you quit?” she challenged him.
“You don’t think I’ve tried? But your mother made it pretty clear. If I left, Jock had to go, too. I couldn’t do that to him. He has nowhere else to go.”
“How are things different now?”
“Your mother is being a bit more flexible, now that your future is secured and my dad’s behaving himself. I think he finally understands the consequences if he messes up again. Maybe he won’t this time.”
Sonya wanted to believe that Jock McPhee’s drinking days were over, but she found it difficult. She recalled all too well the sort of mayhem that ensued when Jock went on a bender. Once he’d driven the riding lawnmower right through the living room window and into the middle of one of Muffy’s tea parties. Another time he’d gotten a chainsaw and lopped off half of an ancient oak tree because he was tired of fishing its leaves out of the pool; he’d nearly chopped off one of his arms, as well.
Muffy should have fired Jock long ago, but she had such a soft heart she couldn’t do it. Besides, when Jock was sober, he was the best gardener in all of Houston and a very nice person. Sonya, as well, had always had a soft spot for Jock. He’d been especially kind to her when she was grieving over her father’s death.
So had McPhee. The teenage boy who’d had no use for a ten-year-old girl had suddenly stopped tormenting her. He’d started showing her small kindnesses, offering to drive her to visit friends if Tim was busy, playing volleyball with her in the pool.
That was when she’d first fallen in love with him.
Oh, hell, she didn’t want to think about that now. “Well, I wish you luck in your new career. And I’m sorry we’ve made your life so unpleasant.”
“No, you’re not,” he said with a little grin. “You did it on purpose. You’ve resented me watching your every move as much as I’ve resented having to play nursemaid to a spoiled debutante.”
Sonya laid down her fork. “Boy, you’re really taking the gloves off.”
“I feel a certain recklessness, knowing I’ll soon be free.”
“Now is not the time for me to find out you hate me,” she said. “I have enough to deal with.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You just think I’m spoiled.”
“Anyone who doesn’t have to work for a living is spoiled. It’s not your fault you were born with so much money.”
Sonya wanted to continue the argument. Unfortunately, she knew he was right. She’d never wanted for anything in her life, something she’d taken for granted. Did that make her spoiled?
Without a good comeback, she returned her attention to her macaroni and cheese, hoping he would go away.
He did. He rinsed his plate, put it in the dishwasher and left the kitchen without another word.
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.