measure of honesty. “Charlie, honey, listen a minute. I have to tell you something.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Getting discriminating on me again, Harry?”

He swallowed hard. Did she actually think he’d want to back out when he was shaking with lust? Not likely. “I’m not interested in a romantic relationship.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “Okay.” She tried to kiss him again, her hands clutching his shoulders.

He held her back with one hand, putting breathing space between them. “Charlie, I can’t make you any promises.”

She blinked twice, then frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

She looked so confused he wanted to shake her. He realized his hand still held her bottom and he gave her a gentle squeeze, then shuddered with the effects of that caress. Damn, he wanted her. Insane.

“Marriage.” He cleared his throat and managed to explain. “All those questions earlier. You were hinting about marriage and I want you to know, my plate is full right now. I have no intentions of getting even mildly involved with a woman.”

One side of her mouth quivered, and she bit her lip. Oh God, don’t let her cry, Harry thought, his body so tense he hurt, his mind feeling like mush.

She covered her mouth with her hand and a chuckle escaped. Harry frowned. In the next instant, her chuckles turned to uproarious laughter. “You,” she said between hiccups, “thought I was sizing you up for marriage material?” She laughed some more, not dainty feminine laughter. No, this was boisterous, unrestrained hilarity. “Good grief, I hardly know you!”

Disgruntled with her misplaced mirth and his unabated lust, Harry demanded, “Then why all the questions?”

“Actually, if you must know,” she said, trying to get herself under control and failing miserably, “I had thought to hire you.”

“Hire me for what, damn it?”

“To find out more information on my father.” She wiped her eyes, perched primly on his lap with her midnight hair hung over one eye giving her a seductive look. “That’s what I was doing there today. Spying on him. I haven’t seen him in almost eighteen years.”

Harry wanted explanations and he wanted them now. Who was her father? And why the long separation?

His arms were still around her, one hand still splayed over perfect buttocks. When she smiled, her dark blue eyes seemed to smile, too.

He wished now that he’d kept his big mouth shut.

She traced his mouth with a delicate fingertip. “You really are a wonderful kisser, Harry.”

Hope rose that he might be able to salvage this debacle, but then car lights hit the window of the gas station, and every thought other than protecting her slipped from his mind.

He shoved her off his lap and onto the dirty floor. “Stay there and don’t make a sound.” In the next second he was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARLIE SAT ON the floor, her backside bruised, her lust squelched. Where had Harry gone? On hands and knees she crawled to the window to peek out. Just as her head lifted, Harry snatched it back down.

Hissing close to her ear, he asked, “Is there a particular reason you want to offer up your brains for target practice?”

“Where did you go?” Her words were muffled against his fly, and while there, she noticed he’d suffered quite a reaction to their kisses. Heaven help her, the man was hard.

“I was surveying our options, of course. Now be still.”

She quit squirming and sighed. Having her cheek pressed to an erection, her nose smashed against a muscled thigh, with no hope of any loveplay, seemed like a terrible waste, especially since this was the first time in ages she’d been interested in such a thing. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

At that moment, Floyd called out. “You might as well come on out of there!”

Charlie whispered, “He certainly sounds furious.”

“Yes, well, maybe he knows you planned to toss him off the truck.”

“Ha! I think it’s probably his aching jaw where you slugged him that has the bastard madder than hell.”

He tsked. “Your language is a disgrace.”

“You have my face buried in your lap, but you’re worried about my language?”

Harry groaned, and his fingers contracted on the back of her head. “This is no time for your unregulated tongue, so keep quiet if you please.”

“We know you’re both in there!” Floyd growled. “There wasn’t no place else for you to go. Now come on out and maybe we won’t shoot you. We’ll just take you to Carlyle.”

Harry kept one large hand mashed against her head, forcing her to stay low, as he yelled out, “I have your gun, remember? Come anywhere near here and I’ll be obliged to put a bullet in you! At the moment, the thought doesn’t distress me at all.”

Curses exploded from outside the garage.

“He really doesn’t like you, Harry.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

Unable to help herself, she nuzzled slightly into his lap. Harry jerked away. “Keep your head down, and no, don’t say a thing. In case you’ve failed to notice, we’re in something of a situation here. I need to keep my wits collected.” When she dutifully remained silent, he nodded. “Good. Now, I’m going to draw them to the back of the garage. There’s a door back there, and when they think we’re escaping out the back, we’ll make a run for the truck. Understand?”

He was all business, his eyes bright, his voice low, his body hard, poised for action. He impressed the hell out of Charlie, being so urbane one minute and so lethal the next.

“How can I help?”

“By not getting yourself killed. Now, do you understand everything I told you?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

He sighed. “I suppose I’m to take that as a yes.” He started to move away, then suddenly leaned forward and grabbed her by the neck. His mouth landed on hers, hot and hard, for the briefest second, and then he disappeared into the shadows. He managed to move without making a sound, causing her admiration to grow.

Charlie plopped down onto her backside and waited. She didn’t like waiting. She felt ineffectual and cowardly and the feelings didn’t rest well with her at all. She was used to taking action, to controlling things.

Floyd evidently didn’t like waiting, either. “I’m losing patience!” he shouted. “I’ll give you to the count of ten, then we’re coming in and shooting any damn thing that moves. Carlyle would rather have you dead than loose.”

Hurry up, Harry, she thought, listening as Floyd started a loud, monotonous recitation of his numbers.

Glass shattered at the back of the garage, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Cautiously, Charlie peeked over the edge of the window above her head. Floyd and Ralph stood frozen in the moonlight for a single heartbeat, then they cursed and ran hellbent for the back of the garage.

She waited until they were out of sight before she slithered toward the door Harry had kicked in, proud of the fact that she, too, made no discernible noise. She’d barely edged outside before a rough, hot hand clamped over her mouth and a steely arm closed tight around her waist. She would have panicked if it hadn’t been for Harry’s height, assuring her he was the one who’d accosted her.

Without struggling, she got dragged to the truck and roughly thrust inside through the driver’s door. Harry slid in beside her.

Seething, Charlie restraightened the huge coat she wore, holding the throat closed with a fist, and leaned close to whisper, “What? You thought I’d refuse your rescue and opt to stay with my buddy Floyd? Is that why you felt you had to manhandle—”

“No keys, damn it.”

She squeaked. “What do you mean, no keys? How the heck are we going to—”

He thrust the gun into her hand. “Watch out for the two stooges while I hot-wire this barge.”

Bemused, Charlie looked down at the gun in her hand, then to where Harry bent low beneath the dash, then dutifully out the window.

Hmm. There was something innately sexy about a man who could hot-wire.

It took him mere seconds. He’d just managed to fire the engine when Floyd and Ralph came stumbling back around the garage, their curses so hot Charlie’s ears felt singed, and that was surely impressive given she’d been raised hearing curses all her life. The two men literally jumped up and down in rage as gravel and mud slung off the spinning tires, embellishing Harry’s daring getaway. Ralph fired, and Charlie thought she heard a bullet or two hit the side of the truck bed, but it didn’t slow Harry. She waited, wondering if, because of the gunshot, he’d feel it necessary to put her head back in his lap.

She was slightly disappointed when he didn’t.

Harry didn’t say a word, concentrating instead on finding the main road and figuring out how to turn on the lights, the wiper blades, the heat. Charlie was just about to tuck the gun into her pocket when he retrieved it from her without a word.

She knew a struggle for the gun was useless, and she scowled. “Now what?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at her, his gaze moving over her from head to toe, then cursed slightly. “I think we’ll abandon this truck outside town. No sense in taking a chance that Carlyle or one of his cronies will recognize it and want to pull us over. We’ll grab a taxi to my apartment.”

“Why your apartment?” Not that she’d complain. Her curiosity over Harry grew more rampant with every moment she spent in his company. From his place, she could call her sister, and then maybe they could finish what they’d started at the garage. She glanced down at Harry’s lap, but the interior of the cab was too dark to tell if he still reacted to their little interlude. She liked it a lot that she’d turned him on. In all her life, she’d seldom had the opportunity, or the desire, to indulge in lust. But with Harry, well, she was more than a little intrigued.

“I think we need to talk, to figure out what we’re going to do.”

Charlie sighed, then carefully ventured a suggestion. “I don’t think we should call the police.”

Harry stilled for a moment, smoothly switched gears, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll bite. Well, not really, not unless you wanted me to, and then it’d be more appropriate to say nibble—”

“Harry.”

“Why don’t you want to contact the police?”

“Because I can’t see any way for you to explain this without telling them I was there, dressed as a guy, spying. And I’d just as soon no one knew about that.”

“I can see where that would be a tale you’d hesitate to broadcast. But as it so happens I don’t relish involving the police, either.”

“And your reasons are?” When he only slanted her a look, she poked him in the side. “No way, Harry. I told, now it’s your turn.”

“You told very little, actually.”

“I’ll get into more detail once I’m warm and dry and have time to reason a few things out.”

“I suppose that’ll have to appease me.”

“Give it up, Harry.”

He didn’t want to, she could tell that. He gave her a grudging look that almost made her smile. “I promised my friend I wouldn’t involve any of the other people in the area. They’re older proprietors, like Pops, and they aren’t excessively fond of the police right now.”

“You mean Pops—the guy who runs the store we were in before Floyd decided to play kidnapper?”

“That’s right. They’ve contacted the police a few times in the past over other situations—loud music, loitering, things like that. They were pretty much told that since they’re in a run-down, high-crime area, they have to expect a certain amount of that sort of thing. The police offered more surveillance, but the elders didn’t think that was enough. They were determined to take matters into their own hands, which of course would be dangerous.”

Even as she nodded, Charlie wondered if her father was one of the men being bothered. It seemed likely. She felt a moment’s worry before she firmly squelched it. Her father deserved nothing but her enmity, and that’s all he’d ever get. He’d never been there when she needed him most, but she’d found him now, and he could damn well pay. What she wanted from him—financial assistance to get her sister through college—had nothing to do with emotions or family relationships.

The rain started again, and they settled into a congenial quiet. Harry reached over and pulled her to his side. It wasn’t quite as nice as his lap, but he was warm and firm and secure, and she took comfort from his nearness, though she’d never have admitted it.

As they neared the outskirts of town, Harry nudged her with his shoulder. “It’s regretful things got interrupted back there.”

“Yeah.”

He cleared his throat. “If you’re interested…”

“Yeah.”

Laughing, Harry pulled the truck up to the curb and turned the engine off. He tilted Charlie’s face up and kissed her softly. “There’s nothing coy about you, is there?”

She raised a brow. “Should I pretend I’m not interested? That’d be dumb, Harry, since I don’t get interested all that often.”

Harry fought a smile, and lost. “So you’re telling me you’re not easy after all?”

Charlie snorted. “Most of the men that frequent my saloon could tell you I’m usually damn difficult.”

“No! You? I’ll never believe it.”

Charlie smacked his shoulder. “Smart-ass.”

Chuckling, Harry said, “Wait here. I’ll call us a taxi.”

He left the truck and trotted to a pay phone across the street. Charlie watched him go, admiring his long-legged stride, the way he held his head, the natural confidence and arrogance that appeared as obvious as his physical attributes. He was a strange man in many ways, his lofty wit and cultured diction in opposition to his easy acceptance at being kidnapped, shot at and holed up in a greasy garage. He’d stolen a truck as easily as if such a thing were a daily occurrence. Though it was apparent to Charlie he’d led an expensive, well-bred life, he hadn’t so much as sniffed at her admission to owning a saloon, or the fact that for the most part, she was an obvious gutter rat, born and bred on the shadier side of life.

And he didn’t hesitate to call her Charlie.

Most of the regulars at her saloon called her what she told them to, wary of getting on her bad side. They weren’t, however, great examples of masculine humanity, so their concessions counted for very little. She had a feeling Harry, with all his grins and arrogance and stubbornness, was a true hero, even if he’d chosen to deny it.

He watched her from the phone booth while he placed the call, alert to any possible danger. With a smile, Charlie turned away to view their surroundings. They were near a park, but not one she recognized. Of course, she had little time or interest for dawdling in parks, so that wasn’t a surprise.

Seconds later, Harry returned. His wet dress shirt clung to his upper torso, showing a large, smoothly muscled chest and shoulders, and even through his undershirt, she could see a sprinkling of chest hair. The shirt opened at the collar and his strong throat was wet, a couple of droplets of rain rolling down into the opening. Charlie swallowed.

His damp hair stuck to his nape and one brown lock hung over his brow. His light brown eyes, framed by spiked eyelashes, darkened as he watched her inspect his features. Harry leaned back on the seat and the corners of his mouth tipped in a slight smile. “Have I sprouted horns?”

Charlie shook her head. “You’re a real looker.”

One brow lifted as his smile turned into a grin. “Thank you.”

“I bet you hear that a lot.”

“Seldom enough to keep me humble.”

She choked on a laugh. “There’s not a humble bone in your big body, Harry, and I bet women fawn over you all the time.”

He didn’t deny it. He did tilt his head to look at her, then slowly reached out to touch the top button of his coat, where it rested low on her chest. “I don’t suppose you’d want to pass the time by appeasing my curiosity over these mysterious breasts of yours, would you?”

Charlie gaped. She should have been used to his boldness by now, especially since his brain did seem to stay focused on her upper assets—or lack thereof. “You expect me to just flash the coat open for your entertainment?”

He shrugged, shifted to his side to face her. His finger trailed over the deep V at the neck of the coat, tickling her skin, raising her body temperature by several degrees. “I’ll admit I’m vastly interested, and while you’re indulging in more temperate humors, I thought this might be the ideal time. Besides, what else have you got to do right now other than model for my delectation?”

He certainly had a way with words. And his gentle touch and tone, compared to the coarseness she was accustomed to, was a major turn on. But she shook her head. “I’m not putting on a show for you, Harry, so forget it.”

Harry fought his grin. “Ah, well, you do like to vex a man, don’t you?”

Before she could answer, headlights flashed against the windshield of the truck. For a second there, Charlie panicked, thinking somehow Floyd and Ralph had found them. But then Harry leaned forward, gave her a swift kiss, and said, “Our ride is here. Faster than I’d anticipated, but evidently the cabbie was in the area. Come on. Other than seeing your elusive bosom, dry clothing is the most appealing thing on my mind.”

The cabbie, a seasoned veteran, made no comment on her lack of shoes or bedraggled appearance, much to Charlie’s relief. Harry somehow managed to be imperious, despite their circumstances, and the driver gave him due deference.

Harry held her hand all the way to his apartment, which wasn’t all that far, taking a mere fifteen minutes. But it was long enough to make her edgy, to make her ponder several different things, mostly how enticing the thought of having an affair with him seemed.

He paid the cabbie, refusing to let her dig money from her own pocket to pay half. In fact, he seemed insulted by the very idea. Charlie shrugged. She needed her money, and if he wanted to play the gallant, that was fine by her.

Harry led her to the first floor of an exclusive complex, and Charlie wasn’t at all surprised to see, once he’d gotten the door unlocked, that his apartment wasn’t an apartment at all, but rather an expensively decorated, immaculate and beautiful town house. She couldn’t help herself, she felt intimidated.

Then the barking began, startling her half out of her skin.

Harry relocked the door and switched on more lights. A miniature collie and a small, stocky, mixed-breed mutt darted out around a large, beige leather sofa. The collie’s entire body quivered with happiness at the sight of Harry and he laughed as the dog jumped up and down in near berserk joy. The mutt, a little more subdued, ran circles around Harry and howled. Harry immediately knelt to rub the dog’s scruff. He glanced up at Charlie. “Meet Grace and Sooner. Grace has been with me a long time, but Sooner has only been in the family a couple of years.”

She stared at the dogs, who stared back, one sitting on each side of Harry, heads tilted, expressions alert, like sentinels guarding the king from a scourge. She grinned, and the dogs seemed to grin back.

“I can understand the name Grace, since she looks so refined. But Sooner?”

Harry shrugged. “He’d ‘sooner’ be one breed as another.”

“Ah.”

Harry patted the dogs. “She’s entirely acceptable, guys, so you may as well present her with the royal treatment.”

Once he said it, both dogs trotted over to sniff her, lick her hand, bark a few times in a doggy greeting. Then they each gave Harry a quizzical look, as if her presence made no sense at all, and retreated. Grace leaped up to lie on the sofa, resting her head on a black and beige motif throw folded over one end. Sooner went over to flop onto the floor in front of a white stone electric fireplace. He gave a loud groan and closed his eyes.

The town house was very sleek, and as Charlie looked around, she saw marble-topped oak end tables, bare wood floors with thick area rugs, and windows with streamlined blinds rather than curtains. All in all, she thought the room was gorgeous and suited Harry to a T.

She was afraid to move. Her bare feet were muddy, grime from the garage between her white toes. Water still dripped from her hair, her nose, Harry’s coat. She felt like a flea-ridden squirrel turned loose in a palace.

No wonder the dogs thought her curious.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll locate us some dry clothes. Would you like something to drink?”

All the social niceties. Charlie shook her head, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’d really like to call and check in with my sister, if you don’t mind.”

He went to a desk situated in front of a long window that looked out over the backyard. It was partially separated from the living room by a wide arched doorway. Charlie could see oak file cabinets and office equipment. She heard Harry curse.

“What’s wrong?”

“The electricity evidently went out with the storm. My answering machine is dead, meaning I’ve missed any calls that may have come in.”

“Were you expecting an important call?”

“Several, actually.” He walked back to her. “You’ll have to use the phone in my bedroom. The portable is out.”

His bedroom?

Harry crossed his arms over his wet chest and frowned at her. “Surely that look doesn’t mean you’re afraid of me? Not the woman who challenged Floyd and Ralph, the woman who did her best to bait two miscreants. I assure you, you’re safe enough with me.”

“Me, fear you? Ha!” She was more afraid of herself at the moment. She felt like tossing his gorgeous self to the floor and having her way with him. But she would never do such a thing in front of the innocent dogs. “It’s just that my feet are dirty. The dogs are cleaner than I am. I don’t want to track mud all over the place.”

Harry looked down, took in her bare feet and growled. “I forgot you’d removed those hideous boots. You could have cut yourself on something when we ran for the truck. I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner. Well, actually I can, given my attention was somewhat fractured by other things, but not so much so, I shouldn’t have noticed naked feet. I am a P.I. after all, usually very alert to small details.”

“Uh, Harry?”

He still stared at her feet. “Hmm?”

“The phone?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Okay, no help for it. I suppose I’ll have to play the martyr.”

“No! Don’t you dare… Harry, put me down.”

“You’re really very slight, now that we’ve rid you of your ridiculous waterlogged costume.” As he made his way up a flight of carpeted stairs, he looked down at her, their noses almost touching, and the smile he gave her made her catch her breath. His gaze dipped lower, and Charlie glanced down to see the coat had slipped some and she had a modest amount—all she possessed really—of cleavage showing. She tried to make a grab for the coat, but then Harry lowered her, and she realized she was in a taupe and black tiled bathroom, more specifically, he stood her in the black tub.

“Don’t move. I’ll play lady’s maid and get you a towel and dry clothes and you can clean up just a bit before we progress any further.”

Progress to what, she wondered? Another part of his home, or another level of intimacy? She knew where her vote would be, but she didn’t say so. She did need to clean up, and dry clothes sounded heavenly.

Harry reappeared with two plush white towels, a long polo shirt, and silky boxer shorts. He grinned as he laid the items on the marble vanity. “The thing is, you’re something of a squirt, so nothing I have would be small enough to fit you. However, I wear a “tall” so my shirt should make do for a dress, only I couldn’t bear the thought of you being naked beneath it, not if you expect me to exhibit my more civilized tendencies, so I determined the boxers would serve as well as anything.” He lifted his hands. “I’m fresh out of ladies’ panties.”

She drew a blank, except to ask, “You wear silk boxers?”

“Actually no. They were a gift from a friend.”

“Ah.”

He headed for the door. “Go ahead and wash up. You can hang the coat on the back of the door and I’ll take care of it later. There’s a hamper under the cabinet where you can stick your muddy jeans. I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee after I’ve changed.”

The second he was out the door, Charlie rushed through her bath. She stripped off the coat, praying it wasn’t ruined, and then spent several minutes working her wet, worn jeans down her legs. She didn’t know what to do with her panties—no way would she put them in his hamper for him to find later. After giving it some thought, she washed them out and hung them on the side of the tub.

She disdained a full shower for simply cleaning herself off. Calling her sister was a priority.

Once she’d pulled on the dry clothes Harry’d brought her, she found his comb and worked the tangles out of her short hair. The polo shirt hung almost to her knees, looking, as he’d predicted, like a dress. It adequately covered her, but the silky boxers tickled. Rather than toss her dirty jeans in the hamper as he’d suggested, she folded them, put her panties in the pocket along with her money, and left the bathroom.

Harry sat on a corner of a colossal bed, head bent forward while he towel-dried his hair. He had on clean khaki slacks, and nothing else. His back was broad, muscled, lightly tanned. His feet were long, narrow, braced apart on the thick carpeting. Charlie stood there gawking, appreciating what a spectacular sight he made.

Oh yes, she definitely wanted to explore these unique feelings he inspired. She’d been around men all her life, but she’d never, not once, felt this much interest in one.

Her sigh caught his attention. He lifted his head, surveyed her tip to toes, then slowly stood. “You are an adorable sight, Charlie…” He paused, looking much struck. “I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Jones,” she squeaked, breathless over the way he watched her. She cleared her throat. “Charlie Jones.”

He held out his hand in the formal, time-honored tradition. “Harry Lonnigan.” Smiling, she stepped forward, shifted her wet jeans to one arm, and took his hand. With a mere glimpse of evil intent, Harry tugged her forward. He took her small bundle from her and dropped it to the floor. His hands lifted to cradle her face, she caught her breath, and then he kissed her.

HARRY COULDN’T believe the way she made him feel. It was a simple kiss, damm it, and heaven knew he’d kissed plenty of women in his time. And among those women, Charlie was likely the least proficient at it. So her lips were soft? So she smelled incredibly sweet?

She looked like a rumpled child in his shirt, the shoulders bagging almost to her elbows, the hem skimming her knees—very sexy knees actually, followed by shapely calves. He shook his head. She’d combed her hair straight back, evidently not the least interested in impressing him with her feminine attributes. She’d made no effort at all to make herself more appealing. Yet he already had an erection and he practically shook with lust. All because of a simple kiss.

It was so unexpected, he almost grinned.

That happened a lot with her; hell, he’d grinned more since first spotting her in that small grocery, all decked out like an adolescent thug, than he had in the past six months.

Beneath his palms, her skin warmed and she felt so incredibly silky, so vibrant, he wanted to devour her. He never devoured women! He was suave and controlled and applauded for his technique.

She had him so turned on, he couldn’t even remember his touted technique.

His thumbs stroked over her temple, her jaw. He kept the kiss easy, letting her lead, though he wanted badly to taste her, to slip his tongue into her mouth, to feel her tongue on his.

With a groan, he pulled back the tiniest bit and looked at her. Eyes almost closed, she swayed toward him, her pale, flushed skin in striking contrast to her glossy black hair and dark blue eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, and unable to help himself, he kissed her again, this time giving in to the urge to explore. He licked over her lips, and when she gasped, he slipped inside, coasting over her teeth, mating with her soft tongue.

He pulsed with need, he was so aroused.

Charlie’s hands opened on his naked shoulders. She moved against him, and he could feel her stiff little nipples, could feel the plumpness of her breasts, small, but very feminine and sweet. He started to lift a hand, to cup her, tease her and himself, and his honor came knocking, just barely nudging aside the need.

Unspoken invective filled his brain. He wanted so badly to feel her breasts, but…

Once he got started, he knew good and well it would be hours before he got his fill. He should be getting in touch with Dalton. He had no doubts the man would be worried, wondering what had transpired, whether or not Harry had been able to make any headway. He owed Dalton that much.

“Charlie.”

“Hmm…” She nuzzled his throat, took a small nip of his chin.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk.”

She blinked up at him, her look dreamy. “You called me sweetheart.”

Sighing, he said again, “We need to talk. Now.”

She stiffened, her gaze searching his. “Oh good grief. Please, don’t give me the old ‘you’re not that kind of guy’ routine.”

He took two steps back, and commended himself for accomplishing that much when he wanted so badly to feel her flush against him.

“I’m absolutely that kind of guy,” he assured her, staring down into her sweet face. “I’m the kind of guy who is nearly desperate to strip you to your very sexy naked hide. I’m the kind of guy that once I got started, especially on the unveiling on these stupendous breasts of yours, I wouldn’t want to stop until we were both insentient and without wit. I wouldn’t stop until you begged me to. Unfortunately, what happened tonight probably has several people worrying about us.”

The changing expressions on her face were almost comical. She went from openmouthed surprise, to blushing, to wide-eyed with realization. “My sister!”

“Yes. And I have a friend to contact. They deserve to know that we’re still alive and kicking.”

She rudely shoved him aside to snatch up the phone, and Harry admired the smooth rounded lines of her delectable backside. Nobility was surely a curse.

“I can’t believe I forgot about my sister.” She sent him a grave look of accusation and dialed the phone, muttering how it was his fault for distracting her, leaving off his shirt, showing his bare feet.

His bare feet? Harry shook his head. There was no accounting for her strange twists of reason. “I’ll finish dressing while you make your call.”

She’d barely finished dialing when Harry heard a shouted, frantic “hello” through the earpiece. Her sister had evidently been waiting for the call.

“Jill…I know, and I’m so sorry. I’m fine, really—Jill, I’m fine, I promise. Well, it’s a long story. I met a guy… No, Jill, it’s not that long.” Charlie glared at him, and Harry took the hint. He grabbed the rest of his clothes and left the room with a salute.

As he bounded down the stairs, he could hear the animated conversation, along with the occasional hushed, whispering tones, which he assumed meant the two women were discussing him. He entered the kitchen and because he was distracted, he almost tripped over his cat, Ted, now twisting around his bare ankles. It didn’t matter where Ted might be, if Harry entered the kitchen, Ted showed up.

He smiled down at the cat as he added some fresh food to his dish—always the first order of business. “I wonder how much Charlie will actually tell of our adventure.”

The dogs heard him talking and sauntered in. Harry reached for the back door which led to a tiny yard with a privacy fence. “Hey, why don’t you guys go out and run around a little, maybe give me some privacy?”

Doggy tails wagged, but actual bodies didn’t move.

The cat looked thoroughly indignant at such a suggestion and continued to eat.

“So it rained a little. Don’t you have to go?”

Sooner woofed an agreement and ran out. Grace took a little more coaxing, until she heard Sooner bark again and trotted out to investigate. Ted, with a look of disdain, licked his whiskers clean and leaped up to sit in one of the kitchen chairs.

Harry had the coffee ready, two cups poured, when Charlie came striding in. Harry handed her a cup and motioned for her to sit at the round table. Unfortunately, she tried to sit in Ted’s chair.

Ted could be very theatrical when it suited him. He made a horrid hissing sound, arched his back, fuzzed out his tail and made a general threatening display until Charlie had backed up a good five feet.

“What the hell’s wrong with your cat?”

Harry smiled fondly at his pet. “That’s Ted. He doesn’t like females.”

“Ted? How’d you come up with that name?”

Shrugging, he said, “He’s just Ted. Here, use this chair.”

Cautiously, keeping her gaze on the cat, Charlie circled to the chair Harry held out. “Is he always so mean?”

“With women, yes. He behaves well enough for me. Or maybe I behave well enough to suit him. Whatever, the arrangement works.” Harry smiled at her.

“The dogs don’t bother him?”

“Actually, they all get along fairly well. On his first day here, about a year or so ago, Ted explained things. We haven’t had a real ruckus since.”

“You’ve only had him a year? He looks older.”

“He is. I found him in an alley while I was on a job. He saved me by making a grand distraction when he objected to our invasion of his private space.”

“He threw a hissy like he just did to me?”

“Exactly, which effectively distracted the fellow who’d been holding a gun on me. I was able to…get the upper hand. So I brought Ted home. The vet treated him, despite Ted’s vicious complaints, and as long as I keep him well fed and his litter box clean, he doesn’t destroy my home.”

“A fair enough trade-off, I suppose.” She still eyed the cat warily, but Harry was pleased to see there was no dislike in her eyes. She understood, and he liked that.

“Cream or sugar?”

She snorted at such a suggestion, then took a healthy sip of her black coffee.

Harry scrutinized her as he liberally sweetened his own. “So you drink yours like a trucker, hmm? Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

After another sip, she asked, “For the same reason that seeing you turn yours into syrup doesn’t surprise me?”

“Your insults are getting sloppier. You must be tired.” He glanced at the clock, saw it was after midnight, and wondered if he should call Dalton after all. He hated to wake the older man if he’d already gone to bed. And Dalton did know Harry could take care of himself, so perhaps he hadn’t been worried at all. “Is your sister appeased by whatever story you told her?”

She frowned at that. “I told her the truth, and yeah, she’s appeased, but far from happy. She told me she’s going to wait up for me.”

Charlie offered that last small tidbit with a wince, which told Harry the night was going to get a whole lot shorter. “I assume this means you want to head home soon?”

“I’m afraid so. Jill is only eighteen, and she worries more than she should.”

That brought out a snort, which appalled him. Good God, he was beginning to pick up her less discriminating habits. Harry cleared his throat. “More than she should? With a sister who muddles into extortion and gets herself kidnapped, I’d say she’s justified.”

Charlie shrugged. “She wants me to give it up, my spying that is, but I’m determined.”

“Charlie—”

“No, before you start any lectures, I have a few questions for you.”

“Please, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I know you said you wouldn’t want to see me again—”

Before he could correct her, because at this point he had every intention of seeing her, all of her, as many times as was necessary to get the fever out of his system, she held up a hand and continued.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to get clingy. A little hanky-panky would have been…nice. But the night has gotten way too complicated, and I can see why you wouldn’t want to get involved with me beyond the night. I mean, we’re hardly two peas from the same pod.” She tried a smile that looked more like a grimace. “But… Well, I was hoping we could work out a different arrangement.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, positively prostrated. “You think a rendezvous with me would be merely nice?”

She looked startled by his tone. “Very nice,” she clarified, as if that made it better.

He felt smote to his masculine core. Here he’d been dredging up pagan images too erotic to bear, and she’d relegated the possibilities to merely nice. “I’ll have you know—”

“I’d like to hire you, Harry.”

That effectively put the brakes on his righteous diatribe. Hire him? Did she consider him a gigolo? Did she dare think she could afford him if he was for sale? The nerve.

But in a lusty sort of way the idea genuinely appealed to him. His body tensed until his muscles cramped. He was so hard, he could be considered a weapon.

Carefully, in case he misunderstood, he asked, “Hire me for what?”

“Detecting, of course. What else would I mean?”

Disappointment flowed through him. Nevertheless, he contrived to look merely curious. “Of course. And what would you need a P.I. for?”

“I told you.” she said with exaggerated patience. “To find out information on my father. He abandoned my sister and me ages ago, and that’s fine by me because from what I know of it, we were better off without him. Except now I think it’s time he accepted a few responsibilities. I figure since your friend has hired you to look into the extortion, and my father is one of the proprietors in that area, it shouldn’t really be too much trouble for you to find out a few things for me.”

A sick feeling of dread started to choke him. He remembered their most recent introduction, when she’d given him her last name. His belly churned, and he forced the question out. “Your father is?”

“Dalton Jones.”

CHAPTER FIVE

HARRY STARTED TO choke, picked up his coffee to take a large gulp, then choked some more. Coffee spewed out his nose and Charlie jumped up to pound on his back with surprising force. The cat hissed and loped out of the room. Harry fumbled for a napkin, and while Charlie tried to drive his ribs through his chest, he cleaned his face.

“You okay?”

Wheezing, he said, “If you’d quit bludgeoning me, it’s possible I’ll survive.”

She quit. In fact, her small hand opened, and rather than pounding, she smoothed her palm over his back. Harry stiffened. “What are you doing?” he asked carefully.

“You feel nice. Hard. And real warm.”

He started to choke again, and Charlie reseated herself. “That was the strangest damn thing, Harry. I’ve never seen coffee shoot out someone’s nose before. And it was still steaming.” She looked vaguely impressed when she added, “That had to hurt.”

“You frightened Ted, attacking me that way—”

“Yeah, right.” She gave a hearty snort. “Nothing would scare that beast.”

“—and you don’t sound the least bit sympathetic, so just be quiet.” His brain throbbed not only from her interested, caressing touch, but with ramifications of her admission. Dalton Jones, his best friend, the man who’d always been there for him, emotionally supported him, got him through his divorce-from-hell, was Charlie’s father? And she didn’t appear to have any fond feelings for the man. No, she literally sneered when she said his name, leading Harry to believe her feelings bordered more on contempt than anything else. Harry dropped his head to a fist and sighed.

“Sheesh. What’s got you so all-fired dejected, Harry?” She lounged back in the chair, at her leisure. “If you don’t want the job, just say so. It’s not like I was trying to coerce you or anything. I just thought since you’ll be checking things out there anyway, it’d be no big deal to let me know if you heard anything.”

Feeling himself duly cornered, Harry sighed again. “Let me get this straight. You want to get reacquainted with your father?” It was a shock, but Dalton would certainly be thrilled. Harry knew he’d spent a good portion of his life chasing after his ex-wife, doing his best to locate his children, to reclaim them, but the woman had always eluded him for reasons of her own.

Charlie bristled like an offended porcupine. “Hell no! I personally don’t want anything to do with him. And if I had any other choices, he could rot for all I cared. But…well, my mother passed away not too long ago and between her never-ending medical bills and the funeral, I’m flat broke. I need some cash to get my sister through college. The bar is mortgaged through the roof, and I can’t handle another personal loan.”

Harry started to tell her that Dalton would gladly help her in any way he could. But he held back. It wasn’t his place to make promises for Dalton, so he decided to talk to him first. Besides, Charlie’s attitude was less than promising, and explaining away the past was a chore Dalton could better handle.

Still, Harry felt he had to soften her just a bit, to perhaps suggest she modify her assumptions until the facts could be presented. “I’m sorry to hear about your financial difficulties, but—”

Her fist smacked the tabletop, causing him to jump. “Why should my sister have to settle for less than the college of her choice, just because my father was too low, too deceitful to own up to his responsibilities? Why should he get off leaving the entire burden to me…I mean, my mother?”

Harry heard the slip, of course, but he let it pass. All he knew about Charlie’s mother was what Dalton had shared, and he imagined from what he’d heard, Charlie’s life hadn’t been an easy one. That had been one of the biggest motivators for Dalton, the main reason why he’d refused to give up the search. He’d worried endlessly for the well-being of his daughters.

The dogs chose that propitious moment to want in, giving Harry a few minutes to think. He automatically went into his laundry room first to get an old towel, then opened the back door and knelt down. The dogs, well used to the routine, waited while Harry cleaned their muddy paws.

Charlie gawked at him. “Do you do that every time they go out?”

“When necessary, yes. I have fastidious dogs.”

“Gee, I wonder where they get it from?”

There was just enough sarcasm in her tone to tell Harry she was nettled. Very slowly, he looked up at her. “You’re not, perchance, making fun of my animals, are you?”

Her brows lifted.

“Because while I’ll accept aspersions thrown at me, I don’t take kindly to insults of my pets.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re defending an old collie, a mutt and an alley cat?”

His eyes narrowed and she muttered, “All right. Sorry.”

She didn’t look overly sincere. In fact, she still looked angry. Well, there was nothing he could do about it, not yet at least.

Harry reseated himself. Sooner lay on the floor, resting his head on Harry’s feet. Grace went to her dish to eat. “Perhaps your father has a legitimate excuse—”

“Ha! If he does, then he can damn well keep it to himself, because I’m not interested in hearing it. Years ago I might have…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Sooner stared at her, picked up on her distress, and abandoned his master to go lick her hand. Charlie smiled and scratched his head.

After an audible swallow, she continued. “All I want to know is if he’s got any money, if I can count on him to do the right thing. He owes it to my sister to help her, to give her the opportunity to do her best in this world.”

Harry saw her stubborn pride, her visible struggle to keep herself together. Something inside him softened, and that tender feeling made him uneasy. “What about you? Doesn’t he owe you, too, Charlie?”

She stared him straight in the eye and said, “If it was just me, I’d gladly survive in the gutter with the moldy rats before giving him the time of day.”

Well. Harry leaned back in his seat, nonplussed. She certainly had a visual way of getting her point across. “Things aren’t always as they seem, you know.”

She stood, and both Grace and Sooner flanked her. “If you don’t want to help out, that’s fine. But spare me the lectures on goodwill. My charitable attitude died a long time ago.”

She turned away and the dogs followed, forming a small parade. Harry felt abandoned and left his seat to hurry after them. Since his legs were so long, he only had to hurry for two steps. “Where are you going?”

“To call a cab. It’s time for me to head home.”

“Charlie.” He caught her arm and turned her back around to face him. But she looked up at him, and her face was so innocent, despite her bravado, her eyes dark and searching, he felt that damn tender feeling swell up again. It seemed to explode inside him, filling him up, choking him when he hadn’t even touched his cursed coffee.

He released her and backed up. The dogs frowned at him, but with the facts of her parentage dropped at his feet, all carnal tendencies would have to be forgotten. He couldn’t see her as a sexual being, as a woman he wanted so badly his muscles ached. No, she was the daughter of his friend, a man who’d always been like a father figure to Harry. Touching her would mean betraying Dalton, and he couldn’t do that.

Charlie was definitely off-limits.

That little truism annoyed his libido and gnawed at his control, but he stiffened his resolve.

He shook his head, verifying to himself, if not to her, that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be tempted. Not now. “I’ll drive you home. You can’t very well get into a cab alone this time of night, especially not dressed like that.”

She summoned a look of such scorn, he felt his ears burn. “I know how to take care of myself, Harry. I’ve been doing it most of my life. You can rest easy. Your duty is over.”

He looked down his nose at her, being deliberately intimidating, which sent the dogs slinking off, though the effect on her seemed minimal. “Your shoulders are too narrow to support such an enormous chip, Charlie. No, don’t flog me with your insults. I am taking you home and that’s all there is to it. Since I’m of a greater size, and you’re rather piddling in comparison, it stands to reason I’m more capable of carrying through with any threats, veiled or otherwise. It’ll be better for both of us if whatever you’re thinking remains unsaid.”

She rolled her eyes. “Half the time, Harry, I have no idea what the hell you’re saying.”

“And…,” he added, knowing he was jumping into a muddy creek when he had no idea how deep it might be, “I will check into things for you.”

There, he’d committed himself. But even as he’d reluctantly uttered the ill-fated words, Harry wondered what else he could possibly have done. He couldn’t just let her leave; Dalton would never forgive him. He’d looked for his children, spent a small fortune on the chore, for a great many years. Now here was his daughter, despising Dalton without knowing him, resenting him on hearsay, condemning him without knowing all the details, and Harry had the chance to find out where she lived, to assure Dalton that his daughters were alive and thriving.

He thought of everything at stake, and added softly, “Please, Charlie.”

It was the “please” that did it, causing the rigidity in her shoulders to relax, her attitude to soften enough that she could agree. “Oh, all right,” she muttered, without an ounce of feigned graciousness. “I suppose it doesn’t make sense to give up what I want just because I’m pissed off.”

She was certainly direct. “Ah…exactly.” He retrieved her jeans and found her another jacket to keep her warm on the ride to her place. They both said goodbye to the dogs, who wanted badly to go along but Harry explained to them there wasn’t room. “Just guard the place until I come home.”

The dogs went back to sleeping in their self-appointed spots.

Ted was nowhere to be found.

“He sulks when it’s dark,” Harry explained, “because more than anything, he likes lazing around in the sunshine. When there is none, Ted hides. Which is good, because when he doesn’t hide, he makes his discontent known to everyone.”

Charlie gave him a soft, feminine look that took him completely off-guard. “You’re very good to them, Harry.”

He didn’t like that look, didn’t want her thinking soft, feminine things about him, not when he couldn’t do anything about it. So he hustled her out to the parking garage where he kept his car before temptation could get the better of him, or before she could start disagreeing with him again. She truly was a most contrary woman.

He worried about her being barefoot, but he certainly had no shoes that would stay on her small feet, and she’d disdained the socks he offered her. Luckily, the complex was kept tidy, with nothing strewn about the grounds to injure her tender skin. No broken glass or debris.

She had very cute feet.

“You know, Harry, I figured you’d left your car at the grocery today.”

Distracted from her pink toes—hardly a source of sexual stimulation, even if his body tended to disagree—he looked up at her and made a face. “My car wouldn’t have survived three minutes parked at that curb. I took a taxi. What about you?”

“The bus. Cabs are a little out of my price range.”

As he stopped next to his car, a shiny black Jaguar convertible, she dug in her bare heels, stiffened up again, and whistled low. “These are your wheels?”

“Yes.” He noticed her horrified expression and patiently asked, “Now what’s the problem?”

She turned to him, beautiful blue eyes wide, jaw dropped. “I can’t afford you! First that luxury town house, and now this. You must make a killing as a P.I. to afford this car. I mean, these suckers go for over fifty grand a pop!”

Her phraseology alternately amused and irritated him, but her meaning was always quite clear. After another heartfelt sigh, Harry opened the door and practically thrust her inside. “Put on your seat belt.” He closed the door, circled the car and slid behind the wheel.

Her frown was ferocious. “I mean it, Harry. We need to reevaluate here. I thought it’d cost a few hundred bucks at the most to get your help. I had no idea—”

The car started with a throaty purr. “I’m not charging you, Charlie.”

He was in the middle of backing up when she opened her car door and literally leaped out. He slammed on the brakes. “What in the name of—”

She leaned in and growled across the seat, “I don’t take charity, Harry Lonnigan!” He opened his mouth, and she said, “And before you bother sighing again, let me tell you, this is not negotiable!”

Since Harry had lost all semblance of patience, he barked, “Fine. Have it your way. But a few hundred will more than cover it, so get your sweet little posterior back in the damn car!” He ended on a shout, and shouting was something Harry had seldom done since his divorce. He liked it that way, liked his life calm and orderly, dished up to his specific design, without interruptions and disturbances and ill-mannered females throwing things into a whirlwind and stirring up unaccountable lust.

He sucked in a deep breath, sought for lost control, and continued in a forced icy-polite tone, “I have inherited money from my father, and that’s how I bought the car. Now, will you please quit making a spectacle of yourself and let me drive you home?”

She gingerly reseated herself, as if the leather seat could bite her. She also looked around the garage, then snorted at him. “I can hardly be a spectacle when there’s no one here to see.”

“I’m here, and your show is beyond distressing. A little decorum wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

She relatched her seat belt, then waited until they’d entered the nearly abandoned roadway before saying, “So you come from a rich family, huh? I could have guessed that.”

Harry looked at her with acute dislike. His father had been rich, and he’d also been unfeeling. He’d given Harry very little during his life, certainly no real emotion or pride or concern. Taking his wealth after his death had been beyond difficult. At first, all Harry’d wanted to do was give it away. But Dalton convinced Harry to accept his father’s legacy, to acknowledge and use the one thing his father had been capable of sharing.

He didn’t discuss his father with anyone but Dalton, certainly not with a woman he’d only known a day, a woman who seemed to take pleasure in pricking him, both his mind and his body. “You’re an irritant, Charlie. Now would you like to give me directions or should I try guessing?”

“Go to the corner of Fifth and Elm. You can see my bar from there. It’s called the Lucky Goose. There’s a big sign hanging out front, painted in lime green.”

That description alone was enough to make his stomach queasy. “You must be joking.”

“Nope.” She sent him an impish smile and added, “Lime is the dominant shade in our decorating scheme. Not too long ago, I had to replace several things, and I found a lot of stuff at an auction, real cheap.”

“Whenever something is ‘real cheap,’ there’s usually a viable reason why.”

She laughed. “You’re right about that. The lime is almost enough to make you toss your breakfast, especially with so much of it. But the men who frequent my bar aren’t out for the fashionable ambiance. They’re there to drown their supposed woes, and as long as they have a stool to sit on and a glass in front of them, they can forgive anything else. And to be real honest with you, the color’s kind of grown on me. I figure if I ever get far enough ahead, I’ll add some black accent pieces. That’d look good, don’t you think? Sort of classy? Black and lime?”

Harry shuddered with the image. I’ll tell Dalton how witty Charlie is, how spunky, how energetic. I’ll simply leave out her appalling lack of taste. When she continued to stare at him, waiting for his response, Harry forced a smile. “Yes, charming.”

She beamed at him.

“Tell me about your sister.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t know. Anything, everything. Does she help you in the bar, things like that.”

Charlie turned to look out the window. “Jillian just turned eighteen. She’s beautiful, so intelligent she scares me sometimes, sweet, giving. She’s also naive and a worrier.” Charlie turned back to face him, her expression earnest. “And no, I would never let her work in the bar. That’s why I need the money so she can go to college. She’s gotten some partial academic scholarships, but not enough to foot the whole bill. If I left it up to her, she’d put off going for a year and save the difference herself, and even then, she’d have to settle for a less expensive college, and she’d lose the partial scholarships. I don’t want her to have to do that. She’s worked too hard all these years, keeping her grade average up, excelling in all her classes. She deserves the best, and one way or another, she’s going to have it.”

It was that one way or another that had Harry worried.

They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence. The late moon was partially hidden by clouds, not a star in sight. The near empty roads were still wet and the tires made a slick hissing sound that could lull a turbulent mind.

And then that damn glaring green sign jumped out at him. Charlie hadn’t told him it was framed with a neon green gaslight. The color was so bold, it seemed to throb in nauseating waves through the darkness. Cautiously, surveying the area, Harry pulled up to the curb. He swallowed hard, not wanting to ask but knowing he had to. “So, this is the bar. But where do you live?”

“Upstairs.” She unhooked her seat belt. “When I bought the place, the second floor was empty, so I converted it into an apartment. My mother was already sick then, so I needed to work close to her and Jillian. The setup is great, though I wasn’t crazy about having Jillian at a bar. But the stairs leading up are just inside the door, so Jillian doesn’t have to come all the way into the bar unless she wants to. There’s a door at both the bottom and top of the stairs, and they’re kept locked. Only Jillian and I have keys. Anybody I see messing around with the door gets tossed out and isn’t welcomed back. Since the Lucky Goose is so popular, nobody wants to test me on it.”

That strange tenderness swelled in his chest again, making him warm and fidgety. “You’re a real tough guy, aren’t you, Charlie?”

He said it softly, working the words out around the lump in his throat, but she took him literally. She shoved the door open and climbed out. “I have to be.”

She looked surprised when he turned off the engine, stepped out, and activated his car alarm.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Harry grinned. “A gentleman always sees a lady to her door.”

She looked nearly frantic with consternation. “I’ll agree you’re a gentleman, Harry, but I’m hardly a lady. You can save your gallantry for someone who’ll appreciate it. I don’t need to be seen anywhere.”

Her denials made that strange tenderness more acute, almost like a pain. She was so used to taking care of herself, with no help at all. She was a small woman, but she gave the impression of being an amazon with her stubborn, forceful attitude. It hurt to think of all she’d been through before perfecting that attitude.

Shaking off the feeling, Harry took her arm and began ushering her reluctantly forward. “You look more than feminine to me.” Especially since he knew she wore his silk boxers beneath the long shirt. His palms itched with the need to smooth that slippery material over her sweetly rounded bottom. No, no, no. Dalton’s daughter, Dalton’s daughter… He mentally repeated that litany until his heart calmed.

As they stepped inside the heavy wooden doorway he was met with dim light, cigarette smoke and a low hum of noise. He looked around with feigned casual interest, when in truth, he felt appalled. He cleared his throat. “I’d very much like to get a peek at your establishment, and to meet this paragon sister of yours, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“You want to meet Jillian?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just…why?”

He shrugged, trying to fetch forth a logical excuse that wouldn’t make her more suspicious. So I can describe her to Dalton. “Because she’s your sister, and I’m vastly curious.”

Charlie looked doubtful, but just then the door to Harry’s left burst open and a tall, slender, very young girl bounded into the hallway. “Charlie!”

Harry had already thrust Charlie behind him and taken a fighter’s stance. The girl’s eyes widened as she stopped dead in her tracks, one hand lifting to her throat. From behind him, Charlie snickered in a most irritating way.

And Harry muttered, “Ah, hell.”

Peeking from around him, Charlie said, “Harry, meet my sister, Jillian. Sis, this is Harry Lonnigan. You’ll have to ignore his chivalry, but you did bust out like a tornado. You see, Harry has these odd heroic tendencies, and he was trying to protect me, in case you were a threat.”

Harry pulled her around to the front of him and growled, “I am not a hero.”

“No? Well, Ted or the dogs might disagree. And you saved me from a pager today, remember? And now you just protected me from my sister.” She snickered again, and the sound grated along his raw nerves. “You’re either a hero, or you’re nuts. Take your pick.”

CHARLIE CONTINUED to smile as Jillian cautiously stepped forward, her eyes huge, staring at Harry with absolute awe. Charlie knew the feeling. It seemed every time she looked at him, he impressed her anew. He was just so…big. And so manly and hard and solid. Despite the fine clothes, the immaculate haircut, Harry Lonnigan had an aura of savagery about him.

She liked it.

Harry reached out and gently took Jill’s hand. “Never mind your rather disputatious sister here. She seems to take immense enjoyment in plaguing me for no evident reason.” Jillian stared, and Harry added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jillian.”

Jillian licked her lips, glanced sideways at Charlie, and whispered, “What did he say?”

Charlie laughed. “Who knows? He always talks funny, but it seems to be getting worse as the night goes on. I think he needs to get some sleep and recharge his wits.”

Jillian nodded, then turned back to Harry. She clasped his hand with both of hers. “Thank you so much for bringing my sister home safe and sound. She tends to get herself into trouble awfully easy, but from what she told me, she topped herself tonight.”

Harry nodded. “Hmm. Her intentions are good, but she appears to be misguided by too much pride and bravado.”

“Yep, that’s Charlie. I tried to talk her out of doing something so stupid, but—”

“Jill.”

Jill smiled. “Would you like to come up for a drink? I was just making some hot chocolate.”

“Jillian…”

“Thank you, I’d love to,” Harry said, cutting off Charlie’s protest. “Hot chocolate sounds like perfection.”

Charlie rubbed her head. “Harry, don’t you think it’s getting kind of late?”

He glanced at his wristwatch. “Very. What time do you close the bar?”

“At two. And as soon as I change, I have to check on things. So really, it’d be better—”

He gave her his back. “Jillian, if you’d like to lead the way, I’ll drink my hot chocolate and then head home. Charlie’s absolutely correct that it’s been a rather full day.”

Jill smiled. “Follow me.”

Eyes narrowed, Charlie stomped along behind them up the silent stairwell. When they reached the top, Jill used the key hanging from her wrist to unlock the door. She said over her shoulder to Harry, “The doors automatically lock when they shut.”

“Good idea. Are you ever bothered by the noise downstairs?”

“Not at all. I’m used to it.”

“And the patrons respect your privacy?”

“Patrons?” Jill giggled as she headed down another hall and into the kitchen, the first room on the left at the top of the landing. Water already boiled in a softly whistling teapot, so Charlie got down three mugs and the tin of chocolate powder. Jillian dug three spoons from the drawer. “I’d hardly call the guys who hang out here ‘patrons.’”

“No? Then what would you call them?” Harry seated himself at the Formica table and crossed his long legs. He looked entirely too much at his leisure to suit Charlie, especially when she noted him looking around, surveying their small but tidy kitchen.

Jill shrugged. “I don’t know. Regulars? I suppose that’s the nicest thing I can come up with. Oh, really, they’re not all bad. But as Charlie has always told me, we attract a certain clientele here at the Lucky Goose, and it doesn’t include anyone who’s too discriminating.”

Charlie finished stirring in the chocolate and handed Harry his cup. He sipped, made appropriate sounds of approval, then leaned back in his chair. “Do you ever go into the bar?”

“Are you kidding? Charlie has fits if I even peek in there after four o’clock. Before that, it’s pretty tame, just a few guys hanging around, usually getting a sandwich and a beer. She doesn’t mind if I’m in there then. But the rowdiest crowds don’t start until after seven.”

“What time do you open?”

“Charlie opens it up from two in the afternoon to two in the morning. She’s got things pretty organized and we get a pretty steady crowd.”

Harry made a pretense of drinking his chocolate, but Charlie could easily see the crafty interest in his gaze. “Those are long hours to work. What other employees do you have?”

Waving a hand, Jill commented, “Charlie likes to keep things simple, so she doesn’t hire in much help. She does almost everything herself, which means she works much more than she should.”

“So it seems.”

“The only relaxation she gets is in the tub. I swear, she’ll soak for hours. There’ve been a few times she’s fallen asleep in there—”

“Jill.” Charlie could feel the heat pulsing in her face.

Twin dimples showed in her sister’s cheeks when she grinned, proving Charlie’s warnings did little good.

“We have a bouncer, of course, who also serves as a bartender on occasion. Then there’s the regular bartender, and two women who help serve drinks during the busiest hours. Other than them, we have a few part-timers who fill in every now and then.”

“Do you have need of the bouncer very often?”

“Nope.” Jill leaned forward and dropped her tone to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you saw the guy Charlie hired, you’d know why. He’s a real sweetheart, but no one seems to know that, and given his handicap and the way he always—”

Charlie interrupted, thumping her mug of chocolate onto the table and spilling a bit. “That’s enough, Jill.” She didn’t want Harry getting the idea she had an overly soft heart, but if Jill had her way, she’d start telling stories that could give anyone the wrong impression. Her sister had a way of slanting the perspective to always put Charlie in a very rosy light.

She narrowed her gaze at Harry. “Okay, give. Why the third degree?”

After another long drink of his chocolate, Harry pretended confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was only making idle chitchat.”

“Chitchat? Is that what you call it?” She glanced at Jill, who looked horrified by her sister’s sudden rudeness, and explained, “Harry’s a P.I. Snooping is his business.”

Fascinated, Jill stared.

Harry raised a supercilious eyebrow. “Actually, I investigate. I do not snoop.”

“Uh-huh. So why snoop here? I’m paying you to check on my father, not to pry into my personal life.”

Jill groaned. “Oh, Charlie, you didn’t? I thought we agreed! There’s no reason—”

“Don’t start being dramatic, Jill.” In an aside to Harry, she explained, “Jill is prone to melodrama, no doubt because of her age.”

Harry made a rude sound to that. “More likely due to her sister’s penchant to get into trouble.”

“Harry—”

“No, don’t berate me. My brain is tired and I really do need to head home.” He finished off the chocolate, stood, then took Jill’s hand once again. “It’s amazing your hair is still brown and not gray. I swear, while I was with her today, I could feel the gray hairs struggling to sprout.”

Jill giggled. “She has a way about her.”

“Indeed.”

“She’s also the very best sister in the world.”

“I got that impression.”

“That’s enough out of both of you!” Charlie circled the table and stood toe to toe with Harry. She had to bend her head way back to meet his gaze. “When do you think you’ll know something?”

He cocked a brow. “I know an abundance of things, Charlie. Can you be more specific?”

She ground her teeth together. “When, exactly, do you think you’ll be able to give me some info on my father? I don’t mean to rush you, but I don’t want to wait too long, either.”

“Patience,” Jill muttered as she put Harry’s mug in the sink, “is not one of Charlie’s strong suits.”

She was ready to refute that when Harry touched her cheek with two fingers. “I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can. Try not to worry, okay?”

She gulped, feeling that simple touch all the way to her bare toes and back up again. “Can you…maybe give me a ballpark guess?”

He smiled. “I’ll tell you what. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you tomorrow evening. By then I should be able to have a better idea, okay?”

Charlie hurried to a drawer to pull out a pen and paper. “I’ll give you our personal number, for here in the apartment, and the number for the Lucky Goose. You should be able to reach me at one or the other.”

Harry slid the slip of paper into his back pocket. “Jill, thank you for the drink.”

“Thank you, Harry, for bringing Charlie home in one piece.”

“That was my pleasure. Well, at least part of the time. There was the occasional moment when—”

With a shove, Charlie started him on his way. She knew he was laughing, but she didn’t mind. She walked him down the stairs and with every step, her heart thumped heavily. She was so acutely aware of him beside her, tall and strong and warm. When they reached the end of the stairwell, Charlie still one step above him, putting her on more even ground, she caught his arm before he could open the door.

He turned to face her, his look questioning.

She cleared her throat. His biceps were large and thick and she knew even both her hands wouldn’t circle him completely. She lightly caressed him and her breathing hitched. She was so damn ignorant about this sort of thing. “Harry, I really do appreciate all you did tonight. Not that I couldn’t have handled it on my own—”

“But it was nice to have the company? My sentiments exactly.”

She tilted her head, searching for the right words. This entire situation was awkward for her, because she’d never really wanted anyone before. “I know you said you don’t want to get involved, and I feel the same way.”

His entire expression softened. “Charlie—”

“No, you don’t need to explain. I understand. But…”

“But what?”

His voice was low, the words gentle. She could feel him looking down at her, and so she mustered her courage, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “But I want you. There. I said it.”

He stared, shock plain on his face, and she took advantage of it, throwing herself against him. She felt his arms automatically catch her, and she kissed him while his mouth was still open in surprise. He was motionless only a moment, then he turned, pinned her to the wall, and with a low deep groan, proceeded to kiss her silly.

CHAPTER SIX

HARRY ENTERED the hospital with his heart in his throat and his pulse racing. The day, which had begun with no indications of a catastrophe, continued to slide rapidly downhill. Actually, he thought, he was well into a new day. Surely things would begin improving, surely Dalton would be all right.

A nurse directed him to the CCU, or coronary care unit, and the name alone made Harry break out in a sweat. A heart attack, Dalton had suffered a heart attack. He felt sick with anxiety and throbbing guilt.

It took him mere seconds to reach the right room, and as soon as he was close enough, he could hear Dalton complaining. He increased his pace, rushed into the room, then came to a standstill.

Dalton, pale and obviously agitated, was in a sterile white bed, oxygen hooked up to his nose, other apparatus connected in various places. He fought to sit up while a nurse struggled to keep him still. Harry drew himself up and said, “What is going on here?”

The nurse looked at him with utter and complete relief, then asked hopefully, “Harry Lonnigan?”

“Yes.” He stepped forward and nudged her out of the way, giving Dalton a glare. “Be still.”

Dalton rested back with a smile.

The nurse heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. “He needs to be resting, but he was insistent on seeing you. I told him we’d left a message for you, but when you couldn’t be reached, he wanted to get out of bed and try calling you himself—”

“I’m sorry for the delay. The storm knocked out my answering machine and I didn’t receive any message.” He frowned at Dalton. “I called your house and the housekeeper told me what happened. I got here as quickly as I could.”

Dalton gripped his hand. “She contacted me, Harry.”

Harry looked down at the man he loved like a father and winced. Dalton was still good-looking at fifty-nine, tall, lean, with only a smidge of gray mixed in with his dark hair. He’d always looked so vital to Harry, but now, he looked shrunken and frail. “Who contacted you?”

“My daughter.”

Everything in Harry jolted. His wits jumped about hither and yon, his heart thumped. He cast a quick glance at the nurse, then squeezed Dalton’s hand. To the nurse he asked, “Can I speak with you in just a moment? I’d like to be updated—”

She patted Harry’s arm. “Get your father settled, then come out. I’ll be at the nurses’ station. But please—” and she bent a warning look on Dalton “—he needs to be still and calm.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll see to it. And thank you.”

The nurse went out, closing the door behind her. Harry hadn’t bothered explaining to her that Dalton wasn’t his father. In all the most important ways, he’d been the only father Harry knew.

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