Bewitched (8 page)

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.”

 

C
HARLIE 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—”