Once Upon a Matchmaker (11 page)

A
s Tracy walked into Micah’s living room, she said, “I have one of my firm’s private investigators looking into your case.” She saw the sudden apprehensive expression in his eyes. He was afraid of information being leaked. This special top-secret program had to be hell to live with. “Don’t worry, Jewel is very discreet.”

“Jewel?” Micah echoed. What kind of a private investigator had a name that sounded as if it belonged to a model, or a Country-Western singer? He felt less than reassured.

Tracy could almost read the thoughts going through his mind. Was that a good or a bad thing?

And if she could, was he transparent to others, as well? That could definitely be a problem.

A moment later, she decided she could second-guess what was going on in his mind because she was so tuned in to his case, so that made it all right.

She smiled reassuringly at him. “We can’t help the names our parents give us.”

They were in agreement on that, Micah thought as he considered the name his parents had given him.

“I guess not,” he replied. “I never much cared for my own name,” he admitted. “When I was a kid, I thought it sounded antiquated, like something that belonged to a prospector who was close to a hundred years old.”

She wondered if that was his assessment of it, or if some bully had taunted him. Rolling it over in her mind, she decided that, unless she was mistaken, Micah wasn’t the type who would put up with a bully.

“It’s not so bad,” she countered. “Right now, it’s rather unique.”

“Unique is good?” he asked, mildly amused.

“Unique is always good,” she replied. “Who wants to be like everyone else?” As if he could possibly be lumped in with everyone else. She had a feeling that Micah Muldare had stood out in a crowd right from the start.

Maybe he saw the picture a little more clearly because he had kids, Micah thought, but his attorney definitely didn’t remember his playground days.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe every kid under the age of twenty,” he suggested. “That’s why I had everyone calling me ‘Mike” when I was growing up.”

“Mike,” she repeated, toying with the name, rolling it around on her tongue. “No,” she decided, shaking her head. “‘Mike’ doesn’t cut it. I like Micah better.”

Why didn’t that surprise him? The woman struck him as someone who definitely didn’t march to the same drummer as everyone else.

“So I guess I’ll keep it.”

My God,
he suddenly thought. Was he flirting with her? Until a second ago, he’d just assumed that all that—flirting, male-female dynamics—was behind him. That his life was now set in stone. He had his sons and his career, and that was all he needed or wanted.

But now his career was in serious jeopardy, dangling dangerously by a thread and if, through some twist of fate, he was found guilty, then he wouldn’t have his sons, either. He’d have to leave the boys with his aunt while he was in prison. He couldn’t believe that with all this going on, he was reacting to the woman that fate—and in an odd way, Donovan Defense—had brought into his life. Reacting to her on a very basic level.

He hadn’t gone this route since he’d first dated Ella.

Almost self-conscious, Micah cleared his throat. “Can I offer you dinner? I made shepherd’s pie. It’s Greg’s favorite.”

The selection in her refrigerator hadn’t improved any since yesterday. Grocery shopping wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities and she tended to forget to do it.

That was why there were phone numbers to at least half a dozen takeout restaurants anchored down by various magnets on the front of her refrigerator door. They offered her a wide variety of food to choose from. From what she’d sampled of Micah’s cooking, he was head and shoulders above what the restaurants she ordered from could deliver.

“I can’t impose on you like that again,” she demurred, although with little verve. She was hoping he’d talk her into staying.

“Sure you can,” Micah told her. He was already leading the way to the kitchen. He glanced toward his sons. “Can’t she, boys?”

“Yeah,” Gary piped up. “She can.”

Rather than add his voice to his brother’s, Greg quietly came over to her and took Tracy’s hand in his, as if the four-year-old had every intention of escorting her to the kitchen.

Amused, moved, Tracy left her hand in the boy’s small one—the part of it that he actually managed to hold—and allowed herself to be led off.

“I guess I can’t fight all three of you,” she said, surrendering.

Gary’s small brow scrunched up as he looked up at her. “We’re not fighting you,” he pointed out, confused.

“Daddy doesn’t like fighting,” Greg informed her solemnly.

“It’s an expression, boys,” Micah explained. His back was to them as he carefully spooned out a portion of the shepherd’s pie for his unexpected guest.

“What’s a ’spression?” Gary asked, no more enlightened than he had been a minute ago. His brow was still furrowed.

“It’s something that grown-ups say,” Tracy told him, crouching down to Gary’s level. “Like when they use metaphors.”

Gary appeared to be completely willing to accept her first sentence. It was the second one that had the furrows in his brow deepening into wavy lines. “Huh?”

Tracy glanced over her shoulder at Micah. “I went too far, didn’t I?”

He laughed. “Don’t let it bother you. I do the same thing all the time. But I found if you don’t talk down to them, they get a better command of the language faster than if you use baby-sized words.” He spared his older son a warm glance. “Which is why they’re both smart as whips, right, Gary?”

There was a tinge of uncertainty in the boy’s blue eyes, but he bobbed his head up and down with pronounced enthusiasm.

“Hear that, Greg? Daddy says we’re whips.” He made a noise like a whip cracking down on its target.

Greg echoed the sound and the two were off and running into the family room to play another new game they’d just made up.

“Hard to believe he was so sick yesterday,” Micah marveled as he put the plate with her dinner on it into the microwave. He pressed the numbers for a minute and a half, confident that would be warm enough.

“Too bad adults can’t bounce back so fast,” she agreed, thinking how nice it would be to have all that energy.

“He didn’t always,” Micah remembered. “For a while there, I wasn’t sure how long I would even have him in my life.” He blew out a breath that sounded more like a deep-rooted sigh. And then, switching topics, he pushed the mood that threatened to engulf him aside. “That doctor you referred us to, Dr. Connor, Greg was crazy about her. People tend to think that kids don’t really have feelings or react the same way as adults do, but I noticed that Greg really reacted to Dr. Connor’s positive attitude. She treated him as if he were a little person. To be honest, I’ve been looking for someone like that ever since the boys’ old pediatrician retired.” His eyes held hers for a moment. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

She ignored the shiver that materialized out of nowhere and slid down her spine. Or tried to.

“Glad I could help,” she told him. “Like I said, Dr. Connor is a friend of a friend, and as far as I know, no one has ever had a bad thing to say about her. She loves kids and she’s extremely dedicated.”

The microwave signaled that the minute and a half was up. Micah gingerly removed the plate from the turntable and placed it in front of his attorney.

“Careful,” he warned as he handed her silverware. “The plate’s hot.”

The corner of her mouth curved. “I had a hunch,” she deadpanned. “The steam kind of gave it away.” She was about to sink her fork into it, then stopped. She looked at him, slightly confused. He was standing behind the stool next to hers. There was nothing in front of him. “You’re not eating?”

“I had dinner with the boys,” he explained.

“Oh.” Tracy glanced down at her dinner. The aroma that wafted up from it was still tempting, but slightly less than a moment before. “That’s okay,” she told him. “I’m used to eating alone.”

“Oh, God.” Micah laughed, shaking his head. Moving over to the casserole pan, he spooned out half a serving onto a plate and then brought it back to the counter. He slid onto the stool beside hers. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite so sad-sounding—at least not in a long while.”

Was he mocking her, or just saying she sounded pathetic? The words had just slipped out. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty—”

“You didn’t. Compassionate, maybe, but not guilty.” Micah slid a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Aren’t you going to warm it up?” she asked. After all, he’d warmed up her plate, she just assumed that he’d want to eat his portion warm, too. Who ate their mashed potatoes cold?

“I like to eat it cold,” he told her. “I developed a taste for cold food when I was in college—half the time the old stove in my studio apartment wouldn’t work. I didn’t have enough money to get it fixed and the super took weeks to show up—if at all. I got used to eating all my meals cold.” She seemed unconvinced. “It was okay—unless I was eating frozen pizza,” he laughed.

The shepherd’s pie was comprised of beef, gravy, as well as lots of peas, all covered by a thick layer of mashed potatoes. Micah had sprinkled shredded sharp cheddar over it, then baked the casserole.

Tracy looked from the casserole to the serving on Micah’s plate. “So you really don’t mind eating cold mashed potatoes?”

He wondered if she realized that she was wrinkling her nose as she asked. It made her appear more like a teenager than an attorney.

“Nope. Actually, I’ve learned to like it better than hot mashed potatoes.”

“Well, you’re certainly easy to please,” she commented. Less than a beat later, she realized how that might have sounded to him. “Um, I mean when it comes to food.”

The smile on his lips absolved her of any blunder, real or imagined, on her part. He nodded. “I know what you meant.”

She tried to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction. “This is really good.”

“Thanks. I try not to serve anything bad more than once.”

Again, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious, or just pulling her leg. Not that she really minded the latter. After all the tension of dealing with high-powered clients all day long, this was almost like kicking back and relaxing.

“And, like I said, this is one of Greg’s favorites. The good thing about it is that the boys don’t realize that they’re eating their vegetables, as well. Like most kids, they think if it’s good for you, it has to taste awful.”

“So this is just a sneaky way to get them to eat their peas?” she asked, amused.

He grinned. “You do what you have to do.”

“Very clever,” she said, applauding his technique. “Fatherhood looks good on you,” she couldn’t help commenting. He laughed softly in response. She hadn’t expected that sort of reaction. “What? Did I say something funny?”

“No, it’s just that your comment about fatherhood started me thinking. Before Gary and Greg came along, I thought I’d be perfectly happy with things just the way they were—just Ella and me. I didn’t need anything else. To be honest,” he confided, “I didn’t think I had it in me to be a good father. I figured I’d make a lousy one.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t the case. “Why would you think that?”

He shrugged. “I really didn’t have much of a blueprint to go on.”

He had no male role model, no real father figure to emulate. She’d forgotten about that. “Because your father was killed when you were so young?” she asked sympathetically.

“Well, there’s that,” he agreed, but that wasn’t what he’d actually meant. “But even before then, my father wasn’t exactly father-of-the-year material.”

All this was so long ago, he rationalized that he wasn’t really telling tales out of school. There were times that he barely remembered his father. And when he did remember, he felt that he was better off if he didn’t.

“My father was kind of short-tempered,” Micah explained. “He thought that I should be a small carbon copy of him and anticipate whatever he wanted me to do. Instead, I was more boy than man and that didn’t exactly please him.”

She thought back to what she’d read in the information she’d gathered about him. “You were twelve, right?”

“Right. I’d turned twelve the week before the car accident,” he recalled. Whenever he did think about the accident, he never thought about how close he himself had come to dying, just that he had lost his parents. For the most part, though, he did his best to block the memory altogether.

Suddenly, she caught herself feeling sorry for the twelve-year-old who been expected to “man up.” “Well, at twelve, you should have just been able to be allowed to be all boy.”

Micah laughed shortly, remembering. “Not exactly the way he saw it.”

What about his mother? Did she intervene? Mothers were supposed to protect their children—not that all did. “What did your mother say?” she asked.

“My mother agreed with everything my father ever said about anything,” he told her. She detected a note of sorrow in his voice. Someone else would have felt slighted, or blamed their mother for not taking their side. That he didn’t, that he seemed just to miss her, spoke volumes about him. “It was easier on her that way,” he explained.

“Well, even though you didn’t have an example to go on, you turned out to be a wonderful father,” she observed. “Anyone can see that the boys utterly adore you.”

Finished with her meal, Tracy pushed the plate over to the side. That was when she noticed the mug on the corner of the counter. The slogan World’s Greatest Mom was embossed on it in multicolored flowers.

For a moment, all she could see was the mug. An unsettling feeling slipped over her. Was there a woman in the picture she hadn’t met yet? And why would that matter to her?

But it did.

A lot.

“Who’s that for?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, even though she caught herself feeling more than a little distressed about the mug’s existence and its mysterious recipient.

At bottom, none of this made any difference to the case or how she was going to represent Micah, she argued silently. So why did she feel so disappointed?