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"It's only been four days!" Bailey corrected. "Not, four weeks. Nathan, you're acting like you've been cooped up for weeks on end, surviving on bread and water, never seeing the light of day, or hearing another voice. You've never been in a friggin' jail. I have, and let me tell you, this place is way better." Nathan interrupted his pacing to study Bailey. He was ready to ask why Bailey had been in jail, but stopped, when Riley gave him a quelling glance and a leave-it-alone gesture. "Days . . . weeks . . . months . . . who cares?" He took up where he'd left off. "I feel like we're locked up, albeit in a comfy jail, it's still a jail, even if my jailer enjoys watching me jerk off." He turned to Riley. "I thought Dad would be by to say 'hi,' or something." "You recall, we were told he left for New Orleans before we even arrived. There's no way he could swing by to say 'hello,'" Riley chided his brother. "We've got a meeting coming up with the attorney. That'll get us out of here. So, take it easy. You're only putting everyone on edge, with your complaining. "I want out of here! At least back in . . ." he paused, as his brother held up a warning hand. "Before we came here," Nathan amended what he'd been about to say, "we could at least go outside. Here, Joe, Moe, and Curly won't even let us get close to the friggin' windows, much less go outside. "Joe, Moe . . .?" Bailey asked. "And, Curly," Nathan supplied, when Bailey hesitated. "Our guards." "Don't you feel . . . in jail, too?" Nathan asked the nearest guard. "Yes, and which am I; Joe, Moe . . ." "Or Curly," Bailey interrupted. "I'd bet on Curly, because of the curly hair," he continued. Mario, the guard, considered the name, then nodded once, seemingly okay with the nickname. "Doesn't it bother you?" "The name, or being cooped up with someone like you?" Mario blandly asked. "Being cooped up." "With someone like you," Bailey added, drawing a frown from Nathan. "Yes." "Do you know any words other than yes?" "Yes." Nathan threw up his hands and shouted. "I'm going to go stark raving mad!" "He needs a sex partner," Riley said, gesturing toward his brother, explaining his brother's behavior to the guard. "I'd like one, too," the guard answered, then realized what he'd said, and to whom. "But I don't need one bad enough to consider you. My offhand comment was not intended to be an insult, you understand. And, Mister Pruitt . . . you do not need a sex partner. You need an army of 'em. You'd wear a single partner out, you are so demanding." "Oh?" Bailey teased, glancing from Nathan to . . . Curly. "Four times, yesterday," the guard said. "I stand outside the door and try not to . . . watch as he grunts and groans, and makes sure he's in a position which lets me see everything. Hell, one time, he even moved the chair, he was sitting in, closer to the door to make sure I wouldn't miss the . . . climax." He turned toward Riley. "Your brother is almost as loud as you and Mister Wilkins, here," he smiled. "There's nothing else to do!" The guard nodded toward Riley and Bailey. "You could ask them to help you out." "No thanks. I'll settle for having an audience." Nathan stalked across the room, flipped a desk chair around, and straddled it, arms crossed along its back. He rested his chin on his arms and glowered. "This is what my life has come to . . . being hunted by my mother, and masturbating in front of a man who carries a gun." * * * "Come in!" Lance Benham, Pruitt Builders' lead attorney, called out in response to a tentative knock on his office door. "Ah, Mister Sutton," he smiled, in greeting. "Come in. Come in." When Micah hesitated, unsure whether he'd heard correctly, since the office was full, Attorney Benham gestured to the other men. "I'd like you to meet some people I think you'll enjoy knowing." "Oh?" Micah murmured, as he stepped into the room and closed the door. He was comforted to see that each of the standing men appeared to be as puzzled as he. "Riley and Nathan," the attorney gestured to two of the men, "are representing their father, Franklin Pruitt. I'd asked if he could be here, but he had a meeting in New Orleans, which he insisted he couldn't possibly miss." Attorney Benham's mouth twisted in recalled irritation. "You guys are Mister Pruitt's sons?" Micah asked, his voice a pleasant tenor; his handshake warm and firm. Bailey frowned slightly, glancing at the attorney first, then Micah. "Riley and Nathan are," he replied. "I'm just an . . . interested observer," he added, in a distracted voice. 'What is it I sense?' he wondered, studying the newcomer in growing conjecture. "I didn't expect to be part of a business meeting." Micah glanced to Riley, making an inquiring gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I've just been named as your father's Personal Secretary, but I've not assumed my duties yet. I've been meeting with Mister Benham regarding my grandparents' estate." He turned to the attorney. "Are you sure I should be here? If this meeting has something to do with the company, I'm not sure what is expected of me." Benham shook his head and smiled, as he gestured for everyone to sit. "No, this isn't a business meeting. If you wouldn't mind, Micah, I'd like you to tell these men the story of your life . . . growing up, being cared for by your grandparents, n'all." When Micah seemed prepared to complain, the attorney stepped in. "I think the story will resonate with them. If you wouldn't mind?" he requested, making a small gesture of invitation. "I don't understand why," Micah hesitated. "Please, Micah. Bear with me. These men need to hear your story." "Well . . ." his glance flicked from the attorney to Nathan and Riley, then to Bailey, who was fidgeting in his chair. "Well," he repeated, "Okay." He began, hesitantly at first, to describe his childhood, and how wonderful his grandparents were. When the attorney interrupted to ask why he was reared by his grandparents, Micah hesitated. "I don't know anything, whatsoever, about my father . . . my grandparents' son. It's funny, but they never spoke of him. I know just as much about my mother. My parents were something we never talked about. I assume, for whatever reason, they were unable to care for me, and gave me over to be reared by my grandparents. "When I was much younger, I went through a phase where I wanted to know everything . . . anything . . . about them, but neither of my grandparents appeared to know much, or, if they did know, they weren't willing to answer my questions. 'It's not a pleasant story,' my grandmother once said, and, 'I'd really rather not drag things up, which are better left dead.' "It was unlike her to evade a question, like that, but I could tell she was really bothered by my constant questions, so I convinced myself that knowin' what happened really didn't matter. I was happy. My parents could not possibly have been more loving. What more could I ask for? "When both my grandparents died, within months of one another, I asked Mister Lawson, over at the Pruitt firm, if I might have some time off to tend to their estate. He suggested I contact Mister Benham, here, to help out with any questions I might have. "Everything was pretty straight forward, until I found a small notebook of my grandmother's." Micah frowned. "I still don't know what it was all about, but it had my name on the first page. Then, every month, like clockwork, there was a bank entry . . . every month, from the month I was born, until my grandparents' death. It was really weird, because I know my grandparents didn't have the kind of money shown in that book. They never hurt for money, but geez. It's a puzzle I hoped Mister Benham would help me solve. In fact, that's what I figured this meeting today was about." "When is your birthday?" Bailey asked. When Micah answered, Bailey sat back, his sense of excitement growing. He glanced at the attorney, whose slight grin suggested his excitement might be justified. "So . . . you're what . . . about a year and a half older than Riley," Bailey murmured. When Micah responded with a crooked grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, Bailey made a small sound, and sank back into his chair. Riley turned to his partner, puzzled by the sound and the smile. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Oh . . . geez . . . ," Nathan murmured, a sudden understanding, of what Bailey had already figured out, hovering before his eyes, leaving him breathless. "What?" Riley asked, looking from Bailey to Nathan, his expression of bewilderment mirrored by Micah's. "You see it?" the attorney asked. Bailey nodded. "Riley," he began, then paused, to moisten his lips and swallow. "Are you and Micah related to one another?" "No, of course not. Why?" Micah snorted amusement, then glanced from the attorney, to Bailey, and finally Nathan, who was looking at him with keen interest, and a strange smile playing about his lips. 'Damn, something's going on,' he told himself, as Nathan sank back into his chair. "Geez," the young man sighed, as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Everything's falling into place." "I agree," Bailey murmured. "What?" Riley asked, becoming exasperated by the silent communication going on between his brother, his partner, and the attorney. He turned to Micah. "I think you and I are the only ones in this room who don't know what's going on." "Riley," Nathan said. "I believe that Micah is more than related to you n'me. He's our half-brother." "What!?" both Riley and Micah said simultaneously, sounding exactly like one another. "Brothers?" Riley continued, incredulously. "It is my belief, as well," Attorney Benham said. "I've done as much research as I could, and, everything works out. A DNA test, of course, would prove everything beyond a shadow of a doubt, but I don't think such a test is necessary. "That can't be!" Micah said, looking at the attorney with pleading in his eyes. "That would mean that my mother is dead," he said, hollowly. "That can't be." "No," Nathan said, into the uneasy silence. "Your mother . . . our mother, isn't dead. We only wish she was." "What?" Micah stood, nearly overturning his chair. "How can you say such a thing?" "Micah," Nathan responded, in a soothing voice. "The mother you knew is a figment of your imagination, and your grandparents' unwillingness to tell you the truth. The person you created bears no resemblance whatsoever to the real woman . . . to our mother. "No!" Micah shook his head, unwilling to listen. "No, the woman you're describing isn't my mother. It's not possible. It can't be! You all are mistaken. My mother can't be with me, for some reason. She loves me. She does!" he added, with a shaking voice. "This is all ludicrous," he said, his voice rising. "I don't want to hear any more about this. I'm not your brother, and the woman you're describing is not my mother." He turned to the attorney, as he stood, ready to flee. "Why are you doing this to me? I came to you for some help, and look at what you've done! The people who reared me are both gone, and now, you all are trying to take away my mother as well!" He turned on his heels and ran from the room. * * * "Well?" Bailey stood, facing the stunned brothers. He paused, then threw up his arms in disgust. "Well, I'm going after him! He doesn't need to be alone." He turned to the brothers. "You both stay right here. When Micah and I come back, I don't want to hear any of this, you're-not-my-brother shit from either of you. The guy's just had a load dropped on him; he doesn't need any more grief. Got it?" he asked, spearing Riley with a meaningful look. With those words, Bailey left the office, gathering up his bodyguard with a hurry-up gesture as he rushed past. He and the guard jogged down the corridor and, thankfully, were able to catch up with Micah, who was impatiently waiting for the elevator. He turned, as the elevator doors parted, and Bailey and the guard followed him into the cab. "Are you one of my brothers, too?" he asked, sarcastically. "What about you?" he asked the stranger. "Not me," the man answered, appearing completely perplexed. "Nor I," Bailey added. "This is Ernst, my bodyguard. It's his job to protect me from your mother. Her stated goal is to kill her husband, and two sons, and, I would expect, you, if she knows how to find you, that is. No matter what you may choose to believe, she is a Class A nut case. She's already tried to kill her ex-husband, your boss, Mister Pruitt, twice. No one knows where she'll strike next; thus, the body guard." Micah went suddenly still, the image of the woman parked across the street from his house suddenly gaining significance. 'Could that be her?' he asked, already knowing the answer. 'Is that why she's hanging around all the time? Is she hoping to kill me?' "Now," Bailey said, in a calm voice, as the elevator slowed to a stop. "Let's visit the building's coffee shop, so we can talk. You're not going to run away, are you?" he asked. "If you do, I'll follow. "Micah," he said, persuasively, "you don't need to be alone right now. I'm here to listen. Please let me. I'm thinking you need someone other than newfound relatives to vent to. Let me buy you a cup of coffee, or something, and you can let off some steam. "What about him?" Micah asked, studying the massive blond man who hovered nearby. "Ignore him. He doesn't exist," Bailey said, glancing meaningfully toward Ernst. "If you pay too much attention to him, you'll stop being yourself and start behaving in ways you think he would expect. Like I said, a bit ago, it's his job to protect me from your mother. Riley and Nathan each have their own guard. They remained back in the office." "Do you know my mother?" Micah asked, allowing himself to be guided toward the cafe, where he and Bailey were soon seated at a table, with the guard close by, acting very guard-like. "I mean, Riley and Nathan's mother? Elizabeth?" Bailey shook his head. "No we've never met. In fact, I only met Nathan after his and Riley's older brother and sister were killed in a plane accident. Elizabeth was initially thought to have suffered the same fate, but inexplicably turned up in Atlanta, with the stated goal of killing both her husband and remaining children, in revenge for . . . something. No one has been able to explain to me what that something might be." Bailey shrugged. "Maybe no one knows for certain. In order to protect his son, Franklin . . . Mr. Pruitt, sent Nathan away. Riley was already away, at school. Nathan joined us, and ever since, we have been in hiding. We have only recently arrived in town, at Franklin's express wish. Personally, I would rather have remained in hiding." "Oh, shit!" Micah sank back in his chair, appearing stunned. "Franklin Pruitt. He's my boss! If all this stuff about Elizabeth, and me being half-brothers with Riley and Nathan is true, what am I supposed to call him . . . Dad?" What will he think about me, an illegitimate son who suddenly shoulders into the family? And, he wants me to be his Personal Assistant! The man's had enough grief lately without me adding my two cents to it! "Geez, he'll think I'm some sort'a gold digger, after his money, or, worse yet, he might think I'm some sort of assassin guy who has been hired to get close to his sons, then do them in." At those words, the bodyguard's brows rose, and he reached for his cell phone. "Sheesh, now what did I start?" Micah asked, glancing toward the man who was speaking in a low voice. Bailey made an ignore him gesture, as he answered Micah's questions. "I don't know what you'd call Franklin, other than a good man, who had the misfortune of being married to a . . . forgive me . . . terrible woman. I would expect calling him, sir, would suffice." "You believe what they say about her . . . about Mother . . . about Elizabeth?" Bailey nodded. "I'm afraid I do." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table's edge. "Micah, listen to me. Right now, it may seem to you as if you don't have a friend in the world. Your grandparents, the only people who loved you, have died, and suddenly, you find yourself with a family you never knew you had, and your whole world has been turned upside down. Give Riley and Nathan a chance. I'm not saying you should become bosom buddies right away, but both of 'em are great guys. They're in as much shock by this news as you are." "Bailey, you have to understand. The woman they're describing . . . the one you're describing, is not the woman I grew up believing to be my mother. I love that woman. She isn't the same person Riley and Nathan describe. The woman I love would never want to kill anyone. "Micah," Bailey said, gently. "You love the image of a woman who never existed. All children need to believe in their parents. Since yours weren't around, you created a mother who was everything you wanted her to be. When no one corrected your view of the woman, you grew to believe the person you created was real. She isn't. Your real mother is vastly different, and," Bailey studied Micah from beneath partially lowered lashes, "I'm thinking, from your sudden silence a while ago, that you may have recently met Elizabeth. Am I right?" "Um . . . I'm not sure. Maybe. I don't know." "If you have met her, and, knowing what you know about her, not telling the authorities about what you know, could get you, Riley, Nathan, or Mister Pruitt killed. Surely, you wouldn't want such a thing on your conscience." "Do you have a mother and father?" Micah asked. "Yes. They're good people. Unfortunately, I have not always been a very good son. As I was growing up, they were about as happy with me as I was with myself. Things have changed, however. We've become close during the past couple years, or so." "Everyone grew up with loving parents," Micah moaned. Despite himself, Bailey laughed. "Not everyone. In fact, I've been surprised at how many of my close friends grew up in pretty miserable surroundings. I can only extrapolate, but I would be willing to bet that a very large percentage of young people grow up in less than ideal surroundings. Yet, somehow, we all manage to survive." "I can't be a Pruitt," Micah muttered, captivated by a spot on the tabletop. "I'm not qualified to be a member of society. I'm not like those guys . . . Riley and Nathan, I mean." "Why? You look qualified to me. By all accounts, you are a studious person, you are educated, you're a hard worker . . . a man of honor." "I like men," Micah muttered, not meeting Bailey's eyes, and studiously ignoring the bodyguard. "No one in society is allowed to like men. It'll besmirch their blue bloodedness. I like girls, too, but . . . given a choice, I'll choose men." Micah snorted. "I may like men, but men don't seem to be too keen on me." Bailey's eyes widened. "Why ever not? You and Riley are two of the most handsome men I've ever met, and, as one of the guards said, Nathan's a hottie!" The corners of Micah's mouth twitched, pleased with the comment, as a helpless puff of a laugh escaped his lips. "I'm single-minded. I want to make something of myself. I've never had time to devote to . . . getting to know someone, well. Y'know what I mean?" He sipped his cold coffee, made a face, and continued. "Y'know, I've had a relationship with at least a dozen men, two of whom found me interesting enough to ask me out a second time, and none of whom I found interesting enough. Some track record, huh?" Bailey barked a laugh. "Uuuuuu, I like you . . . a man with a sense of humor!" "I'm not joking," Micah murmured. "I'm no fun. I don't know how to play." His eyes sparkled, just as Riley's did whenever he was about to launch into a story. "In fact," he repeated, "I almost quit school 'cause of recess. I also have an inferiority complex, and not a very good one." "Then . . . it is high time for a few changes . . . right?" Bailey studied the man across the table from him. "Bailey," Micah began, then hesitated. "It's true about me never having had a relationship, but," he glanced up, "it's not because of being single-minded, like I said. I'm scared. The only relationship I have to base anything on is my grandparents. I'm afraid I'll be no good at relationships, and will end up hurting myself and someone else by my bumbling. I . . ." he murmured, absently making crosshatch marks on the tabletop with his fingertip. "I sort'a joke about an inferiority complex n'stuff, but, trust me, it's very real. You're . . . um . . . the first person . . . I've ever been honest with . . . about it . . . n'all." "A day for firsts, then," Bailey murmured, studying the man across the table from him. He resembled Riley in a more . . . lean . . . way. Where Riley filled out his clothes beautifully, Micah could easily be mistaken for a male model. Both men were of a similar height, with the same green eyes, straight nose, sensuous lips, and artfully disarranged hair. Micah's slightly crooked smile, and dimples, hinted at a playful sense of humor. Riley's sense of humor was not so visible, and often surprised people, as it suddenly manifested itself at the strangest times. Nathan's was very much like what Bailey imagined Micah's to be, more subtle . . . more playful. 'All in all, an extremely handsome man,' Bailey thought. Today, Micah was stunning, in a crisply pressed white shirt, open at the throat, the white fabric highlighting his tan. His camel-colored slacks clung to his narrow hips, and cupped his muscular buttocks, while his dark-chocolate brown sport coat stretched across his shoulders. When he met Bailey's glance, his mouth curved into an amused smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and displaying a playful dimple. His hands, like Riley's, were long fingered, and, like Riley's, Bailey imagined those hands could turn one's legs to rubber with a tender caress. In other words, Micah was a wet dream waiting for someone to claim him. Bailey met the amused smile with one of his own. "I was just thinking how well you wear your clothes. I bet you're a killer in one of those brief swimsuits?" Micah's hint of a smile matured into a full fledged grin. "Are you sure you're not trying to get into my pants?" His eyes nervously flicked to the bodyguard. "I'm sure." Bailey held up a hand, as if taking an oath. "But, I can appreciate a man in a swimsuit, and I think you'd be stunning in one." "I look better in a jockstrap," Micah murmured, in a deadpan voice, while taking another sip of coffee. "White," he added, then paused, at Bailey's wide-eyed look of surprise at the comment. "Sort'a frames the cheeks, y'know?" he finally added. "I hate clothes. To me, a jock almost qualifies as formal attire." Bailey slapped the tabletop. "Now I know you, Riley . . . and Nathan are related. Keeping clothes on those boys is next to impossible." "I'll say," the bodyguard mumbled, pretending to ignore the two men's surprised expressions. "I thought we were supposed to ignore you. Doesn't that mean you're supposed to ignore us?" "No. I just don't . . . normally . . . comment." Ernst grinned, never taking his eyes off the surroundings. "I must say, though, that the two young men, back in the office, are wonderful people, just as is Mister Wilkins, here." He grinned abashedly. "Forgive me. I hate to see someone go through the agony you're feeling. I think of my own son, hoping he never experiences the sort of things you're facing. Now . . . I'll be quiet, and do my best to not listen." "You say you don't fit in society, Micah, because you like guys," Bailey continued. "Girls, too." "Whatever." Bailey dismissed the addendum. "Well, I like guys, and I'm considered part of society." He turned to the bodyguard. "No comments, Ernst." The bodyguard returned a thin lipped grin. "I also know Riley is not so different from you." "Why?" "Because we live with one another." Bailey smiled. "Now, Nathan is another story. Even he's not very precise about what he is. He's only eighteen, though, so he's got time to figure things out." The bodyguard softly snorted. "Cute guy," Micah murmured, idly rotating his coffee cup. "One of those guys you want to hug." "And just keep on hugging," Bailey finished, "before graduating to kissing, and . . ." his voice trailed off. "Yeah, sort'a like that." Micah's mouth curved into an amused smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as his cheeks turned pink. "If he knew you better, maybe then he wouldn't put on a show for my colleague, quite so often," the bodyguard murmured. "Ernst . . ." Bailey murmured. "Be quiet." "Y'know, I was just wondering," Micah said, ignoring the by-play between Bailey and . . . Ernst. "I was wondering if going to bed with Nathan would qualify as incest. Does wondering such a thing mean I've begun to accept that he and Riley are my half-brothers?" "It means you're horny," Bailey snickered. "The Pruitt clan . . . including you . . . tend to make other folks want to strip off and jump into bed." "Trust me, you'll fit right in," Ernst grumbled, then held up a hand, as if in surrender. Micah made a worried sound, deep in his throat, his earlier anxiety resurfacing. "Bailey, what am I to do? What will happen when Mister Pruitt learns that, instead of an employee, I'm a reminder of his wife's infidelity? And, to top things off, I'm sort'a lusting after his son! I mean my brother . . ." He made a gesture of disgust. "I don't know what I mean. Only thing I am sure of is Mister Pruitt is going to be upset by me." "Easy, easy," Bailey urged, in a soft voice. "On the contrary, when he learns of you, I would imagine the man will be extremely pleased. His wife did many awful things, but I cannot begin to imagine how Mister Pruitt could ever think of you as being one of them. He is a kind man, Micah. A caring man, who, whether he admits it or not, mourns the loss of the ideal family he imagined he had. He will . . . immediately, I believe . . . think of you as just that . . . family." Micah softly snorted, unable to imagine facing his boss. "I hope someone other than me tells him. Here I began the day, having no relatives. My grandparents, the only parents I ever had, are both dead. I was alone. Now, just a couple hours later, I suddenly find myself with a family, plus in-laws," he grinned, gesturing to Bailey. "And, a stand-up comic for a bodyguard." "I would like to be more than an in-law. I would like to be your friend, Micah. I'm not talking about sex or anything like that. I'm talking about friend. Someone you can talk to, someone on whose shoulders you are welcome to cry, someone who will never breathe a word of what you say to anyone else, no matter what it might be. Nor, will Ernst . . . right?" Bailey asked, turning to the bodyguard, who nodded. "I am safe, Micah, and, should we need to speak again, Ernst, here, will not sit at the same table with us. Close-by," Bailey added, "but not with us. "There is no one else in the world who is safe for you, in the way I am. You need a nonjudgmental friend, who is not out to manipulate you because of your newfound status. I am he," Bailey smiled, holding out his arms to his side, barely missing one of the coffee shop wait staff. "Oops," he made a face, and quickly apologized to the waitress, whom he nearly hit. "I've had some traumatic experiences with a restaurant owner before," he sheepishly grinned, turning back to Micah. "I definitely do not want history repeating itself. At least I have Bruno, here, to fight off any irritated restauranteurs." "Ernst," the guard corrected. "Why are you doing this?" Micah asked. Bailey sobered. "Because, I once found myself in a situation not so different from you, other than I was in jail . . . but that's another story . . ." he added, flicking a glance toward Ernst. "A wonderful guy offered to be my friend. He told me that, someday, I might be presented with an opportunity to befriend someone in need . . . someone who felt alone, and that he hoped I would jump at the chance to help that person." "Are you for real?" Bailey chuckled. "Believe me, I have been asked that more often than you can imagine, though not always in that tone of voice; but to answer your question, yes, my offer is genuine. If you are anything like Riley and Nathan . . . and I believe you are . . . you are a person worth knowing." * * * Riley turned from the door, where Micah, then Bailey, had disappeared, only moments earlier, and flopped onto the nearest chair. At his side, he heard Nathan exhale an explosive breath and collapse into his own seat. "I already know the answer," Riley began, turning toward the attorney, "but I have to ask . . ." "He's for real," the attorney sighed, answering the unasked question. The young men were not the only ones to be emotionally exhausted from what had just happened. "This thing is only half over," the attorney said, glancing toward the door and imagining the job Bailey faced. "Franklin still needs to be told. I would much rather have told him first, and had him tell you. But . . . maybe it turned out better this way, since Bailey has taken it upon himself to talk to Micah, while giving you both a few moments to become accustomed to the idea of having a half-brother. "He . . . Micah . . . came to me a couple months ago," the attorney explained, "and told me his story. Like he says, his grandparents are both deceased. In going through their things, he discovered a bank account book, as well as some information which led him to the Winton Law Firm. From some of the things he found in his grandparents' possessions, he came to believe that the money in the account, which, by the way, was labeled, 'Micah's money,' had been from one or both of his parents, and had been held in trust by his grandparents." The attorney compressed his lips. "The more I come to know how your mother behaves, the less I believe the story that she ever sent money to them, of her own free will. We are working under the supposition that, somehow, the grandparents extorted the money from your mother. On the other hand, it would seem reasonable, that, if they did indeed extort the money, they would have spent it, and not put it in an account belonging to Micah." He shrugged. "There's much more to be discovered, but, for the time being, and possibly forever, at least, I see no reason to burden Micah with the possibility of his grandparents were not the sweet loving individuals he believes them to be. It's bad enough that he's had his view of his mother shattered. Personally, I would like to think that they wanted to make sure that Elizabeth paid for her son's upbringing, whether they needed the money or not. Anyhow," Attorney Benham continued, "back to Micah. "He went to the Winton Firm to find out if that firm had any information which might lead him to his mother. He happened to have arrived during one of Gustav Winton's tirades. The man's secretary ducked out of the office and quit her job while Micah looked on, wide-eyed. He explained who he was and why he was there, as the woman gathered up her few possessions; then they both left the office. She must have recalled seeing Micah's name, and gave him what little information she could. Primarily, that information pointed to us, as Pruitt Builders' new legal counsel. "I've had everyone here working to determine the truth of the young man's story and background. He appears to be one hundred percent legitimate." The lawyer compressed his lips, then continued. "Except for his birth, of course. There is no evidence of what happened to his father, other than he . . . disappeared. He apparently was not greatly mourned by his parents. Micah says he hardly remembers a time in which they mentioned David . . . the young man's father. "My intention was to have your father present to meet Micah, and learn his story, which would have allowed you two to remain wherever it was that you've been. Then, it would have been up to your father to inform you of the . . . newfound information. He, however, is in New Orleans, settling some sort of labor dispute, and, under no circumstances, could be here today. He understood the importance of this meeting, even though he has no idea what you've learned. I'd put off Micah as long as I could. Your father understood the importance of having someone from the family present. That, and the fact that everyone seems to believe Elizabeth has run out of funds, or, for some other reason, has given up on her quest to have you killed, is why he contacted you. "Just in case everyone's mistaken . . . about you both no longer being in her sights, your father insisted on your . . . shadows," the attorney grimly smiled. He knew you would chafe, having bodyguards nearby day-in, and day-out, but told me he figured if he could handle the inconvenience, so could you." "Hmm," Nathan grumbled. "I understand the necessity. I don't mind the guard, I just hate being cooped up." "Hmm, yes, well," the attorney frowned. "Go on, Mister Benham," Riley said, flicking an irritated glance in his brother's direction. "Being . . . cooped up . . . makes my brother grumpy. He was having a . . . very good . . . time, back . . . where we were. He misses, um, doing the things he was doing." "Nathan's half-hearted effort to smile sweetly morphed into a sour expression, pointedly ignored by both Riley and the attorney. "Well . . . moving on. I had already set today's meeting with Mister Sutton, and didn't want to change it. I hated keeping the young man hanging, wondering if we might find his mother for him." "Mister Sutton?" Nathan asked. "Micah's last name." The attorney looked up, at the knock on his door, then excused himself to, "tend to another matter." "Well . . ." Nathan heaved a deep breath. "This has certainly been unexpected." He turned to his brother. "What are your thoughts?" Riley tiredly rubbed a hand over his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know. We've all been operating in 'circle-the-wagons mode,' expecting another attack from Mother. Now . . . this!" He gestured toward Micah's vacated chair. "It's sort of difficult to get my mind around the two things simultaneously. "I don't know, Nathan. I'm feeling sort'a like the house of cards is fixin' to fall down, and you, Father, and I will be under it." "And, Micah . . .?" "Yeah, him, too." * * * "I made a fool of myself," Micah grumbled, as he, Bailey, and Ernst, the bodyguard, headed back to the lawyer's office, this time at a sedate pace. "They're going to think I'm some sort of emotional invalid, believing what I did, about Mother . . . I mean, Elizabeth, then getting all bent-out-of-shape and stormin' off like I did. "As far as first impressions go, Bailey, this ranks right up there with the time I responded to an urgently ringing of the doorbell, wearing a towel wrapped around my waist, having just stepped out of the shower. So, there I was, dripping wet, standing in front of my neighbor, when her young daughter unexpectedly reached out and grabbed the towel, tearing it from my feeble grasp. "I didn't know what to do! I could have slammed the door in the woman's shocked face, but the girl was partly in the house, and would have been knocked over. I felt awful, until the girl . . . she couldn't have been more than six years old, turned to her mother, pointed at my crotch, and loudly exclaimed. "Gee, Mommy. He's bigger than the mail man!" Micah thought a moment. "That woman and I were never very close, as neighbors, after that." Bailey laughed, "Bigger than the mailman, huh?" Micah grinned crookedly. "That's what she said. I never had an opportunity to do any independent research." Bailey laughed, and even Ernst grinned. "Believe me, Micah, your first impression with Riley and Nathan was merely unfortunate. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Now, I have a whole scrapbook of really unfortunate first impressions in which I played a starring role. Therefore, I consider myself an expert on the matter, so let me tell you; yours will easily be forgotten in a day or so, explained away by everyone as completely understandable. In fact, it's probably a good thing you left the office. If you hadn't, you, Riley, and Nathan would probably be staring at one another, wondering what to say. This way, they've had a chance to sort out their thoughts, as have you." "With your help." Bailey shrugged. "What'll I say to them?" "You'll think of something. Just blurt out whatever comes to your mind. Hmm. Assuming, of course, what comes to mind won't dig a hole you'll have a difficult time digging yourself out of." He grinned encouragingly, as he held the door to the attorney's office for him. "Gentlemen," the receptionist greeted them with a warm smile. "Mister Benham asked that you be directed to his office. He's with another client, at the moment, and will return shortly." "Riley and Nathan?" Bailey asked, glancing toward the office. "They remain in the office." Micah smiled his thanks, then, propelled forward by a discreet, but firm, push on the small of his back by Bailey, he took a deep breath, and crossed the room. He knocked once, to alert the two men inside that someone would be entering, then opened the door, and faced his two . . . brothers . . . both of whom hastily stood. Everyone began speaking at the same time. Finally, Riley gestured for Micah to speak first. "I'm sorry," he said, then took a deep breath. "For shouting and running out on you both, n'all." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry." He glanced to his right, where Bailey stood, wearing an encouraging smile. "Bailey talked some sense into me, and instead of running away and hiding in some dark place where no one could find me, like I wanted to do, he encouraged me to face reality." He glanced over his shoulder, at the bodyguard, who was blocking the open door. "Also . . . Ernst gave me a few . . . ahem . . . valuable observations." "Ernst?" "The visible Hulk, blocking the door," Micah grinned. "He's actually a pussycat." He chuckled, when Ernst growled and closed the door, but not before one of his fellow bodyguards hooted, "pussycat?" "Am I forgiven?" Micah asked, in a small voice. Nathan took the two steps to cross the room, and held out a hand, in welcome. "No apologies are necessary," he grinned. "I love it! Suddenly, I have another brother!" He ended the handshake, then gave Micah a quick hug. Bailey did his best to hide the grin at Micah's wide-eyed expression. Only minutes earlier, he'd told Bailey how much he'd like to hug Nathan. Now, Nathan was hugging him, and he appeared trapped someplace between being frisky and frightened out of his wits. Momentarily, at least, being frightened won out. Riley smiled and extended a hand in greeting, as his brother backed away. "I agree with Nathan. No apologies are necessary. I'm glad you decided not to run away and hide in a dark corner. If you had, Nathan and I would never have a chance to get to know you, and . . ." he hesitated, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He gave Micah a quick hug and pat on the back. "Like Nathan, I'm glad to have another brother." "Especially, a cute one," Nathan mumbled, returning a bland look when Riley glanced at him. "Umm, Nathan swears there's a resemblance between you and me," Riley said, as he stepped in to fill the sudden silence. "Definitely," Bailey interjected. "I was telling him I thought he'd look hot in your bright yellow Speedo swimsuit. You know, the one which shows your goods so well?" "What?" Both Riley and Nathan said, in unison. "Easy guys," Micah chuckled. "I told him I actually look better in a jockstrap." "White," Bailey added, in the same deadpan voice Micah had used earlier. "Frames the cheeks, y'know." He looked from Nathan to the wide-mouthed Riley. "His words," he added. Riley flopped back in his chair, staring at Bailey, then Micah. "You tryin' to pick him up, Gen'rl?" "No . . . ," Micah laughed. "He told me he was pretty much attached, already. I think it's cool, about the two of you. Guys," he looked at the two men he'd begun to think of as brothers. "I was telling Bailey, here, that I wasn't qualified to be a . . . a . . . blue blood, like you both. Y'see, I'm into both guys and girls, but I prefer guys. Bailey told me that wasn't a problem." When Riley turned a disbelieving expression on him, Bailey shrugged, unrepentantly. "You taught me . . . talk about sex first-off. If you can get past that, you can probably even talk about politics, or religion . . . if you want to." Bailey made a "there-you-have-it" gesture in Micah's direction. "We now know Micah is almost as sexy as you, and that he likes guys . . ." "And girls," Micah added, after Bailey's pause threatened to extend. "Guys," Bailey finished, on a definite note, effectively ending the discussion. "Really?" Nathan sat forward, a smile blossoming. "Any guy in particular?" Micah barked a laugh. "Hardly," he stammered, unnerved by the intensity of Nathan's stare.
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