Out of Town Bride Page 11

  “You want me to drive?” he asked, hoping she was enough absorbed in her own misery not to notice his yearning.

  “No, I think I’ve pulled myself together sufficiently to get us home in one piece. I’m doing better on the freeways, huh?”

  “You’re doing great,” he said, because he genuinely wanted her to feel good about something. Was that the definition of love? When you did things to make another person happy, with no expectation of getting something in return?

  He hadn’t felt that way about Sonya since she was ten, and he’d turned himself inside out for nothing more than the pleasure of her smile—before desire and need, duty and responsibility had complicated their relationship.

  LESLIE FRAZIER’S ARTICLE came out in the following Sunday’s Houston Living insert. Muffy had the story spread out over the dining room, reading every word aloud between bites of her whole-wheat pancakes and sips of green tea. She looked a hundred percent better than she had even a week ago, stylishly decked out in her teal warm-up suit, ready for her session with her personal trainer.

  Sonya wore her workout clothes, too. She was participating in her mother’s workouts to show her support and make it more fun for Muffy, but Sonya was benefiting, too. She needed some way to relieve the stress of planning a nonwedding and the constant presence of John-Michael McPhee. Just the sight of him created a pleasure-pain connection in her brain, now. Pleasure because he was so nice to look at. Pain because she knew damn well she couldn’t have him. She should have made something of her life years ago, back when she first acknowledged her desire for him. Because John-Michael wasn’t going to waste his attentions on a woman without substance, no matter how well-groomed.

  Maybe someday she would have substance. By then, though, it would be too late. John-Michael would be gone, married to another cop or an E.R. nurse or an assistant district attorney, someone hardworking and intelligent he met through work. Someone he’d never had the opportunity to meet while tied to Sonya.

  “Sonya, you’re not even listening.”

  “Sorry, Mother.”

  “I was just wondering if Ms. Frazier asked who was giving you away.”

  That was a bit of a sore subject. Since Sonya’s father was deceased, and she had no living male relatives other than a couple of great uncles she’d never met, she hadn’t been able to think of who should give her away, and had decided Muffy should do the honors.

  Muffy had declared that was too untraditional.

  “The subject came up. But I was thinking—now, this would be a bit strange, but what if I asked Jock McPhee to give me away?”

  Muffy’s eyebrows arched so high they disappeared into her red-gold hair, but she also wore the ghost of a smile. “You want the gardener to give you away?”

  “He’s more than that. He’s really the only father figure I’ve ever known. He was so kind to me after Daddy died. And, yes, people would talk, but so what? A wedding should be about true feelings, not trying to impress people.”

  Muffy unexpectedly got a little misty-eyed over that sentiment. “Well, it’s your wedding. And I wouldn’t mind seeing what Jock McPhee would look like with a clean shave and a tux.”

  “He’s a handsome man,” Sonya said.

  “Yes, he is,” Muffy said softly.

  Sonya was surprised Muffy had given in so easily. She’d floated the idea mostly to see how her mother would react. Having so recently seen herself in an unattractive light, and having vowed to change, she wanted to see whether her mother might be open to seeing things in a different light, too.

  Apparently she was.

  “Do you think he’d be willing to do it?” Sonya asked.

  “Oh, I think so. You know, he brought me the most beautiful flowers in the hospital.”

  “He can be so kind. Oh, that reminds me. He’s going to make my bridal bouquet from our own hothouse roses.”

  “He’ll do a lovely job.” Muffy threatened to mist up again, so she distracted herself with shuffling through the paper. “Oh, my goodness, look at this. They still haven’t caught that horrible man who caused all the trouble at the International Jewelry Consortium show in New York a few weeks ago.”

  Sonya’s heart jumped into her throat. “You heard about that?”

  “Everyone heard about it! I was still in the hospital, but Tootsie filled me in. She said a woman went berserk, climbed up over the buffet table and broke the arm off an ice sculpture.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Panicked, Sonya whipped the paper out of her mother’s hands and scanned the article. The woman in question, of course, was Brenna. Her ungainly leap into a pile of shrimp was part of the same chase that had culminated in Marvin plunging down an elevator shaft.

  There was still no mention of Marvin’s real name, thank God. She relaxed. “I know this woman,” Sonya said, amused all over again by the story. “I met her in Dallas when I was there.” Her mother still thought she’d spent most of her time out of town at a health spa in Dallas. “Her father owns the Thompson-Lanier store.”

  “Oh, that Thompson. Well, I’m sure her father must be mortified over this debacle.”

  Actually, Marcus Thompson had been rather proud that Brenna had tried her best to catch the crook who’d stolen from her and her parents. But Sonya didn’t want to draw any more attention to the incident in New York. Tomorrow, after her mother’s appointment with Dr. Cason, she would hopefully be able to tell Muffy everything. Then it would be time to start preparing for their trip to Boston. She was determined to join the others if she possibly could.

  “There’s the doorbell,” Sonya said with relief. “That must be Butch.” Butch was her mother’s new trainer, a handsome bundle of muscles who was gently introducing Muffy to the concepts of strength training and aerobics. Today they were going for a walk around the neighborhood. Sonya folded up the newspaper and covertly stuffed it in a trash basket on their way to greet Butch.

  IN ANOTHER PART OF HOUSTON, a dark-haired man smoked a Cuban cigar and leafed through the Sunday paper as a busty masseuse gave his back muscles a workout.

  After the debacle in New York, when he’d come closer to getting caught than ever before, he’d decided to lay low for a while. He’d dyed his hair brown, grown a goatee, and he’d switched to wearing his contact lenses. Back here in Houston, he was just another anonymous businessman in a luxury hotel.

  He started to toss the Houston Living magazine aside, but then he was inexorably drawn to it. The magazine detailed the lives of the city’s rich and richer, the same people he had hobnobbed with during his brief engagement to Sonya Patterson. He wondered what Sonya was up to, how she’d recovered from being jilted.

  He didn’t kid himself that she’d really suffered much. He’d cleaned her out of her ready cash, jewelry and furs, but that wasn’t much when compared to the vast Patterson fortune she had access to. She had no doubt ducked under her mother’s protective wing, cried a few tears, than gone about her life.

  He’d actually had the idea that he might marry Sonya. It was a cinch he wasn’t going to inherit any of his own family money. His parents had pretty much disowned him. With Sonya being the only heir to her father’s oil company, he’d have been set for life. He could have worked or not, as he pleased, lived any place he wanted, driven any kind of fancy sports car that caught his eye.

  He’d even thought he might be in love with Sonya. She was beautiful, lively, intelligent—a fitting partner, someone even his parents would approve of. But he’d started to worry about that bodyguard of hers. And he’d also realized that Sonya didn’t have ready access to the bulk of the Patterson millions, which meant neither would he. He’d gently queried Muffy Patterson about allowing him to serve as her financial manager, but she’d sweetly refused him, saying once he’d been in the family a few years and better understood their philosophy of life, she might consider letting him play a role in the handling of the fortune that would one day be his and Sonya’s.

  He hadn’t wanted to wait. His feet had been itchy.
So when the opportunity arose, he’d taken all that was available—over a hundred-thousand-dollars’ worth—and took off.

  After all that had happened lately, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. Better a dull life as Sonya’s kept man, with an allowance, than a four-by-six jail cell. But the threat of jail was fading. The authorities were no closer to catching him than they’d ever been. He wasn’t sure they even knew his true identity. Unfortunately, he’d lost much of what he’d stolen—the Picasso, most of the jewelry and a good bit of cash, all recovered by authorities. He needed another score, another woman.

  He flipped through the magazine’s pages, recognizing a few faces. Then he stopped cold. There was Sonya, smiling broadly from the page. And there he was, right beside her. It was their engagement portrait. The headline on the four-page spread was Dream Winter Wedding.

  The masseuse picked that moment to dig deep into Marvin’s deltoids, and he yelped in pain.

  “Oops, sorry. Was that too hard?”

  She didn’t sound sorry, but he decided to let it pass. “You can go now. I’m done.”

  “Your hour isn’t up yet.”

  “That’s okay. Run along.”

  When he was dressed, he retreated to his room to read the article carefully. Sonya had not called off the wedding. Why? Was it possible she didn’t even know she’d been jilted? He’d given her a cover story about being in Hong Kong and then Beijing for the next few weeks on an important business trip, to delay her discovering he’d stolen from her. But maybe, by the time she’d noticed all the money missing from her account, she didn’t associate it with his departure. Maybe she’d blamed it on an accounting error—or maybe she hadn’t yet noticed it. She never balanced her checkbook that he could tell.

  And the furs—they’d been stowed in an upstairs closet. It hadn’t gotten terribly cold in Houston yet this winter. Maybe she hadn’t even looked.

  There was no way she could miss the jewelry theft, but she could have blamed it on someone else, like that reprobate gardener.

  He read the article again. It sure sounded like she was still devoted to him.

  He pondered the problem all that day and into the next, finally deciding there would be no harm in at least talking to Sonya on his new, throw-away cell phone. It was possible the authorities hadn’t yet connected his real name to his various criminal activities. If so, there was still a way to salvage the situation.

  He could still marry Sonya. He might have to wait a few years, but he could still have all that delicious money.

  Chapter Eight

  “You are doing incredibly well, Mrs. Patterson,” Dr. Cason said with a warm smile. Sonya and Muffy were sitting in his well-appointed office in the medical building next to the hospital, going over Muffy’s most recent test results.

  “I’ve been doing everything you recommended,” Muffy said proudly. “I’m walking and swimming and doing strength training, I have a nice Indian man named Mihir who is teaching me yoga and meditation. And my diet—I haven’t had even one bite of cheesecake. My cook has risen to the challenge, and she’s been serving me the most delicious meals. I’m even starting to like oatmeal.”

  Dr. Cason’s smile grew wider. “That’s wonderful. Nothing makes me happier than seeing a patient change her life for the better. With that attitude, you’ll live to be a hundred.”

  “Is there anything we should be careful of?” Sonya asked. “For example—would it be okay if my mother watched a very scary movie? Something with…shocking moments?”

  “Sonya,” Muffy objected, “you know I can’t stand to watch scary movies.”

  “I was just using that as an example.”

  “There’s no immediate danger of a recurring thrombosis,” Dr. Cason said. “The heart muscle suffered no permanent damage, and it’s functioning very well. The surgery I did eliminated the arterial clogging. The main focus now should be to prevent the dangerous plaque from building up again.”

  “So she’s strong enough to withstand an emotional upset? If we should receive tragic news—like a death in the family. We don’t need to protect her?”

  “Sonya, has someone died?” Muffy asked, sounding alarmed.

  “No, no, Mother.” Sonya laid a hand on Muffy’s arm. “I’m just talking theoretically.”

  “You need to be more concerned about long-term outlook,” Dr. Cason said. “An emotional upset, while not pleasant, isn’t likely to do harm to your mother’s health unless her reaction is prolonged and turns into depression or chronic anxiety.”

  Well, that pretty much told Sonya what she needed to know. She could not put off telling Muffy about Marvin’s betrayal any longer. She would do it during dinner tonight, she decided. And she would ask John-Michael to join them, for moral support. Just in case she wanted to chicken out at the last minute.

  “Dr. Cason,” Muffy asked, sounding uncharacteristically tentative, “is it all right for me to resume, uh, romantic relations?”

  What? Sonya stared at her mother, who wouldn’t meet her gaze. Why would Muffy ask that? She wasn’t involved with anyone. She hadn’t even dated since Sonya’s father had died, proclaiming loudly to anyone who asked that there was only one man for her in this lifetime.

  “As long as you’re not participating in the sexual Olympics,” Dr. Cason said with a little laugh, not embarrassed at all. He must be used to talking about such things with his patients, but Sonya was shocked to the core. “And no Viagra,” he added.

  Sonya waited until they were in the elevator to say anything. “Mother, do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?”

  “No, dear,” she said with a sly smile. “That question was strictly theoretical, just like yours.”

  “Oh. It’s just that I can’t imagine—”

  “Why not? I’m still young. I’m reasonably attractive, I’m losing weight and getting fit. By summer, I’ll look decent in a bathing suit.”

  “Mother, I’d be only too pleased if you found someone,” Sonya said, which was not entirely the truth. She would be profoundly disturbed if her mother started dating or, heaven forbid, remarried. But only because she was so used to having Muffy to herself. “The notion just took me by surprise, that’s all. Has Butch made a pass at you?” She would take the muscle-bound trainer apart sinew by sinew.

  “Good heavens, no. He’s a tad young for me.” And she giggled.

  Tim and John-Michael were waiting with the limo in front of the medical building. Tim hurried to open the back door for them.

  “Let’s go to Tiffany and buy something to celebrate,” Muffy said. “Sonya, darling, do you have time, or are there wedding plans to worry about?”

  “No, I have time. But this weather…are you sure you want to be out in it? Anyway, I don’t really need any more jewelry.”

  “Good heavens, who are you and what have you done with my daughter? No child of mine could possibly utter those words. You’re just tired of all the pieces you have, that’s why you don’t wear anything but your engagement ring anymore.”

  Arguing with Muffy took too much energy, so Sonya nodded weakly. When they pulled up in front of the mall a few minutes later, John-Michael opened his door. “I’ll do the honors, Tim,” he said. Then he opened the back door so Muffy and Sonya could exit the limo.

  Muffy charged ahead into the mall, but John-Michael touched Sonya’s arm, indicating she should hang back. “What did Dr. Cason say?”

  Sonya considered fibbing. But putting it off longer would only make it harder. “She’s medically cleared for any emotional upset. I was planning to tell her tonight, at dinner.”

  “It’ll be a relief,” he said. “Like pulling a sore tooth.”

  “I’ve never had a sore tooth, much less pulled one,” she said dryly. John-Michael opened the door for her, and she entered the dry, overheated mall, hoping her mother wouldn’t get too extravagant.

  “Mrs. Patterson!” the man behind the counter at Tiffany said as Muffy and Sonya entered.

  “Good afte
rnoon, Paul,” Muffy said. “I need a new pair of earrings. Do you have any sapphires?”

  Just then Sonya’s cell phone rang. She stepped away from the counter to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Sonya, darling. It’s me.”

  Sonya grabbed onto the closest thing for support, which happened to be John-Michael’s arm. “M-Marvin?”

  John-Michael grew instantly alert. “Act like there’s nothing wrong,” he whispered.

  Nothing wrong? How was she going to pull that off? But she remembered that Brenna had done it. Marvin had such a colossal ego, he thought the women in love with him believed he could do no wrong and were willing to overlook or forgive anything.

  “Sonya, I’ve missed you so much,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on. I’ve been stranded in Beijing for absolute weeks! My passport was stolen, then there was this very scary military thing going on. I was completely out of communication.”

  “Oh, Marvin, I’ve been so worried. Are you all right?”

  John-Michael nodded encouragingly.

  “I’m fine, now that I hear your voice.”

  “When are you coming home? I mean, here, to Houston?”

  “I don’t know. I have to jump through all these diplomatic hoops just to get out of this country. But I’m absolutely positive I’ll be there for the wedding.”

  “The wedding. Well, of course. But not before?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  John-Michael was gesturing urgently. “Tell him everything’s on schedule,” he whispered.

  “The wedding plans are right on schedule,” she said. “I never doubted you would be here. I know how crazy your business can get.”

  “Is there anything else happening?”

  “My mother’s been ill. But she’s better now. She’ll be so pleased you called.

  “Please give her my love. Anything else?”

  Like all of my money and jewelry missing? That’s what he was fishing for—whether she had actually figured out who had wiped her out.