Once Upon a Matchmaker. Marie Ferrarella
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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