Once Upon a Matchmaker

by Marie Ferrarella

  “So your dad told me.” She turned to look at Micah. “Have you called his pediatrician yet?” she asked. It seemed like the logical thing to do.

  “I thought I’d give the fever another thirty minutes before I start sounding like a panicky father.” Because she seemed to be interested and because she’d voiced the inquiry before diving into the reason for her drive-by visit, he found himself giving her a little more information. “This isn’t exactly the first time I’ve sat beside his bed, holding his hand and making bargains with God.”

  Bargains with God? Now, that surprised her. Turning, she took a closer look at him. A hint of a boyish smile met her, but then it was gone, replaced by the expression of an extremely worried-looking man.

  Her eyes slid over him, taking full measure of her potential client.

  “Funny,” she finally commented, “you just don’t seem like the type to bargain with God.”

  Micah laughed shortly. “Believe me, once a kid or two enters the picture, you’d be surprised how quickly you wind up changing and start bending all sorts of rules and regulations you’d never even thought to question or challenge before.”

  “You probably don’t want to admit that in exactly those words right off the bat when the other counsel questions you,” Tracy advised.

  Realizing what he’d just said, Micah nodded. He wasn’t accustomed to having to censor himself. “Yeah, right,” he agreed.

  Was that an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, or a reaction to the unseasonably warm weather they were having, she wondered. This was June, best known for June Gloom in Southern California, but rather than hiding behind clouds, the sun had been out every single morning, warming everything far beyond the customary cool, agreeable temperatures.

  Rules and regulations. The term echoed in Micah’s brain. He’d surprised himself, rebel that he’d once been, at how well he’d adapted to this secretive world he’d found himself in with its strict, strict rules. On the black programs that he’d been working for the past eighteen months—he was currently handling the bulk of seven different programs, complete with files that had pages where huge sections were blacked out with permanent laundry markers—every step of the process, every breath of the day was regulated to the extreme. And he had really surprised himself by doing his best to play the game and adhere to all the different stipulations because ultimately, he was working to defend not just his homeland but his sons, as well.

  His sons were everything to him. If they hadn’t been around, he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have been, either.

  “You have any kids?” he asked her suddenly as he closed the door behind her.

  There it was, she thought, that small, sharp prick, the one that sought her out each and every time someone asked if she had children. You’d think by now it would begin to fade. Instead, at times it felt stronger than ever.

  I would have, but things just didn’t work out. I guess I’m just not supposed to have any.

  Out loud, Tracy said, “I’m not here to talk about me.” She wanted that to be the end of it, to close herself off to that part of herself, the part that always, always bled when the topic came up. But she couldn’t just block it out. There was this absolutely adorable pint-sized shadow next to her, following his father’s every move, being oh so serious about it and succeeding in being oh so adorable, as well.

  She grinned down at the little boy behind Muldare and thought back to the restaurant and her first impression of the duo. “But you seem to have struck the lottery with your two guys here. What’s your name?” she asked Gary.

  “Gary Muldare,” he told her both proudly and promptly. “The sick one’s Greg Muldare. He’s just four,” he added disparagingly.

  “Four’s not such a bad age,” she pointed out tactfully.

  “What’s your name?” Gary asked. It was obvious that he hadn’t heard her introduce herself to his father.

  Micah loved both boys fiercely, but there were times they made him think of puppies, all big paws and charging clumsily into places that they had no business going.

  “Gary—” Micah chided.

  Gary’s head bobbed up, a defensive protest already on his protruding lips. “You said I could talk if someone talked to me. Well, she’s talking to me.”

  Tracy did what she could to smother the laugh. “He’s got a point, you know, Dad. From now on, you’re going to have to watch how you word your instructions. Kids have a way of cutting straight to the chase.”

  Turning her attention back to the little man beside her client, she extended her hand to him just the way she had to his father. “Hi, I’m Theresa Ryan, but you can call me Tracy.”

  “Tracy,” he repeated, as if testing the name out on his tongue to see if he liked the sound of it. His brow scrunched as he tried to make sense out of what he’d just been told. “Is ‘Tracy’ your name, too?”

  “Tracy’s my nickname,” she explained. The look on his wide-open little face told her she’d made no headway in the explanation department. And why should she? she thought, suddenly realizing the problem. At his age, Gary probably didn’t know what a nickname was. “So, yes, it’s my name, too.”

  If Gary had ever been shy, he’d completely forgotten about those days. Taking her hand confidently in his, he said, “If you wanna see Greg, I can take you to him,” he volunteered.

  Micah gave his older son a look that was supposed to take the place of a reprimand. It didn’t work. So he tried a verbal restraint. “Gary, Ms. Ryan didn’t come here to visit—”

  “But a visit to a bedridden family member wouldn’t be entirely out of order,” Tracy said, interrupting. She wanted to get on Gary’s good side. It never hurt to have an ally, no matter how short, and something told her that having allies in this case might prove to be helpful. Children often said things that offered a different insight. “Where is your little brother?”

  “Back in bed. In his room. Being sick.” The answers came out like rapid gunfire before Gary slowed down. “He’s sick a lot,” the boy told her dramatically, ending with a deep sigh.

  Hollywood was missing one of its more talented actors, Tracy couldn’t help thinking, more amused than she’d been in a long while.

  She looked over her shoulder toward the boy’s father as Gary pulled her along in his wake, obviously taking her to see his brother. “Maybe you should have some lab tests done on him,” she suggested.

  Wasn’t that what you did for a child with a recurring illness? She herself didn’t know. She had been a healthy child, which was lucky for both her and her mother since there was no extra money to be had for luxuries like doctors.

  “We already know what’s wrong in general,” Micah told her, wondering why she wanted to discuss Greg in the first place. “There were some residual problems due to his being born prematurely. He spent the first two years of his life in and out of hospitals. As a result, the doctors found that Greg’s immune system was compromised somewhat. It takes him twice as long to get over something than it does Gary.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m healthier than he is,” Gary said to her, all but thumping his small chest.

  “And because you are,” she told him, saying it as if he should be very proud of himself, “you can help your dad take care of your little brother.”

  The large, glowing smile faded, to be replaced by a frown. Gary’s expression indicated that he’d actually felt as if the rug had just been pulled out from under his feet.

  “I guess,” he said in a far more dispirited tone than he’d used just a minute ago.

  “That means that you’re a very important young man. Not just anyone gets to do this kind of thing,” Tracy told the little boy solemnly.

  Gary began to come around. “Or get a nickname?” he tagged on eagerly.

  “Or get a nickname,” she echoed.

  “You’re a natural at this,” Micah observed, letting her walk into his sons’ bedroom ahead of him. “You sure you don’t have any kids?”

  “Very su
re.” She policed herself to make sure that the yearning in her soul didn’t manage to work its way into her voice. “My best friend, though, was the oldest in a houseful of kids. I got put on kid patrol every time I walked into the house.” She smiled fondly, remembering the O’Sullivans who’d lived in the house next door to hers. They had been a noisy crew, especially on Sundays as they got ready for church. She was over at their house more than she was in her own. They helped fill the loneliness when her mother was out, working two jobs so that they could survive. “After a while, I had the feeling that if my mother ever put me up for adoption, Rosemary’s parents would have grabbed me up in a heartbeat.”

  Her heart twisted a little in her chest as she found herself gazing down at the pale, sickly little boy lying in bed, his back propped up by several pillows. He looked so small and helpless.

  “Hi, I’m Tracy,” she said, putting out her hand to him as if this was a serious meeting.

  Taking her hand, he blinked a couple of times, clearly mesmerized by this pretty lady with his dad and brother. “Are you my guardian angel?”

  Stunned, it took Tracy a second to collect herself. “No.” But even as she said it, she had to admit she rather liked the reference. “But I might just turn out to be your dad’s guardian angel,” she added, slanting a look in his direction.

  “Daddy’s too big for a guardian angel,” Gary protested.

  Tracy squatted down to be more on the same level as the two boys. “Ah, but there you’re wrong. Nobody ever outgrows their need for a guardian angel. We’re the ones—if we’re doing our job right—who help you gain your goals, help make the cacti grow—” She said the latter because she’d seen a small cactus garden behind a proper miniature picket fence in the front yard.

  “How about flowers?” Greg asked. “Do you help make them grow, too?”

  “Absolutely. The next time you see a flower in the field, just think of me,” she told both boys, concluding with a wink.

  Her suggestion was met with far more eagerness than she’d thought was possible. “Okay, I will,” Gary promised enthusiastically.

  Tracy rose back up to her feet. Standing over Greg, she brushed her hand along the boy’s forehead, subtly checking to see just how hot it was.

  “Me, too?” Greg asked her hoarsely. “Can I think about you when I see flowers?”

  “Absolutely,” she told the boy. “I’d be honored.” He did look pretty miserable, she thought. “Tell me, Greg, how long have you been feeling sick?”

  “I didn’t feel so good after having that pizza yesterday,” he confessed.

  She looked at Micah. “Anyone else have the pizza?”

  “Try everybody,” he told her. “Including my aunt Sheila.”

  So much for that theory. But there was no harm in asking. She glanced at Gary before looking at Micah again. “And you two are feeling okay?”

  “Yes,” Micah answered.

  “Sure am,” Gary crowed, then, seeing his brother’s pale face, he became just a wee bit contrite. “Sorry, Greg.”

  Another little boy wouldn’t have even noticed his brother’s complexion, much less been sensitive enough to connect it to his own revelry at not being sick and think to apologize. Someone was doing a good job raising them. Was Muldare responsible, or was it that older lady who’d been at their table, that friend of Maizie? In either case, the boys were a credit to whoever had taken the time to raise them right.

  “Did you eat anything else, Greg?” Tracy asked.

  He thought a minute. “Just the orange pieces. They fell on the floor, but they didn’t look dirty. Just sticky.”

  Sticky, as in something had gotten on the slices? Or from their natural juices? “Can you remember what floor they fell on, honey?” she pressed.

  “The garage,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast. “When I was getting out of the car. Nobody noticed,” Greg confessed.

  Tracy continued to follow the thin thread. “What’s on your garage floor?” she asked Micah.

  “As little as possible,” he answered. He was forever moving things out of the boys’ reach. And then he suddenly remembered. He’d been transplanting plants on Saturday. “I spilled some liquid fertilizer I was mixing, but I thought I mopped it all up.”

  “Maybe you missed a spot,” she suggested.

  The full impact of what had possibly happened hit him like a nine-pound hammer. “I’ve got to get him to the E.R.” He looked at his other son. “Gary, we need to get Greg to the hospital.”

  “Ask for Dr. Nikki Connor,” she told him suddenly. When he looked at her quizzically, she explained, “She’s a top-notch pediatrician with a very gentle bedside manner. Sometimes you need that.” Tracy paused a second, debating with herself. She knew what a hassle any outing with two children could be. Going anywhere with a sick child while the other one, full of energy, would be bouncing off the walls—literally—was trying for anyone. “I can stay with Gary,” she finally volunteered. “Just until you get back.”

  Stunned, Micah stared at her. She’d gone out of her way to drop by his house in order to talk to him about the sudden turn his life had taken. So far, they hadn’t talked about it at all. Instead, she’d charmed his sons and left no small impression on him. And now she was volunteering to occupy his son until his aunt came home. The woman probably cost a fortune, but she was well worth it.

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t. I volunteered, remember? I hope you pay attention at work better than you do at home,” she said solemnly.

  It took him half a minute to realize she was kidding.

  Chapter Five

  Micah debated taking Tracy Ryan up on her offer. It would certainly make things easier if all he had to worry about and take care of was Greg. Gary could be a handful when he wanted to be.

  Still, he didn’t really know this woman. Yes, she’d come recommended by way of one of his aunt’s friends, but he was rather protective of his sons and the bottom line was, attorney or not, he didn’t know this woman.

  He vacillated, weighing pros and cons the way he always did.

  In the end, because he was fairly certain that his aunt would be arriving at his house within the half hour, he decided that it was all right to leave Gary with Tracy. The boy seemed to be very taken with her, which ultimately tipped the scales in her favor.

  “Okay,” he told her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can and my aunt will be here before then.”

  Tracy nodded, placing a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “I’ll keep a candle burning in the window for her.”

  Gary looked up at her, excited. “You mean like a birthday candle?”

  Tracy bit back a laugh. “Something like that.”

  Telling Gary to behave, Micah hurried off to the hospital with Greg, hoping he hadn’t just made a huge mistake trusting this woman.

  Maybe he was teetering on the edge of paranoia again. Because of the nature of his work, he had become so suspicious of everyone and everything.

  It hadn’t always been that way.

  He’d never been one of those stupidly reckless adolescents, leaping before looking and thinking nothing through. He had always been naturally cautious, but moderately so.

  All that had changed in the past two years. That was when his company had switched him into the black programs. These programs, the ones that were ranked far beyond top secret and required him to have fourteen different passwords, had turned him into someone who saw at least two sides to everything and usually the darker explanation.

  Trust no one wasn’t just a catch phrase for a cult classic TV series, it was an actual way of life for people involved in the black programs. A way of life that he wanted to abandon once he was cleared of the charges looming over him. He had no intentions of leaving in disgrace. He’d given Donovan Defense his all but he was not about to let them claim his soul and step all over it.

  He wondered if Tracy Ryan was amenable to low weekly payments. If she was as good as she seemed, he’d probab
ly be paying her installments until long after Greg graduated from college.

  As he stopped at a light, Micah turned to look at the little boy in the backseat. Strapped securely in his car seat, Greg appeared miserable.

  “Hang in there, buddy,” he told his son, sounding as upbeat as he could. “We’ll get you back to your old self in no time. I promise.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Greg responded with a weak little smile.

  Just like Ella, Micah couldn’t help thinking. Greg was always ready to cling to the positive. Thank God, he couldn’t help adding.

  * * *

  The trip to the E.R. lasted longer than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t until close to three hours later that he finally pulled up into his driveway again. He parked beside the black Ford Mustang, noting that his aunt was home and no longer stuck in traffic. Given the hour, she probably had Gary tucked away in bed.

  It was only after he’d gotten out of his car and rounded the trunk to lift Greg out of the boy’s car seat that he realized the white car was still parked at his curb.

  Was she still here? Or had someone else with a white car taken the parking space? It wasn’t unusual for people visiting one of his neighbors to park in the first space they found, and white was one of the more popular colors for a car. He hadn’t noted the make and model of Tracy’s car when he’d hurried to the hospital with Greg.

  Why would the attorney still be here? It didn’t make sense. The car had to belong to a neighbor’s visitor, he reasoned.

  Carrying Greg in his arms—his son was curled up into him the way he always did when he wasn’t feeling well—Micah stopped at the front door. He was about to fish out his house key when the door opened.

  “There’s my boy,” Sheila said, looking at Greg. “How is he?”

  After entertaining notions of his four-year-old suffering from some sort of poisoning, he’d envisioned Greg getting his stomach pumped. The diagnosis had been an utter relief.

  “Turns out that he has a touch of the stomach flu. According to the doctor, he should be fine in a couple of days or so. In the meantime, he gets to stay home and watch cartoons, don’t you, buddy?” He ruffled the boy’s hair.