Out of Town Bride Page 8

  “I just love your hair,” said Margie Blankenship, referring to Brenna’s platinum spikes. Margie worked at the real estate office.

  “Really?” Brenna said. “I was thinking how cool your hair is. Very retro.”

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet.” Margie patted her impressive beehive. “Y’all come out to the Red Dog later if you want to kick up your heels.”

  Sonya marveled at the small-town friendliness. During her first visit, they’d been outsiders, but now the townspeople treated them like old friends. She used to wonder how people in small towns could stand it, but life here in Cottonwood didn’t seem to be so bad.

  “I’m thinking about getting a job,” Sonya said once they’d gotten the initial catching up out of the way.

  Brenna couldn’t completely stifle her snort of disbelief.

  “Oh, not you too!” Sonya felt betrayed. “John-Michael doesn’t think I’m cut out to earn my own living.”

  “Sorry,” Brenna said quickly. “I know you could do just about anything, and I’m the last person who should laugh about a rich girl wanting to do something with her life and become self-sufficient. Lord knows I’ve taken enough heat from my family about my jewelry business.”

  “Then why did you laugh?” Sonya asked. She asked the question without any animosity. She truly wanted to know.

  “Well,” Brenna answered with equal candor, “I guess it’s the first impression you made with me. Your clothes, your hair, your nails—they scream ‘rich society girl.’”

  “Can’t a working woman be well-groomed?” Sonya asked, looking down at herself. She’d always taken pride in her clothing and accessories, and had thought that was a good thing.

  Cindy answered. “Most working girls don’t have the time for more than a reasonable level of hygiene and style. Throw kids, a husband and a house into the mix, and I’m lucky to get a bath every day. Not that I’m complaining!”

  “So you’re saying I’m…”

  “High maintenance,” Brenna confirmed. “So, is that why you’re mad at your bodyguard? He implied you didn’t have the right stuff?”

  Sonya didn’t want to get into that subject again. “Let’s just say he’s irritated me on a number of levels today. Back to this ‘high-maintenance’ theory. You’re saying I have an image problem?”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s a problem.” Brenna covertly inspected Sonya’s manicure. “I would love to be as well put together as you. Even among your usual peer group, you probably set the bar.”

  “My usual peer group, being those rich snotty sorority girls I hang with?”

  “Exactly,” Brenna said, not even realizing she’d just insulted Sonya. “But if you want to do something with your life, I totally applaud you. Doing something you love is better than all the cash at Fort Knox. What sort of work is it you think you’d like to do?”

  “Engineering,” Sonya said eagerly, “particularly in the areas of alternative energy sources. Maybe designing more efficient wind turbines or solar panels.”

  Her two friends went completely still. “Engineering?” they said together.

  “Yes! That’s what my degree is in. Chemical engineering, to be exact, with the idea that I would go into some facet of the oil business, because that’s what my father did. But I took a lot of classes in mechanical and environmental engineering, too.”

  “Hmm,” Brenna said, sharing a look with Cindy. “We knew you had some awesome computer skills, but you never mentioned engineering before.” The skeptical looks on their faces were priceless.

  “Oh, I give up,” Sonya said with a laugh. There was no reason to take herself so seriously. They could all sit up and take notice when she actually did get a job. Until then, well, she didn’t exactly have a track record that inspired confidence in her abilities. “Someday I’m going to invent something really awesome that will change your life, and you’ll be sorry you made fun of me.”

  She eyed the last bite of her cobbler and decided to leave it on the plate. Her pants felt tight enough as it was. “I feel so guilty. My mother’s at home eating all this horrible-tasting health food, and I’m gorging on enough fat and carbohydrates to feed a football team.”

  “Indulging every once in a while won’t hurt,” Cindy chided her. Cindy hadn’t exactly held back, munching down fried chicken and french fries. “I only eat here once a week myself, and I own the place.”

  “I wondered why you weren’t the size of a ’56 Chevy,” Sonya said.

  “I burn off the fat chasing after a highly ambulatory sixteen-month-old.”

  “I don’t want to hear any diet talk,” said Brenna, who had such a fast metabolism she could eat whatever she wanted all the time and maintain her cute, curvy little figure. Currently, she was polishing off a hot fudge sundae.

  As the meal wound down, Sonya grabbed her purse and started to pull out some money, but Cindy stopped her. “Don’t you dare. After all the stuff you paid for when Brenna and I were broke, are you kidding? This is my treat.”

  “All right, all right.” As she rearranged her little purse so she could squeeze her wallet back inside, a wad of bills fell out on the table.

  Brenna picked it up. “Good Lord, that’s enough cash to stop up a bathtub drain.”

  “It’s not mine,” Sonya said, quickly reclaiming the money. “My mother gave it to me. I’m supposed to use it to buy a gift for John-Michael.”

  “Is it his birthday?” Cindy asked.

  “No. He saved my mother’s life by getting her to the hospital when she had her heart attack. The gift is supposed to be a thank-you from her. But I have no idea what to buy for him. Maybe you all can help me.”

  “Hmm, I can think of a few things he might like,” Brenna said, arching one speculative eyebrow.

  Cindy nudged Brenna under the table. “Stop teasing Sonya. She needs our help.” Cindy returned her attention to Sonya. “What does he like?”

  “Cars and motorcycles. Guns.”

  Cindy and Brenna wrinkled their noses. “What else?” Brenna asked.

  Sonya tried, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “And you’ve known this man how long?” Cindy asked.

  “Since I was born,” Sonya admitted. He knew virtually every detail of her life—or he had, until recently. She knew very little about his. She tried to think back to when they were kids. What were his interests then? Had he ever had hobbies? Cars, motorcycles, guns and heavy-metal music, that was all she could remember.

  Then a fuzzy recollection popped into her head, becoming clearer as she tried to focus in on it.

  “What?” Cindy and Brenna asked together.

  “He liked to look at the stars,” she said. “The sky isn’t very clear in Houston, but sometimes, in the winter, you’ll be able to see the stars. I remember he had this itty-bitty telescope, and he would go up on the roof with it.…” And suddenly she knew what she would buy John-Michael with Muffy’s five hundred dollars. No matter how he aggravated her, she and her mother owed him, and she would get him a gift that meant something, damn it.

  “SO YOU’VE ACTUALLY TALKED to his parents?” Heath asked John-Michael. “They wouldn’t say a damn thing to me.” They were all six seated around the Rheems’s dining room table, comparing notes on what they each knew about Marvin Carter and floating theories about how to force him to surface. Sonya was seated to John-Michael’s immediate left, close enough at the small table that he could smell her light perfume. Cindy had taken pains to seat everyone where she wanted them, causing him to wonder if she might be trying to play matchmaker. He wasn’t against the idea, though at this point it was premature. He had a few weeks to go before he could pursue Sonya.

  “Maybe the Carters weren’t as intimidated by me,” John-Michael said, forcing himself to focus on the business at hand. “Since I’m not law enforcement. Anyway, they’re pretty fed up with their darling son at this point. They’ve been protecting him from the consequences of his actions for years, looking the other way when he sto
le from them. But now they’re ready to let him take the fall. I even thought of going up there to talk to them. They claim they don’t know where he is, but maybe they could figure it out, if we asked the right questions.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Brenna said. “Who’s up for a trip to Boston? We could talk to his parents, then hit up Marvin’s old friends from high school, his neighbors.”

  “I’ll go,” Cindy immediately said. Cindy apparently never turned down the opportunity to travel. “Maybe Marvin’s parents will feel sorry for me, since I’m one of their son’s victims and I have a small child.”

  “I’m in,” Heath said.

  Luke laughed. “Must be nice to be your own boss. I could probably swing a couple of days, but I’ll have to work out my schedule.”

  Cindy nudged him. “You can get off. You’ve never been to Boston, have you?”

  “I hardly ever left Cottonwood until you started dragging me all over the place.” But there was only fondness in his voice.

  Brenna looked at Sonya and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I’d love to go, but it will depend on how my mother is doing.”

  “And she does have a wedding to plan,” John-Michael couldn’t resist adding. He hoped the others would convince her that it was time to tell her mother the truth.

  Cindy’s eyes widened. “Oh, Sonya, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I can’t tell my mother the wedding’s off,” Sonya said a bit desperately. “She’ll have another heart attack and die. You all have no idea how much she’s counting on this wedding. Her doctor says it’s therapeutic. I can’t take that away from her.”

  “But, Sonya,” Brenna said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “The longer you wait—”

  “I know, I know. The worse it will be. But surely a little longer won’t hurt. Just until she’s a little stronger.”

  Her friends grudgingly agreed that she was probably a better judge of what her mother could and couldn’t handle, and they left her alone.

  The group decided on a trip to Boston in two weeks, provided Luke could work out his schedule. Sonya was itching to go, John-Michael could tell. “Surely in two weeks…” She left the sentence unfinished.

  “What about you, John-Michael?” Brenna asked. “You’ve already established some level of trust with the Carters. Your participation would be invaluable.”

  “You should go,” Sonya said to him, “even if I can’t.”

  The idea of taking a trip out of town without Sonya seemed downright weird. But he’d better get used to doing things without her. His last day as her bodyguard was fast approaching. Even if they got into a relationship—and that was a big if—they would no longer be attached at the hip. “I’ll go,” he said, and when the women applauded his decision—physically applauded—he felt a warm sense of inclusion.

  No wonder Sonya had bonded so quickly with these women—and, now, with their men. They were good people, and they did treat her like regular folks. Around them, John-Michael felt he could see more of Sonya as she really was, without the layers of protection her money and position normally afforded her.

  And again he felt more and more drawn to her, more and more certain that he couldn’t let her just slip out of his life completely without a fight.

  THAT NIGHT they all went country dancing at a place called the Red Dog Saloon. Sonya found it delightfully tacky, the sort of place she wouldn’t have set foot in a few weeks ago.

  Cindy taught them how to do the Cotton-Eyed Joe and the Texas two-step, and even when Sonya’s friends manipulated her into dancing with John-Michael a couple of times, she didn’t mind. She made a show of pretending to be put out, but she totally enjoyed the feeling of John-Michael’s arms around her, especially when they did a fast polka. Sonya’s steps were often wildly out of control, and during the Orange Blossom Special, John-Michael had to hold her close to keep her from annihilating other couples on the dance floor.

  Abruptly the music changed to a slow country ballad, and Sonya felt a tremendous urge to lay her head against John-Michael’s shoulder and just let him keep holding her while she caught her breath. Their eyes locked, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Their kiss that morning hadn’t been a fluke. The chemistry between them wasn’t going away.

  But chemistry didn’t always lead to anything lasting, Sonya reminded herself.

  It was John-Michael who gently set her away from him. “Want me to get you another beer?”

  Nice, safe territory, she thought dazedly. John-Michael, the dutiful employee, seeing to her comfort.

  “No, thanks,” she murmured. Her brain was fogged enough. Did he, or did he not want her? And if he did, what held him back? If it was just his employment situation, that would be ending soon enough. Was he merely waiting? Or were there other reasons? Other women?

  THEY LEFT COTTONWOOD after dinner on Sunday. After many hugs and promises to stay in touch, Sonya, exhausted and talked out, reclined her seat, thinking she would snooze most of the way back to Houston. She didn’t trust herself, alone in a dark car with John-Michael.

  “Did you have a good time?” John-Michael asked.

  “Do you need to ask? I should send Marvin a thank-you note for picking such great women to fleece.”

  “He does have good taste,” John-Michael agreed. Though Sonya knew he was just being a guy, and guys appreciated pretty women, she felt a twinge of jealousy that he found her friends attractive. “So,” he added, “are you done being mad at me?”

  “It takes too much energy staying mad at you,” she said with a sigh.

  “Then you should be exhausted. You’ve been mad at me for ten years.”

  “That’s not—” The denial died abirthing. It was true. She had been mad at him for ten years. And all because he had spurned her sexual advances. Despite her assurances that she’d put the incident behind her, it wasn’t true. In some ways she was still that insecure nineteen-year-old, looking for some sign that John-Michael returned her growing feelings.

  And when she didn’t find it, the temptation to freeze him out was strong. But that was an immature girl’s response, and she was determined not to hold it against John-Michael if he didn’t want to get involved with her, whatever his reasons.

  “If you’re serious about getting a job,” he said, “I’ll help any way I can.”

  Oh, that. “I guess I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you over the job thing. Brenna and Cindy proved your reaction was a universal one. They laughed, too. But I am serious,” she added. Then she thought to ask, “Does it bother you that I call you by your last name? Cindy seemed to think it was demeaning.”

  He shrugged. “It’s what I’m used to. John-Michael is quite a mouthful.”

  She wished he wouldn’t say “John-Michael” and “mouthful” in the same sentence. It made her think of something he probably never intended. “But do you like it?” she persisted.

  He paused before answering. “No. I liked it better when you called me by my given name. But I was the one who slammed the door on getting too familiar, so I guess I can’t complain.”

  “You sure flung that door open again yesterday morning.”

  “I’ve apologized for—”

  “I’m not looking for an apology. I’m looking for answers. It’s taken me a while, but I understand why you weren’t interested in me when I was nineteen. I was immature and spoiled. I was used to guys jumping through hoops for me, standing at attention when I snapped my fingers. I expected you to do the same. But you weren’t some callow prep school boy I could play like a fiddle. I was probably incredibly boring to you.”

  “That’s a very pretty analysis,” McPhee said. “But the truth of the matter is, you were my boss’s daughter. I was being paid to protect you, not debauch you. Muffy would have had me drawn and quartered if I’d touched a hair on your head, and my father would have been out on the street. If you’d been anyone else, I’d have had you between the sheets so fast your head would still be spinning.�
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  Chapter Six

  John-Michael wondered if he’d gone a little too far. He glanced over at Sonya, who looked like she’d been poleaxed. Could an event that took place ten years ago really matter so much to her now?

  He flashed her a regretful grin. “You wanted me to be honest, right?”

  “So it was all an act?” she squeaked. “You weren’t really repulsed by me? You didn’t really think I was a spoiled brat?”

  “You were spoiled. But that’s something I could have overlooked under other circumstances.”

  He never saw it coming. One minute Sonya was sitting in the passenger seat looking dazed. The next, her fist was heading for him at supersonic speed. Fortunately, she aimed for his arm rather than his face, or the car might have ended up in a ditch.

  “Ow!” He rubbed the offended muscle. Where had she learned how to pack such a wallop? At Muffy’s insistence, Sonya had taken self-defense classes a few years ago, some martial arts thing. John-Michael had always sat out in the parking lot rather than observe her class, figuring he didn’t need to watch Sonya rolling around on mats with brawny pseudo-assailants. It would have only made him wish he could join in the fun. “So what was that for?”

  “All this time, you let me think you hated and despised me, that you were repulsed and disgusted and amused by my pathetic romantic overture. You said all those mean things. I bet you even made up the girlfriend!”

  “Oh, yeah, the girlfriend.”

  “Well, did you? Have one?”

  “I have dated a few women over the years.” But not too seriously. They always got turned off by his single-minded devotion to keeping Sonya safe, and he never fought too hard to keep them.

  “But did you have a girlfriend that night? Or were you lying?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  The look Sonya gave him made her seem suddenly dangerous. Her green eyes were bright and narrowed like a cat’s, her succulent lips ever so slightly curled.