Page 3 of Two Hearts

J ack sat there, listening to the old man talk, and he kept thinking maybe he ought to call one of the nurses because Harrison Phelps, millionaire, seemed to be delusional.

He lay there in the bed, with a white sheet over his barrel-shaped body and his blue-patterned hospital gown, and just talked.

He should have looked ridiculous. And his notions should have sounded ridiculous.

So why the hell didn’t they?

“My Mitsy’s done a hell of a job raising our daughters,” Harry said. “A hell of a job. And for the most part, I’ve been perfectly happy to step aside and let her. Hell, I wanted the best for them, too. And what did I know about manners and clothes and piano lessons, anyway?”

“I’m sure you’ve both done fine by your kids, Harry. But I really don’t have a clue where you’re going with this. I just came to take your statement.”

“Bullcookies. You came to see if I was all right, and to keep that promise you made me. I may not know about party dresses and manicures, son, but I’ll tell you what I do know about.”

“What’s that?”

“I know the difference between a polished-up pretty boy and a real man.” Harry crossed his arms over his big chest, and gave his head a hard nod as if some major decision had just been made.

“That’s really fantastic, Harry. But, um, about this statement.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell Mitsy you were a cop. She’d never let you through the front door if she knew!”

“I’m…not going to need to come to the house, Harry. We can take care of this statement thing right here, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Well, boy, you might not be quite as sharp as I thought you were,” he said, eyeing Jack and frowning.

“How’s that, Harry?” Jack asked.

“How in the Sam Hill are you planning on seeing my Gracie again if you don’t come to the house?”

Jack feinted backward slightly, as if trying to dodge a blow, but the blow seemed to land, anyway. The old bastard hit him right between the eyes. “Well…I—I wasn’t exactly planning to see her again at all.”

“She likes you, Jack. I could see that plain as day. She never once looked at one of those three-piece-suited phonies the way she looked at you.”

Jack lowered his head and tried to remain hard and cynical.

Tried not to go soft inside at the very notion—because there was no notion.

No chance. No way. “If your daughter looked at me in any special way, Harry, that was only because you made me sound like some kind of hero who saved her father’s life. Don’t you think?”

“Nope. That had nothing to do with it.”

Jack licked his lips and lowered his head, trying to figure a graceful way out of whatever scheme the old guy was hatching. But he supposed, deep down, he wasn’t trying very hard.

“You liked her, too. Sparks were practically flying across the room between you two! I’m not blind.”

Jack’s throat was very tight and dry. “I—your daughter is…an attractive young woman.”

“So date her.”

Closing his eyes slowly, Jack swallowed hard. “ Date her?”

“Why the hell not?” Harry asked.

“Well, for starters, she’s at least ten years younger than me.”

“Is that all? I’ve got fifteen on Mitsy.”

“Harry, this just isn’t—”

“Hey, I’m not asking you to marry the girl, for Pete’s sake!

Just… Look, just come to the house tomorrow night for the party.

At least do that much. Hell, the family would think it strange if you didn’t!

And Mitsy’s gonna be shoving pretty boys in poor Gracie’s face all night long.

She ought to have at least one decent, honest-to-goodness man to compare them to. ”

Jack stared at him. He couldn’t talk much. Basically he was speechless. But Harry wasn’t.

“Gracie…she hates this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing do I hate, Daddy?” the deep, honey-rich voice of the woman asked from the doorway behind Jack.

He turned around, saw those eyes, electric-blue and almond-shaped, dancing over her father with concern and real love.

“I was trying to convince Jack here to come to your party tomorrow night.”

Did those eyes light up just a little bit? Jack couldn’t be sure. Hell, maybe it was wishful thinking on his part. If it was, it sure shouldn’t have been.

“That would be…wonderful.”

“Would it?”

Smiling slightly, she nodded. And Jack was trembling way down deep on some subatomic level. He could feel it, but it didn’t show. As if it was his soul shivering in reaction to hers, not just his body.

“Yes. Will you come, Jack?”

Oh, man, when she said his name it was like electrocution. When he caught his breath again he said, “Only if you promise me a dance.”

She smiled so suddenly it was like a flash of heat lightning. And her cheeks went warm and pink as she lowered her head. “As many as you want,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

Jack’s stomach was doing weird things, and it seemed as though his hands were in the way. He didn’t know what the hell to do with them, so he stuck them into his pockets and felt like a schoolkid with his first crush. “I, um, I have to go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Jack left the room, but as he did he glanced back and saw that old man grinning from ear to ear.

He should have stayed. He should have asked the old guy just how far he intended to carry this ruse—this lie he’d dragged Jack into.

He should have asked him just what the hell he was supposed to do if he ended up falling head over heels in love with his daughter.

What then? She’d have to learn the truth sooner or later, wouldn’t she?

He should have asked. But he didn’t. Because it seemed like such a small lie…at the time.

* * *

“Dammit, Charlie, how could this possibly be happening?” Grace yanked yet another blouse from the closet, eyed it, and then threw it atop the mountain of clothing on the bed.

“How could what be happening?” Charlie sat there as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

She wore a pair of black warm-up pants with a white stripe down the side, a New York Liberty warm-up shirt and a baseball cap.

Gracie had the exact same clothes, hidden way in the back of her closet.

She and Charlie had bought them together on Charlie’s fortieth birthday when Grace had taken her to Madison Square Garden to see a game.

Good old Charlie. She didn’t look any older than Gracie did, except for the twenty or so pounds of adulthood she carried around her hips.

“How could it happen that my mother was actually right all these years?” Gracie wailed.

“Oh, yeah. Maybe in her dreams. What was she right about?”

“About me, Charlie. About how being a tomboy and a jock would ruin me, and how no decent man would ever look twice at me unless I acted more like she wanted me to.”

Charlie leaned back on the bed, cocking one eyebrow. “And since when did you decide your mom was right about that?”

“You should have told me, you know. You were my nanny! It was your job to tell me.”

“I tol’ you what I knew, kid. To be yourself.

To do what you love best, and to hell with the rest. And I sort of thought it had served you well.

I mean, you were the lead scorer on the college basketball team, weren’t you?

And you did win that kickboxing championship last summer, right?

And if I’m not mistaken, that box full of trophies hidden under the bed belongs to you, too, doesn’t it? ”

“Charlie!” Grace glared at her, putting a finger to her lips. Then she ran to the door and peered out into the hall. She looked up and down, saw no one. Sighing in relief, she closed it again. “You know better than to talk about any of that out loud.”

“Jeez, Gracie, you’re a grown-up now. Don’t you think it’s time you came out of the locker room already?”

Sighing, pacing, Gracie shook her head. “Mother was right,” she said. “Last night, when I met Jack…I was wearing that stupid getup Mom bought me for the party, those dumb pearls at my throat, and my hair all tamed down and tugged back. And he… Oh, Charlie, the way he looked at me…”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “If you think he liked you like that, you wait till he sees you in your basketball jersey, sinking a three.”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “No, he can’t see me like that. I mean…he wouldn’t have looked twice at me. No one ever has before. It was that whole image Mom made me put on last night. Don’t you get it, Charlie?”

“No. I don’t get it.” Charlie got up, took Gracie’s shoulders, turned her and stared at her. “Your mother doesn’t mean to do what she does, Grace.”

“Mother doesn’t… do anything.”

“Yeah, she does. She withholds her love until and unless her daughters conform to her idea of perfection. She’s done it to you all your life. For crying out loud, they were scouting you for the pros, Gracie! A dream come true! And what did you tell them?”

Gracie told herself that the burning in her eyes and the tightening of her throat had nothing to do with what Charlie was talking about. “Maybe that’s not my dream,” she said, sniffling.

“I raised you, remember?”

Gracie blinked. “It doesn’t matter. I made the decision and that’s the end of it.”

“Damn right it is. Chances like that don’t come along twice in a lifetime.”

“Let it go, Charlie.”

Charlie sighed, but she let it go. “So what’s your point, kid?”

“My point is that I think I met the man of my dreams last night, and he’s coming back tonight! I can’t wear the same thing, and I suck at putting these kinds of clothes together. I need help, Charlie.”

Charlie shook her head slowly. “I may be good at sneaking little girls out for phony etiquette lessons, helping them change into blue jeans and taking them to the park to play ball, all without getting caught, kid. But I’m not good enough for the level of deception you have in mind.”

Grace stared at her, blinking in shock at the judgment in her tone. “It isn’t deception!”