Page 3 of Two Hearts
Watching them go, Jack had no idea that the course of his life would change radically that night.Some radar, right?He thought later that he should have known, should have sensed it somehow.That old man had plans for Jack.Big plans.And like some unseasoned rookie, Jack walked right into them, head-on.
* * *
He headed straight back to his tiny two-rooms-and-a-bath apartment over Mike’s Bar and Grill.By the time he had showered, shaved, changed clothes and headed out again to go to the hospital, the better part of an hour had passed.And that damned dog from next door hadn’t stopped barking the entire time.Jack knew hospitals.He figured he’d walk in to see the old gent biding his time in the ER, awaiting the results of his blood work or the cutting of the red tape that would get him a room.
He wasn’t, though, and when Jack got his name from the ER admitting nurse, he finally figured out why.“Harry” turned out to be Harrison J.Phelps.The character was one of the richest men in the country.His name was as well-known as Rupert Murdoch’s or Donald Trump’s.He’d been examined, diagnosed and put into a private room with all due haste, and was even now visiting with his family doctor, who must have broken land speed records to get there.
Shaking his head slowly, Jack got the room number and went to the elevator.At the sixth floor, he got off again.Jack was not usually the kind of man who worried too much about his appearance, and even less about what other people thought of him.Yeah, he had cleaned up for the old guy some, but he would have done the same for anybody.Now, though, that he knew who the guy was, he also knew he wasn’t up to snuff.The suit was clean, in good shape, but even brand-new it wouldn’t have fooled anyone into thinking it had any designer’s name on the label—unless the designer was named JCPenney.Jack decided he’d keep his coat on.It was slightly more impressive looking.Nowhere near up to Phelps-style snuff, but it had cost a few bucks.It was a black trench coat, long enough to cover up most of the cheap suit.
Glancing at the numbers on the doors, Jack spotted the one marked 621, and tapped on it.The old man’s voice called, “Come in,” so he opened the door, stepped through, and got hit right between the eyes with the blinding light of an angel.
She was sitting in a chair beside Harry’s bed, holding his hand in both of hers.And hers were long and strong and elegant, her nails short and neat.Jack’s gaze slid up her arm to her shoulder, which was bared by the sleeveless dress she was wearing.It was pale blue, that dress, simply cut but elegant somehow.It came down to the middle of her thighs and from there on there was nothing but leg.She had long, long legs, and they ended in shoes that had pointy little toes and dainty little heels.
Jack swallowed hard, sliding his focus up her body again, knowing better, but somehow unable to do anything different.Her waist was small and her chest was small, too.Jack usually went for buxom babes with cleavage to spare—most of whom would come only up to this woman’s shoulders—but there was something about her….
She wore pearls…tiny, perfects pearls around her long, slender neck.Her auburn hair was tugged back into a smooth knot.Her skin…it was like cream.Her cheekbones made her seem born of royalty.And finally Jack looked at her eyes, and thought a goddess must have given birth to her.Big, almond-shaped eyes, sizzling electric-blue, gazed back at him, and they were damn near as busy as his own, looking him over.
“About time you got here,” Harry was saying.“This is him, Gracie.This is Jack McCain.”
The girl blinked, and the next thing Jack knew she was out of her chair and in his arms.Tall, long and lean, she wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck and hugged him close to her.“Thank you,” she said softly.“Thank you for saving my father’s life.”
Jack blinked, pretty much bowled over at this point and trying real hard to keep in mind that this was a lady, a real lady, and not the type of girl he usually warmed his nights with.She was class personified.She was grace…they had certainly named her right.His hands were on her back, but not too hard, and he didn’t dare move them.He felt as if he were holding something too clean to touch.
She smelled good.Like sunshine and wildflowers.
A throat cleared very slightly.Grace gently backed away, her blue eyes wet as she smiled up at him.Jack got the sense of other people in the room.It hadn’t been Harry’s throat-clearing just then.But for the life of him, he couldn’t look away from the woman whose hands still rested slightly on his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she said.“But when I think how close we came to losing him…”
“It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“Nonsense!”Harry boomed.“This young man saved my life.The killers had weapons!”
“They were muggers, Harry, and all they had was a pocketknife—”
“You should have seen him, Mitsy,” Harry went on.“On-lookers actually applauded!”
Jack felt his brows pull together and for the first time he got that little niggling feeling at the back of his neck that told him something wasn’t quite right.Gently, his hands resting at Grace’s waist, he moved her to one side.“Harry, what are you—”
“I can’t tell you how grateful we are, young man,” a woman said.Jack looked her way, met her eyes and saw an older, shorter version of Grace.She had to be the girl’s mother.
“I was only doing my job, ma’am,” he said.
The woman moved toward him, thrust out her hand.Jack took it.“Mitsy Phelps, darling,” she said.“And exactly what do you mean, you were doing your job?”
“Ah, that’s the same line he fed me, Mitsy!”Harry gushed from the bed.“His duty as a citizen, and all that!”
Again, Jack felt his brows pull together and his warning bells go off.He was not liking this.
“What line of work are you in?”Mrs.Phelps asked.
“I’m a—”
“Jack’s in law,” Harry said.
“Oh?A lawyer?”
“Not exactly,” he told her.
