Marrying a Delacourt

by Sherryl Woods

  But Dylan—surprise, surprise—was nowhere to be found.

  “Off on a case,” his wife said cheerfully. “Stop by while you’re here, though. Bobby and I would love to see you. And if you need any help at the ranch, give me a call. My medical skills may be pretty much limited to kids, but I can rally a few of the Adamses who actually know a thing or two about horses and cattle. They’ll be happy to come over to help out.”

  Wasn’t that just gosh-darn neighborly, Michael thought sourly as he sat on the porch in the gathering dusk and stared out at the field of wildflowers that Trish gushed about all the time. Frankly, he didn’t get the fascination. They didn’t do anything. Maybe after a couple of glasses of wine, he’d be more appreciative.

  He was on his way inside in search of a decent cabernet and livelier entertainment, when he heard the distant cry. It sounded like someone in pain and it was coming from the barn, which should have been occupied by nothing more than a few of those horses Trish was so blasted worried about. Not that he was an expert, but no horse he’d ever heard sounded quite so human.

  Adrenaline pumping, Michael eased around the house and slid through the shadows toward the small, neat barn. He could hear what sounded like muffled crying and a frantic exchange of whispers.

  Thankful for his brother-in-law’s skill in constructing the barn, he slid the door open in one smooth, silent glide and hit the lights, exposing two small, towheaded boys huddled in a corner, one of them holding a gashed hand to his chest, his face streaked with tears. Michael stared at them with astonishment and the unsettling sense that the day’s bad luck was just about to take a spin for the worse.

  “We ain’t done anything, mister,” the older boy said, facing him defiantly. Wearing a ragged T-shirt, frayed jeans and filthy sneakers, he stood protectively in front of the smaller, injured boy. The littler one gave Michael a hesitant smile, which faded when confronted by Michael’s unrelenting scowl.

  Michael’s gaze narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  “We just wanted someplace to sleep for the night,” the little one said, moving up to stand side by side with his companion whose belligerent expression now matched Michael’s. His fierce loyalty reminded Michael of the four Delacourt brothers, whose one-for-all-and-all-for-one attitudes had gotten them into and out of a lot of sticky situations when they’d been about the same ages as these two.

  “Come over here closer to the light and let me see your hand,” he said to the smaller child, preferring to deal with the immediacy of an injury to the rest of the situation.

  “It ain’t nothing,” the bigger boy said, holding him back.

  “If it’s bleeding, it’s something,” Michael replied. “Do you want it getting infected so bad, the doctors will have to cut off his arm?”

  He figured the image of such an exaggeratedly gory fate would cut straight through their reluctance, but he’d figured wrong.

  “We can fix it ourselves,” the boy insisted stubbornly. “We found the first aid kit. I’ve already dumped lots and lots of peroxide over it.”

  “It hurt real bad, too,” the little one said.

  The comment earned him a frown, rather than praise for his bravery. “If he’d just hold still, I’d have it bandaged by now,” the older boy grumbled.

  “You two used to taking care of yourselves?” Michael asked, getting the uneasy sense that they’d frequently been through this routine of standing solidly together in defiance of adult authority.

  The smaller boy nodded, even as the older one said a very firm, “No.”

  Michael bit back a smile at the contradictory responses. “Which is it?”

  “Look, mister, if you don’t want us here, we’ll go,” the taller boy said, edging toward the door while keeping a safe distance between himself and Michael.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I ain’t supposed to tell that to strangers.”

  “Well, seeing how you’re on my property,” he began, stretching the truth ever-so-slightly in the interest of saving time on unnecessary explanations about his own presence here. “I think I have a right to know who you are.”

  The boys exchanged a look before the older one finally gave a subtle nod.

  “I’m Josh,” the little one said. “He’s Jamie.”

  “You two brothers?” Michael asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you have a last name, Josh and Jamie?”

  “Of course, we do,” Jamie said impatiently. “But we ain’t telling.”

  Michael let that pass for the moment. “Live around here?”

  Again, he got two contradictory answers. He sighed. “Which is it?”

  “We’re visiting,” the little one said, as Jamie nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. We’re visiting.”

  Michael was an expert in sizing up people, reading their expressions. He wasn’t buying that line of bull for a second. These two were runaways. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind about that. Hadn’t they just said they’d been looking for a place to spend the night? He decided to see how far they were willing to carry the fib.

  “Won’t the folks you’re visiting be worried about you?” he asked. “Maybe we should call them.”

  “We’re not sure of the number,” Jamie said hurriedly, his expression worried.

  “Tell me the name, then. I’ll look it up.”

  “We can’t,” Jamie said. “They’ll be real mad, when they find out we’re gone. We weren’t supposed to leave their place. They told us and told us not to go exploring, didn’t they, Josh?”

  “Uh-huh.” Josh peered at Michael hopefully. “You don’t want us to get in trouble, do you?”

  Michael faced them with a stern, forbidding expression that worked nicely on the employees at Delacourt Oil. “No, what I want is the truth.”

  “That is the truth,” Jamie vowed, sketching a cross over his heart and clearly not one bit intimidated.

  “Honest,” Josh said.

  Michael feared he hadn’t heard an honest, truthful word since these two had first opened their mouths. But if they wouldn’t give him a straight answer, what was he supposed to do about it? He couldn’t very well leave them in the barn. He couldn’t send them packing, as desperately as he wanted to. They were just boys, no more than thirteen and nine, most likely. Somebody, somewhere, had to be worried sick about them. Maybe he could loosen their tongues with a bribe of food.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  Josh’s eyes lit up. His head bobbed up and down eagerly.

  “I suppose we could eat,” Jamie said, clearly trying hard not to show too much enthusiasm.

  “Come on inside, then. Once you’ve eaten, we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

  In Trish’s state-of-the-art, spotless kitchen, they turned around in circles, wide-eyed with amazement.

  “This is so cool,” Jamie pronounced, his sullen defiance slipping away. “Like in a magazine or something.”

  “There’s even a cookie jar,” Josh announced excitedly. “A really big one. You suppose there are any cookies?”

  “We’ll check it out after you’ve eaten a sandwich,” Michael said. He poured them both huge glasses of milk and made them thick ham and cheese sandwiches, which they fell on eagerly, either in anticipation of home-baked cookies or because they were half-starved.

  Watching the boys while they devoured the food, Michael realized he needed advice and he needed it now. He needed an expert, somebody who understood kids, somebody who knew the law. Even as that realization struck him, he had a sudden inspiration. He knew the perfect person to get them all out of this jam. He walked into the living room, grabbed his portable phone and punched in a once-familiar number.

  Grace Foster answered on the first ring, just as she always did. Grace was brisk and efficient. Best of all, she didn’t play games. If she was home, why act as if she had better things to do than talk? He’d liked that about her once. Heck, he’d liked a whole lot more than that about her, but that was another ti
me, another place, eons ago.

  Now about all he could say was that he respected her as a lawyer, even if she did make his life a living hell from time to time.

  “What do you want?” she asked the instant she recognized his voice.

  “Nice to speak to you, too,” he countered.

  “Michael, you never call unless there’s a problem. Since we don’t have any court dates coming up, just spit it out. It’s Friday night. I’m busy.”

  “Whatever it is can wait,” he retorted, troubled more than he liked by the image of Grace being in the midst of a hot date, one that might last all weekend long. He preferred to think that she led a nice, quiet, solitary—maidenly—existence.

  Although he’d intended only to ask for advice, instead he said, “I need you to get on a plane and get over to Los Piños tonight.”

  He said it with absolute confidence that she wouldn’t refuse, not in the long run. She might grumble a little, but once she understood the stakes, she wouldn’t turn him down. He wondered just how little he could get away with revealing. Maybe just the lure of sparring with him would be enough. His ego certainly wanted to believe that.

  “Excuse me? Why would I want to do that?” she asked. “It’s not like your every wish has been my command, not for a long time now.”

  She employed that huffy little tone that always turned him on although she intended the exact opposite. He could envision her sitting up a little straighter, squaring her shoulders. She had no idea that her efforts to look rigid and unyielding only thrust out her breasts and made her more desirable than ever. He bit back a desire to chuckle at the mental image. Grace was a real piece of work, all right. She might be pint-sized and fragile-looking, but she had the soul and spirit of a warrior. It was a trait he suspected was going to come in handy.

  “You’ll come because you know I wouldn’t ask unless it was important,” he told her patiently. Then he dangled an impossible-to-resist temptation. “And you can hold it over my head for the rest of our lives, okay?”

  “Now that is an intriguing idea,” she said with considerably more enthusiasm. “Care to fill me in?”

  What a breeze, he thought triumphantly. Even easier than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t even had to pull out the big guns and tell her about the kids.

  “I’ll fill you in when you get here. Can you be at the airport in an hour? I’ll have the Delacourt jet fueled up and ready. The pilot can see to it that you find me once you land over here.”

  “Michael, really, there has to be someone else you could call, someone closer.”

  “There isn’t,” he assured her.

  “But I have plans. I’ve had them for ages. I hate to cancel.”

  Damn, she was still trying to wriggle off the hook. “No,” he said firmly. “It has to be you. This is right up your alley.” He sighed heavily, then added as if it were costing him a great deal to say, “I need you, Grace.”

  “Hah! As if I believe that for a minute. You’re overselling, Michael.”

  “Trust me. You’re the only one for this job.”

  This time she was the one who sighed heavily. “Okay, okay. When you start laying it on this thick, my curiosity kicks in. But I have to finish up what I’m doing here. Make it ninety minutes,” she said. “And, Michael, this is going to cost you. Big time.”

  “I never doubted it for a second,” he said.

  Only after he’d hung up did he stop to wonder why he’d instinctively turned to Grace, rather than his sister-in-law or one of the Adamses right here in town. He told himself it was because this situation all but cried out for a woman to deal with the two runaways, but he hadn’t gotten where he was in life by deluding himself. His sister-in-law was not only obviously female, but a doctor, as well.

  No, he had called Grace Foster, because as much of a pain in the butt as she was to him personally, she was the smartest lawyer he knew. If these boys were in some kind of trouble, he couldn’t think of a better ally than Grace.

  But it was even more than that, he admitted candidly. A part of him liked wrangling with Ms. Grace Foster more than just about anything except watching a new million-dollar gusher spewing crude into the Texas sky.

  Chapter Two

  Grace could hardly wait to hear what had caused Michael Delacourt to condescend to beg her for help. As annoyed as she was at being imperiously summoned across the state on a Friday night, her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

  And contrary to what she had deliberately led him to believe, he had not caught her in the middle of a pressing engagement. A long, boring weekend had stretched out ahead of her, so Michael’s call had been a welcome diversion, a chance to break out of the rut she’d fallen into in recent months. She slaved like crazy in court all week long, then did more of the same on weekends so she wouldn’t notice how truly barren her social life had become.

  But even better than a break in routine, the promised chance to hold this over the man’s arrogant, egotistical head for the rest of their lives had been an irresistible lure. Given the number of court cases on which they found themselves on opposing sides, it was an edge she couldn’t ignore.

  There was more to it, of course. There had been a time in the distant past when she had almost allowed herself to think about a future with Michael. But then she’d realized she would always play second fiddle to the family business. It was a role she flatly refused to accept.

  Grace had already spent an entire childhood trying to figure out why she hadn’t been smart enough or pretty enough for her father to love her. Norman Foster had left her and her mom when Grace was barely five. The unexplained departure of her adored father had all but destroyed her self-esteem. It had taken years to restore it, to accept that his going had had nothing at all to do with her. She wasn’t going to waste the rest of her life wondering why she didn’t have another man’s full attention.

  She had broken off with Michael the same day she’d graduated from law school. She’d had clues from the beginning of their relationship that work came first with him, but his failure to appear at the important graduation ceremony had made it all too evident where she fit into his priorities. Even his profuse apologies and a barrage of expensive gifts—all of which she’d returned—hadn’t convinced her he would ever be able to change.

  After pursuing her with flattering determination for a few weeks, he had accepted that the breakup was final. When he’d actually stopped calling, she’d suffered a few serious twinges of regret, but on balance she knew she’d done what she had to. She knew better than to think a man would change.

  That didn’t mean that she couldn’t thoroughly enjoy the occasional sparring match with Michael. He was, after all, exceptionally smart, exceptionally sexy and, when he allowed himself to forget about work, highly entertaining. It gave her a great deal of pleasure, however, to remind him from time to time that he wasn’t God’s gift to women. She figured she had at least a little credibility since she was one of the few who’d ever walked away from him.

  Over the years she had observed his pattern from a nice, safe distance. Most of the women he dated were eventually abandoned by him through benign neglect, never in an explosion of passionate fireworks. She suspected that most of those relationships contained less passion than some of the occasional conversations she and Michael had over legal matters. In the deep, dark middle of the night, she took a certain comfort in that.

  Tonight as she settled into the fancy Delacourt corporate jet, she glanced around at the posh interior and smiled. Of course Michael expected her to be impressed by the bottle of chilled champagne, the little plate of hot hors d’oeuvres. No doubt he still thought of her as the small-town girl who’d been wide-eyed the first time he’d taken her on a trip in this very same plane.

  They had gone from Austin, where she’d been in school, to Houston for a visit to the family mansion. Michael had wanted to introduce her to his family, especially his charismatic, much-idolized father. She had been stunned, if not impressed, by t
he evidence of their wealth. Even with Michael at her side, she had wondered if she would ever truly fit in there.

  These days it took a lot more than champagne and canapés to impress her. Apparently Michael had forgotten that in recent years she’d worked for a lot of people every bit as rich as the Delacourts. In fact, she’d prided herself on taking quite a bit of money away from them.

  Oh, yes, she thought with anticipation, this little trip to Los-wherever-Texas held a lot of promise. For Michael to be anywhere other than in his office or at some gala where he could network was so rare that the explanation was bound to be a doozy. She could hardly wait to hear it.

  The flight didn’t take long. When they landed, a car was waiting for her at the airport and the pilot gave her very thorough written and verbal directions, then regarded her anxiously.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to drive you, Ms. Foster? I don’t mind, and Mr. Delacourt suggested that would be best.”

  Grace understood the insulting implications of that. She drew herself up to her full five-foot-two-inch height.

  “Thanks, Paul, but I am perfectly capable of driving a few miles,” she said coolly. Beyond his low regard for her driving skills, she knew what Michael was up to. He wanted her wherever he was at his beck and call, with no car available for a speedy exit. “Thank you, though. You can let Mr. Delacourt know that I am on my way.”

  The pilot, who’d been around during the days of their stormy relationship, grinned at her display of defiance. “Whatever you say, Ms. Foster. Nice seeing you again.”

  “You, too, Paul.”

  Satisfied that she had won that round, Grace got behind the wheel of the rental car, studied the directions one last time and tried not to panic. The truth was, she had a very unfortunate sense of direction. To top it off, the sky was pitch-black, the moon little more than a distant, shimmering sliver of silver. And it wasn’t as if there were a lot of street signs out here in the middle of nowhere.