style="font-size:15px;"> “Mmm, I love this stuff,” McPhee said.
“We better enjoy it while we can. I imagine we’ll see some changes around here when Muffy gets home. Matilda and Eric will have to prepare heart-healthy meals.”
“Matilda will screech like a banshee over that,” McPhee said.
“She’ll have to get used to it. I’ve been telling Mother for years that her diet is impossibly unhealthy. She’ll have to listen to me now.”
“Muffy never listens to anyone.”
Sonya sighed. “I know. She has her ideas about the way things should be, and nothing’s going to change them.” Certainly not Sonya, whose opinions Muffy had always considered superfluous. Muffy knew what was best, and that was that.
“Maybe if we join forces?” McPhee suggested. “Two against one.”
Sonya laughed harshly. “That would be a first. We haven’t agreed on anything since…well, since we were children.”
Since that night at the sorority party, she’d almost said. Sonya’s skin prickled at the memory, still vivid after all these years.
“I think if we present a united front,” McPhee said, “Muffy will have to pay attention.”
“Since when do you call her Muffy, anyway?”
He shrugged. “I don’t, not to her face. Just to you.”
“To irritate me.”
He didn’t deny it, just flashed that inscrutable half smile of his that drove her crazy. “Don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon. You haven’t officially postponed the wedding, have you?”
“No.” Another wave of guilt washed over her. But she could hardly announce she was going to call off the wedding when Muffy was still so ill. “Mother said to wait and see how she did after the surgery. Are you counting the days?”
“Only forty-nine days to go.”
She tried to hide her surprise. She’d only been kidding about counting the days. Was he that unhappy? He often aggravated her, but she wasn’t miserable with their arrangement. “Just what are you planning to do with your newfound freedom? I assume Muffy has another job for you.”
McPhee shook his head. “I’ve already applied and been accepted at the Harris County Sheriff’s Department.”
This was news to Sonya, and it shook her to the core. She had a hard time visualizing this house, this estate, without John-Michael as a constant fixture. “What about your dad?”
“Dad’s on the wagon.”
“Yes, but for how long?”
McPhee pushed his plate away without finishing, alerting Sonya to the fact that she’d ticked him off. He always cleaned his plate. “I’ve spent ten years as a virtual prisoner,” he said, “to my father, to Muffy and to you. That’s long enough. If my father does something crazy and gets himself fired, I’ll deal with it. But I’m not going to let the fear of that stop me from living. Not anymore.”
Sonya hadn’t heard much past the word “prisoner.” “If conditions are so wretched here, why didn’t 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
