The bar wasn’t yet open. Charlie had insisted they meet there, partly, Harry assumed, because she felt it gave her an advantage to be on her own territory and in familiar surroundings. She wouldn’t admit it, not even to herself, but she was very uncertain about meeting her father.
Her insecurity, and the need to hide it, endeared her to Harry all the more. He smiled toward her, though Charlie was still unaware of them. They were early, but keeping Dalton away any longer had proved impossible.
Harry had convinced Dalton to wait a week, to give himself plenty of time to recover. He refused to let Harry tell Charlie about his heart attack, so there was no telling how Charlie would react during the meeting, but Harry thought it a safe bet she’d be antagonistic and stubborn. She had a lot of past grievances to get through before she’d be able to fully accept Dalton.
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.”