Thankfully, before I could embarrass myself by spilling a tear, a voice called from the nearby staircase. “Harry? Is that you? Thank Christ, you’ve come to sweep me off my feet?”
We all turned to see Benji’s cousin Connie swanning down the stairs, face lit up and eyes glued to Harry. I had to admit I didn’t know Connie very well, but I’d seen her around town a few years ago while I was at school. She’d lived with the Larsons for a while, and I could only assume she was back. All I remembered was that she was kinda loud and free-spirited. I guess things hadn’t changed.
Like an eagle spotting a mouse in the forest, she suddenly swooped down the staircase and practically threw herself over the check-in desk in front of Harry, draping her body suggestively on the vintage desktop.
Oh my God,I thought to myself.Harry had women falling all over him. How the hell was he still single?
How the… hell?
Suddenly I wondered… maybe he wanted to be single. Or maybe he was…
“Oh hey, Connie,” Harry said in a faltering, almost quivering voice.
“Hey yourself,” Connie said with an open-mouthed wink. “What brings you to the inn, big fella?”
Before he could answer, Benji gave his cousin a good shove, pushing her off the desk. “Connie, do you mind? You’re interrupting the guests.”
“Guests?” Connie said, looking from Harry to me before grinning from ear to ear. “Oh my God, are you two getting a room together? Can I join you?”
“No!” Harry and I said in unison once more, before Harry clarified. “We’re not getting a room together. Dean is here to book a couple of rooms for—”
“Wait a minute,” Connie said, quickly zeroing her gaze in on me now. “Are you Dean Reeves? As intheDean Reeves? Holy shit, I heard some big shot record company snatched you up and swept you off to LA. Didn’t you do that song… what was it called… ‘Spanner of my Heart’?”
“Hammerof my Heart,” Harry corrected her, before looking at me and adding, “Connie’s not very good at identifying tools.”
Rather than be offended, Connie purred at Harry. “Maybe you should strap on that big old tool belt of yours and teach me.”
Benji rolled his eyes and said to Bastian, “Babe, would you mind sorting out a booking for Dean and Harry. Connie and I need to tend to something in the kitchen.” He walked around the check-in desk, grabbed Connie by the forearm, and began dragging her away.
“What?” she protested. “I was just making polite conversation.”
“About Harry’s tool belt?” Benji whispered harshly. “I know you, Connie. You were literally three seconds away from asking if his jackhammer needed a good lube.”
Connie giggled. “Actually, I was about to ask if he needed someone to hold his monkey wrench, but the jackhammer line is even better. Note to self!”
“Oh my God, you’re incorrigible!”
With that, he hauled her through the kitchen door and slammed it behind them.
Bastian gave a polite, “Mmmm. Sorry about that. Ever since we made her head of housekeeping, she thinks she owns the place. At least she refrained from slapping anyone on the ass this time.” He beamed his widest smile as if to saymoving right along. “Now, what name shall I make the booking under?”
* * *
Harry drove me back home, and for a moment we were silent in the car before he said, “Dean, I’m worried about you. Are you sure you don’t want to drive straight over to Sheriff Gates and tell him what’s going on?”
“No. Please. I don’t want to make a big deal over this. It’s probably nothing. I know it’s nothing. Besides, I came home to get away from everything in LA. The last thing I want is to bring all that drama and trouble back with me. Mulligan’s Mill is my one place to hide away. It’s my shelter. It’s my home. Calling the police, telling Sheriff Gates… all that’s gonna do is make me feel unsafe all over again, even here. I don’t want that. Promise me it won’t come to that.”
And that’s when it happened.
That’s when Harry—my Harry—reached across and held my hand.
“I told you before. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
He squeezed my hand so tight I thought my heart was going to burst from my chest. I struggled to speak, struggled to breathe. He still had the bandage wrapped around his hand and it crinkled up in our grip.
“Your bandage,” I said, my voice barely audible. “We should change your bandage. Would you like me to…”
Suddenly he seemed overly self-conscious.
