Bewitched: In Too Deep

“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.”