Kitabı oku: «Out of Town Bride», sayfa 3
“What about Packer?”
“He was the only FBI agent to take the case seriously, but then he got fired, and when he recovered the stolen Picasso they tried to give him his job back, but he refused, and now he’s a private investigator.”
McPhee squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, as if he had a headache. “Stolen Picasso?”
Sonya was pleased to have surprised McPhee. As she recalled how strong she and the other women—“The Blondes,” as the people of Cottonwood had dubbed them—had been together, she felt a surge of power wash through her. The feelings of helplessness and inadequacy that she’d almost succumbed to a few minutes earlier receded. She wasn’t just a spoiled debutante, no matter what McPhee thought. She was smart and capable, and she could accomplish great things when she put her mind to it.
“We think Marvin might have gone to—”
McPhee held up a hand to halt her explanations. “Please, I can’t take any more of this. You’ve thrown my whole universe off balance.”
“Good,” she said with a smile. “You need that, sometimes.”
JOHN-MICHAEL LEANED BACK against the limo’s buttery leather seat, stunned to the core. He’d known Sonya was harboring a secret. He’d tried to put it together a couple of weeks ago, when she’d taken a quick weekend trip to Dallas to help Brenna prepare for a jewelry show. He’d discovered then that she had another new friend, Cindy, from Cottonwood, Texas, and the three of them had behaved the way closely bonded, longtime friends act. He knew there was a story there, but he’d been at a loss. He hadn’t gotten many facts out of Heath Packer, either. The FBI agent had been friendly to John-Michael, and his personal interest in Brenna had been apparent, but he’d volunteered little information as to the nature of the friendship among the three women. By the time John-Michael and Sonya had returned to Houston, he’d been no wiser.
His theory had been that Sonya had a lover. That would have been shocking enough. But to find out she’d been living a clandestine life hunting down a criminal blew him away. He could hardly wrap his mind around it.
Sonya, pensive now after her long, convoluted explanation, took another sip of her latte, leaving a slight whipped-cream mustache. She licked it off.
Not now, John-Michael thought disgustedly. Now was not the time for his sporadic lust for Sonya Patterson to rear its ugly head. He’d been dealing with it for years, and usually all it took was a sharp reminder of exactly who Sonya was—a spoiled, useless little rich girl with nothing more important on her mind than her next manicure appointment—to cool his desire. Physically she might be a pure turn-on, but he’d long ago learned to look beyond a woman’s body to the substance of her. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen, and he had no trouble attracting them. But finding one who was pretty and intelligent and interesting—that’s what it took to capture John-Michael’s libido for more than thirty seconds.
Sonya had become suddenly interesting, damn it. Perhaps she had a lot more behind that cool demeanor than she let on. She did have a degree in chemical engineering from Rice University, and graduating from that school was no cakewalk. But frankly, he’d assumed Sonya’s family wealth had bought the degree. Her mother had donated buckets of money to her father’s alma mater. And he’d never seen Sonya study much while she was in college.
This was a helluva time for him to start thinking of her as more than arm candy. He had a future planned, a life apart from the Pattersons. He’d actually been looking forward to moving on. Now, suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.
He forced himself to think about freezing cold waterfalls and cornmeal mush until his jeans were no longer quite so tight. Then he returned to the matter at hand.
“When are you going to tell Muffy?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “I’m not. Are you kidding? The news would kill her! Dr. Cason said we had to keep her smiling and laughing.”
“You’ll have to tell her at some point. I mean, let’s face it, the groom isn’t going to show up for this wedding.”
Sonya started to chew on one of her nails, then quickly stopped herself. She used to bite her nails as a child, he remembered. It was only when she’d discovered acrylic-sculptured nails that she’d been able to stop.
“I’ll tell her when she’s stronger,” Sonya said. “But not now, not yet. She’s not even out of the hospital. And you can’t tell her, either,” she said, suddenly fierce. “You can’t tell anyone. No one is to know that this wedding isn’t going to take place.”
“Don’t you think people are going to get a little suspicious when they never see the groom-to-be? Isn’t his absence going to be noted?”
“I’ve already told people he travels on business a lot. And he supposedly lives in Boston. Anyway, most men are weddingphobic. They won’t come near the preparations. No one will think it’s odd in the least, believe me.”
“But…you can’t just let your mother keep throwing money at a wedding that won’t ever happen,” John-Michael objected. “Doesn’t it strike you as a bit cruel to lie to her, to keep up the pretense? The farther along you get with this thing, the harder it’s going to be when you have to call it off.”
Damned right it would be hard. And he wasn’t helping. But Muffy could stand to throw away a few bucks a lot more easily than her heart could stand an emotional shock. And somehow Sonya would figure out a way to pay her back. “As soon as her doctor says she’s well enough to handle gruesomely unpleasant news, I’ll tell her. But not before. McPhee, promise me. Not a word.”
“All right, I promise.” What choice did he have? He wasn’t going to be responsible for causing Muffy a second heart attack. But his instincts warned him that the longer they maintained the lie, the messier it was going to get, for all parties concerned.
Chapter Three
It was December, almost a month after Muffy’s heart attack, that she finally came home. Then the real fun began.
Sonya, still feeling guilty for having been away from home and out of touch when Muffy was stricken ill, appointed herself sole guardian of Muffy’s health. That meant learning all of the doctor’s instructions and seeing that they were followed to the letter.
It also meant limiting her mother’s social calendar. Dr. Cason had emphasized that social visits, while pleasant, were tiring. Some activity was desirable, but getting enough rest, so the heart could heal, was essential.
Tootsie proved to be Sonya’s first big challenge. She showed up less than an hour after Muffy’s homecoming.
“She has to rest,” Sonya said, standing squarely in the front doorway, refusing to even allow Tootsie in the house. Tootsie had come to the hospital almost every day, staying hour after hour, gossiping endlessly until the nurses threw her out. Once she got inside the house, there would be no getting rid of her. “And you may not give her those chocolates. Tootsie, what’s the matter with you? She’s had a heart attack! She’s on a restricted diet.”
Tootsie rolled her eyes. “There will be plenty of time for all that dreary cardiac rehab stuff when Muffy’s feeling better,” said Tootsie, herself thin and straight as a fencepost. She’d likely never had to worry about extra pounds and the resulting health concerns. “I went through this with my husband. Now don’t be a brat.” She smiled insincerely. “I won’t stay long.”
Tootsie’s husband had died after his third heart attack. It was tacky to hold Tootsie responsible, but she certainly couldn’t be held up as an expert in cardiac aftercare.
Sonya threw her arm across the doorway. “I’m sorry, Tootsie, but I’m going to have to insist…” Her words trailed off as she realized Tootsie wasn’t listening. She was looking over Sonya’s shoulder and smiling like a cunning cat with a canary on its mind.
Sonya knew who was behind her without looking. Tootsie had always enjoyed ogling John-Michael, not that Sonya could blame her for that.
“Why, John-Michael,” Tootsie purred, “aren’t you looking…fine today. Would you tell your little charge here to let me inside? Muffy will think her best friend has abandoned her if I don’t visit her every single day.”
Sonya gritted her teeth at being referred to as McPhee’s “little charge.”
McPhee put his hand around Sonya’s arm and gently moved it, allowing Tootsie inside. “Mrs. Patterson is with her physical therapist right now, and she asked that she not be disturbed. If you’d care to wait, she’ll be done in a couple of hours.”
Tootsie consulted her diamond Piaget watch. “Oh, I can’t wait. I have an appointment to get the Caddy serviced. I’ll come back later. Would you see that Muffy gets these?” She handed the box of chocolates to McPhee.
“Of course.”
Tootsie turned and headed right back out the door, then paused on the porch to look over her shoulder at Sonya. “Pretty big for your britches, now that you’re getting married to a millionaire, huh?”
Sonya took a step back. She was used to Tootsie’s veiled putdowns, but not overt antagonism.
“Just remember, I knew Muffy for twenty years before you were born. I know what she needs most, and she doesn’t need to be treated like some invalid.”
Astonished, Sonya watched Tootsie climb into her Cadillac. That woman had some nerve. And speaking of nerve…As the Caddy roared off, Sonya turned to see John Michael opening the box of chocolates Tootsie had shoved at him.
“You aren’t giving those to Mother.”
“Of course not. Want one?”
“No, I don’t want one! I can’t believe you just overruled me like that! You moved my arm like it was nothing and let her in.”
“I got rid of her, didn’t I?”
Come to think of it, he had.
“I was using psychology on her,” he explained. “You have to make Tootsie believe she’s the one making the decisions. She hates waiting around, so I knew she wouldn’t when I gave her the option.”
“The physical therapist isn’t really here, is she?”
“She’s scheduled for two o’clock. Are you sure you don’t want a chocolate?”
“You know I do. Why do you even tempt me?” Sonya had a wicked sweet tooth, but she usually didn’t let herself have candy. She had a tendency not to stop once she started.
He popped a chocolate-covered caramel into his mouth. Speaking of temptations, she wished he wouldn’t parade around the house in gym shorts and a snug T-shirt that showed off every muscle. Didn’t he know it was December? No wonder Tootsie had practically drooled.
He held the box out to her. “You don’t exactly need to worry about gaining weight.”
Sonya had dropped some weight. And chocolate was an antioxidant and an antidepressant, she rationalized. Sonya remembered reading that happy news in the books on diet and nutrition Dr. Cason had given her. She reconsidered the chocolate. “Maybe I’ll have just one piece—for the therapeutic value, of course.”
“Of course.” He extended the box toward her.
After making a careful inspection of the available candies, she selected one that looked like it had almonds in it. “Almonds are just bursting with Omega-3 fatty acids,” she said, and settled it gently on her tongue. The candy was exquisite. Of course, Tootsie never bought anything that wasn’t first-rate and superexpensive. Sonya chose another, a miniature cherry truffle. Cherries were fruits. That had to be healthy. “Oh, my, these are good.”
McPhee set the box down on a small gilt table in the foyer, which was flanked by two delicate Louis XV chairs. He sat in one, and Sonya automatically sat in the other. No way was she going to let him hog all that chocolate.
“We really should share these,” she said.
“The box has three layers. Plenty for all.”
“Oh, okay.” Sonya picked out a toffee. “I wish I knew how you manipulated Tootsie so easily. If I had told her she couldn’t visit Mother during physical therapy, she’d have just argued me into the ground until she got her way.”
“She’s old-fashioned. She defers to males, even if they’re only servants.”
“I don’t think of you as a ‘servant,’” she said, feeling charitable. Chocolate had that effect on her. “You’re part of the family.” She realized how stupid that sounded almost before the words had left her lips.
McPhee laughed, soft and deep in his throat. The sound vibrated along Sonya’s nerve endings. “Funny, I don’t feel at all like a brother.”
Sonya stuffed another chocolate into her mouth. She didn’t even make a careful selection this time, just grabbed the one closest. He was right, of course. She never would have treated a brother as coldly as she’d treated McPhee over the past ten years. But she never would have had romantic feelings for a brother, either.
Once she’d let the lid off that particular Pandora’s Box, there’d been no going back. It would have been one thing if he’d returned her feelings. But when he’d indicated with crystal clarity that he was not open to romance, her only other choice had been coldness. To get over him, she’d had to convince herself she hated him.
She didn’t, of course. Never had. And she’d never exactly gotten over him. Even when Marvin had come along and swept her off her feet, she’d still sometimes lain awake at night, wondering how it might have been if McPhee had responded to her romantic overtures that night so long ago.
Now, maybe it was time she got over it. She wasn’t some teenager with a crush, even if she still felt that way sometimes. She was grown up. Holding on to a ten-year-old grudge was stupid, especially when she knew McPhee couldn’t help it that he hadn’t wanted to get involved with her. Just as she hadn’t been able to control her own emotions.
“McPhee, I’ve been horrible to you. And I’d like to apologize. I know one apology can’t make up for ten years of bitchiness…”
“Whoa, whoa!” McPhee shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind of some untenable thought. “Did you just apologize to me?”
“I was trying to. But if you’re going to be ugly about it—”
“No, please. Go on.”
She tried to ignore the trace of amusement evident in the set of his mouth, the sparkle in his brown eyes. “Mother’s illness has brought some things into focus for me. You just never know when you’re going to lose someone. I want to appreciate the people in my life before they’re gone and it’s too late.”
“I…thanks. Does this mean you forgive me?”
“For what?” she asked, pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about.
“You know what. That night. When everything changed.”
“Oh, that.” She waved away the notion that it was important. “I had too much to drink and I put you in an awkward position.”
“I could have handled the situation with a little more tact.”
“It’s ancient history, as far as I’m concerned.” And she was very proud of herself for having such a mature discussion about it. “We should have cleared the air about that years ago. But better now than never. I don’t want us to be enemies,” she added.
“No, I don’t want that, either. I don’t want to leave here on bad terms with you.”
Sonya sat up straighter. Suddenly all that burgeoning maturity fled like a flock of sparrows when a hungry cat jumps into their midst. ‘You’re not really leaving, are you?”
He looked at her the way he used to when she would ask a particularly dumb question about motorcycle maintenance. “I already told you that, right? That I’m going to work for the Sheriff’s Department?”
“Yes, but that was when you thought I was getting married.”
“I’m still going. My last day is still January 8.”
“But Mother—”
“—will have to get used to the idea. I want to go now, while my father is determined to stay off the sauce. If I stay, it might give him an excuse to give up, since he knows I’ll be here to rescue him.”
A few days ago, Sonya had actually been worried that she’d be stuck with her bodyguard for the rest of her life. She should have been immensely relieved that she would finally be rid of him.
But what she felt wasn’t relief, she was pretty sure.
She reached for another chocolate, but McPhee slid the box out of her reach. “You’re going to be sick if you eat any more of those.”
Come to think of it, she did feel uncomfortably full. How many had she eaten? Three? Four?
“You ate seven,” McPhee said, reading her mind in that annoying way he had.
“Seven! Oh, why did you even let me get started? You know how I am.”
“You’re not exactly the queen of moderation,” he agreed.
“How many did you eat?” She started to count the empty squares, hoping to discover he’d eaten at least as many as she, but he put the lid on the box.
“I’ll get rid of the rest.”
“Good idea.”
“So I’m forgiven?” he persisted.
“Assuming you don’t force me to eat any more of those chocolates. Or do anything between now and January 8 to make me mad.”
“Sometimes all I have to do is say ‘Good morning’ to make you mad.”
She stood and gave him an imperious look, but for some reason she was about to laugh and ruin her exit line. “You’ll want to try not to smirk at me when you say ‘Good morning.’”
“I do not smirk.”
“You do. In a really annoying and condescending way like one of those English servants who know everything. Admit it.”
“It’s possible,” he said carefully, “that I sometimes lift a sardonic eyebrow in a sort of Heathcliff-esque way. I wouldn’t refer to it as a smirk, which would involve pursing my mouth in some unattractive manner.”
“You’re getting into semantics now. Whatever you call it, a smirk or a sardonic eyebrow lift, it gets my goat. If you’ll make an effort to stop doing it, I will try not to get mad more often than you really deserve.” And she whisked out of the room in search of some Pepcid.
JOHN-MICHAEL WATCHED HER GO, his stomach lurching in an odd way that had nothing to do with eating too many chocolates. Who was this woman? She certainly wasn’t acting like the spoiled debutante. She’d jumped out of that neat pigeonhole into which he’d had her safely stuffed all these years. And he wasn’t comfortable with the situation, not at all.
A spoiled, petulant Sonya, putting him in his place, was far easier to deal with than a kind, sensitive, funny Sonya. She’d actually shown him her sense of humor just now, something she hadn’t directed his way in forever. First he’d had to accept her cloak-and-dagger activities. Now this.
All right, he was going to have to face the fact. His lust for Sonya was turning into something else, something dangerous. For the first time in many years, he wasn’t sure he could hold himself back, pretend indifference.
But maybe he didn’t have to. Hell, he was soon to be off the Patterson payroll. Sonya would no longer be forbidden fruit. He let himself roll that idea around in his head, intrigued with it.
Whistling, he carried the chocolates into the kitchen, where he found Matilda. Normally the roly-poly Patterson cook was perky as one of her own orange-marmalade muffins. But ever since Muffy’s heart attack, Matilda had been sulking over the fact that she had to completely change the way she prepared Muffy’s meals. Now he found her sifting through her recipe box, sorting cards into “keep” and “throw away” piles. The throw-away pile was much larger than the keeper.
She eyed the box of chocolates suspiciously. “Oh, so it’s all right for you to be peddling this fattening stuff,” she said as she took two candies, “but not me?”
“You don’t have any heart problems, do you?”
“Not a one. Doc says I’m healthy as a horse. Good genes.”
“Well, not all of us were born so lucky. C’mon, Mattie, you can adapt. Think of it as a challenge, a chance to try some new recipes.”
“But those recipes Mrs. Patterson’s doctor gave me are so boring, so tasteless.”
“So, invent your own recipes. Maybe if you and Eric work together you can come up with some gourmet heart-healthy recipes and we can all eat healthier.”
“Healthier, right.” She nodded toward the candy. “Where did you get those?”
“Tootsie. Sensitive soul that she is, she brought them for Mrs. Patterson.”
“Ugh! What’s she trying to do, kill her best friend? Just because she’s a skinny twig and can eat anything she wants. Take those chocolates out of here.”
“Mattie?” said a disembodied voice. “Mattie, are you there?” It was Muffy on the intercom.
Matilda walked over to the kitchen unit, on the wall near the phone. “Yes, Mrs. Patterson?”
“Could you send my daughter up here? I can’t find her.”
“She’s probably hiding from you,” Matilda said without pushing the talk button, and John-Michael smiled. Muffy was loving all the attention having a heart attack brought her. She’d always been something of a hypochondriac, imagining that every ache and pain was the symptom of a fatal tumor. Now that she had an actual illness, she took full advantage of having everyone at her beck and call, especially Sonya. She’d become quite the tyrant.
Unfortunately, Sonya was feeling the strain. She had a hard time saying no to Muffy, so long as what Muffy wanted didn’t jeopardize her recovery.
John-Michael pushed the intercom button. “Is it anything I can help you with, Mrs. Patterson?”
“No, it’s wedding stuff. I’ve just located the most wonderful Belgian lace for Sonya’s gown. It’s in Los Angeles, of all places. She’ll have to go there personally to pick out the pattern she wants, though I have some ideas. And I’ll want you to go, too, of course.”
A trip to California didn’t sound so bad, he mused. A warm beach, Sonya in a bikini… “I’ll find her.”
He searched all over the estate until he finally located Sonya swimming laps in the indoor pool. When she was stressed he could usually find her here or working out on the treadmill or soaking in the whirlpool.
He waited at one end of the pool until she completed a series of laps. When she paused to catch her breath, he called her name.
“Huh?” she sputtered. “Oh.”
“Working off some stress?”
“Working off some calories. Of course, it would take about a million laps to burn off all that candy.” She hoisted herself out of the pool, and he handed her her towel. She wasn’t wearing a bikini, but an ultra-modest tank suit.
“Your mom wants to talk to you.”
Sonya sighed. “Okay. Is it urgent? I was planning to sit in the sauna.”
“Something about Belgian lace in California. She wants you to go there personally and pick it out.”
“I am not going to California.” She blotted herself with the towel and suddenly the coverage wasn’t enough. Sure there was fabric over all the key areas, but the way it clung…
John-Michael suddenly couldn’t figure out where to direct his gaze. He couldn’t look at her when her nipples showed plainly through her pale-green suit. But if he looked away, she would know he was deliberately not looking at her.
“It was bad enough when I spent two days in Dallas,” she continued, oblivious to his discomfort. “But Mother was in the hospital under constant medical supervision. Now I’m the one responsible for her care. I can’t leave.”
“There are plenty of people here to look after Muffy. Anyway, she’s not an invalid.”
“But her medications—”
“She can handle them. Her heart suffered a blow, but her brain is fine. Sonya, you need a break. You’ve hardly left your mother’s side for an entire month. She loves the attention, but she needs to start taking responsibility for her own care. It’s a good sign that she’s willing to turn you loose for a couple of days. You should take advantage of it.”
“Yeah, but all the way to California? To pick out lace for a dress I’m not going to wear?”
“Can you think of a nicer place to go in December?” he countered.
“We could look for Marvin! Maybe we could visit his parents in Boston and see if they could help us.”
That was one idea John-Michael didn’t want to encourage. The idea of Sonya chasing after some felon with no thought of the danger made his teeth hurt. But now that she’d landed on the idea, she seemed enamored with it. “I’ll call Cindy and Brenna. This’ll be fun.”
“Fun?”
“Fun,” she confirmed. “It was terrible, what Marvin did to us, what he might be doing to another woman even as we speak. But when I tracked down Brenna, and then together we found Cindy, and then the three of us were working together to catch Marvin—it was the most fun I’ve ever had in my life.”
The way her eyes sparkled just recalling her adventure, John-Michael didn’t doubt her words. She was more animated than he could remember seeing her. And he was turned on more than he wanted to admit. Thankfully, she wasn’t paying attention to him or she might have noticed. His gym shorts didn’t hide much.
“You really like those girls, huh?”
“I feel that for the first time in my life I have friends, real friends.”
“You’ve always had a lot of friends.”
“I’ve always had lots of girls around me,” she corrected him. “But the rich girls flocked together because of our parents’ money and the insular world we lived in, not because we necessarily were drawn together by common interests. And a lot of girls made friends with me because of what they thought I could do for them. They wanted to hang out here, have Matilda cook for them and wait on them, have Muffy take us all out to lunch at the ritziest restaurants.
“But Brenna and Cindy—I know they like me for me. Neither one of them cares about being rich or having the latest designer whatever or seeing their names mentioned in a magazine. And the more time I spent with them, the more I started to realize where my priorities ought to be.”
Sonya toweled her hair dry, and it formed a tousled blond cloud around her head. Left to its own devices, it tended to curl wildly. He liked it better this way, John-Michael decided. Sort of like she’d just tumbled out of bed.
He clamped down on that line of thought. He’d long ago learned not to wish for something he couldn’t have. Oh, maybe he could have had Sonya once upon a time. In the back seat of his car, or sneaking into spare bedrooms when Muffy was away. But that would never have satisfied him. He didn’t want to be a rich girl’s walk on the wild side.
Anything more was out of the question. Debutantes did not marry their bodyguards.
Of course, he wasn’t going to be just a bodyguard forever. He had a future now. He had a career beyond the World of Patterson. He would be someone independent of this family and their wealth. Someone who could be taken seriously…
“McPhee?”
The sound of his name brought him back.
“You zoned out there for a second. Sorry. I must have bored you silly with all that talk about friendship and adventure and having a purpose to my life. Those are probably lessons you learned a long time ago.”
“You didn’t bore me,” he said. What she’d done was set his own imagination into overdrive. But now he forced himself back to reality. Yeah, he was looking forward to starting his job in law enforcement. But he’d still never be able to even take Sonya out for dinner. He was still the gardener’s son.
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