by Kara Lennox
She removed the earphones. “I accept your apology, and I offer one of my own,” she said primly. “Apparently I provoked you into an animalistic display of dominant behavior. When you couldn’t dredge an answer to my perfectly reasonable question from your pea-size brain, you did what most males do when confronted with a situation they can’t handle at an intellectual level—you responded physically.”
“Um, that didn’t sound like much of an apology.”
“It was the best I could come up with. I don’t really think I did anything wrong, but I was trying to be polite.”
“What was the question you asked? The one that was too intellectually challenging for my pea brain?”
“We were discussing whether you thought I could handle a job. And though you didn’t say it, I got the distinct impression you thought the idea ludicrous.”
“Sonya, I believe you could do anything you put your mind to. And that’s the God’s honest truth. I don’t think you’re stupid or lazy.”
Was he patronizing her? She had to admit he seemed sincere this time. No smirk, no laughter in his eyes.
“Watch the road,” she said, then put the earphones back on. Oh, Lord, how was she going to spend two days with him? At least she’d be with Cindy and Brenna soon. Having others around would provide a welcome buffer.
JOHN-MICHAEL DIDN’T KNOW what else to do about that illicit kiss. They’d talked about it; he’d apologized; she’d accepted his apology; he was determined it wouldn’t happen again. But the matter felt…unfinished.
Well, of course it does. It wouldn’t be finished until he and Sonya made love. What were the chances? Yesterday, he’d have said zero. But he kept thinking about the way she’d responded, and wondering how different the dynamics of their relationship would be once he was no longer her bodyguard.
They didn’t talk at all until he drove across the city limits of Cottonwood, Texas. It was a quaint little town, and driving through it felt like stepping back in time fifty years. It still had a full-service gas station. And a dime-store.
He tapped her on the arm. She jumped and pulled off the headphones. “This is where you spent two weeks of your life?”
“Yes. You find that hard to believe?”
“Where did you get your nails done?” Sonya was religious about having her acrylic nails filled and polished every two weeks.
“At the Clip ‘n’ Snip.” She pointed to a storefront with a pink awning and a giant pair of neon scissors in the window. “They have a great manicurist there.”
He should have known she wouldn’t spend time anywhere there wasn’t a beauty shop.
“Go all around the square to the opposite corner. The Kountry Kozy B&B is that purple Victorian house.”
“Saints preserve us,” he mumbled, doing an imitation of Jock. “Do I actually have to stay at this place?”
“There’s a motel in Mooresville, across the lake, if you’d rather. I think it’s called the Stay-and-Pay.”
“You want to get rid of me that bad?”
She shrugged. “You’re the one complaining about the accommodations.”
She was still mad at him, though he wasn’t sure why. The kiss? Or was she still steamed about the way he’d reacted when she announced she wanted to get a job? He couldn’t stand two days of this. He had to get things back to normal with them.
Back to normal? What was normal? She was being cool and detached; he was being faintly mocking. That was normal. Or, at least, it had been normal for the past ten years. He didn’t want to go back to that. He wanted to see more of the friendly, funny Sonya.
He realized then that somewhere in the back of his mind he’d been hoping things would change when he told her he was leaving his job as her bodyguard—that they could move forward rather than backward. Maybe that’s what the kiss was about. He was already living with one foot in the future, when he would be a free agent, a deputy sheriff, no longer merely the gardener’s son. And Sonya Patterson would be fair game, no longer his boss’s daughter.
His father would say he was kidding himself. Jock would point out that John-Michael would never be on Sonya’s social or economic level no matter how much he excelled in his new career. But Jock was from a different generation. In the twenty-first century, class distinctions weren’t so rigidly drawn.
Were they?
He parked in front of the huge house, which dripped with lacy fretwork and curlicues, and went to the back of the car to get their bags out of the trunk. Sonya, meanwhile, got out and headed up a walkway toward the house, confident her needs would be taken care of. She’d probably never carried her own suitcase in her life. He wondered if she’d conned Cindy or Brenna into toting her things when The Blondes were traveling together.
Before Sonya reached the wrap-around porch, the front door burst open and Cindy Lefler Rheems flew out, her honey-blond hair streaming behind her. She had on faded jeans and a Miracle Café sweatshirt.
“Sonya! It’s so great to see you!” She and Sonya embraced warmly. Cindy threw her whole body into the hug. And the odd thing was, Sonya did, too. This was nothing like the polite, stiff little hugs she gave her other friends, accompanied by air kisses near the cheek. These two had genuine affection for each other.
As the two women separated, Cindy’s gaze lit on the BMW. “What, no limo this time? Hi, McPhee!”
He gave her a nod and a wave.
Cindy then whispered something to Sonya while looking straight at John Michael.
Sonya whispered something back and rolled her eyes.
John-Michael looked away, not wanting to think about what Sonya might be telling her friend about him. Had he become the servant who had an impossible crush on her? Or was he merely the overprotective bodyguard, a role he was used to playing? Would she tell her friends about the kiss, downplaying her response?
She might be able to get away with that among her friends, but he knew better. At some point she was going to have to acknowledge the tension thrumming between them. Not now, when she had a sick mother, a runaway wedding and an AWOL fiancé.
But soon.
“SO, WHAT’S GOING ON with you and the hunky bodyguard?” Cindy asked. They were ensconced in their old room at the B&B, waiting for Brenna to arrive. McPhee had wisely retired to his own room down the hall. “I mean, I’ve never asked you this, but what’s it like to have a bodyguard?”
“Annoying, most of the time.”
“Does he go on dates with you?”
“I can’t date my bodyguard,” Sonya said, alarmed that Cindy had picked up on the residual sexual vibes between herself and McPhee.
“I meant, when you date somebody else, does he have to come along?”
“Oh. He follows discreetly behind, usually in another car. I managed to lose him a couple of times when I was in college, but he always found me, so I gave up trying. When I was running around Texas and Louisiana with you and Brenna, that was the first time I’d given him the slip in ten years.”
“So you were, like, a fugitive?”
Sonya grinned at her friend. “It was wonderful.”
“So why don’t you fire him?”
“He’s on my mother’s payroll, not mine. She insists. And if it stops her from worrying, I guess I can put up with it. Though I won’t have to for long. He’s got another job, starting in January, right after my supposed wedding date.”
“You must be happy about that.” Cindy watched her carefully.
“I’ll be very pleased to see the last of him,” Sonya said breezily.
“Is he that awful?”
“Beastly.”
“Is that why you’re so mean to him?”
Sonya sat up straighter. “Mean?”
“Well, I couldn’t help noticing that you didn’t say a word to him.”
“I’ve known him all my life,” Sonya said, uncomfortably aware of Cindy’s scrutiny. None of Sonya’s other friends had ever questioned the way she treated her bodyguard. He was an employee, after all. “We don’t
normally have a lot to say to each other.”
“What does he do that’s beastly?” Cindy wanted to know. “Does he curse or drink? Make lewd comments? Scratch himself?”
“No, of course not. He’s just…got an attitude,” she finished lamely.
“You mean, he’s not properly deferential?”
“No, I don’t mean that!” Sonya said, getting riled, until she realized Cindy was deliberately baiting her. She didn’t know Cindy quite as well as she knew Brenna, but she’d observed that Cindy treated everyone as an equal, from the mayor down to the lowliest busboy working at her café. She’d had a net worth of almost a million dollars before Marvin had wiped her out, yet no one in town had even realized it.
“I’m just trying to understand,” Cindy said as she pulled the cork on a bottle of white wine. “I’d have to be blind and deaf not to feel the weird vibes going on between you two.”
“We had a disagreement this morning, that’s all,” Sonya said. “He apologized, I apologized.” Of course, her apology had been sarcastic and insincere, when she knew darn well she’d been a willing participant in that kiss. “Things are just still a bit tense between us. But we’ll get over it. I’m actually very fond of McPhee. We often argue about things, but we forgive and forget.”
“Do you always call him McPhee?”
“Well, yes. I guess I do.” His first name felt far too intimate.
“Does avoiding his first name help maintain a proper distance?”
“Cindy! I’ve always called him McPhee.” But, no, that wasn’t true. She’d switched to calling him by his last name after he’d rejected her advances. It had helped her maintain distance.
“What’s his first name?” Cindy asked.
“John-Michael. Well, that’s his first and middle. Like any good southern boy, he goes by both.”
“What does he call you?”
“He calls me Sonya. Now stop interrogating me.”
Cindy softened. “All right. But if you ever want to talk about it—”
“Why would I want to talk about my bodyguard?”
“Because I think you’re in love with him. And before you sputter your denials, let me remind you that I know about these things. How long did I spend denying I was in love with Luke? We were childhood sweethearts, but I tossed him away because I thought there was no way to breach the differences between us. But there’s always a way.”
Sonya was so stunned she couldn’t speak. Cindy had gone right to the heart of it. Maybe she did still have feelings for McPhee, and not just “residual” ones. But the barriers between them were so huge, their history so complex, the layers of hurt and resentment so deep, she couldn’t really put a name to how she felt about him, or them.
She was horrified when tears sprang to her eyes.
“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Sonya laughed, swallowing back the tears before they could get out of hand. “And I thought Brenna was the frank, outspoken one of The Blondes.” She found a tissue, dabbed at her eyes, then got out her compact and repaired the damage to her makeup. She could easily turn into a narcissist if she wasn’t careful. Her whole life, she’d been accustomed to having her every need met by maids, cooks, store clerks and anyone else who might benefit financially from her goodwill. Those few weeks she’d spent traveling around with Brenna, where no one knew she was Muffy Patterson’s daughter, had been an eye opener.
Everyone really wasn’t interested in her simply because she was wonderful and special. For the first time in her life, she’d been anonymous. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed her anonymity somewhat, but she’d learned something about what she’d taken for granted all her life. Not just being able to buy anything she wanted, but the way everyone treated her.
“So, did you bring your honeymoon pictures this time?” Sonya asked briskly. The last time they’d gotten together, Cindy hadn’t yet developed her film from Italy. “I want to see every detail of the trip. Well, no,” she added quickly, “not every detail.” The two women laughed, and Sonya relaxed, hoping the subject of her relationship with McPhee was closed.
JOHN-MICHAEL HAD JUST SETTLED into a leather club chair—his room wasn’t nearly as ruffly and flowery as he’d feared it would be—and cracked open a book when he heard feminine squeals. Brenna had arrived, apparently. He tried to concentrate, but the high-pitched laughter and softer murmurs distracted him terribly. Here he was again, sitting on the outside while Sonya lived her life. Usually the isolation of his position didn’t get to him, but just now it did. He should have been grateful to be left alone with his mystery novel, but he wasn’t.
To his surprise, someone tapped on his door a few minutes later. He stood to open it, expecting a housekeeper with towels or something. Instead he found Cindy. “We’re going over to the Miracle Café for lunch. Do you want to come with us?”
“I’ll grab something later,” he said automatically. He recalled that Brenna and Cindy had tried to include him a few times during the weekend in Dallas, but he’d resisted then, too.
“We could really use your input,” she said. “Sonya told us you have a degree in criminology, and you’ve been through the police academy. Maybe you’ll have some insight into Marvin’s personality.”
He had to confess, he was tempted. What man wouldn’t want to share a meal with three gorgeous blondes? But Sonya would probably glare at him the whole time.
“Sonya and I spend a lot of time together,” he said. “I imagine she would prefer it if I stay invisible.”
“This isn’t India,” Cindy huffed. “We don’t have a caste system.”
Clearly Cindy hadn’t hung around Houston high society much, or she would know that there definitely was a caste system. Unspoken, but rigid as the wrought-iron fences that surround the millionaires’ estates.
“I have some things I need to take care of,” he said. “But thanks for inviting me.”
“Well, all right. I guess we can pick your brain later when we’re at my house.”
“What?”
But she turned and walked away.
John-Michael resumed his seat by the window, where he had a clear view of the Miracle Café. Keeping an eye on Sonya’s activities was such an ingrained activity, he did it even when there was no conceivable danger to her. He couldn’t think of a safer place than this friendly little town.
When a second knock sounded on his door, He opened it more warily. This time Heath Packer was leaning against the door frame.
“Hey.” John-Michael offered his hand, and Heath took it. He and the former FBI agent, now a private investigator, had been forced to get to know each other during the last “blonde reunion,” but they’d first met in the closet of a New Orleans hotel room, when they’d both been caught in the middle of an illegal search. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
Heath smiled without even a trace of chagrin. “Yup. Brenna’s making an honest man out of me.”
“I didn’t know you would be here.”
“The last time Brenna went after Marvin, she nearly broke her neck jumping down an empty elevator shaft. I intend to keep an eye on things.”
John-Michael let Heath into his room, and the two of them stood at the window for a few silent moments. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction for men to try to protect women.”
“The caveman in us,” Heath agreed.
“When you stop and think about it, The Blondes do a pretty good job of taking care of themselves. The three of them together are kind of scary. I wouldn’t want them coming after me.”
“Yeah, Marvin’s probably the one who needs protecting.”
They laughed.
“Seriously, though,” John-Michael said, “does it strike you as a little bit odd, the way those three women became such fast friends so quickly?”
“Crime victims often bond in a way no one else can understand,” Heath said. “I’ve seen it before.” He looked critically around the small, impeccably decorated bedroom. “I hope you’re
not going to spend the whole weekend in here. Luke Rheems, Cindy’s husband, said we could come on over for a beer.”
Now Cindy’s cryptic comment made sense. And John-Michael had to admit, a beer with the guys sounded like a great idea. Sonya was safe eating at Cindy’s café, for at least a while.
AT LUKE’S HOUSE they ordered pizza, drank beer, watched college football and talked about cars, guns and sports—and kept an eye on Cindy’s little boy, who at sixteen months was into everything. It was the sort of male bonding John-Michael had done little of over the past few years, trapped in the insular World of Patterson, and it felt good.
But after a couple of beers, he felt a little melancholy, too. When Luke and Heath had had enough of drinking, swearing and eating high-fat junk food, they had women to come home to, comfortable domesticity to fall back on. Luke had nothing.
Maybe he’d get a dog, he thought, scratching the Rheems’s black lab puppy behind her ears. She was sweet, loyal, uncomplicated.
“So shouldn’t we be the ones going after Marvin Carter?” John-Michael asked suddenly. “You two have law enforcement experience, and I’ve at least got some training.”
“Yeah, but we’re not scorned women,” Luke pointed out.
Heath grinned. “Can’t discount that factor.” But then he sobered. “Don’t worry, McPhee. When the girls get here in a while, they’ll bring us into the loop. Law enforcement has failed them in the past, but they’re not too proud to accept our help if we offer it. And I’m by-god-sure going to offer it and not take no for an answer.”
“Damn straight,” John-Michael couldn’t help saying. He hadn’t planned on letting Sonya run off on her mission of revenge without some professional backup, but he was relieved to know he would have help. He wondered if Sonya was as keen to include him as the others seemed to be. Or would he be invisible to her, the way he’d been whenever she socialized with her old friends back in Houston? He was determined that she see him as something other than the ubiquitous bodyguard.
AT THE MIRACLE CAFÉ, Sonya ordered an incredibly unhealthy meal of pot roast, mashed potatoes with gravy, creamed corn and apple cobbler, reveling in the fat grams and the companionship. Several people who remembered Sonya and Brenna from when they’d visited Cottonwood weeks earlier stopped by their table and said hi.
