Page 13 of A Whim and a Prayer

Purposely skipping her usual dab of perfume, she pinned her hair up in sleep mode—covered with a ruffled sleep hat that she almost never wore because Mitch hated it—then brushed her teeth. Shooting a satisfied glance in the mirror, she turned out the light and opened the door, relieved that the sleeping pill was already taking effect. Eyelids heavy, she stifled a huge yawn that slowly stretched into a smile as one final thought floated through her foggy brain.

Thank God for Amytal!

Chapter Nine

Lowering the newspaper he was reading on the bed, Mitch couldn’t help it—he grinned outright the moment Charity came out of the bathroom. Sweet mother of Job, the woman missed her calling on the stage, because nobody could set a scene like his wife.

He’d known she had a bee in her bonnet for a few days now, so he let it simmer for a while because heaven knows how much he enjoyed coaxing it out of her when she pretended to be asleep.

But he had to admit, she’d kicked it up a notch with the silly sleep cap and ratty nightgown, which only meant he was determined to get that rag off sooner rather than later. To be honest, the new getup was kind of adorable—so different from the Charity he knew—that it actually enticed him all the more to unleash the temptress that resided within.

Even her yawn was adorable, so he took off his reading glasses and laid them on the nightstand with a chuckle. “Sleepy, sweetheart?”

Blue eyes snapping open, she literally squeaked and jerked so hard, her body bounced off the doorframe with a hand to her chest. Her jaw took a dive. “Sweet suffering saints, Dennehy, you scared the bloomin’ daylights out of me!”

Mouth pursed in a tight smile, he folded his arms with a twist of his lips. “I’d rather scare the truth out of you, Little Girl, so are you ready to tell me what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours? Ratty nightgown and sleep cap notwithstanding?”

“I’m just tired,” she said with another monumental yawn, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to her side of the bed. Lifting the covers, she stopped to give him a squint. “Why aren’t you downstairs listening to your favorite show?”

Tossing the newspaper on the nightstand, he rose and walked to the closet while tugging at his tie to hang it up, then unbuttoned his pinstripe shirt. “Because I’d rather talk to the love of my life, who is far more important than any radio show. He stripped his shirt off and tossed it on the hamper followed by his crew-neck T-shirt, sending her a sliver of a smile as he unbuckled his belt.

“What are you doing?” she said in a near shriek, sitting straight up with covers clutched to her chest.

He jutted a brow as he stepped out of his trousers and placed them over the trouser press. “Getting ready for bed. What does it look like?”

“I … I m-mean, you never go to bed this early,” she stuttered, gaze darting to the alarm clock and back.

“Neither do you.” His smile crooked.

“B-But … it’s only eight-thirty, Mitch!”

He strolled to his bureau and plucked a pair of pajama bottoms from the drawer—the only thing he ever wore to bed. “All the more time to figure out what’s going on in that busy brain of yours, darling.”

“B-But … but … I’m sorry, Mitch, but I don’t feel like talking tonight”—she rubbed her temple—“or anything else, sweetheart, because … well, I don’t feel so good.”

He ambled over to her side of the bed and bent to kiss her on the head. “That’s because you’re holding a grudge against me, Little Girl, and I need to find out why.” He headed toward the bathroom to brush his teeth. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mitch!”

He turned at the note of alarm in her tone.

A lump bobbed in her throat. “I … I …”—she avoided his gaze as she chewed on her lip—“took a sleeping pill.”

He blinked. God help me—she has sleeping pills? He gave her an open-mouthed stare. “How the devil did you get those?”

She slowly slid back beneath the covers with a sheepish look. “I told Dr. Miller I was having trouble sleeping.”

He huffed out a sigh. “Only when you’re trying to avoid me, Little Girl.” He leveled a stern finger. “I’ll be right out, so don’t you dare go to sleep, Charity.”

Her brows tented in apology. “But I’ll be too tired, Mitch, for talking or …or … for anything else.”

His smile sloped sideways. “That’s all right, sweetheart—I’ll do all the work.”

“Sleeping pills!” he muttered as he snatched the toothpaste to slap it on his brush. “For pity’s sake, I’ve known the woman for almost thirty years, and she still shocks me to the core.”

She was fake-snoring with her back to him when he got into bed, and his grin was back at the sight of her straddling the edge in a fetal position. Scooting over, he slipped his arms around her waist and snuggled close, brushing his lips on that glorious sensitive spot at the nape of her neck. “I know you’re not asleep yet, Charity, so you may as well turn around, because we are going to talk whether you like it or not.”

Silence. Except for her calculated breathing, which continued with only the barest hitch in its rhythm.