Bewitched (4 page)

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.

“W
ELL 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.