Bewitched

by Lori Foster

  Harry found himself very ambiguous about the meeting. He worried for Dalton, though the doctor had said he was fine. Other than routine checkups and a warning to take life easier, Dalton was free to do as he pleased.

  Harry also worried for Charlie. This wouldn’t be easy for her, having the foundation of her resentment pulled out from under her. Today she would find out her mother had been a bitter, vindictive woman, and Harry would have done just about anything to shield her from that.

  But he had another motive for putting the reunion off until today.

  Over the past week he’d spent nearly every day with her, arguing, doing his best to protect her when she insisted on forcing her way into danger. Whenever he tried to accomplish something without her, she threatened to go off on her own. But despite her interference, he’d learned quite a bit about Carlyle, while keeping Charlie in the dark. She might suspect a few things, but thankfully, she had no solid evidence of his plans. If she had, she wouldn’t have agreed to meet her father today.

  Harry was counting on the meeting to keep her busy until everything was finally resolved.

  Dalton was still looking around, his expression appalled. Harry had been in the bar many times, however, and the bar was empty with the lights turned up and no cigarette smoke to cloud the air. True, the lime green was almost blinding. But the place was tidy, and comforting in a lived in, relaxed sort of way. The wooden floor wasn’t highly polished, but it was immaculately clean, and though some of the round, mismatched tables looked less than elegant, they were sturdy and in good repair. The walls were bare except for the occasional unframed poster, curling at the edges.

  She’d obviously done the best she could with the bar, and Harry hoped Dalton would see that. Charlie had been given too much responsibility and too few breaks in her young life, and Harry was more than a little relieved to introduce her to her father, knowing Dalton would offer her new opportunities.

  “Damn it, I wish Jill was going to be here. Charlotte’s just being stubborn.”

  It was an unending refrain, and Harry sighed. They still hovered in the doorway, preferring to survey the bar and Charlie without notice. With a hand on Dalton’s shoulder, Harry reminded him, “She doesn’t yet know you, and she’s fiercely protective of Jill. Until she’s certain you won’t disappoint or hurt her, I think you’ll just have to be patient. In a way, that should reassure you, because you can tell Charlie’s taken excellent care of her sister.”

  Dalton’s hands fisted. “Damn Rose. None of this was necessary. If only the woman hadn’t tried to punish me by running off.”

  “True, but go easy on what you say today,” Harry advised. “Rose is the only parent Charlie knows, and I have a feeling her stubbornness would force her to be defensive even about that. And remember, I’m just a P.I. I don’t want her to have to deal with my deception today, on top of everything else.”

  With that last reminder, Harry determined to get the whole thing going. He wanted to see Charlie and Dalton settled, so he could attend Carlyle’s little surprise party.

  He stepped forward and cleared his throat.

  Charlie jerked her gaze up, then stilled. Harry could see the near panic in her beautiful eyes, and it smote him clear down to his masculine core. He wanted to hold her, but of course, he couldn’t. “Hello, Charlie. I’m sorry we’re early, but your father was a bit anxious.”

  Very slowly, her gaze shifted from Harry to her father. She looked like a small animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, but only for a moment. Harry saw the resolve stiffen her spine, saw her summon that indomitable courage. He felt emotion expand inside him, and though it scared him spitless, he smiled.

  Charlie plunked down the clipboard, skirted the bar, and started toward them with a swanky, confident walk. Her clothes were even more disreputable today, her jeans well worn and a tad frayed at the hem, her boots scuffed. She wore a T-shirt with a suggestive beer logo on the front. It was at least two sizes too big, tucked into her snug jeans, and Harry thought she looked adorable.

  Judging by the expression on Dalton’s face, he didn’t.

  All nervousness had disappeared from Charlie’s mien. She stood within a few feet of them, hands on her slim hips, feet spaced apart. She could have been facing Floyd and Ralph again for all her arrogant bravado.

  “So.” She glanced at each of them, then focused on Harry. “I had a delivery this morning I had to deal with. Usually I’m not even up till ten, given the hours I’m open, but the delivery guys always come early. I’d almost forgotten about them after the week we’ve had.”

  Harry didn’t even want to think about that and cast a quick glance at Dalton to see if he’d caught the insinuation. Dalton had no idea Charlie had involved herself with the embezzlers, and he’d be twice as upset if he found out. But Dalton still stared at Charlie, and thankfully, looked unaware of the conversation.

  Harry had tried refusing to let her accompany him as he continued checking into things, partly because he’d feared for her safety, and partly because he didn’t trust his dubious control around her. It boggled the mind the way she could push his buttons, but damn if she didn’t manage it every time she got near. She laughed and he wanted her. She stuck her stubborn chin in the air and he went hot with lust. And her eyes—when she looked at him with her sultry, bold expressions, it took all he had not to give in to the urge to have her.

  Over the past week, he’d twice found her snooping on her own. The urge to put her over his knee had been overwhelming, and had dampened his carnal appetites. Yet when he’d offered that threat, she’d merely laughed, proving she knew he’d never hurt her. To his chagrin, she was the one who discovered Carlyle hadn’t moved his operation at all. Evidently the man was so cocky he was totally without caution, disregarding Harry’s interference as a threat.

  After today, Carlyle would have to rethink that.

  Harry looked at Dalton, who remained mute, and decided he’d have to get the ball rolling before Charlie disclosed things better left concealed. “Charlie, this is your father, Dalton Jones.”

  She tilted her head at Dalton, studying him closely. “You don’t look as old as I had you pictured.”

  Dalton smiled nervously. “Did your mother show you any photographs of me?”

  “Sure. But they were years ago. Eighteen years ago to be exact.”

  Dalton’s eyes closed briefly and he nodded. “Eighteen years that I regret more than I can ever tell you.”

  His words and tone were so heartfelt, Charlie wavered. Harry could see her expression shift, the uncertainty come into her eyes. He took her arm and said gently, “Why don’t we sit down? You two have a lot to talk about.”

  Once they were at a round table toward the middle of the floor, Charlie looked at Harry with a slight smile. “Your eye is healing—the bruises are only green now instead of black. But you still look wiped out. If you can keep from strangling on it, I’ll go get some coffee from the back and well see if that can revive you.”

  He smiled, too, pleased to see the appearance of her wit. “I promise to only sip, to cut back on the chances of strangulation.”

  She glanced at Dalton and hesitated before asking, “Would you like some, too?”

  He nodded. “Actually, Charlotte, I’d love some. Black, please.”

  Harry winced at the name, but quickly forestalled the storm he saw brewing on Charlie’s face by saying, “Isn’t that just how you take yours, Charlie? Black?”

  Her smile turned sickly sweet. “Just.” She walked away without another word.

  When she was out of sight, Harry turned to frown at Dalton. It wasn’t his place, but still he said, “She prefers to be called Charlie.”

  Dalton pulled out a chair and sat down, prompting Harry to do the same. With his back to the kitchen doorway Charlie had gone through, Dalton whispered, “It’s a horrid nickname, probably her mother’s doing, which is a good reason for me not to follow suit.”

  “God.” Harry rubbed his face,
unsure how to convince Dalton he should back off. Charlie definitely wasn’t a woman you wanted to push, and especially not when she felt cornered emotionally.

  Dalton stared around the bar with a grimace. “Don’t you see? She deserves better than this, and it’s my duty to see to it. She’s wearing grubby clothes and working in a dump, when I want her to be free to be a young lady. I’ll worry myself into an early grave if I have to think about her being here every night. I can help her now. She can sell this place and get a respectable diner or something instead. Or she could work for me at the jewelry store.” His face brightened with the prospect. “You know I’d love to have her there.”

  “You’re jumping the gun, don’t you think?”

  “Ha! She deserves a lot better than working in a place like this.”

  The sudden stillness in the air was palpable and Harry jerked around to see Charlie frozen behind them, a tray with coffee, mugs, cream and sugar in her hands. Her jaw was positively rigid, her face pale. There was such a wounded expression in her eyes, he knew he’d never forget it as long as he lived.

  He and Dalton both stood. Dalton, fidgeting nervously, took the tray from her and put it on the table, then held out a chair. As she sat, Harry touched her arm, but she shook him off. Dalton poured coffee while she stared at him.

  “You know, Jill looks a lot like you.”

  Her calm, controlled tone reassured Dalton. But it didn’t fool Harry for a single second. She was up to something, and he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. He cleared his throat. “You all have the same blue eyes.”

  Dalton grinned. “I’m anxious to meet Jill. Though from what Harry has told me, she’s lovely and doesn’t look a thing like me.”

  Charlie shook her head. “You’ve got the same color hair, the same smile. And you both look the same when you feel guilty.” She ignored Dalton’s searching glance. “I look more like my mother.”

  “Yes, you do. And she was beautiful.”

  “Not toward the end she wasn’t. She’d led a hard life, always drinking too much, smoking, never getting enough sleep. We found out she had emphysema and she had to go on oxygen. She hated it, because dragging the oxygen around made her feel old, but she was always tired, so she used it when she absolutely had to. One day she got pneumonia and just died.”

  Charlie recited the facts as if it had been a play, something unreal that had happened to someone else. Without even realizing his intent, Harry took her hand. She clutched at him, but her gaze never left Dalton.

  “This dump paid for her funeral. It’s also kept my sister clothed and fed for the last few years when I had no idea where you were.” Charlie tilted her head, and her grin was without an ounce of humor. “And of course, it’s given me the opportunity to be free.”

  Dalton, already looking stricken by what she’d said, asked cautiously, “Free?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I’m my mother’s daughter. Did you think she hadn’t told me? I knew she’d cheated on you and I heard all her excuses for why you should have forgiven her. She blamed you completely, you know, because she said you weren’t around often enough. Even if she hadn’t told me, her character was pretty plain to see for anyone with eyes, much less a daughter who lived with her. So what makes you think I’m any different?”

  Dalton blustered. “Well, I never thought… I mean, that wasn’t the indication I was… ”

  Charlie pulled Harry’s arm over and hugged it to her breasts. Harry, taken off-guard, gawked at her.

  She laughed. “Harry didn’t tell you that? Well, of course he didn’t. Harry is a gentleman, and gentlemen never kiss and tell.”

  She leaned over and lightly kissed Harry on the jaw, and he stiffened. When he got her alone, he planned to throttle her. “Charlie—”

  “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Harry. But whether Dalton likes it or not, the bar suits me. I’d go nuts in a nine-to-five atmosphere with rules and restrictions and you know it. Besides, the men here are always so complimentary—when they’re not too tanked to get the compliments out.”

  Harry locked his jaw and struggled to think of a way to get her off-track. He understood her, knew exactly what she was doing, but he didn’t like being used.

  “Now Harry, he’s such a smooth talker, he never runs out of compliments.” At Dalton’s unblinking stare, she added, “You didn’t think he only worked for me, did you? No, Harry and I have gotten real close.”

  Harry cursed when Dalton looked at him, brows raised in question.

  At a momentary loss, Dalton swallowed hard. Finally he shook his head. “I understand how difficult your life must have been, Charlotte, believe me. But I’m here now and—”

  “And I’ve been doing as I please too long to start restricting myself at this late date.” Her tone was hard, uncompromising. “If you hoped to step in and play father by correcting all my faults, forget it I happen to revel in my faults.”

  Dalton directed a commanding look at Harry, then slowly stood. “I… Could you excuse me a moment?”

  Charlie nodded, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Sure thing. Boy’s room is in the back, down the hallway and to your left.”

  Harry, having correctly interpreted that look, started to follow, but Charlie didn’t let him go.

  He turned on her, as furious with the situation as he was with her absurd theatrics. “What the hell are you doing, making him think you’re… we’re… ”

  “Lovers?” She made a face and sipped her coffee. “Why not? He obviously thinks I’m lacking and has some harebrained idea of reforming me. This way, he’ll know right off it’s a lost cause and not start meddling in my life.”

  Harry sank back into his seat. Dalton could wait for the moment. He turned Charlie’s hand so he could lace their fingers together. “He thinks no such thing. He’s very proud of you, he just wants to help.”

  “Ha!”

  Harry grimaced. He was getting damn sick and tired of that expression.

  “I heard what he said, Harry. He wants to help me get my life straightened out, but it’s the truth, I enjoy my life. Other than wishing I could give more to Jill, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Harry knew that wasn’t merely pride talking. The bar was home to her, and she wouldn’t give it up easily. He sighed. “All right, so tell him that, but don’t start pretending there’s something going on between us—”

  “Isn’t there? Well, okay, not as much as I suggested, but I was on your floor the other night, Harry, and I enjoyed what you did to me. I’d like us to do it again.”

  “Damn it, Charlie… ”

  “You’re working for me, right? So consider this a side assignment—with bonus pay.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re pushing me.”

  She leaned toward him with a wicked grin. “I like pushing you.” Then the grin was gone, replaced by a stubborn set to her mouth. “But this is important. And since you are working for me, I figured you wouldn’t mind helping me dupe him just a little bit. I know it pushes the boundaries of reality to think of us actually involved in anything more than a quick fling, but Dalton can’t know that. So what’s the big deal?”

  Harry groaned.

  “If he really does care, which I have serious doubts about, it won’t matter to him what I do or who I am. And if it does matter, well, then, he can give me the money for Jill’s education and get lost for another eighteen years. The money is all I really care about anyway.”

  Harry stared at her, knowing she lied. He could see it in her eyes, how much her father’s apparent disapproval had hurt her, and he decided to give Dalton a piece of his mind.

  “I’m going to check on him. Stay put, okay?”

  “Did you think I’d run off and hide? Not likely.”

  Harry found Dalton standing in the tiny gray bathroom. The walls were painted brick and cement, the ceiling light a bare bulb. Dalton looked at Harry with bleak eyes. “She can’t really like this place.”

  Harry crossed his arms over his ch
est and leaned against the door. “You’ll know, Dalton, I’ve gotten to know Charlie—and yes, she is Charlie whether you like it or not!”

  Dalton subsided, biting back his complaint.

  “I’ve gotten to know her beyond what she presents to most of the world.”

  Dalton quirked a brow. “So she said.”

  Harry waved that off. “That’s just her way of getting even for your censure. She wanted to hurt you, the way you hurt her.”

  “But I didn’t mean to hurt her! I just wanted her to know she has choices now.”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t. She’s a wonderful, caring, independent woman who prides herself on those qualities. I have the feeling she’s never asked anyone for anything, and coming to you now for money really rubs her the wrong way.”

  “It shouldn’t. I’d gladly give her anything I have.”

  “But don’t you see? She’s always been able to get by on her own through gumption and strength of will. She turned this run-down dive into a favored local saloon, and she’s supported her sister and ailing mother by doing so. I’ve watched her working here. From the regulars to the occasional drop-in, Charlie deals with them all in her own special way, protecting herself, but not really offending, being friendly, but never letting any man get too close.” Except for himself. He shoved that thought aside and continued. “She’s rightfully proud of this place and what she’s accomplished. When you insult it, you insult her.”

  Dalton rubbed his face. “It’s just so—”

  “Not what you’d expected? What you’d want for her? I never thought to say it, but you remind me of my own father, Dalton.”

  That got his attention, his head snapping up and he frowned.

  “She has to lead her own life, not the life you’d choose for her. All you can do now is be there for her. She’s twenty-seven years old, a grown woman, and frankly I don’t think she needs to change.”