Sherryl Woods - Marrying a Delacourt

Grace liked her power suits as well as the next person, but on the weekends, she settled into shorts or comfortable, well-worn jeans, faded, shapeless T-shirts, and sandals. She’d deliberately worn her weekend wardrobe to demonstrate how unimpressed she’d been by this out-of-the-blue invitation.

Now, with her shoes kicked off, she was curled up in a matching chair opposite Michael regretting the fact that she’d left all those power suits at home. She could feel the tensions of the week easing away, right along with her defenses.

This was just a little too cozy. She’d barely resisted the urge to flip on every light in the room, so it was bathed only in the glow of a single lamp in the corner. The atmosphere was disturbingly romantic and Michael was enchantingly rumpled for a man who usually looked like he’d just stepped out of an ad for Armani suits. She had to force herself to concentrate on the topic at hand.

“Michael, who are they?” she asked again, when she realized his attention was focused intently on her. He looked as if he were trying to memorize every little detail about her. Under other circumstances it might have been flattering. Under these circumstances, it rattled her in a way she didn’t want to be rattled.

His gaze finally snapped up. “Jamie and Josh,” he replied. “Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. They refused to disclose a last name.”

“Smart kids. It’ll slow you down tracing where they belong. Any idea where that might be?”

“Not a one. I found them in the barn.”

She was relieved to be able to finally slip into lawyer mode. “Like a couple of stray cats?” she asked. “Or burgling the place?”

“Looking for a place to sleep, they said.”

“Did you believe them?”

“I believe they weren’t there to steal anything. I also believe they’re in some sort of trouble. They wouldn’t give me a clue about where they came from, wouldn’t let me call anyone to let them know they were okay. They claimed to be visiting in the area, but they wouldn’t give me a name.”

“Runaways,” Grace deduced, her heart aching. She’d seen the sorry state of their clothes. More than that, she’d detected the worry in their eyes that not even being half-asleep could disguise. They had to be exhausted if they were risking sleep. Otherwise they’d probably be at the top of the stairs eavesdropping or slipping out an upstairs window as she and Michael discussed their fate.

“Looks that way to me,” Michael agreed.

“Have you checked the local paper, turned on TV to see if they’ve been reported missing?”

“No, I just called you.”

“Why?” she asked, bewildered by him turning to her. She would have expected him to go straight to his family. With the Delacourt resources, including a private eye for a brother, wouldn’t that have made more sense? Even if he was ticked at most of them at the moment, they were the closest, most obvious people to call.

“What about Dylan?” she asked. “Isn’t he living over here now?”

“He’s away.”

“And Trish? Maybe she knew about the boys hiding out in the barn but didn’t say anything.”

“I can’t imagine Trish going off and leaving two runaways behind. She’d have brought them in and mothered them to death,” he said wryly.

“Maybe you should call her and ask.”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

A scowl settled on his face again. “Because, if you must know, I have no idea where she is. She deliberately kept me in the dark about her destination. Made up a bunch of hogwash that turned out not to be true.”

“So that makes me what? Third choice after Dylan and Trish?”

“Nope, first,” he insisted. “Like I told you on the phone, this is right up your alley. You know about all this family law stuff. You’re compassionate. You’re a woman.”

“And your sister-in-law, Dylan’s wife, is what?” she asked wryly. Because the Delacourts were big news in Houston, she’d been able to keep up. She knew all about their marriages.

Michael shrugged off the question, as if it wasn’t worthy of a response.

“Unreachable by phone?” she suggested. “Out in the hinterlands delivering a baby, perhaps?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t try. Look, Grace, I know this is an imposition, but you’re the best. Face it, I’m out of my element. When that happens, I know enough to call in an expert.”

If she’d been on her feet, she’d probably have fainted at the admission. “That has to be a first,” she commented.

“What?”

“You admitting you’re at a loss.”

He regarded her evenly. “I’m not blind to my faults, Grace.”

“Just not interested in correcting them?” she surmised.

His gaze narrowed. “Do you really want to take that particular walk down memory lane?”

Her cheeks burned. She swallowed hard and shook her head, reminding herself that his calling her wasn’t personal. He hadn’t dragged her over here because he’d been pining away for her for the past few years. It was about those two scared boys upstairs. Nothing else. Period. She had to keep that in mind. It would be way too easy to get caught up in all of this, to imagine that they were partners, a team…a family.

No sooner had that thought slammed into her head, than she jerked herself sternly back to reality. They were nothing to each other. Nothing. Old friends, at best. And this weekend was nothing more than a tiny, last-gasp blip on their flat-lined relationship. It was not evidence that there was life in it.

“No, of course not,” she said briskly.

“I thought not.” He studied her intently. “So, what do I do with them?”

He sounded genuinely perplexed, as if the decision-making king of the business world had finally butted up against a problem he couldn’t solve with a snap of his fingers or a flurry of memos. Grace found the uncertainty more appealing than she cared to admit. For Michael Delacourt to show his vulnerability, especially to her, was something worth noting.

“What options have you considered?” she asked, curious to know exactly where he was coming from. “And speaking of experts, why didn’t you just call the police and let them deal with the situation?”

To her relief, he looked genuinely appalled by the suggestion.

“They’re a couple of scared kids. How could I call the police? They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“They’ve run away for starters, and you don’t know that they haven’t done more,” she pointed out realistically. “They could have been roaming around for weeks breaking into places, stealing food, jewelry and who knows what else.”

“If they were stealing food, they weren’t much good at it. They were starved,” he said, ignoring the rest.

“Think back, Michael. All boys that age are starved at least a half-dozen times a day,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

She was still mystified by what he expected. “Look, Michael, what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Talk to them. Handle it. Figure out what’s going on. Get them back home.” He raked his hand through his thick, dark brown hair in a gesture of frustration that pretty much destroyed the usual neat style. “I don’t know.”

She found that appealing, too. Because her reaction irritated her, she snapped, “Just get them off your plate and onto mine, I suppose.”

His expression brightened. “Exactly.”

“Sorry, pal,” she said, getting to her feet. She needed to get out of here before she succumbed to Michael’s charm and the very real distress of those two boys. This was heartache she didn’t need. There were plenty of other people around who could step in here and solve this, professionals with nothing at stake except doing their jobs.