Once Upon a Matchmaker (19 page)

She shrugged casually, trying not to appear as pleased with herself as she secretly was. This hadn’t been easy. Not because she wasn’t right but because Donovan had dug in its heels at first and resisted.

“I could say I charmed it out of your supervisor, but the truth’s a lot less colorful. You had an emergency appendectomy,” she reminded him.

He realized that, but didn’t see the connection. “Yeah, so?”

“So,” she said slowly, “you had the surgery just before you were scheduled to be put on that leave without pay.”

“Okay.” He still wasn’t seeing what the connection between that and the sizable check he was holding was. What was he missing?

“That puts you specifically on sick leave,” she said, enunciating each word. This had taken some digging into policy terms on her part. “They cannot take action against you or deprive you of your salary while you’re on sick leave. Even if you were supposed to be terminated and this happened one day before you were to be officially terminated, the company would have to provide you with both health coverage
and
your salary for at least the next six weeks.” She smiled at him. “That’s just the way the coverage is written. You’ll be getting another check just like this one in another two weeks.”

“And the operation?” he asked, trying to absorb this reversal. He’d gone from a man once more submerged in debt—this time with no salary coming in, as well—to a man who was solvent.

“It’s all covered,” she told him. “Hospital, surgeon, anesthesia—everything. Your company insurance will take care of all of it.”

Micah released the breath he’d been unconsciously holding all this time. This was a huge load off his shoulders—and his mind. And he owed all to this tenacious woman.

“You are incredible,” he told her with no small amount of admiration.

Tracy shrugged her slim shoulders. She was accustomed to clients’ gratitude. But she didn’t want him being grateful to her. She didn’t want him to feel that he was in her debt. The idea made her uncomfortable.

She tried to make light of it by joking, “I’ve been told that once or twice.”

“By mostly grateful women and gnarled old men, I hope,” Micah said.

Maybe having him a little grateful
wasn’t
such a bad thing, she decided.

“Gnarled,” she repeated with a nod of her head. “Every last one of them.”

He laughed and kissed her without thinking or stopping to censor himself around his sons. The gleeful burst of applause behind him reminded him that they were definitely not alone.

“We have an audience,” she pointed out, gently separating herself from him and turning instead to the boys.

“Do you like Daddy?” Greg asked her. It was hard to miss the hopeful note in his voice.

Yes, I do.
But saying that out loud would only get the boys’ hopes up and she didn’t want to be responsible for disappointing them in the long run. Greg and Gary’s relationship with their father was important. So she would have to be the bad guy when Micah and she moved on.

She did the only thing she could. She was evasive. “He’s very nice man.”

It amazed her how sharp children could be, and how they wouldn’t always docilely accept evasion when they wanted an answer.

“But do you
like
him?” Micah’s younger son stressed again.

Her eyes briefly met Micah’s. She couldn’t play it safe. There was no point in being evasive. After what they had done and what she’d shared with him, even if she said nothing in response to the boy’s question, Micah would know how she felt. Unless he was utterly stupid—and he wasn’t. The man had to be aware that she cared about him.

Besides, she had a feeling that Greg and Gary would keep after her until she gave them a definitive answer.

“Yes,” she finally said quietly. “I like your father.”

She expected the boys to smile. The smile on Micah’s face, however, was a revelation. It blossomed and spread until it was positively brilliant. Still, she was afraid to read too much into it. Better safe than sorry.

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” he finally said, holding up the check. The check and being back on salary for the duration of his sick leave was a good cover for what he actually wanted to celebrate. What had him really hopeful and in a celebratory mood was what Tracy had just allowed to slip.

Whether she knew it or not, she’d admitted to having feelings for him. Which was fine with him because he more than had feelings for her. He was rather certain that he was falling in love with her.

“Wait,” Tracy said, suddenly realizing just what he was proposing. She didn’t want him getting carried away. “You’re not going to cook, are you?”

“That was the plan, yes,” he told her. He didn’t understand why she seemed so apprehensive. “Why?”

“Because you’d have to be standing up, at least most of the time, that’s why.” Did she have to spell everything out for him? For an intelligent man, there were times she felt he had no common sense. At least not when it came to his own limitations.

“Well, I haven’t mastered cooking from a reclining position,” he teased. “So you’ve got me there.”

As he made his way, albeit slowly, to the kitchen, Tracy moved in front of him, blocking his access. “You’re still not 100 percent well,” she pointed out. “You don’t want to push it. Who knows, tiring yourself out like that might impede your recovery.”

While he had to admit that he liked her fussing over him, he wasn’t exactly a delicate piece of china. “They took out my appendix, Tracy. They didn’t do a heart transplant.”

“They plant hearts?” Gary asked, clearly confused.

“I’ll explain later,” Micah promised. “It’s complicated.”

“Cutting is cutting,” Tracy was stubbornly insisting. Up until now, Sheila had been doing all the cooking since he’d returned from the hospital, but Tracy knew that the woman had been invited to see a movie with some of her girlfriends and Micah, being Micah, had most likely insisted that she go.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked. Right now, she was quicker than he was and he had no doubt that she would continue jockeying for position and blocking his way. He didn’t have enough strength to strong-arm her, although the idea of doing a little wrestling was not without its appeal. “Do
you
want to do the cooking?” He watched her face for a reaction to his suggestion.

Tracy sighed, knowing that a woman her age
should
know how to cook, but she’d always been so busy, between college, law school and then her career, that takeout had become a way of life for her.

“That all depends,” she answered.

“On what?” He hated to admit it, but she was right about his standing up too long. Micah retreated to the family room and sat down on the sofa, waiting for her to answer.

She knew she could bluff her way through this, but for the most part, she liked to think of herself as an honest person, especially when it came to dealing with Micah and the boys. That meant not pretending she could master something she couldn’t.

She plowed ahead and owned up to her shortcoming. “On whether or not you’d like to pay a return visit to the E.R., this time accompanied by your sons.”

Amusement highlighted his face. He had a feeling that she wasn’t being unduly modest. “That bad?”

“Well, it’s not good,” she said. “I’ve been known to burn water. Or more accurately, burn away water and scorch the pot it was boiling in.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not entirely hopeless.”

Tracy looked at him, stunned. “And just what would you consider entirely hopeless?”

Micah kept a perfectly straight face and answered, “If you’d burned down the house, as well,
that
would have been hopeless.”

She pretended to consider what he said. “No, I have to admit, I’ve never done that. Of course, I haven’t done all that much cooking, either.” She wasn’t proud of it, but it was what it was. “The only appliance I have a nodding acquaintance with in the kitchen besides my refrigerator is my microwave. I can heat up leftovers with the best of them.”

He liked that she had a sense of humor about what she considered was a shortcoming. A lot of women would have become defensive. But then, she wasn’t a lot of women. Which was why he was so attracted to her.

For a moment, Micah considered ordering out, then dismissed it. Where was the challenge in that? Besides, cooking together brought people closer and she’d be doing the “heavy lifting,” so to speak, so she couldn’t complain that he was pushing himself. He was more than happy to take on the role of a mentor.

Her
mentor.

He did like the sound of that. “Tell you what,” he proposed. “How do you feel about getting a cooking lesson?”

Tracy stared at him. “You want to teach me how to cook something?” she asked, just to be certain she hadn’t misunderstood him.

“That was implied in the word
lesson,
” he confirmed.

She remembered when her ex had tried to teach her how to play tennis. Ten minutes into it, he was screaming at her, telling her how hopeless she was. She didn’t want that happening with Micah.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she told him quietly.

“That’s all right,” Micah assured her. “Because I do.”

She was far more skeptical than he was optimistic, she thought. The man had nothing to base his faith on, while she had witnessed herself in the kitchen. Talk about two left feet—or, in this case, two left hands—she was definitely in that hopeless category.

“You have fire insurance on the house?” she asked him.

“You’re not going to be burning anything down,” Micah told her. “So stop worrying.”

“Wish I had your faith,” she murmured under her breath.

He’d heard her and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got enough faith for both of us. We’re going to start you off with something simple,” he promised. “I’m going to teach you how to make beef stroganoff.”

That didn’t sound simple to her. Tracy groaned, anticipating the fiasco ahead. “It’s your funeral,” she predicted.

“First thing we’re going to work on,” he told her, leading the way to the kitchen, “is your attitude. Tell yourself that you’re going to do it, you’re going to make beef stroganoff.”

“I could do that,” she acknowledged. “But I’m not in the habit of lying to myself.”

Unless it’s about you, about us.
Because when it came to that, she’d willingly fallen into a trap by stopping in every evening. By getting so involved with his sons. By getting so involved with him. Each part of that spelled disaster. Put it all together and it became a giant prediction.

“You won’t be lying,” he told her firmly. “Because you’re going to make this meal and it’s going to be very good.”

Obviously the man had incredibly low standards. Out loud she mocked, “And if we all clap our hands, Tinker Bell will come alive.”

“Tinker Bell
is
alive,” Greg piped up and then just the slightest bit of uncertainty entered his eyes as he asked, “Isn’t she?”

Great, now she was blowing up the little boy’s fantasy. Nice going, Trace.

“Absolutely,” Tracy told the boy with feeling.

Well, she had almost blown that one, she thought, feeling less than happy with herself.

“Are you ready?” Micah asked her.

The question is, are you?
she wondered. “As I’ll ever be,” she said.

“Okay, we’ll start by having you slice these mushrooms.” He placed an eight-ounce box of whole mushrooms before the cutting board on the counter.

Tracy mentally rolled up her sleeves and started slicing.

Chapter Fifteen

T
racy had always believed that the Christmas season was the season for miracles. Which meant that if there were any miracles to be had, that was when they were supposed to occur, before and around the third week in December.

But at this point, she was beginning to think that perhaps July should be regarded as the season for miracles as well.

First and foremost, of course, was the fact that a little less than two hundred and fifty years ago, a struggling patchwork quilt of colonies banded together to call themselves a fledgling country, and, with a ragtag army of soldiers, fought for and actually won their independence from a country that at the time had the best-trained army in the world.

Of secondary and only slightly lesser magnitude was the miracle that had occurred here tonight. She had made an entire dinner and not only had no one died, but no one had even gotten sick.

Tracy was still somewhat in shock and marveling over that as she first collected and then proceeded to wash the dishes that had been pressed into service so that Micah, the boys and she could consume this landmark meal.

She looked over her shoulder at Micah. She had had to practically bully him into sitting at the kitchen table while she worked rather than having him stand beside her, helping her with the dishes.

As far as she could see, Micah appeared to be fine, as did Greg and Gary, but maybe they were trying to spare her feelings and hiding the truth.

“You’re sure you’re not feeling queasy or anything?” she asked Micah for the third time.

He laughed at her. “We’re fine, aren’t we, boys?” Two heads bobbed enthusiastically up and down in response to his question. “See? The meal was really very good. No one’s turning even a light shade of green. Know what I think?”

She turned down the water from the faucet in order to hear him more clearly. “No, what?”

“I think you’ve been holding out on us so that you didn’t have to take your turn at cooking.” For the last two weeks, Sheila had been doing the cooking, but before his unscheduled trip to the hospital for his appendectomy, he had cooked for Tracy when she stopped by.

“I’ve a different theory about what just happened,” she told him.

Micah cocked his head, curious to hear what she came up with. “Which is?”

Finished washing—she’d found washing the dishes oddly therapeutic—she picked up a dish towel and dried her hands. “I’m having a lovely dream and I’m about to wake up any minute to find that none of this really happened. That I’m still the person who burns water.”