Out of Town Bride

Sonya felt guilty, though she didn’t know why. McPhee was such a thorn in her side, always lurking, nosy about everything she did, every person she saw. But she’d known for a long time that being her bodyguard wasn’t his dream job. It was boring. He’d never once had to protect her from anything more threatening than a pushy salesman. Yet he’d tried to make the best of it.

What a relief it would be for both of them, she supposed, if he went away. Once her mother found out Sonya wasn’t getting married, she would try to keep McPhee on the payroll. But she had a feeling his mind was made up. This time, he was really going, really moving out of her life.

A noise at the kitchen door startled Sonya. The Patterson estate had security up the wazoo. At night the gates were locked up tight, and electronic sensors around the perimeter fence would detect any intruder. But Sonya had inherited some of her mother’s paranoia, she supposed. Whenever she heard a strange noise at night, or even if a stranger looked at her funny, she mentally reviewed escape routes and the location of the nearest weapons for self-defense.

The sound at the door came again, and then the door opened. Sonya tensed, then relaxed when she recognized the nocturnal visitor. It was just Jock McPhee, John-Michael’s father, who was harmless as a baby bird so long as he hadn’t been drinking. And even drunk, he wasn’t mean, just a bit reckless.

“Hello, Jock,” Sonya said, alert for any sign that the gardener had been drinking. Jock was probably no more than five-ten, small and wiry. There was some resemblance to John-Michael in the lean face and the shape of his jaw, but that was where the resemblance ended. His coarse hair, once a dark brown, was salt-and-pepper, and it stood out from his head in unruly tufts, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. His cheeks bore a dayold, silvery beard, and his front teeth were slightly crooked, though still a bright white.

His most startling feature was his eyes, a vibrant sea blue. They hadn’t faded with age. And in this instance, they were clear and alert. No sign that he’d fallen off the wagon. His work pants were old and faded, but clean, held up by his trademark rainbow suspenders.

“Hello, Miss Sonya,” he said with a tentative smile. He spoke with the faint trace of an Irish cadence, a legacy from his home country. “I couldn’t sleep, and I saw the light. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Would you like some macaroni and cheese?”

He shook his head. “I’m not very hungry these days. I just can’t seem to settle down since they carted Miss Muffy to the hospital. Nothing bad’s happened, has it?”

Sonya’s heart went out to the man. He’d lived on the Patterson estate since he was a baby, when his mother came here to work as a cook. He and Muffy had grown up together. They often fought like a couple of bulldogs over what should be planted and where. Muffy had some old, decrepit camellia bushes that she absolutely refused to let Jock replace or even prune, though they were overgrown and past their prime, and they argued about those silly bushes on a monthly basis. But Sonya knew there was a deep, mutual fondness between the two. No one had given Jock much thought the past couple of days, but he was probably devastated over her mother’s health crisis.

“My mother is doing better,” Sonya said. “I just heard from the hospital. They might even move her out of Intensive Care tomorrow.”

“Oh, praise the heavens,” Jock said, sinking into a kitchen chair. “I’ve been just sick with worry. Is there anything I can do? Oh, of course there isn’t, but that’s what everybody asks at a time like this.”

“I’m sure my mother would appreciate your kind thoughts and prayers,” Sonya said gently.

“Do you think—would it be all right if I visited her at the hospital? I wouldn’t stay long. I could bring her a few blooms from the greenhouse.”

“She would love to see you, I’m sure. I’ll let you know as soon as she’s allowed visitors.”

“Thank you, Miss Sonya. I imagine this has put a kink in your wedding plans.”

“We may have to delay the ceremony,” she confirmed. Every time she said it, she felt relieved. When would it be appropriate for her to call the church and give up the date she’d selected, January eighth? Once the wedding was no longer scheduled, it would be easy just to never reschedule. Then it would be easier still to convince her mother she’d changed her mind about tying the knot with Marvin. Maybe she would never have to tell Muffy what a fool she’d been, allowing Marvin to fleece her. The whole subject of Marvin could just quietly disappear.

“I was looking forward to making your wedding bouquet myself,” Jock said quietly. “I know you’ve hired a big fancy florist to do all the arrangements, but I was hoping…well, I have some of the most beautiful roses you’ve ever seen in the greenhouse.”

“Why, Jock, I’d be honored to have you do that for me.” She knew he was up to the task. He often put together fantastic arrangements for the house. “Don’t pick out the blooms just yet,” she added hastily. “But whenever I do get married, I definitely want you to do my bouquet.”

He seemed pleased to hear her say that, and he offered her a warm smile. “Thank you, Miss Sonya. You and your mother have always been so good to me, even in bad times.”

“Your son tells me the bad times are over,” she said.

“I’m working real hard,” Jock confirmed. “I’m in AA. In fact, I thought I’d head out to a meeting right now.”

“Do they have meetings at this time of the night?”

“Just about any time you need one, you can find it. And I need one. This thing with your mother—well, if a man can’t drink when someone he cares for is at death’s door, when can he drink?”

Sonya wasn’t used to Jock speaking so freely about his drinking problem, but she supposed it was a good sign that maybe he really had made lasting changes in his life.

“Don’t let me keep you,” she said. “And I’m proud of you. I know it can’t be easy, changing the habits of a lifetime.”

“There are some habits you can change,” he said. “And some you can’t.” With that cryptic comment, he tipped an imaginary hat and departed.

Chapter Two

John-Michael quickly noted that Sonya wasn’t speaking to him as they rode in the limousine toward the hospital the following morning.

“I might have been out of line,” he ventured, “calling you spoiled.”

“Stuff it.”

Okay. She was under stress and he wasn’t helping her any. She’d been acting hinky since she’d returned from her mysterious road trip.

“Were you having an affair?” John-Michael asked. “Is that what New Orleans was about?”

“Yes. With Brenna,” she added, deadpan. “Thank goodness my secret is finally out in the open.”

Tim, who wasn’t supposed to be listening, snorted from the front seat.

“I just can’t imagine what would have drawn you to some of the places you visited over the past few weeks,” John-Michael continued. “Dallas makes sense. But Cottonwood, Texas? And then, some sleazy motel in Smoky Bayou, Louisiana?”

Cottonwood was where Cindy Rheems, another of Marvin’s victims, lived. Smoky Bayou was one of the many stops they’d made as they’d tracked Marvin across two states, always a step behind him. “Will you please just let it drop?”

“I’m responsible for your safety, which means I need to know what’s going on in your life.”

“I hereby absolve you of your responsibility.”

They’d been through this conversation, or ones very similar, countless times since he’d taken the job as her bodyguard.

When they reached the hospital, rather than following standard procedure for entering a public building, Sonya charged out of the limousine toward the front canopy of Harris County Medical Center without waiting for John-Michael to check things out and then escort her. Usually there was no need for extreme security. Unfortunately, today wasn’t usual.

A reporter with a tape recorder appeared out of nowhere heading Sonya off before she could get to the door.

“Miss Patterson, Leslie Frazier from Houston Living magazine. Is your mother all right?”

“Yes, my mother is fine,” Sonya said smoothly, a polite smile pasted on.

“A source close to the situation says your mother is in Intensive Care, that she’s had a heart attack.”

John-Michael was about to jump in and rescue his charge, but she handled the situation just fine.

“She’s undergoing tests,” Sonya said firmly. “I have no further comments.”

The reporter, seeing John-Michael, looked at him hopefully, but he wouldn’t make eye contact, and the firm set of his mouth apparently dissuaded the perky redhead from asking any further questions.

“You shouldn’t go charging ahead of me like that,” John-Michael said when they were out of the reporter’s earshot.

“You’ve been reading your own press,” Sonya said, sounding annoyed. “She was a five-foot-two bubble-head who probably doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. I wasn’t in any danger.”