Marrying a Delacourt

by Sherryl Woods

  She smiled up at him then, one of those bright, sunny smiles that held nothing back. Drawn to her, he slipped closer, and before she could realize his intention, he leaned down and touched his lips lightly to hers. Silken heat, whisper-soft against his, her mouth was every bit as wickedly tempting as he’d recalled. He had to force himself to stop at just one kiss.

  “Thank you for coming to their defense,” he whispered against her cheek.

  She gazed up at him, her lips parted in astonishment.

  His resolve fled. The first kiss had felt so good and her mouth was so thoroughly tempting that Michael couldn’t resist one more taste. This time when his mouth slanted across hers, a deep sigh shuddered through her and was echoed in his body.

  How was it possible after all these years apart, after all of their legal skirmishes, that something as simple as a kiss felt like coming home? Now that he knew that, he could hardly wait to get Jamie and Josh’s situation settled, so that he and Grace could start over.

  If she’d agree.

  Chapter Five

  Dazed by the unexpected kiss and even more stunned by her response to it, Grace stared at Michael. “What was that all about?”

  “Just a little thank-you kiss,” he assured her, but his lips were curved into a satisfied smile.

  “The first one, maybe,” she said, resisting the desire to touch her fingers to her still-tingling mouth. “That second one was something else altogether.”

  “Was it really?” he asked innocently. “It got to you, did it?”

  The man was infuriating. Smug.

  Accurate, she thought with a barely concealed sigh. It would not do to let him see it, though. “It did not get to me, as you put it,” she said staunchly. “I am immune to you, Michael Delacourt. I have been for years.”

  “Then the kiss meant nothing, did it? It’s hardly worth all this analysis.”

  “That’s exactly right. It meant absolutely nothing!” She whirled around and headed for the house, fully aware of his faint chuckle trailing after her.

  Oh, yes, the man was impossible. He was trying to start something, either to satisfy his ego that he could still make it happen or because he was bored and she was conveniently available as a distraction. As if two runaway kids weren’t enough trouble, he was looking for more.

  Coming here was a mistake, she told herself as she went into the kitchen and splashed cold water on her flushed cheeks, then stood still and fought to quiet the racing of her pulse.

  No, she corrected, staying was the mistake. She should have turned right around the night before and gone back to Houston. She could have driven the rental car all the way, if need be, taking Jamie and Josh with her. Of course, they might well have ended up in New Mexico if she’d tried, but that would have been better than this off-kilter way she was feeling right this second.

  Even before she heard Michael’s booted footsteps on the porch, she sensed that he was near. She could feel a vague and once all-too-familiar prickling sensation on the back of her neck, the same sensation that warned of danger closing in. She quickly dried her cheeks and turned to face him with what she hoped was a totally calm, disinterested expression. She’d had plenty of time to perfect it over the years. Every time they met, in fact.

  “Feeling in control again?” he inquired with amusement flashing in his eyes.

  “You really do have an overinflated ego,” she pointed out.

  “I find confidence to be necessary in business.”

  “Confidence and ego are not exactly the same,” she remarked tartly.

  He wasn’t put off in the least. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the debate, deliberately prolonging it. “I suppose that depends on how you define them.”

  “Confidence has to do with knowing your own strengths. Ego has to do with overinflating them, giving yourself a little too much credit.” She leveled a haughty look straight at him. “It is not an attractive quality.”

  “Then just think of the fun you can have over the next few days trying to cut my overinflated ego back down to size,” he suggested.

  “I am not here for your personal amusement or my own,” she pointed out huffily. “The only reason I agreed to stay was because of Jamie and Josh.”

  Michael nodded. “Of course,” he intoned solemnly. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  She drew herself up and leveled a stern look straight at him. It usually worked quite well on a reluctant witness. “See that you do.”

  She had no earthly idea why her words seemed to make him smile, but she caught him doing just that, even though he quickly hid it. She decided it was wisest to let the matter drop. It was evident she wasn’t winning the debate, couldn’t against a man who didn’t play by any rules and didn’t seem the least bit wary of the outcome.

  “I’d better make those calls,” she said. “Is there another phone around here that’s more private? I don’t want Jamie or Josh to come in and overhear me.”

  “There’s one in the den,” he said, leading her toward a small but airy room that faced the sun-splashed fields of wildflowers at the back of the house. French doors opened onto a deck and let in the rapidly warming morning breeze.

  While there was a masculine feel to much of the house, this room had been designed for a woman. The view had been brought indoors with splashes of brightly colored chintz on the sofa and a collection of chintz-patterned teacups on an old oak sideboard. The furniture was scaled-down in size, too, comfortable, but far more feminine than the oversized, darkly upholstered chairs in the living room. Books, some of them lying open as if abandoned in midsentence, were scattered everywhere and ranged in topic from the latest fiction to a colorful book on quilts as art.

  Grace instantly fell in love with all of it. It was thoroughly charming and such a stark contrast to the tidy, practical, modern decor in her Houston condo, where a weekly maid chased away dust and disorder.

  “What a wonderful room,” she said, circling it to admire the lush combination of fabrics, the eclectic touches that hinted of Trish’s various interests. This had to be her special domain, a home office, perhaps.

  “Trish’s haven, as I understand it,” Michael said, confirming her guess. “Hardy custom-built all the bookshelves and cabinets.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Grace said, thinking that they, like the rest of the house he’d built, had been imbued with such care and love. “Your sister is a very lucky woman.”

  “I think she’d agree with you.” He stood there uncertainly for a moment, his gaze skimming hers. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to make those calls. I’d better make a few of my own. I have to track down a riding instructor.”

  “Do you need to use the phone first?”

  “I’ll use my cell phone.” He grinned. “I hid it in my briefcase in case my family got any crazy ideas about cutting off the phone service on me.”

  She regarded him with a sudden burst of insight. “You know something, Michael? I think you’re almost disappointed that they didn’t.”

  “Why on earth would you say that? I hated that last vacation.”

  “But you liked the fact that they cared enough to make you go, didn’t you?”

  He seemed startled by the observation, but then he nodded slowly. “You know, you may be right. I suppose we all want someone who’ll look out for our best interests when we forget to.” He studied her with quiet intensity. “Do you have someone who does that for you, Grace?”

  “Sure,” she said blithely, hoping he would let it go at that. But of course, being Michael, he didn’t.

  “Who?”

  “That’s my private business,” she told him stiffly, because there was no way on earth that she would admit that she was the only person who looked out for Grace Foster. She watched herself intently for signs of burnout, scheduled vacations that took her far from Houston where no one could reach her, vacations during which she went almost as nuts as she supposed Michael did.

  “Well, I just hope whoever it is does the job r
ight,” he said softly. Then he turned and left her alone.

  Grace sighed. Why was it that holed up here in Los Piños with Michael and two young boys—more people than she ever had crowded around—she suddenly felt more lonely than ever?

  Before she could ponder that for too long, the phone rang. Hoping that it was a reply to one of her earlier inquiries, she snatched it up on the first ring.

  “Well, well, well,” a teasing masculine voice said. “Who is this?”

  Grace stiffened. “Who is this?” she shot right back, not prepared to give anything away.

  “Tyler Delacourt,” he said at once.

  Her shoulders relaxed. She had always liked the most charming of the Delacourt brothers. He had a twinkle in his eyes, a flirtatious nature and a heart as big as Texas. While others in the family had never warmed to her, Tyler had. He’d always treated her as if they were coconspirators in the battle to hold on to Michael’s heart.

  “Tyler, I didn’t recognize your voice,” she said, aware of just how much she’d missed him, right along with his brother. Breaking up with Michael had meant losing his whole family, a family she had come to think of as her own, even if they hadn’t seen it quite that way. It would have been awkward, though, and far too painful, to stay in touch even with Tyler, so she hadn’t. “This is Grace.”

  “Grace Foster?” Tyler asked.

  He sounded a little shocked, but just as delighted as she was. She had to wonder, though, if it was for the same reason. Tyler had done his best to help Michael mend fences with her all those years ago. He’d considered it a personal failure that he hadn’t succeeded.

  “Oh, my, how did my brother manage to lure you over to his vacation hideaway?” he said.

  His amused tone confirmed her fear that he’d leaped to the wrong conclusion. “Don’t make too much of it,” she warned.

  “How can I not? I thought you two weren’t on speaking terms.”

  “We speak,” Grace said, then grinned as she thought of the last conversation she and Michael had had during the debacle between Delacourt Oil and Brianna O’Rourke, who was now Mrs. Jeb Delacourt. “To be more precise, we usually shout.”

  “Is there a lot of shouting going on now?” Tyler inquired with unabashed curiosity. “Did I interrupt?”

  “Nope. All’s quiet on the western front. Since you obviously called to speak to your brother, why don’t I get him for you?”

  “Wait,” he commanded.

  “Yes?”

  “Whatever the reason for it, I’m glad you’re there,” he said quietly.

  Grace was startled by his unexpectedly serious tone. “Why would my being here matter to you?”

  He hesitated, then said, “It just does, okay? Give him a chance, Grace. Michael’s missed you, more than he’ll probably ever admit, even to himself. He needs you in his life.”

  It was a familiar refrain, but she didn’t believe it for a second, couldn’t allow herself to believe it. “Tyler, don’t get the wrong idea. My reason for being here isn’t personal. This isn’t about Michael and me. Let me get him. I’m sure he’ll explain.”

  Taking the portable phone with her, she went in search of Michael and found him on the outside deck, legs stretched out in front of him, face turned up to the sun, eyes closed. For a man who professed not to know how to relax, he seemed to have found a way.

  “Michael?” she said softly, not sure if he’d drifted off to sleep.

  He snagged her hand, proving that he’d been aware of her presence all along. “Come sit with me,” he said without opening his eyes.

  “Not just now,” she said, easing out of his grip. “Your brother’s on the phone.”

  His eyes snapped open then. “Which one?” he mouthed silently.

  “Tyler.”

  “Oh, boy,” he muttered, taking the phone. “Hey, Ty, what’s up?”

  Grace turned to leave, but paused when she heard his low chuckle.

  “Stay out of it, bro. You dumped me over here without a second thought. Now it’s up to me how I occupy my time.”

  Obviously she hadn’t been convincing enough during her own conversation with Tyler. He clearly wasn’t buying the fact that her presence here wasn’t personal. She had to wonder why. Was she a frequent topic of conversation between the brothers? What sort of speculation had Tyler engaged in over the years? He seemed to think she really mattered to Michael, when she knew the opposite was true. But which of them knew Michael best? Once she would have said she did, but after all this time, maybe Tyler did have more insight.

  Oh, what did it matter? she asked herself impatiently. Whatever regrets she or Michael had, it was impossible to recapture the past.

  Even so, she found herself moving deliberately right back into Michael’s line of vision to wait for the return of the phone. Maybe that way she could inhibit whatever he might otherwise be inclined to say about her easy agreement to his request that she fly over. After that earlier taunt about her eagerness to get him out of his clothes—after that kiss—it was clear that Michael wasn’t solely focused on her ability to help Josh and Jamie. That didn’t mean the whole family had to start leaping to conclusions.

  After a surprisingly brief exchange, Michael hung up and handed her the phone.

  “Tyler said to tell you goodbye.”

  “It was nice to speak to him,” she said honestly.

  “He always thought you hung the moon,” Michael told her. “Said I was a damned fool for letting you get away.”

  This was not a conversation she intended to have. “You were,” she said simply, then turned and went back inside, fully aware with every step she took that Michael’s startled, intense gaze was following her.

  Grace managed to stay out of Michael’s path for the next few hours. She fixed sandwiches, then left them in the refrigerator for Jamie, Josh and Michael, before taking her own lunch and retreating to the den, where she firmly closed the door to prevent intrusions. She barely resisted the urge to lock it.

  It was nearly three o’clock before she finally put the phone back on the hook, then uttered a heartfelt sigh. She shrugged her shoulders trying to work out the knots of tension.

  The calls had gone about as she’d expected. She’d received a flurry of faxes indicating just how troublesome Jamie and Josh Miller had been to their various foster families and just how far Naomi Miller was from being fully recovered from her addiction. There was a lot of frustration from social services, who had about given up on finding anyplace where the boys would stay put, much less thrive.

  “Why the interest?” a friend in the Houston department had asked her. Shirley Lee Green—mother of four and foster mom to a dozen more over the years—had agreed to make a few inquiries on Grace’s behalf. “Those two are on the other side of the state, out of our jurisdiction. At the moment, they’re missing.” She paused, then asked suspiciously, “You haven’t had any contact with them, have you?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Grace said.

  “Oh, baby, don’t go getting involved in something like this,” Shirley Lee had declared, correctly reading her avoidance of the question as assent. “I know you. You’ll get your heart broken.”

  “Thanks for making the calls,” Grace said, ignoring the well-intentioned advice from a very good friend, who also happened to be the best advocate she knew for troubled kids. “You’re an angel.”

  “What I am is one worried mama,” Shirley Lee retorted. “You know I look on you as one of my own flock. I don’t want you getting yourself hurt. You’re one of the last good guys.”

  That assessment was still ringing in her ears when she heard the squeals of delight from outside, then Michael’s shouted warning and the softer, more patient voice of another man. Apparently the riding lesson had commenced. Because the last few hours had been so thoroughly frustrating, she couldn’t resist the chance to peek outside and see Josh and Jamie engaged in something that obviously made them happy.

  What she didn’t expect to find was Michae
l sitting uncomfortably in a saddle, while two upturned faces regarded him with apparent glee. Josh caught sight of her first.

  “Hey, Grace, Michael almost fell off the horse,” he shouted. “Me and Jamie didn’t. Slade says we’re real naturals, didn’t you, Slade?”

  A lanky cowboy turned toward her and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

  “Hi, I’m Grace Foster,” she said.

  “Slade Sutton. I work over at White Pines. Harlan Adams sent me over to see if I could turn these three into cowboys.” He winked at the boys. “I’m doing right well with these two.” He gave a nod in Michael’s direction. “He’s another story. Doesn’t trust the horse.”

  “He’s a business tycoon,” Grace confided. “He doesn’t trust anything.”

  Slade grinned. “Ah, that explains it. Think he’d do better with a pretty little filly?”

  Grace stole a quick look at Michael and discovered he was taking the teasing in stride. “Oh, he’d like a filly, all right, but he still wouldn’t trust her.”

  “Okay, you guys, that’s enough.” Michael swung his leg over the horse and dismounted, fairly smoothly in Grace’s opinion. She had to wonder if some of his awkwardness hadn’t been for Josh and Jamie’s benefit, to give them a much needed sense of being better than an adult at something.

  He stalked straight to Grace, put his hands on her waist and hoisted her into the saddle before she could catch her breath to protest. “How does it feel up there?” he inquired, regarding her with amusement.

  Because she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of begging to be rescued, she settled herself more securely in the saddle and gave the question some real thought. “Interesting,” she said at last. “I like the vantage point. It’s not often I get to look down on a couple of tall men.”

  “Teach her, too,” the boys begged Slade.

  The cowboy looked up at her. “You care for a little spin around the corral?”

  “Why not?” she said gamely.

  He led the horse around in a big circle until she got the feel of being in the saddle.