Free Marrying a Delacourt by Sherryl Woods

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 Michael sitting uncomfortably in a saddle, while two upturned faces regarded him with apparent glee. Josh