Once Upon a Matchmaker

“Sounds good. What time?” he asked the adolescent-sounding woman.

Tracy pulled over her desk calendar—the existence of which the administrative assistant she shared with two other lawyers at the firm always found incredibly amusing—and glanced at the appointments that were listed for tomorrow.

The page was full.

She suppressed a sigh, thinking. “How about after hours?” she finally suggested. “Ordinarily, I’d say lunchtime, but I’m going to be working through it tomorrow. If you can come in around five-thirty, I can see you then,” she told him.

“Five-thirty,” Micah repeated. It was doable and this way, he didn’t have to make up any work time—as long as he got in early. His department had been on flextime for eighteen months now. “I’ll be there.”

He sounded as if he were ready to hang up, Tracy thought. She talked quickly to stop him. “Oh, Micah, just so I know what I’m up against, how serious is the alleged crime you’ve been accused of?”

Micah glanced over his shoulder to see if either one of his sons had quietly sneaked up behind him. For the most part, Gary and Greg were as quiet as train wrecks, but every so often—most likely through the use of magic—they managed to approach his space without making a sound, and almost always when he was saying something they weren’t old enough to hear yet.

But when he looked, both boys were still on the floor in front of the TV. Gary was laughing and chattering to his brother. Greg wasn’t answering. The younger boy appeared to have fallen asleep.

Taking a breath, Micah said, “The word treason should cover it.”

“Oh.” Tracy paused a second to get her bearings and regroup. “You’re being accused of treason? Seriously?” she asked, her voice echoing disbelief.

“That’s it in a nutshell. Treason,” Micah repeated. He half expected the woman with the teenager’s voice to beg off, saying something along the lines that she’d just realized she had a prior commitment—like for the next eighteen years.

But instead, he heard her say, “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow at five-thirty.”

Well, that was a surprise. The woman had taken it in stride. “Five-thirty,” he repeated, feeling both numb and, for the first time in two days, somewhat hopeful. Numb because he still couldn’t believe this was happening to him, and hopeful because at least he’d taken the first step toward resolving this nightmare.

God knew he’d never been an angel, nor had he presented himself as one, but anyone who knew him knew that he took pride in his work, pride in the fact that in some small way, he was helping to defend the country that he loved. He could no more do what he was being accused of—selling top secret information to this country’s enemies—than he could suddenly grow a viable set of gills and live the rest of his life in the ocean.

And yet, the company he’d gone to work for straight out of college was saying he was guilty.

“Daddy,” Gary called, breaking into his thoughts. The boy beckoned wildly for him to come over and join them. “Come see this. It’s funny!” the little boy said, laughing.

“I could use ‘funny’ right about now,” Micah told his son. Putting his cell phone away, he went to join the two little boys. He sat down on the sofa directly behind his sons and glanced in Greg’s direction. His younger son was curled up on the floor and from the looks of it, had fallen asleep. “Looks like this put Greg to sleep,” he commented to the other boy.

Gary waved a dismissive hand at his brother. “He’s a baby,” he taunted the sleeping boy. “He still needs naps.” And then, suddenly becoming animated, Gary looked over his shoulder at his father. “Want me to wake him up for you?” he asked eagerly.

“No, that’s all right,” Micah assured his son. “Let him sleep. He probably needs it.”

He heard Gary mumble “Big baby” under his breath. The next moment, the boy was scrambling up onto the sofa, taking advantage of the fact that with his brother asleep, he had his father all to himself. “Just us guys, huh, Daddy?” he asked, puffing up his chest.

Just then, Sheila came out of the kitchen. She’d placed all the food they’d brought home in doggie bags from the restaurant into the refrigerator.

“So how did it go?” she asked, sitting down on the other side of Micah. She nodded toward to phone in his pocket to make her point.

“Well enough, I guess.” It was hard to glean anything from the few minutes he and the lawyer had talked. “I’m meeting her at her office tomorrow.”

“Good,” Sheila approved, nodding her head. “This’ll be over with before you know it,” she promised, then smiled warmly at him as she patted his hand. “Just you wait and see.”

“Shhh,” Gary said loudly. He put his finger to his lips. “You hafta listen,” he insisted, looking at his great-aunt. “You’re missing all the good stuff.”

“No, I’m not,” Sheila told him, her eyes crinkling as she regarded the little boy fondly. “The ‘good stuff’ is right here.”

“This is the good part,” Gary alerted his father and his great-aunt just before he turned his eyes back to the screen and watched in rabid attention.

Yes, Micah thought, eyeing both his sons, this is the good part. No way would he allow some baseless, false accusations to destroy that for him.

Certainly not without one hell of a fight.

Tracy’s last appointment wound up leaving early, for once sticking to the facts and cutting his rhetoric short. That allowed her a few minutes of breathing space before her last client of the day, Micah Muldare, arrived.

Treason. Well, that was certainly a new one. She’d never handled a treason case before, nor had any of the other lawyers at the firm. She very well could be in over her head.

But, she reasoned philosophically, the only way to learn was to learn, right? She tried to look at each new challenge that came her way as an opportunity for her to grow as a person.

Each new professional challenge, she amended.

She had absolutely no interest in expanding or growing on a personal level, no matter what Kate blatantly hinted at.

Been there, done that.

Her one incredibly brief foray into marriage had been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster, the likes of which she had no desire to repeat or relive ever again. The only way to avoid it was not to come within a ten-mile radius of the institution of marriage.

That meant no dating, no mingling with any representative of the opposite sex in any form except professionally.

Speaking of which …

Tracy glanced at her watch. It was five minutes past five-thirty. Her last client of the day was now officially late.

So where was Mr. I’m Not Guilty of Treason, anyway?

Maybe she should have questioned him a little more thoroughly about who had referred him. Her time was too precious to waste, sitting here and waiting.

Another five minutes went by.

Okay, she’d been patient enough, Tracy decided. Time to go home to a hot bubble bath and a cold pizza, she told herself, thinking of what waited for her in her refrigerator.

She’d really enjoyed the food at Giuseppe’s. So much so that she’d taken an order of pizza—classic flat, with extra cheese and three meat toppings—home with her. She’d had a couple of slices last night for dinner and planned to have two more tonight.

Never a big eater, Tracy figured that the pizza would probably last her about four, or maybe five days, depending on—

Her phone rang, breaking into her thoughts and demanding her attention. Since it was now a quarter to six, she debated ignoring it and letting the caller go straight to voicemail.

Maybe it was her errant client, calling to say that he was running late—or just running. Tracy chewed on her lower lip, weighing the odds.

There was only one way to find out.

Tracy finally picked up the receiver and said, “Hello, this is Tracy Ryan.”

The voice on the other end of the line immediately launched into an apology. She’d discovered years ago that it was hard to remain annoyed when there was an apology rushing at you.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Ryan, this is Micah Muldare. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make our meeting tonight.”

He sounded very sincere, she thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Tracy said mechanically. Mentally, she was already drawing the hot water and pouring the bath salts into the tub.

“My younger son’s running a fever and my usual babysitter just called to tell me she’s stuck on the freeway,” he explained. “I can’t leave my sons home alone. They’re much too young.”

“Your sons,” Tracy repeated. Suddenly an image clicked in her brain. The little boys from the restaurant.

No, it couldn’t be. What were the odds?

“By any chance, did you have lunch yesterday at Giuseppe’s with a striking dark-haired, older lady and two very cute, very blond little boys?” she asked him. He probably thought she was crazy, Tracy told herself, but her instincts told her to ask anyway.

“They didn’t tell me you’re clairvoyant,” Micah said dryly. The woman’s question had caught him completely off guard. How had she known?

“I’m not.” Although God knew that would have come in handy in her line of work. “I was there.”

There were other women to choose from, but his thoughts immediately gravitated to the woman who had smiled at his sons. “That was you?” he asked without any preamble.

Tracy wasn’t sure how, but she knew exactly what he was asking. They’d made eye contact over his sons’ heads. It had been brief, but enough to have left her with a lasting impression.

“That was me,” she confirmed. Now that she knew who he was, she relaxed just a notch. “I hope it’s nothing serious with your little boy,” she told him, this time with all sincerity.

“Greg has a tendency to run really high fevers,” he told her. There was more to it than that, but he saw no point to going into detail. She didn’t need to know that in order to properly represent him.

“I don’t like taking chances,” he added. “Otherwise, I’d bring both of them with me.”

Tracy nodded to herself. She liked that. Liked the fact that Muldare put his sons first, ahead of what had sounded like it could easily escalate into a very serious problem for him.

After a nonexistent debate with herself that took all of half a second, she made up her mind.

“Listen, I was going to go home right after seeing you, so why don’t you give me your address and I’ll just swing by your place before I call it a night?” she proposed. “I have to admit, I am rather intrigued,” she told him. “You’re the first person who’s ever come to me because he was being accused of treason.”

He was glad that someone was intrigued. As far as he was concerned, he was just oppressed by the very weight of the whole ordeal.

He debated her offer for exactly fifteen seconds and decided that he had absolutely nothing to lose. But he didn’t like the idea of putting the woman out. “You’re sure you don’t mind?” he asked her.

“Why should I mind?” she asked. “If I minded, I wouldn’t have suggested stopping by in the first place.”

Her bubble bath became a distant memory—but it was for a good cause. Picking up a pen and tearing off a two-day-old page from her desk calendar, she got ready to write.

“Okay, where do you live?”

Greg was coughing in the background. Distracted, Micah answered, “In Bedford.”

“Bedford’s gotten to be a big city,” she quipped. “Mind narrowing that down a bit?”

“Sorry.”

Right now, he felt as if everything was coming at him at once. The accusation, Greg’s fever, his aunt getting stuck in traffic—he’d always hated the idea of traffic ever since his parents had been killed in that car accident. He knew it was unreasonable of him, but he couldn’t harness his response, couldn’t do away with it. Belatedly, he recited his street address.

Rather than make some inane comment—or say nothing at all—he heard the woman say “Huh” in what seemed like preoccupied wonderment.

“Something wrong?” he asked her uncertainly, although for the life of him, he couldn’t begin to imagine the reason for a positive answer. It wasn’t as if he lived in a haunted house or anything of that kind. Why had she made that noise?

Tracy stared at the address she’d just jotted down. It seemed rather incredible to her, but she actually lived in his development.

What were the odds of that happening?

But she didn’t want to disclose that little tidbit to her prospective client because then she’d be leaving herself open to all sorts of things she might not be too happy about down the road. Besides, once out of the office and off the clock, she was a very private person who valued her privacy.

She wanted that to continue.

So all she said in response to his question was, “No, I’m just surprised—I’m fairly familiar with the area.” Glancing at her watch, Tracy did a quick calculation. “I can be there within the half hour—if it’s all right with you and—your wife?” she ended her statement with a question since she wasn’t entirely familiar with his situation. He’d been at the restaurant with only his sons and his aunt, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. After all, Kate’s husband hadn’t been there with Kate yesterday at the restaurant. There were all sorts of reasons why this Micah could have been there without his wife.

Wife. The word still hurt after all this time. Rather than say he was no longer married, or that his wife had died, he told the attorney, “It’s just me and the boys. And Aunt Sheila,” he added.

“That would be the striking brunette who was at your table,” Tracy surmised.

Micah laughed to himself. Hearing herself described that way would certainly be good for Aunt Sheila’s ego, he thought.

“I’ll be sure to tell her that when I see her. It’s bound to brighten her day,” he told the woman on the other end of the line.

Tracy caught herself listening to his soft chuckle. It was a nice sound. Hearing it seemed to generate a feeling of well-being within her.

You’re just being punchy, Tracy. It’s been a long day and you put in more than your share of hours. Maybe you should just go home.

But she couldn’t just go home, not after telling Muldare that she was coming over. He’d think he was dealing with a dizzy blonde. As a natural blonde, she had fought against the image all of her life.

“I’ll be there in less than half an hour,” she repeated and then hung up.

Tired or not, her mouth curved in just a hint of a smile as she walked out the door.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.