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Once Upon a Matchmaker
Marie Ferrarella



Okay, she’d allow herself one more kiss.
Just one more kiss, and then she’d call a halt to this, tell him that he was being incredibly hasty and foolish and a whole host of other things as well, ending it by saying that one of them had to be sensible.
In a second, in just another second, she’d tell him all that and more.
More.
The single word shimmered in her head, a silent entreaty to the man who was knocking out all the carefully laid foundations of her world. Very effectively reducing her to a pile of palpitating rubble.
She had one last card to play.
“What about your sons?” Tracy asked as, tapping the last of her strength, she created yet another chasm between their lips.
“Let them get their own women,” Micah told her, kissing her again.
Melting her again.
Dear Reader,
When I first came up with the idea of MATCHMAKING MAMAS, it was going to be only a three-book series. But as you might have noticed, I have a great deal of trouble letting go.
This time around, our ladies, Maizie, Theresa and Cecilia, bring together two people who really need one another in more ways than one. Tracy Ryan is an extremely successful lawyer who is a dynamo in the courtroom but very lonely when she closes her door at night. Micah Muldare, a senior reliability engineer, had an extremely happy marriage that ended when his wife died of a brain aneurysm, leaving him with a mountain of medical bills and two very young sons. But a ring of hackers hijacking computers places his future—not to mention his freedom—in jeopardy just as his aunt turns her attention to his non-existent love life. Maizie brings Tracy and Micah together, and the lady lawyer stays to fix more than his legal problems. She fixes his heart, and he returns the favor.
I hope you enjoy this latest installment of one of my favorite series. As ever, I thank you for reading, and from the bottom of my heart I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
All the best,
Marie Ferrarella

About the Author
MARIE FERRARELLA, a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA
Award-winning author, has written more than two hundred books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

Once Upon
a Matchmaker
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To
Gail Chasan
who, mercifully, gets
my sense of humor

Prologue
“He’s a good, decent man,” Sheila Barrett said.
The “he” the tall, striking woman referred to was her nephew, the young man she’d taken into her home and raised when her sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car crash.
That had been nearly twenty years ago. Micah Muldare was more like a son than a nephew to her and, like a mother, she worried about him. In her opinion, she had good cause to be worried. He’d all but become an emotional hermit.
“But ever since his wife, Ella, died, he’s become almost driven, throwing himself into his work. If I even try to mention socializing, he tells me he’s too busy.” She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress the wave of sadness welling up within her. “It’s like he’s always trying to outrun the pain.”
Sheila didn’t usually pour out her heart this way, even to a good friend like Maizie Sommers, but at this point, she needed help getting through to her nephew. If anything, the situation was getting worse, not better.
“What about his sons?” Maizie asked. “Didn’t you tell me that he has two little boys? How is he with them?”
Sheila nodded, pausing for a moment to take another sip of the exotic-tasting tea she’d ordered. Maizie, a real estate agent, had suggested that they meet here in this little café to discuss what was bothering her. The problem, it seemed, was right up Maizie’s alley.
In addition to having her own real estate company, Maizie, along with her two lifelong best friends, Theresa Manetti and Cecilia Parnell, dabbled in matchmaking. Initially undertaken just to match up their own single children, they’d come to enjoy such success that now they did it for their friends. Knowing about this sideline, Sheila had come to her, worried about Micah and looking for help.
“Gary and Greg,” Sheila confirmed. “They’re five and four, and he adores them. But the boys are seeing less and less of their father because he’s immersing himself in his career. And it’s not helping,” she confided. “Any of them.”
“Work is never a substitute for a good relationship,” Maizie maintained.
Sheila couldn’t agree more. “The boys need a mother and Micah needs someone to love who loves him back.” She looked at her friend, feeling somewhat uneasy. “I don’t usually meddle in his life—”
“And I’m sure he appreciates that, but sometimes those we love need a little push in the right direction. Nothing wrong with that,” Maizie assured her.
“He’d be really upset if he knew I was even discussing his life like this—”
Maizie flashed the other woman an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. This’ll all be discretely handled. Let me see what I can do,” Maizie told her. “Mother’s Day is coming up,” she noted, thinking that could somehow be utilized in this case, then promised, “I’ll get back to you before then.”
The wheels in Maizie’s head went into high gear as she began to consider possibilities. Operation Micah Muldare had begun the moment Sheila had sat down at her table.

Chapter One
So this was what all the secrecy, giggling and whispers had been about.
Micah Muldare sat on the sofa, looking at the gift his sons had quite literally surprised him with. A gift he wasn’t expecting, commemorating a day that he’d never thought applied to him. He’d just unwrapped the gift and it was now sitting on the coffee table, a source of mystification, at least for him.
His boys, four-year-old Greg and five-year-old Gary, sat—or more accurately perched—on either side of him like energized bookends, unable to remain still for more than several seconds at a time. Blond, blue-eyed and small boned, his sons looked like little carbon copies of each other.
They looked like Ella.
Micah shut the thought away. It had been two years, but his heart still wasn’t ready for that kind of comparison.
Maybe someday, just not yet.
“Do you like it, Daddy?” Gary, the more animated of the two, asked eagerly. The boy was fairly beaming as he put the question to him. His bright blue eyes took in every tiny movement.
Micah eyed at the mug on the coffee table. “I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Micah told his son. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything at all today.”
It was Mother’s Day. Granted he’d been doing double duty for the past two years, being both mother and father to his two sons, but he hadn’t expected any sort of acknowledgment from the boys on Mother’s Day. On Father’s Day, yes, but definitely not on this holiday.
The mug had been wrapped in what seemed like an entire roll of wrapping paper. Gary had proclaimed proudly that he had done most of the wrapping.
“But I put the tape on,” Greg was quick to tell him.
Micah praised their teamwork.
The mug had World’s Greatest Mom written on it in pink-and-yellow ceramic flowers. Looking at it now, Micah could only grin and shake his head. Well, at least their hearts were in the right place.
“Um, I think you guys are a little confused about the concept,” he confided.
Gary’s face scrunched up in apparent confusion. “What’s a con-cept?”
“It’s an idea, a way of—”
Micah abruptly stopped himself. As a reliability engineer who worked in the top secret missile defense systems department of Donovan Defense, a large national company, he had a tendency to get rather involved in his explanations. Given his sons’ tender ages, he decided that a brief and simple explanation was the best way to go.
So he tried again. “It’s a way of understanding something. The point is, I’m very touched, guys, but you do understand that I’m not your mom, right? I’m your dad.” He looked from Gary to Greg to see if they had any lingering questions or doubts.
“We know that,” Gary told him as if he thought it was silly to ever confuse the two roles. “But sometimes you do mom things,” he reminded his father.
“Yeah, like make cookies when I’m sick,” Greg piped up.
Which was more often than he was happy about, Micah couldn’t help thinking. Greg, smaller for his age than even Gary, was his little survivor. Born prematurely, his younger son had had a number of complicating conditions that had him in and out of hospitals until he was almost two years old.
Because of all the different medications he’d been forced to take, the little boy’s immune system was somewhat compromised. As an unfortunate by-product of that, Greg was more prone to getting sick than his brother.
And every time he did get sick, Micah watched him carefully, afraid the boy would come down with another bout of pneumonia. The last time, a year and a half ago, Greg had almost died. The thought haunted him for months.
Clearing his throat, Micah squared his shoulders. His late mother, Diane, had taught him to accept all gifts gracefully.
“Well, then, thank you very much,” he told his sons with a wide smile that was instantly mirrored by each of the boys.
“Aunt Sheila helped us,” Gary told him, knowing that he couldn’t accept all of the credit for the gift.
“Yeah, she drove us to the store,” Greg chimed in. “But me and Gary picked it out. And we used our own money, too,” he added as a postscript.
“‘Gary and I,’” Micah automatically corrected Greg.
The little boy shook his head so hard, his straight blond hair appeared airborne for a moment, flying to and fro about his head.
“No, not you, Daddy, me,” Greg insisted. “Me and Gary.”
There was time enough to correct his grammar when he was a little older, Micah thought fondly.
Out loud he marveled, “Imagine that,” for his sons’ benefit. A touch of melancholy drifted over him. “You two are growing up way too fast,” he told them. “Before you know it, you’re going to be getting married and starting families of your own.”
“Married?” Greg echoed, frowning as deeply as if his father had just told him that he was having liver for dinner for the next year.
“To a girl?” Gary asked incredulously, very obviously horrified by the mere suggestion that he be forced to marry a female. Everyone knew girls were icky—except for Aunt Sheila, of course, but she didn’t count.
“That’s more or less what I had in mind, yes,” Micah told his sons, doing his very best not to laugh at their facial expressions.
Covering his face, Gary declared, “Yuck!” with a great deal of feeling.
“Yeah,” Greg cried, mimicking his brother, “double yuck!”
Micah slipped an arm around each little boy’s very slim shoulders and pulled them to him. He would miss this when the boys were older, miss these moments when his sons made him feel as if he was the center of their universe.
“Come back and tell me that in another, oh, ten, fifteen years,” he teased.
“Okay,” Gary promised very solemnly. “We will, Daddy.”
“Yeah, we will!” Greg echoed, not to be outdone.
Micah’s aunt, Sheila Barrett, stood in the living room doorway, observing the scene between her nephew and her grandnephews. Her mouth curved in a wide smile. While she lived not too far from Micah, it felt as if this was more her home than the place where she received her mail. She took care of the boys when her nephew was at work, which, unless one of his sons was sick, was most of the time.
“They picked that mug out themselves,” she told Micah, in case he thought that this was her idea. “They absolutely refused to look at anything else after they saw that mug. They thought it was perfect for you.”
“And of course you tried to talk them out of it,” Micah said, tongue in cheek. His amusement was there, in his eyes.
Sheila shrugged nonchalantly. “The way I see it, Micah, little men in the making should be as free to exercise their shopping gene as their little female counterparts.”
“Very democratic of you,” Micah commented, the corners of his mouth curving. Aunt Sheila had always had a bit of an unorthodox streak. He learned to think outside the box because of her. He sincerely doubted that he would be where he was today if not for her. “Well, just for that, I’m taking all of you out for lunch.”
“Aunt Sheila, too?” Greg asked, not wanting to exclude her.
“Aunt Sheila most especially,” Micah told his younger son. There was deep affection in his voice. “After all, Aunt Sheila is the real mom around here,” he emphasized pointedly.
Clearly confused, Greg turned to look at the woman who came by every morning to take him to preschool and his brother to kindergarten. Every afternoon she’d pick them both up and then stayed with them until their father came home. Some nights, Aunt Sheila stayed really, really late.
“Aunt Sheila has kids?” Greg asked his father, surprised.
Sheila smiled, answering for Micah. “I have your dad,” told the boy.
They had a special bond, she and her sister’s son. When the world came crashing in on him when his parents were killed in a car accident while on vacation, Micah had been twelve years old. Injured in the accident, too, he’d been all alone at that San Jose hospital. She’d lost no time driving up the coast to get to him. She’d stayed by his side until he was well enough to leave and then she took him home with her. There was no looking back. She’d raised him as her own.
Greg was staring at her, wide-eyed, his small face stamped with disbelief. “Dad was a kid?”
“Your dad was a kid,” she assured him, biting her tongue so as not to laugh at the expression of wonder on the little boy’s face. “And a pretty wild one at that.”
“She’s making that part up,” Micah told his sons. “I was a perfect angel.”
“When you were asleep, you looked just like one,” Sheila agreed, then added, “Awake, not so much.”
“Can you tell us stories about when Daddy was a kid?” Gary asked eagerly.
Sheila’s smile was so wide, her eyes almost disappeared. “I sure can.”
“But she won’t,” Micah interjected with a note of finality. “She’s going to save those for when you’re older.”
Gary’s forehead crinkled beneath his blond bangs. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you that when you’re older, too,” Micah promised him. Changing the subject, he asked, “Now, who’s hungry for pizza?”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a chorus of “We are!” rose up. It was hard to believe that two little boys could project so much volume when they wanted to.
Micah gazed at his aunt who’d made herself comfortable in the love seat opposite Micah and the boys. “I thought we’d go to that little Italian restaurant you like so much. Giuseppe’s.” The boys bounced up to their feet. His aunt rose to hers, as well. “Luckily for me, it’s kid-friendly.”
“As it happens,” his aunt said, placing a hand on each boy’s shoulder in order to usher them out the front door, “so am I.”
“You know there’s no one here to impress, right?” Kate Manetti Wainwright said to her friend, Tracy Ryan, as she stuck her head into the latter’s office.
It was Sunday and the law firm was closed. Or should have been. The sound of typing must have drawn Kate to Tracy’s small office, which meant an interruption.
Tracy looked up from the brief she was working on. “You’re here,” she pointed out.
“But I’m not supposed to be.” And neither was anyone else, she added silently. “I just stopped by to grab the sweater I left here on Friday.” She held up the powder-blue article of clothing as exhibit A. “And besides, I don’t count.”
“You do to me,” Tracy told her, flashing a quick, fleeting smile at her friend. “And for your information, I’m not trying to impress anyone, I’m just trying to catch up on my workload.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “You already work twice as hard as anyone here,” she pointed out. “How much catching up do you possibly have to do?”
Tracy’s slender shoulders rose and fell in an absentminded shrug. “Enough,” she said evasively, then, cocking her head, she leveled a piercing gaze at the woman who had been her friend all through law school. They’d been each other’s support group through the bad times, and each other’s cheering section through the good ones. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asked. After all, today was Mother’s Day and, unlike her, Kate was lucky enough to still have one.
Kate feigned innocence. “As a matter of fact, I do—and you’re coming with me,” she declared as if she’d just thought of it.
Instead of automatically demurring, Tracy felt she needed to arm herself with information first so that she could come up with a good reason to say no. Kate didn’t take “no” easily. “And just where is it that I’m supposed to be going, too?”
“Giuseppe’s. Lilli and I are taking my mother out for Mother’s Day,” she said, referring to her brother Kullen’s wife.
Tracy shook her head. “That’s okay, I’ll just stay here and finish this brief.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer, Trace,” she informed her friend.
“It’s Mother’s Day,” Tracy said out loud, taking care not to lace her protest with emotion. “I’m sure your mother doesn’t want you dragging a stray along on her afternoon out.”
“Then you definitely don’t know my mother—and you’re not a stray,” she tagged on as an afterthought. “You’re more like family.” She smiled at her. “Like the sister my mother never got around to giving me,” she told Tracy.
Tracy suppressed a sigh. Mother’s Day was particularly difficult for her on two counts. The mother she adored was no longer part of her life. She hadn’t been for close to three years now. Moreover, added to that was the numbing fact that her blink-and-you’ve-missed-it marriage that came and went four years ago had left her pregnant and hopeful. Tracy had always loved children and the idea of being a mother herself was thrilling. But the thrill became tragedy when her baby came into the world prematurely—and stillborn.
That, more than the painfully short marriage she’d endured, had left her with the feeling that she was one of those people who was meant to go through life alone. She faced that the same way she faced everything else she found overwhelming: she threw herself into her work. Buried herself in a hundred and one details. Anything so that she didn’t have any time to think, to dwell on her own situation—or lack of one.
When the loneliness came at her full force, as it did sometimes, Tracy just worked a little harder until she was able to make herself numb again.
The important thing was not to feel. Since she was a normally caring person, she channeled her emotional connections into the cases she took on—and the people whose hand she figuratively held while she worked on their cases.
“I am not taking no for an answer,” Kate repeated with more feeling, adding, “And don’t worry, this isn’t some kind of a setup. Jackson is out of town on bank business this weekend, so it’s just going to be us girls,” she promised. “C’mon,” Kate coaxed, “It’ll be fun.
“That can wait,” she insisted, nodding at the brief on Tracy’s desk. “Unless it suddenly grows legs—and if it does, we’ll have bigger problems than just your workload—it’s not going anywhere,” she concluded with finality. Her tone left no room for a rebuttal. Tracy was coming with her even if she had to find a way to carry the woman out of the office and to the restaurant.
For now, she made a show of tugging on Tracy’s arm, gently but insistently nonetheless.
With a sigh, Tracy gave in. She supposed that being around pleasant people was preferable to being here by herself. Except for the very low hum of her computer, the office was bathed in silence. Silence allowed memories to pop up, painful memories that were liable to sneak up and ambush her at any time.
She knew the danger in that. Dwelling on either one of her losses for even a minute tended to devastate her. As long as she outran the memories or banked them down, she was all right. She could function. She desperately needed to function.
The alternative, sinking into a darkness where grief could eat away at her until there was nothing left, was not an option she was willing to accept. She’d been there once, and once was more than enough.
“Okay, I guess a girls’ afternoon out does sound pretty good,” Tracy agreed.
“Great!” Kate declared, already way ahead of her. Coming around to Tracy’s side of the desk, she nimbly pressed a combination of keys to save the document Tracy had been working on, and then shut down the computer. “Done,” she informed Tracy, then hooked her arm through her friend’s the moment Tracy got up from her chair.
“Knew you’d come around,” Kate told her, doing little to hide the triumphant note in her voice. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep my mother waiting. Oh, by the way, did I tell you that Nikki and Jewel were going to be there with their mothers, too?”
It was in the form of a question, but Tracy knew her friend was dispensing information slowly. Tracy could acknowledge Kate was a dynamo in the courtroom and the complete opposite in a private setting.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Kate added. “My mom and those women have been friends forever. I knew she’d enjoy things more if they were there, too.”
What was that saying Mom used to say? In for a penny, in for a pound, Tracy recalled. Since it was Mother’s Day, she’d follow the old adage.
With a nod of her head, Tracy allowed herself to be dragged along.
Tracy had met Theresa Manetti a couple of times, once at Kate’s wedding, the other at Kullen’s. The woman reminded her a little of her own mother. Consequently, she had taken an instant liking to the intelligent, savvy woman as well as the two women she’d introduced as her “best friends since third grade,” Maizie Sommers and Cecilia Parnell.
She’d discovered that by combining the three women’s characteristics, she came practically face-to-face with her own mother. She savored the experience for a moment, then refocused herself to enjoy the individual company of each of the women.
“See,” Kate said as she, Lilli and Tracy all sat down at the extended table, “I told you it was going to be girls’ afternoon out.”
Theresa laughed shortly. “You’re stretching the word, dear,” she told her daughter. “I haven’t been a girl since the last century.”
“It’s all in your attitude,” Maizie told her. “Me, I’m never getting old.”
Theresa suppressed a laugh and asked Cecilia, “What’s the female counterpart to Peter Pan?”
“Happy,” Tracy chimed in without hesitating.
Maizie smiled her approval. “I do like the way you think, Tracy.” Picking up the menu, she began to scan it. “So, what looks good?” she asked the others.
“Offhand, I’d say he does,” Theresa Manetti answered. She wasn’t looking at the menu but at the occupant of a table three tables away.
Maizie looked up at the dark-haired man her friend was referring to. She pretended to look surprised. In reality, all three of them—she, Cecilia and Theresa—knew exactly where Micah Muldare would be sitting, thanks to prior arrangements with Sheila.
“You were saying about Peter Pan?” Maizie teased. And then she leaned forward, squinting just a little. “Oh, I think I know the woman he’s with.”
Now all the women at the table were looking in the direction Theresa was. “A little old for him, isn’t she?” Cecilia asked.
“That’s his aunt, Sheila Barrett. I sold her a condo a few years ago,” Maizie explained, slanting a glance toward Tracy.
“Then she’s really a client, not a friend,” Tracy guessed.
Maizie smiled as she looked at the newcomer. “She’s both.”
“Mother makes friends easily,” Nikki confided.
Tracy looked at the table in question. “Cute little boys,” she commented. Her smile was genuine. And wide.
Maizie nodded in approval. “Yes, they are. He’s doing a wonderful job, raising them by himself, I hear. Of course, Sheila comes by to help out when she can, but there is no real substitute for a mother’s love, is there?”
The question was directed toward Tracy, but it was her own daughter, as well as Theresa’s and Cecilia’s, who chorused in a singsong voice, “No, Mother, there really isn’t.”
Maizie only laughed softly. She had a really good feeling about this. There was a definite smile in Tracy’s eyes when she looked at the children. That was very telling in her book.
Another match would soon be in the offing, she thought with satisfaction.
It would be only a matter of time.

Chapter Two
Maizie waited until she saw Sheila glancing over in the direction of their table, then she raised her hand high and waved at the other woman.
Seeing her, Sheila smiled and returned the wave. That in turn had Micah’s sons twisting around in their chairs to see who was waving at their great-aunt—a title, when they first heard it, both boys took to mean that their aunt Sheila was really terrific. Delighted, Sheila never bothered to correct them.
Micah looked over to his oldest son. “Turn around in your seat, Gary.”
“I am turned around,” the boy told him, confused by the instruction.
It took a second before Micah realized the communication problem. At five, his son took everything literally, just like his brother. “Turn back around,” he corrected.
“Oh, okay.” Doing as he was told, Gary turned his face toward the others at his table. He focused his attention on his great-aunt.
“Do you know those ladies?” Gary asked her solemnly, doing his best to seem every bit as grown up as his father.
“What ladies?” Micah asked. This time, he turned around to see what had caught his son’s attention. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Twisting back around again, Gary said, “Those ladies.” He pointed to the table where he had seen someone waving to his great-aunt.
“Don’t point,” Micah reminded his son patiently.
Total confusion descended on the small, angular face. “But if I don’t point, Daddy, how are you gonna know which table has the ladies?” he wanted to know.
Sheila suppressed an amused smile. She glanced at her nephew. “He does have a point, Micah.”
“I know,” Micah said with a sigh, then tousled Gary’s hair. “He’s got the makings of a great lawyer. Too bad that won’t be for another twenty years or so. I could use him now.”
“Why?” She looked at her nephew a bit more closely. Beneath the smile, there was tension. More tension than usual. “Are you saying that you need a lawyer, Micah?”
“Probably,” he admitted. He upbraided himself for his moment of weakness and flashed her a deliberately wide, easy grin. “Forget that,” he told her. “This is your special day, Aunt Sheila. Let’s not spoil it by talking about lawyers and necessary evils.” Which was the way he viewed lawyers as a whole.
Given a choice, he would have avoided the whole lawyer route altogether, but he had a feeling that this was something where he wasn’t going to be able to rely on just his wits to get him out. And knowing that he wasn’t guilty of what he was being accused of didn’t seem to matter, or help.
He looked at the other three occupants at the table. “I just want to have a nice meal with my three favorite people.”
But Sheila didn’t seem satisfied. Covering Micah’s hand with her own, she looked intently into his eyes. “Well, I won’t be able to have that ‘nice meal’ unless you promise to tell me what’s wrong the moment we get home.”
It was a compromise he could live with. Micah nodded. “Done.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she told him.
Though he would have wanted it otherwise, he knew that the woman was as good as her word. He wouldn’t be able to put her off.
“I know that.”
For now, Sheila relented. “All right, then.” Sitting back in her seat, she opened the menu again out of habit. “Let’s get this party started.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Aunt Sheila,” Gary reminded her, shifting in his seat restlessly.
The boy had the tenacity of a pit bull. For a second, Sheila’s eyes shifted to Micah.
“Definitely the makings of a lawyer,” she said, agreeing with her nephew’s assessment of his older son. Leaning her head on her hand, she looked directly into Gary’s sky-blue eyes and asked, “And what question is that?”
“Do you know those ladies?” Gary repeated with just a trace of exasperation. He slanted a look at his father. “The ones I can’t point at,” he added.
“I know some of them. The lady who waved sold me the condo I live in. Those two other older ladies are her oldest and dearest friends.”
“Doesn’t she have any young friends? Besides you,” Gary asked. His smile was broad and earnest.
Micah’s older son was seated to her left. Sheila leaned over and gave the boy a long, heartfelt hug. “Best present I ever got,” she told him.
At any other time, Gary would have preened at the compliment. But right now, he was dealing with a more immediate problem. “You’re squishing me, Aunt Sheila,” the boy protested.
She released him immediately, making a show of raising her hands and removing them from his small body. “Sorry, I got carried away,” she apologized. There was a glimmer of humor about her mouth that only Micah took note of.
Greg scrunched up his face. It was clear that he didn’t understand the expression.
“No, you didn’t,” the younger boy told her. “You’re right here. Nobody’s carrying you away.”
Greg looked around as if to make sure no one had sneaked up on them. As he scanned the room, he made eye contact again with one of the ladies at the other table. She was looking right at him.
Shy, he shifted back around and hid his face in his hands.
“What’s the matter?” Micah asked his son. What had caused this reaction, Micah wondered.
“That lady, she’s looking right at me.” Greg giggled, saying the words into his hands.
It was Micah’s turn to look at the women at the table in question. He assumed his sons were both looking at the same table. Scanning it quickly, he saw that there were eight women seated around the table. Seven appeared engaged in conversation and the eighth, a blonde—Greg had to be referring to her—was looking in their direction.
His eyes met hers unexpectedly and for a very long second, neither of them looked away.
She had a nice smile, he caught himself thinking. He saw her mouthing something and belatedly realized that she was saying, “Cute little boys.” Not knowing what else to do—and ignoring her seemed rather rude—he mouthed, “Thank you.”
Her smile curved even more, pulling him in a little further. For some reason, he was having a difficult time looking away. There was something almost hypnotic about the smile, yet incredibly soothing at the same time.
“How come you’re not making any noise?” Greg asked, then explained the reason for his question. “Your mouth’s moving.”
“He’s using his inside voice,” Gary informed his brother importantly. Then, raising his chin, he added, “I can hear him.”
Even at four, Greg knew a lie when he heard it. “No, you can’t,” he insisted.
“Can, too,” Gary shot back, ready to go to war against his worst enemy/best friend in the blink of an eye.
“Boys,” Micah interjected sternly, “what did I tell you about arguing?”
“Don’t,” both boys chorused, their eyes downcast. Both appeared to be properly chastised, although Micah suspected that a little playacting was going into their performances.
Satisfied that they were going to behave for at least the next five minutes, Micah nodded and turned his attention back to the meal. Their waiter was approaching the table.
“All right, let’s order the food while it’s still Mother’s Day,” he urged his sons.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sheila asked, looking dismayed, annoyed and worried all at the same time.
“But I just did,” Micah pointed out, spreading his hands wide.
They had barely crossed the threshold to his house before his aunt had pounced and demanded to know what was going on. They’d stayed at the restaurant a good two hours and apparently she had enjoyed every minute of it. But now, she informed him in a no-nonsense voice, it was time to come clean.
“What’s wrong and why do you feel you need a lawyer?” she’d asked—and he’d told her.
Told her everything.
Granted it was a summarized version, and he’d left out a few details because she was outside the realm of those who had a need to know, but he’d relayed the general gist of it.
She’d taken it all in quietly, making no comment while he talked. But he could tell that she was upset.
“Besides,” he pointed out, “it’s Sunday. There’s not much I can do about this until tomorrow.” Everything had blown up on him late Friday afternoon. He’d spent Saturday trying to come to terms with the unexpected, jarring turn his life had taken.
“Oh, yes, there is,” Sheila informed him in no uncertain terms. She went directly to the kitchen and the phone on the wall.
To his knowledge, no good law firm did business on a Sunday. “Who are you going to call?” he asked sarcastically. “Lawyers R Us?”
Granted he wasn’t an expert, but in his opinion, any attorney who was in his office or on call on a Sunday was either desperate, ridiculously expensive or not any good. None of which were qualities he was seeking in the person he needed to represent him. He needed someone good who charged a reasonable fee, one that he had a fighting chance of paying off before the turn of the next century.
Sheila stopped just short of dialing, looking at her nephew over her shoulder. “Remember that woman who waved at me in the restaurant?”
He remembered. Remembered, too, the tall, striking blonde he’d made eye contact with. It had been an odd feeling, a little like déjà vu, as if he’d been in exactly the very same spot before.
But of course he hadn’t. He blamed it on his overwrought nerves.
Shaking off the feeling, he got back to his aunt’s question. There seemed to be only one reason why she would refer to the other woman.
“She’s a lawyer?” he guessed. But the moment he said it, he knew that didn’t make any sense. “I thought you said she sold you the condo.”
He didn’t want to hurt his aunt’s feelings, especially not on a day that celebrated mothers. He was ever mindful of the fact that she had taken him in when she didn’t have to. No law would have made her open her home—not to mention her heart—to an orphaned relative. She’d done that out of the goodness of her heart and he loved her for it.
Still, this was his life—and quite possibly his freedom—they were talking about.
“Usually anyone who wears two hats doesn’t wear either one well,” he told her diplomatically.
The boys were sitting on the floor watching a cartoon video his father kept on hand just for occasions like this, when Gary looked up, his attention captured by the phrase his father had used.
He frowned thoughtfully. “She wasn’t wearing any hats, Daddy. Don’t you remember?”
“My mistake,” Micah said.
It was easier saying that than getting involved in an explanation that cited the sentence as an old expression. Since Friday, when his life had suddenly been upended, it was all he could do just to try to hold himself together and not think of the possible consequences if things went awry.
He couldn’t even afford to let his mind go there. He had sons to provide for and an existing pile of medical bills—both for Ella and for Greg—that he still had to pay off. That meant keeping a clear head and being prepared at all times. Prepared to defend himself, prepared to answer charges—and somehow get to the bottom of all this to find out how he’d become implicated in these criminal allegations to begin with.
All he knew was that he was innocent. The tough part was getting everyone else to believe him. In the meantime, he had to hang on to his job while getting himself emotionally ready to face the kind of charges that could very well be leveled against him.
“Maizie’s not a lawyer,” Sheila told him. “But I need her to get in contact with one of the other women at the table—Theresa Manetti.”
“She’s the lawyer?” Micah asked.
Sheila sighed. It would have been simpler just to say that Maizie had arranged for a beautiful, unattached woman to be at their table just so that she could see him and he her—and that woman just happened to be a damn good lawyer. At that point, no matter how good she actually was, Micah would definitely not avail himself of her services. So she went the long way around, just to eventually get to where she needed to be.
“No, she runs a catering business.” Then, seeing his confused expression, she quickly added, “but her son and daughter are both lawyers.”
“There are lots of different kinds of lawyers, Aunt Sheila,” he pointed out tactfully. “What I’m going to need is a criminal defense lawyer—”
Gary, who was openly eavesdropping, appeared horrified. “Daddy?” he cried uncertainly. “Are they gonna put you in jail?” His eyes were suddenly huge, watery saucers as he contemplated his own words.
“No!” Greg cried, not waiting for his father to answer. The small boy jumped to his feet and immediately threw his small arms around the first part of his father he came in contact with: his elbow.
Micah sighed. He’d always tried to protect his sons, doing his best to keep them away from topics that he considered too adult, despite the fact that both boys seemed, at times, to possess old souls. He made sure that the parental block was in place on a host of programs and channels. Yet, the world obviously had a way of intruding and circumventing all his best efforts.
“Nobody’s putting anyone in jail,” Micah quickly assured both boys. “I just want to ask a lawyer some questions, that’s all.” Gently extricating his arm from Greg’s surprisingly strong grip, he put that arm around the boy and his other one around Gary. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Sheila could almost believe him—if she didn’t know him as well as she did. The only time Micah lied was to spare someone else’s feelings. In this case, he was trying to make all three of them believe that everything was all right.
Except that it wasn’t, she thought.
She called Maizie’s number. Counting off the number of rings, she heard the receiver being picked up on the fourth. Sheila began talking immediately. In short order, she told Maizie that what had begun innocently enough as an effort to get her nephew back to the dating scene had just taken on far more serious ramifications.
On the other end of the line, Maizie listened.
Several moments later when Sheila paused, Maizie jumped in. “I’ll talk to Kate directly,” she promised. She’d already made the decision to bypass Theresa for now. Her friend could be filled in on this newest development later. They no longer had the luxury of allowing things to progress naturally and gradually. Sheila’s nephew needed legal aid now, which meant that he had more of a professional need for Tracy than a personal one.
She got right on it.
Kate was a little confused as to why Maizie was calling her, but she listened to the woman patiently and tried to answer her questions to Maizie’s satisfaction.
“Yes,” Kate told her mother’s best friend. “Tracy is very good. She’s extremely dedicated. I had to literally drag her away from work today.”
Maizie put her own interpretation to the information. “Then what you’re saying is that Tracy is booked up,” she said, disappointed.
She was surprised to hear Kate laugh. “The thing about Tracy is that she always makes time for more cases. I’m beginning to think that she hardly ever sleeps. What I’m saying,” she summarized, “is that I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to look into the case for your friend’s nephew. And if she thinks she can win, she’ll let your friend know. As far as I know, she’s never lost a case,” Kate said with a note of envy. “Let me give you her cell phone number.” She rattled it off, then added, “But, knowing Tracy, I’ve got a feeling she’s probably back at the office right now. I’ll give you her number there just in case your friend has trouble getting through on the cell.”
Maizie made a note of that number, as well, then turned around and called Sheila with both.
Sheila, in turn, spun around and handed the two numbers to Micah.
Despite the fact that she had a burning desire to handle this for him, to set up everything for him in order to minimize what he had to deal with, she knew that doing so sent the wrong message to Tracy. Although Micah had a softer, gentler side to him, he was definitely not one of those neutered males that a woman could easily lead around by the nose and lose respect for by the hour.
“Here,” Sheila said, placing the two phone numbers in front of him.
It had been less than twenty minutes since he’d given his aunt a general summary of what he was dealing with. To spare her, he’d left out the more troubling details. She didn’t have to know about that unless it was absolutely necessary.
This was fast, he thought. He looked from one phone number to the other.
“Which one belongs to the better lawyer?” he asked.
“They both belong to the same lawyer. That’s her cell number—” Sheila pointed to the first piece of paper, then to the other “—and that’s her office number. According to my friend, she’s there now. In her office. Working.”
That sounded like his kind of person, Micah thought. If he didn’t have his sons, or if they’d been older and away at college, he would have buried himself in his work and not even bothered to come up for air unless he absolutely had to. It wasn’t that work soothed him, it was just that it kept him so busy, he didn’t have time to think.
To remember.
And regret.
“Okay,” he said. Picking up the pieces of paper, he started to put them in his pocket.
“Now,” Sheila insisted, drawing his hand back so that he was forced to place the phone numbers back on the counter in front of him. “Call her now.” And then, in case he had any suspicions as to why she was being so adamant, she said, “The sooner you start to tackle this, the sooner it’ll go away.”
She was right, Micah thought. Taking out his cell phone, he began to tap out the phone number on his keypad. Charges of treason and espionage were not something to take lightly or ignore—no matter how much he desperately wanted to.
After five rings, the answering machine on the other end kicked in. He almost hung up but then decided against it. Dutifully, he gave his name, phone number and a “brief message.” He was almost finished when he heard the line pick up.
“Hello? Mr. Muldare?” Tracy said, picking up on the name he’d given as he started leaving his message. “This is Tracy Ryan. How may I help you?”
The voice was soft, melodic, and drew a response that took Micah entirely by surprise. He felt an uncertain tremor at the core of his stomach, definitely not the kind of response that a person had to their potential lawyer.

Chapter Three
Several seconds went by as Tracy waited for the man on the other end to say something.
Had he hung up? Or was he just reconsidering his options? If it was the latter, she had a sneaking suspicion she knew why. Over the phone, she sounded younger than she actually was. Youth didn’t exactly generate confidence in clients who found themselves in need of a criminal lawyer. That was why she always preferred to meet a client face-to-face for the first time.
While at five-six, slender and blond, Tracy knew that she would never be mistaken for a football lineman, at least she didn’t look as if she was a senior in high school, which was the way she sounded on the phone according to Simon, her ex. In reality, she was twenty-nine—going on sixty.
Some days, she felt even older than that.
“Mr. Muldare?” she prodded after another minute had gone by. If he’d hung up, where was the dial tone? “Are you there?”
The sound of her voice had thrown him. He’d come very close to asking to speak to her mother before realizing that this was the lawyer his aunt’s friend had referred him to.
“Micah,” he told her. “Call me Micah.” After all, if she was going to be his attorney, he had a feeling they were going to be spending more than a little time together.
“All right, Micah,” she said, deliberately emphasizing his name, “just how is it that I can help you?”
You can wave your wand and make this all go away. Wouldn’t that be a neat trick? he couldn’t help thinking sarcastically. Out loud he asked, “You’re a criminal lawyer, right?”
“Right,” she echoed, then waited for him to continue. Instead, she heard him sigh. “Is something wrong, Mr. Mul—Micah?”
She heard him laugh. It was more of a disparaging sound than a happy one.
“Chronologically or alphabetically?” Micah asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I really don’t know where to begin,” Micah admitted somewhat helplessly.
“In my experience, the beginning is usually the best place.” And then, because there was another, somewhat long pause on his end, Tracy decided a few questions might be in order. “Why don’t we start with where you got my name and number.” She gave him several choices. “Was it off the internet or did you—”
“My aunt got your name from one of her friends. I’m not sure of the exact relationship but I think it’s safe to say that it was a friend of a friend.” He stopped, realizing how ridiculous all this had to be sounding to her. “I’m afraid I’ve never done anything like this before—looked for a lawyer,” he explained in case she didn’t know what he was talking about—and why should she? Rattled by this unexpected turn his life had taken, he was barely making any coherent sense. It had all served to put him on the hairy edge. “And I usually don’t ramble like this,” Micah added.
Rather than make some sort of belittling noise or say something that conveyed the presence of an attitude, he heard the woman on the other end say, “I’m sure you don’t. Finding themselves needing a criminal lawyer usually knocks the average person for a loop. Why don’t you come into the office tomorrow and tell me why you feel you need my services?”
He’d have to see about arranging for some comp time at work. The way things were going there lately, though, making up time was the least of his problems. He was already facing restricted duty, and his security clearance had been suspended pending further notice.
“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.

Chapter Four
The residential development where Tracy lived was one of the oldest ones in Bedford. It was also one of the smaller developments.
Maizie Sommers, the real estate agent who had sold her the house she lived in, had happily given her all sorts of positive statistics about the area. According to the woman, Bedford Ranch had seven hundred and fifty homes within it. The agent had called that “cozy.”
Oddly enough, though the word normally suggested fireplaces and warm comforters to her, Tracy decided that the word did seem to fit the community. She was also happy to learn that this particular development didn’t come with myriad rules and regulations that covered everything from the number of hours that residents could keep their garage doors opened to when and if they could park their cars in the street or had to leave them strictly in their driveway.
But the thing that Tracy liked best about the relaxed atmosphere within the development was that she was free to paint the outside of her simple, two-story home any color she wanted without having to submit the request first in triplicate to some nebulous association for their approval.
Obviously, Muldare found this sort of freedom as appealing as she did. Otherwise, the newer, more rigidly structured developments would have certainly lured him away. They had the bigger, more modern houses.
Most likely equally appealing—at least to her prospective client—was the fact that there was an elementary school on the southern perimeter of the development. Los Naranjos was the name some clever pencil pusher had given it.
She wondered if his sons went there. It certainly made drop-offs and pickups easy for whoever looked after the boys while he was at work.
Maizie had gently touted that feature to her, as well, saying, “When you have kids, you’ll find that this is an excellent school for them to attend. All the schools in Bedford are ranked in the top 5 percent scholastically,” the woman had told her proudly.
Little had the woman known that for her there was never going to be a “when.” Much as she adored her mother who had raised her by herself—she’d never known her father—Tracy truly believed that kids needed a full set of parents, not just one. After that humiliating experience with Simon, she was not about to get married ever again, which sort of closed the door for her when it came to having kids.
Tracy pulled up to the curb before his house. Muldare lived closer to her than she’d thought he would. Only one vehicle was in the driveway—his, she assumed—but she didn’t feel as if she could take the spot beside it in case someone dropped by while she was still here.
After getting out of her vintage white sedan, Tracy came up the walk to the front door. Her ex-husband had been into status symbols, big time. The fact that they couldn’t afford to buy things like super-expensive cars and a cabin cruiser made no difference to him. Debt was just an annoying detail that he left for her to handle while he drove around in a vehicle that could have easily been a down payment on a house in the more affluent part of the city. He’d accused her of being a stick-in-the-mud when she’d tried to show him the discrepancy between their salaries and the lifestyle he was living.
Tracy rang the doorbell and heard the beginning notes of Beethoven’s Fifth symphony. A classical music lover? Or had that just come with the house and he hadn’t gotten around to changing it?
She waited until the strains faded away, then pressed the doorbell again, a little longer this time. He had to be home, right? At least, that was what he’d said when he’d called to cancel their appointment. Maybe he was one of those people who didn’t like to stand up for himself and this was his way of backing away from the problem.
If so, he’d probably seen an ad for her law firm and was intimidated by what representation would wind up costing in dollars and cents.
She hadn’t told him that if she was going to take the case, it would be pro bono. But she also wanted to judge the merits of the case for herself before she committed to it. If she told him about pro bono up front, he’d be eager for her to take the case and if she didn’t believe in his innocence, or didn’t think there was at least a slim chance in hell of winning, she wouldn’t take it on.
About to ring and listen to the Beethoven piece a third time, she was spared the encore when the front door suddenly opened. Her prospective client was on the other side.
“I was beginning to think that maybe I had the wrong address,” she said by way of an ice breaker. “Hi, I’m Tracy Ryan,” she said, extending her hand out to his.
Caught off guard—today was not going to go down as one of his better days—he said the first thing that popped into his head. “I’m Micah Muldare—but then, you already know that.”

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