Out of Town Bride. Kara Lennox

are over,” she said.

      “I’m working real hard,” Jock confirmed. “I’m in AA. In fact, I thought I’d head out to a meeting right now.”

      “Do they have meetings at this time of the night?”

      “Just about any time you need one, you can find it. And I need one. This thing with your mother—well, if a man can’t drink when someone he cares for is at death’s door, when can he drink?”

      Sonya wasn’t used to Jock speaking so freely about his drinking problem, but she supposed it was a good sign that maybe he really had made lasting changes in his life.

      “Don’t let me keep you,” she said. “And I’m proud of you. I know it can’t be easy, changing the habits of a lifetime.”

      “There are some habits you can change,” he said. “And some you can’t.” With that cryptic comment, he tipped an imaginary hat and departed.

      Chapter Two

      John-Michael quickly noted that Sonya wasn’t speaking to him as they rode in the limousine toward the hospital the following morning.

      “I might have been out of line,” he ventured, “calling you spoiled.”

      “Stuff it.”

      Okay. She was under stress and he wasn’t helping her any. She’d been acting hinky since she’d returned from her mysterious road trip.

      “Were you having an affair?” John-Michael asked. “Is that what New Orleans was about?”

      “Yes. With Brenna,” she added, deadpan. “Thank goodness my secret is finally out in the open.”

      Tim, who wasn’t supposed to be listening, snorted from the front seat.

      “I just can’t imagine what would have drawn you to some of the places you visited over the past few weeks,” John-Michael continued. “Dallas makes sense. But Cottonwood, Texas? And then, some sleazy motel in Smoky Bayou, Louisiana?”

      Cottonwood was where Cindy Rheems, another of Marvin’s victims, lived. Smoky Bayou was one of the many stops they’d made as they’d tracked Marvin across two states, always a step behind him. “Will you please just let it drop?”

      “I’m responsible for your safety, which means I need to know what’s going on in your life.”

      “I hereby absolve you of your responsibility.”

      They’d been through this conversation, or ones very similar, countless times since he’d taken the job as her bodyguard.

      When they reached the hospital, rather than following standard procedure for entering a public building, Sonya charged out of the limousine toward the front canopy of Harris County Medical Center without waiting for John-Michael to check things out and then escort her. Usually there was no need for extreme security. Unfortunately, today wasn’t usual.

      A reporter with a tape recorder appeared out of nowhere heading Sonya off before she could get to the door.

      “Miss Patterson, Leslie Frazier from Houston Living magazine. Is your mother all right?”

      “Yes, my mother is fine,” Sonya said smoothly, a polite smile pasted on.

      “A source close to the situation says your mother is in Intensive Care, that she’s had a heart attack.”

      John-Michael was about to jump in and rescue his charge, but she handled the situation just fine.

      “She’s undergoing tests,” Sonya said firmly. “I have no further comments.”

      The reporter, seeing John-Michael, looked at him hopefully, but he wouldn’t make eye contact, and the firm set of his mouth apparently dissuaded the perky redhead from asking any further questions.

      “You shouldn’t go charging ahead of me like that,” John-Michael said when they were out of the reporter’s earshot.

      “You’ve been reading your own press,” Sonya said, sounding annoyed. “She was a five-foot-two bubble-head who probably doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. I wasn’t in any danger.”

      “She could have been someone more dangerous.”

      “McPhee, in all the years you’ve been guarding me, has anyone ever threatened me?”

      “No,” he admitted.

      “The danger is all in my mother’s head. And you’ve bought into it. Get over yourself.” She switched off her cell phone as they entered the building, reminding him to do the same.

      They discovered that Muffy was no longer in the Intensive Care Unit. She’d been moved to a regular room. When they finally located her, she was sitting up in bed, her eyes open, the TV on, though John-Michael didn’t think she was actually watching the show. She wasn’t exactly a Jerry Springer fan. Though she was still hooked up to an IV and oxygen, she looked about 500 percent less scary than yesterday.

      “Mother?”

      Muffy looked over and managed a faint smile. “Sonya. And John-Michael, how nice.”

      He walked up to the bed and squeezed her hand. “Mrs. Patterson. You must be feeling better. You look great.”

      “Liar. I must…look like…day-old…paté de foie gras.” Her speech was labored, and it pained John-Michael to see her laid so low. But at least she was awake, and seemingly alert.

      “Mother, don’t try to talk,” Sonya said.

      “I want…to talk. I have to thank…John-Michael. I should have said something…long ago.”

      “Thank him for what?”

      “For making me go…to the hospital. I thought it was…indigestion. And for finding my girl…and bringing her home.”

      Sonya flicked a curious glance toward John-Michael. “You did that? Brought her to the E.R.? How come no one told me?”

      “It was a group effort,” John-Michael said modestly.

      “Well, thank you,” Sonya said. “You probably saved her life.”

      He shrugged. He didn’t consider himself a hero. He’d done what anyone would do. Anyway, having Sonya’s gratitude felt alien. He was much more comfortable when she was mad at him.

      Sonya returned her attention to her mother, brushing her hand lightly against Muffy’s cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got sick.” She’d already apologized several times, but she felt compelled to repeat herself.

      “I know, pumpkin. Is Marvin here?”

      “He’s still in China. I can’t get hold of him.” She said this quickly, as if she’d rehearsed the answer over and over. And her eyes flickered up and to the right. John-Michael had studied neuro-linguistic programming as part of his criminology curriculum. Sonya was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth about Marvin’s whereabouts. John-Michael wished he could get to the bottom of this mystery, but he didn’t want to press Sonya when she was still so worried about her mother.

      “How are the wedding plans coming?” Muffy said to Sonya.

      “I’ve put the wedding on hold,” Sonya said firmly. “We’re not going to focus on anything for a while except getting you well.”

      “You can’t postpone it,” Muffy said, her voice suddenly stronger. “We’ll lose our date at the country club!”

      “Mother, don’t worry about it. I promise it will be fine. We’ll work it out. I want you to focus on getting better.”

      “It’s not for two months,” Muffy persisted. “I’ll be fine by then.”

      “We’ll see,” Sonya said.

      It