Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance)

by Linda Style

  He crossed to the sliding door. Just then, Tanya yanked it open from the other side. “I’ll call you tomorrow night, Whitney…darlin’.”

  “Get out.” The voice that came out of Whitney’s mouth was dangerously quiet. “Get out of my house.”

  Brock feigned a look of hurt, but on the way out, he gave her a triumphant sneer. “Shall we say about eight?” And then he was gone.

  Whitney gripped the back of the chair so tightly she broke a fingernail. But if she didn’t hang on, she was sure her legs would buckle.

  “You did the right thing,” Tanya said, rushing outside. “Whatever you said, it ended the right way.”

  Whitney lowered herself into the chair, feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach. The pain in her chest yesterday was nothing compared to the despair she felt right now. “I’ve got to tell him,” she whispered. “Today.”

  “Tell who? What?”

  “Darlin’ Brock wants money,” she said flatly. Whitney closed her eyes and tipped her head back.

  Tanya came over and sat on a chair facing Whitney. “And you told him to drop dead. Good for you.”

  “He wants money to keep quiet about my sister’s baby.”

  Tanya stared at her, apparently confused by what Whitney had just said. Tanya already knew most of the story, although she didn’t know that Rhys wasn’t the baby’s father and that his son was in prison.

  Unable to keep it to herself any longer, Whitney blurted out the whole story. At first Tanya registered surprise that Whitney had waited so long and, in fact, hadn’t even started custody proceedings.

  Then studying her friend’s face, Tanya said, “Uh-oh. There’s more going on here, huh? Boy, am I dense.” She slapped a hand to her forehead, then leaned forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, eyes focused in a tell-me-the-truth look. “Are you in love with him?”

  “Tanya, I can’t let Rhys hear the truth from Brock. I’ve got to tell him.” Whitney buried her face in her hands. Finally she raised her head. “I should’ve told him a long time ago.” She sighed and bit the soft skin on the inside of her lip.

  “Does he love you?” Tanya tried again.

  “He’ll hate me. So will Gretta and Johnny.”

  Tanya wrinkled her nose. “Gretta and Johnny?”

  “The grandparents. They’ll die if I take SaraJane away. They’ll all be crushed, brokenhearted. God help me. I don’t know how I can do this.” She sobered. “But I have to.”

  Though she’d tried her damnedest to come up with a viable solution, Whitney knew what the result would be—and she knew, without a doubt, Rhys would never forgive her.

  “But if you love each other,” Tanya said, reducing the problem to its basics, “why don’t you just get married and raise the kid together. That’s the best solution possible. The two of you could get custody, adopt the baby and live happily ever after.”

  Whitney looked incredulously at her friend. “Happily ever after? Are you serious?”

  Tanya took a breath. “You’ll never know what could happen if you never take the chance.”

  Whitney let out a tiny helpless laugh. Coming from Tanya—the last person in the world to take a chance on anything personal—that was a joke. Not to mention that Rhys would find her lies or, rather, omissions unforgivable. And even if he somehow had it in him to understand her reasons, he wouldn’t take the child away from his son. Not ever.

  Rhys didn’t know the whole truth about R.J. Neither did Gretta and Johnny. Or if they did, they didn’t believe it.

  “You’re scared,” Tanya said. “Scared to let yourself care.”

  Whitney frowned at Tanya. “That’s ridiculous.” But true. She was scared to death. The thought of loving someone terrified her. Especially this someone.

  It meant opening herself up, being vulnerable. It meant she risked being hurt. And it meant she risked hurting Rhys.

  Right now the only thing she knew for sure was that she had to tell Rhys the truth—before he found out from someone else. She owed him that much.

  And she’d have to live with the consequences.

  ***

  Sarajane flew into Whitney’s arms the second she stepped from the car. Whitney knelt, hugging her niece hard, knowing there might only be a few more times like this—for a while, anyway. Once she talked to Rhys, he would ask her to leave, and she wouldn’t see SaraJane again until a court decided who should have custody.

  Whitney pressed a kiss to SaraJane’s forehead. “I’m surprised you’re still up, pumpkin.”

  “We got flowers for you.” SaraJane’s chubby cheeks dimpled. “Me and Poppy bought them from the store ’cause it’s too cold outside to grow anymore.”

  Whitney’s regret multiplied as she stood, cradling SaraJane in her arms. She held her a little longer, inhaling deeply. SaraJane smelled little-girl-sweet, like cookies and milk, and fresh air and grass.

  Rhys stood apart from them, his handsome craggy face beaming, his eyes soft with understanding. The way he looked at her made Whitney shake inside with excitement—and dread.

  Gretta waved from the kitchen window and Johnny came up to stand in the doorway behind Rhys.

  “Welcome back.” Rhys wrapped an arm around both Whitney and SaraJane, directing them into the house through the back door. “We didn’t expect you so soon. Guess that’s a sign everything went well, huh?”

  Before Whitney could answer, Gretta said, “I’ve made tea and scones,” and with Johnny’s help, she carried the things to the table. Whitney planted another kiss on SaraJane’s forehead and set her down. Rhys took Whitney’s coat and hung it in the closet with the rest of the family’s.

  His gaze followed SaraJane as she led Whitney by the hand, showing her the finger painting she’d done yesterday and the new dress Poppy had bought for her doll, Miss Agatha.

  “And we put more daisies in your room,” SaraJane said proudly.

  Gretta asked for them all to sit for tea. “Come on over here, young lady, and let Whitney catch her breath. My Lord, the child acts as if you were gone for weeks.”

  Whitney grinned, squeezing SaraJane’s small hand in hers before the little girl skipped off into the sunroom to play with her toys. Rhys offered a chair next to him, and she felt a sensation unlike any other. One she suspected most people felt when coming home. Everyone was happy to see her, glad she was back, and they wanted nothing from her.

  They’d opened their hearts and accepted her as if she was family. Such a simple welcome, and maybe…maybe she could pretend to be part of it for just a little while longer—until she was alone with Rhys. Because she couldn’t tell him now. Not in front of his family.

  If she could enjoy the homecoming…for just a little while…

  For another hour, they took turns catching up on the local news. No one asked why she’d gone to California, but Whitney figured they had to know. She hadn’t sworn Rhys to secrecy, and it would be perfectly normal for him to share the information with his parents.

  That was the kind of support they gave each other, and now they were there for her, too. Just thinking about it filled her with warmth.

  When they finished their tea, it was nearing SaraJane’s bedtime. Rhys gathered up her things and, just as he was leaving, pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I forgot. Someone called for you. He called me at the shop today and left this number. Said you’d know what it was about.”

  Whitney clamped trembling fingers over the note. She didn’t need to look at the number to know whose it was. No one but Brock would call the shop for her.

  She mustered a tentative smile. “Right.” And before she could turn away, Rhys placed a fingertip under her chin as he searched her eyes.

  “Everything okay?”

  No. Everything was not okay! She wanted a family like the one she’d been part of tonight. She wanted not to see the look in Rhys’s eyes when she told him she’d lied to him. She wanted not to hurt him or Gretta or Johnny. She wanted her mother and father not to be alcoholics�
��and she wanted Morgan to still be alive.

  She wanted Rhys to love her as she loved him at this moment.

  “Sure. Everything’s fine.”

  His probing gaze made her step back, avert her eyes. It would only take a second for her to lose all control.

  “Sweetheart,” Whitney said to SaraJane as she bent down to the small arms clutching her around the knees.

  “Better button up. It’s getting colder and colder out there.”

  “Pretty soon it will snow. Will you make a snowman with me when it gets re-e-e-eally cold?”

  Whitney ruffled Sara’s hair. “Sure. Anything your little heart desires.”

  After Rhys and SaraJane had left, Whitney thanked Gretta and Johnny for the welcome and went upstairs. That welcome was almost too much to bear. In another day or two, they’d all know why she’d come—and they’d hate her.

  She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Would SaraJane hate her, too? If she was successful in gaining custody, how would the child react to leaving Rhys and not seeing him or her grandparents every day?

  She just had to hope things worked out. Children adjusted quickly, and Gretta and Johnny…well, they’d never feel the same about Whitney, but they’d adjust, too. She’d make sure they saw SaraJane every chance they could.

  But it was Rhys who worried her the most.

  He’d be hurt the most. He’d trusted her, enough to welcome her into his family and into SaraJane’s life. What made it even worse was knowing he’d had a child taken away from him before, a child with whom he’d never been able to make a connection afterward.

  She flung herself across the bed. Even if things could have worked out between Rhys and her, there was still the matter of custody. Rhys was not SaraJane’s legal guardian.

  R.J. was SaraJane’s father. Morgan was gone, and if R.J. was released from jail, he’d have every right to SaraJane and any money Morgan’s little girl would eventually receive from the family estate.

  The fact that Rhys believed R.J. innocent didn’t change his son’s character. R.J. had used Morgan and then used the baby, pawning her off the first chance he could.

  Who knows what he’d do if he found out SaraJane was an heir to the Sheffield money? No, she needed to continue her efforts to gain custody, and with R.J. in jail for murder, it ought to be easy. Regardless of the effect it had on her personally. Or on Rhys.

  Regardless of whether her heart shattered into a million pieces in the process.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WHITNEY ROUNDED the corner into Estrade in time to catch the sunrise. The pale glow of dawn rose up to crown the peaks of the distant mountain range, and she watched for the inevitable wall of sunshine to break and spill over the jagged crest like a sheet of gold.

  But today, even that grand panoply of light couldn’t keep her heart from hammering out an erratic drum finale.

  She parked in the space next to Rhys’s Jeep, feeling some comfort in being as close to him as she could for just a little longer. Checking her hair in the rearview mirror, she saw faint violet smudges under her eyes.

  She’d lain awake most of the night, and when she finally drifted off, the night terrors she’d had as a kid returned like an old movie on fast forward: the tears, the awful screams, Morgan’s tiny arms clutching, scratching at her legs, tormented faces—Morgan’s, her mother’s—the basement door thudding like the lid on a coffin and she couldn’t see for the blackness. All black, so black, and cold, so cold, and she screamed and screamed until the back of her throat burned and she bolted upright, drenched and shaking in her bed.

  She hadn’t had that nightmare for a long time.

  Rhys rose from his chair the instant he saw her come in. He didn’t have to say a word for her to know he wanted to help. Ironically he thought her concern was about her mother.

  He stood hesitantly behind the desk, then picked up a pencil, tapped it a couple of times on the stack of papers in front of him and smiled, that sweet sexy smile.

  Probably the last one she’d ever see.

  “Morning,” he said softly.

  Unable to give even the tiniest smile in return, Whitney said, “Rhys, I need to talk to you, and it’s not about my mother.”

  Rhys came around the desk and laid his hands on her shoulders. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. She stiffened, dread seeping through every cell in her body.

  “Rhys, can we just talk?” Her voice sounded quivery and far away. She cleared her throat. “I have something to tell you and I just don’t see any easy way to do it.”

  He looked puzzled at first. Then, after a moment, he took a deep breath, returned to his desk, sat and hoisted his feet up. As casual as he appeared, she knew better. She saw the hard line of his jaw, the jerky movement as he waved a hand toward her.

  “Shoot. The floor is yours.”

  “It has to do with why I came here.”

  “You’re moving on. Right?” He avoided her gaze. “Makes sense. Obviously you can’t get all your research in one place.”

  Oh, God. He didn’t have a clue. She wrung her hands.

  “No, that’s not what this is about. I want to talk about why I came here in the first place. It wasn’t to do research.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she wanted more than anything to run away. She turned, stepped to the window, unable to bear his expression when she told him.

  “I came here to find my sister’s baby.”

  Feet thudded to the floor, the chair scraped, then a crash. She swung around and he was a fraction of an inch away, his face crimson, the veins in his neck throbbing.

  “SaraJane is my niece,” she said.

  She waited, blood pounding in her ears, as she watched him fight for control. When he finally spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

  “You’d…better…leave.” His voice was deathly quiet, masking the anger she felt coming at her in waves. She felt it as deeply as if he’d shouted at the top of his lungs.

  She wanted to explain, to tell him it wasn’t just a simple lie, that it was complicated and that her intent wasn’t to hurt anyone. Surely he could understand that.

  But she knew the words wouldn’t make any difference to him. Not now. Yet she had to say something.

  “SaraJane’s mother, my sister, is dead.” Her voice trembled, but she went on. “Before she died, she asked me to find her baby. SaraJane has a right to know her mother’s family.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to say at all, but she needed to stand back from her emotions. She needed to return to the safe world of not feeling, not caring. No love, no pain.

  But it was much too late for that. She was in love with Rhys. And that realization was as painful as seeing the contempt in his eyes.

  He glared at her, his features like granite. “I said you’d better leave.” He strode to the door, yanked it open and held it for her.

  ***

  Rhys stared out the window in the shop, looking but not seeing a thing. He’d spent a long time moving parts around, restocking shelves, rereading blueprints. Anything to take his mind off the look on Whitney’s face when she’d fled from his office.

  Dammit, why did he care how she’d looked? She was the one who’d been dishonest. She’d come here under false pretenses, lied about who she was and why she was there. And like a fool, he’d believed it all. Reeled in like a fish on a hook.

  Duped.

  Whitney wasn’t any different from his ex-wife.

  The big difference was that Stephanie had told him up front what she wanted, and he’d been young and in love enough—stupid enough—to try to make her happy.

  Then he’d learned quickly that happiness didn’t come that way. All the money in the world wouldn’t have made Stephanie happy. Hell, he’d spent most of his own life seeking that Holy Grail. For a long time he’d thought happiness would come with success, with living well from all the money he’d made.

  But it didn’t. Money and success wasn’t how to achieve contentment of any k
ind. And he’d never realized it more than he did at this moment.

  Whitney had out-and-out lied. Faked it all because she had an agenda. His first instincts had been right. But why the deceit?

  If she’d come here to see SaraJane, why didn’t she just say so? What was the point of all those lies? If SaraJane’s mother was dead, what did Whitney want, other than to get to know her niece?

  She’d said SaraJane had a right to know her mother’s family, and he couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t the fact that Whitney was SaraJane’s aunt that bothered him.

  It was the fact that she’d been dishonest with him from the minute they’d met.

  Or was it because she’d made love to him—and stolen his heart?

  But she’d never said anything about love. Not one damn word. If he imagined she cared about him, it was his own doing—or rather his undoing.

  Still, the pain in her eyes when she’d left had been real; he was sure of that. And dammit, he was feeling it, too.

  But he couldn’t get beyond wondering why. Why hadn’t she told him who she was? What did he think she’d do? Send her away? Was that it. Did she think for some reason that he’d deny her family a relationship with SaraJane? Or that R.J. would? Was it something that simple?

  He glanced at his watch. Noon. She’d been gone for an hour. If she packed up and left, he’d never know the answer.

  He seized the phone. “Mabel, is Charley around? I need him to mind the shop for a bit.”

  “Nope. He’s not here. Got some stuff to take to the assay office today,” Mabel said excitedly. “Looks like all his dirt-digging is finally gonna pay off.”

  “Great, Mabel. Tell Charley that’s great.” Yeah, but not for him. He had other things on his mind.

  “Where’s Whitney? She coming for lunch?” Mabel demanded. “You didn’t scare her off, did ya?”

  Rhys sighed. “No, I didn’t, Mabel. Listen, I’m going to close up for a few hours. If you see anyone around, can you please tell them to come back later or even tomorrow?”

  “Everything okay? Someone sick?”