His words and tone were so heartfelt, Charlie wavered. Harry could see her expression shift, the uncertainty come into her eyes. He took her arm and said gently, “Why don’t we sit down? You two have a lot to talk about.”
Once they were at a round table toward the middle of the floor, Charlie looked at Harry with a slight smile. “Your eye is healing—the bruises are only green now instead of black. But you still look wiped out. If you can keep from strangling on it, I’ll go get some coffee from the back and we’ll see if that can revive you.”
He smiled, too, pleased to see the appearance of her wit. “I promise to only sip, to cut back on the chances of strangulation.”
She glanced at Dalton and hesitated before asking, “Would you like some, too?”
He nodded. “Actually, Charlotte, I’d love some. Black, please.”
Harry winced at the name, but quickly forestalled the storm he saw brewing on Charlie’s face by saying, “Isn’t that just how you take yours, Charlie? Black?”
Her smile turned sickly sweet. “Just.” She walked away without another word.
When she was out of sight, Harry turned to frown at Dalton. It wasn’t his place, but still he said, “She prefers to be called Charlie.”
Dalton pulled out a chair and sat down, prompting Harry to do the same. With his back to the kitchen doorway Charlie had gone through, Dalton whispered, “It’s a horrid nickname, probably her mother’s doing, which is a good reason for me not to follow suit.”
“God.” Harry rubbed his face, unsure how to convince Dalton he should back off. Charlie definitely wasn’t a woman you wanted to push, and especially not when she felt cornered emotionally.
Dalton stared around the bar with a grimace. “Don’t you see? She deserves better than this, and it’s my duty to see to it. She’s wearing grubby clothes and working in a dump, when I want her to be free to be a young lady. I’ll worry myself into an early grave if I have to think about her being here every night. I can help her now. She can sell this place and get a respectable diner or something instead. Or she could work for me at the jewelry store.” His face brightened with the prospect. “You know I’d love to have her there.”
“You’re jumping the gun, don’t you think?”
“Ha! She deserves a lot better than working in a place like this.”
The sudden stillness in the air was palpable and Harry jerked around to see Charlie frozen behind them, a tray with coffee, mugs, cream and sugar in her hands. Her jaw was positively rigid, her face pale. There was such a wounded expression in her eyes, he knew he’d never forget it as long as he lived.
He and Dalton both stood. Dalton, fidgeting nervously, took the tray from her and put it on the table, then held out a chair. As she sat, Harry touched her arm, but she shook him off. Dalton poured coffee while she stared at him.
“You know, Jill looks a lot like you.”
Her calm, controlled tone reassured Dalton. But it didn’t fool Harry for a single second. She was up to something, and he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. He cleared his throat. “You all have the same blue eyes.”
Dalton grinned. “I’m anxious to meet Jill. Though from what Harry has told me, she’s lovely and doesn’t look a thing like me.”
Charlie shook her head. “You’ve got the same color hair, the same smile. And you both look the same when you feel guilty.” She ignored Dalton’s searching glance. “I look more like my mother.”
“Yes, you do. And she was beautiful.”
“Not toward the end she wasn’t. She’d led a hard life, always drinking too much, smoking, never getting enough sleep. We found out she had emphysema and she had to go on oxygen. She hated it, because dragging the oxygen around made her feel old, but she was always tired, so she used it when she absolutely had to. One day she got pneumonia and just died.”
Charlie recited the facts as if it had been a play, something unreal that had happened to someone else. Without even realizing his intent, Harry took her hand. She clutched at him, but her gaze never left Dalton.
“This dump paid for her funeral. It’s also kept my sister clothed and fed for the last few years when I had no idea where you were.” Charlie tilted her head, and her grin was without an ounce of humor. “And of course, it’s given me the opportunity to be free.”
Dalton, already looking stricken by what she’d said, asked cautiously, “Free?”
Charlie shrugged. “I’m my mother’s daughter. Did you think she hadn’t told me? I knew she’d cheated on you and I heard all her excuses for why you should have forgiven her. She blamed you completely, you know, because she said you weren’t around often enough. Even if she hadn’t told me, her character was pretty plain to see for anyone with eyes, much less a daughter who lived with her. So what makes you think I’m any different?”
Dalton blustered. “Well, I never thought… I mean, that wasn’t the indication I was…”
Charlie pulled Harry’s arm over and hugged it to her breasts. Harry, taken off-guard, gawked at her.
She laughed. “Harry didn’t tell you that? Well, of course he didn’t. Harry is a gentleman, and gentlemen never kiss and tell.”
She leaned over and lightly kissed Harry on the jaw, and he stiffened. When he got her alone, he planned to throttle her. “Charlie—”
“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Harry. But whether Dalton likes it or not, the bar suits me. I’d go nuts in a nine-to-five atmosphere with rules and restrictions and you know it. Besides, the men here are always so complimentary—when they’re not too tanked to get the compliments out.”
Harry locked his jaw and struggled to think of a way to get her off-track. He understood her, knew exactly what she was doing, but he didn’t like being used.
“Now Harry, he’s such a smooth talker, he never runs out of compliments.” At Dalton’s unblinking stare, she added, “You didn’t think he only worked for me, did you? No, Harry and I have gotten real close.”
Harry cursed when Dalton looked at him, brows raised in question.
At a momentary loss, Dalton swallowed hard. Finally he shook his head. “I understand how difficult your life must have been, Charlotte, believe me. But I’m here now and—”
“And I’ve been doing as I please too long to start restricting myself at this late date.” Her tone was hard, uncompromising. “If you hoped to step in and play father by correcting all my faults, forget it. I happen to revel in my faults.”
Dalton directed a commanding look at Harry, then slowly stood. “I…Could you excuse me a moment?”
Charlie nodded, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Sure thing. Boy’s room is in the back, down the hallway and to your left.”
Harry, having correctly interpreted that look, started to follow, but Charlie didn’t let him go.
He turned on her, as furious with the situation as he was with her absurd theatrics. “What the hell are you doing, making him think you’re…we’re…”
“Lovers?” She made a face and sipped her coffee. “Why not? He obviously thinks I’m lacking and has some harebrained idea of reforming me. This way, he’ll know right off it’s a lost cause and not start meddling in my life.”