Bewitched: In Too Deep

“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?”