Page 96 of A Whim and a Prayer

“Well, I was tempted to do that too, when Chester told me you left with the she-devil.”

“What? I didn’t leave with her. She followed me out.”

“Oh, and I wonder why?” She stood over him with a mock glare, hands plunked to her hips.

“To make my wife jealous, of course,” he said with a bite of a chocolate chip cookie, pumping his brows in jest.

“Well, I’m not.” She turned to go, nose in the air when he yanked her onto his lap. “Sure you are, Little Girl,” he said in a husky voice, “and somewhere there’s a hank of hair and a night watchman to prove it.” He kissed her soundly, the taste of chocolate on his tongue and the scent of Bay Rum racing her pulse.

He pulled abruptly away, punctuating it with a kiss to her nose. “Now that we got that out of the way—how’s Winnie?”

“Sleeping. Soundly.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you all about it, I promise, but first I want to know what happened with Brayden.”

He drew in a deep draw of air and slowly released it again as he wrapped his arms around her. “After my meeting with Marjorie, I met Stuart Millington for a drink and a quick bite to eat.”

“That lush of a lawyer?” She arched a worried brow, and he responded with a thin smile.

“Ginger-ale for me, Little Girl, and whiskey straight up for him. He’s a bigwig in The National Fraternity Organization, so I asked him what it would take to get McCarthy kicked out of the fraternity, and when I told him what happened to Winnie, it was a done deal. But I wanted to deliver the news in person, so I paid a visit to that weasel at the fraternity.”

“Better you than me,” Charity said in a near growl, thinking her hair-pulling ability would have come in mighty handy along with a well-placed kick. Even so, her pride swelled that her husband was ready to take on a punk over forty years younger than him, workouts at the gym or no.

“He was up in his room, and when I saw where he molested our daughter”—a twitch flickered in Mitch’s jaw—“I wanted to beat the tar out of him, but I didn’t. But when I delivered the bad news, that lousy punk took a swipe at me. That’s when I reminded him—with my fists—about what he did to my daughter. Told him if he ever talked to her again or spread any rumor about her, I would turn him over to the police for assault.”

“Oh, Mitch!” Charity cupped his face in her hands, eyes misty as she gave him the deepest kiss she could.

“Mmm … I should beat people up more often, Little Girl, if this is the thanks I get.” He shifted her back to a holding position. “But don’t distract me. Fill me in on Winnie.” He reached for another cookie before sliding the marble fudge cheesecake closer to take a sniff. “And how many times Beck called today.”

Charity jumped up, thinking her husband had earned cheesecake and more, along with a cup of decaf. “Three times, but first, how ’bout a cup of Sanka to go with those cookies?”

“Sure, as long as you throw in a piece of cheesecake. Although I’d rather have a stiff cup of caffeine.”

“You got it, big boy.” She hurried over to make the Sanka, tossing a grin over her shoulder as she filled a pot with water to put on the boil. “On the cheesecake, that is. After that heroic effort, you need your sleep, darling, so I don’t want caffeine to keep you awake.”

“Agreed.” He winked. “I already have you for that.”

She wagged a spoon at him before putting some Sanka in a cup. “Focus, Dennehy—I have important things to share about Winnie.”

Mitch settled back in his chair with a loose fold of arms. “Okay, shoot.”

“Well, like I said, poor Beck called a third time this evening to see how Winnie was doing, and I had to tell him she’s too embarrassed to see him anytime soon, which he didn’t seem thrilled about, of course, and I don’t blame him. But he said he understood and wanted us to know he’s praying for her.”

Mitch released a weary breath as he reached for another cookie. “He told me he’d given his word to Winnie to stay away until Christmas, as you well know, Little Girl, since you sicced me on him at work”—a ghost of a smile hovered on his lips as he slid her a slatted look—“but, I’ll admit, I thought this trauma might negate that. Either way, sure hope it’s short-term because that boy would be a real catch—for all of us.”

“I couldn’t agree more, so I’m happy to report that Winnie did agree to see him on Christmas, but who knows how that will go?” Her tongue did a nervous slide of her teeth as she retrieved a knife, fork, and dessert plate. “I’m worried this may have damaged their friendship.”

“Why?” Mitch chewed slowly, eyes in a squint as he focused on his wife.

She gave a slight hunch of shoulders while she cut a piece of cheesecake and handed it to him. “Because she’s absolutely mortified that he was the one who found her. I worry it’s diminished the comfort level she’s had all these years with Beck as her best friend, which as we know, was already on the wane since the play.”

She hurried to deliver his steaming cup of Sanka before sitting down in the chair next to him with a heavy exhale that matched his to a breath. “I know she’s attracted to Beck romantically although she vehemently denies it, but I can’t figure out why she refuses to see him that way, avoiding him like the plague over the last month.”

Mitch grunted as he slashed his fork into the cheesecake. “Well, she can’t avoid him on Christmas—he’s been a part of our celebrations for years, so we’re not cutting him off now.”

“Agreed. But I’m afraid this whole tragedy has ruined my plan to get the two of them together romantically, at least for now, because Winnie is most adamant it will not happen. And after what she’s been through, Mitch, I can’t very well encourage Beck to follow through on his romantic feelings for her.”