Читать книгу Out of Town Bride - Kara Lennox, Kara Lennox - Страница 11

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?”