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

by Linda Style

  And he’d be the village idiot to think she’d want to give up that life to settle in a place like Estrade. If for some bizarre reason she’d even consider it, how long would it take before she was bored to death? How long before she’d try to get him to do something different?

  Five years with Stephanie had pushed him to his limit. Wouldn’t the same thing happen with Whitney?

  A cold gust of wind forced him inside, where he tossed some logs into the fireplace. Whitney had said she liked his house, but he doubted she liked it enough to move in. He crouched in front of the hearth, poking newspapers under the logs to get the fire going.

  You’re dreaming, Gannon. Being compatible in bed didn’t translate into a life together, and it was unrealistic to even entertain the thought.

  After a couple of hours, the fire had died out and Rhys was still sitting on the couch thinking about the situation, testing various scenarios. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no more insight than before. In fact, the more he contemplated, the more useless he felt.

  He reached for the phone and punched in the area code for Chicago followed by Luth’s number. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” Rhys asked, attempting to jack up his enthusiasm.

  “Got my bike ready?”

  “No, it’ll be a month or two. Got a part on order.”

  Luth laughed. “Guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t be calling me after midnight to tell me my bike’s ready.”

  “Right. You got a minute?”

  “Hey, you got it, man. What’s happening?”

  Rhys held back, but after a little small talk, Luth asked about Whitney, and the whole damn thing came out.

  Luth didn’t see the problem.

  “Do what you’re always telling me to do,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “Meet in the middle. Way I see it, the two of you need to get together and talk. I mean, all ya gotta do is decide where you want to live, her place or yours, or maybe both. Man, I’d love an arrangement like that. Why does anyone have to give up anything?”

  The muscles in Rhys’s shoulders bunched. He had no interest in being a kept man. And with the state of his finances at the moment, that was virtually what he’d be.

  “Oversimplification, old pal.”

  “Only if you want to make things difficult,” Luth said. “But then, you always do.”

  What the hell did that mean? He had problems. The least of which was that he’d fallen in love with a woman he had no business even thinking about.

  “Look at it this way,” Luth added. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Rhys filled his lungs. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Maybe that’s true…but…”

  When they finally ended the conversation, they’d decided Luth would come out in a few weeks to see the progress Rhys had made on his bike.

  When Rhys’s head finally hit the pillow somewhere around 4 a.m., he’d made a decision. Luth was right; he had nothing to lose. He doubted there was much he could do to change things, but he sure as hell was going to try.

  ***

  Tanya’s phone call came on the heels of Rhys’s early-morning call asking if she’d be interested in a Sunday picnic with him and SaraJane. And she was still feeling euphoric; his understanding had taken her by surprise. She’d learned early on that if you screw up, you don’t get a second chance. Why was fortune smiling on her now?

  “So, Tanya—” she fluffed the pillows behind her head and brought her knees to her chest, tucking the down-filled quilt around her legs “—what are you doing up so early?” Whitney set her watch back on the table next to the bed.

  “What do you mean? There’s only an hour’s difference between Mountain and Pacific Time. It’s seven already.”

  Whitney chuckled. She’d never known Tanya to rise that early in her life. “And why are you still in California?”

  After college Tanya had become a workaholic. She’d never taken a vacation, never done much of anything other than work. In New York, they’d go to the occasional play, a movie or dinner, but that was the extent of Tanya’s social life. The fact that she’d stayed in California for more than a week astonished Whitney.

  “That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about. I’ve decided to take a couple of extra days. You mind if I stay here? I need a little vacation.”

  Whitney gasped. “A what? Uh, pardon me for a minute.” She held the phone out and whacked it a couple times with her hand, like Tanya frequently did to her, then returned it to her ear. “Okay. There was something wrong with the phone. I thought I heard you say ‘vacation.’”

  “Okay. I deserved that,” Tanya said. “But yeah, I need a little time. Besides—” she hedged “—I have some things I want to look into. Business things. And, well, I just thought as long as I’m here, I could see a little more of the area. Al said he’d show me around.”

  “Al?”

  “Yeah, Al. Your cousin.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, really, I’m thinking of investing in something, and he’s going to check it out.”

  “Okay. Now I get it. It’s not a vacation at all.” For the last few years, Tanya had talked about doing something different, starting a new career, and maybe this was it. “Fine, stay as long as you want. You know it’s okay with me. Besides, I like having someone there.”

  “Good. Listen, Al tried to call you, but something was wrong with the connection. I think he might have some new information for you. And, oh, yeah, your mother’s doctor called, trying to get in touch. She said it was important.”

  Whitney’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the receiver. Important to whom? If her mother didn’t care, why should she?

  “It really did sound important.”

  Whitney heaved a sigh of resignation. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for telling me.” She’d call the doctor later. Right now she didn’t want anything to spoil the picnic with Rhys and SaraJane.

  After saying her goodbye to Tanya, Whitney recalled the last meeting with her mother. It had ended in total disaster. In the ten minutes she and her mother were together, they’d had a fight and Whitney had run out, desperate to escape—just as she’d done twelve years ago. Her mother didn’t want her help. She never had.

  It was too late, just too damned late. And the only emotion Whitney could feel toward either of her parents was a deep abiding anger.

  She threw off the quilt, got up and showered, then went to the closet. Rhys had said to dress in layers. It would be cool when they started out, but since they were going to a lower elevation, it would get warmer, especially later in the day. She pulled out a pair of faded jeans and a white tank top, her blue baggy V-neck sweater and tennis shoes.

  When she’d dressed, she stood in front of the mirror to do her hair. As she studied her image, she couldn’t resist a tiny grin. Her mother would be horrified. So would Brock.

  The thought satisfied something perverse in her, and she hoped Brock had listened to the message she’d left on his voice mail last night, saying that she wasn’t interested in financing his movie now or in the future and he needn’t worry about talking to Rhys because she’d already done so.

  Working on a French braid, she walked to the door and opened it halfway, waiting for her coffee. Wanting to save time, she’d asked that it be brought to her room this morning. She went back to the mirror, wondering if Rhys had told his parents she was SaraJane’s aunt. She hoped not, because she really had to to sort things out with Rhys first.

  “I hear you’re going on a picnic,” Johnny said as he wheeled the cart into her room. “Nice day for it. It’s gonna be in the high seventies in Sedona.”

  Whitney turned. “That’s where we’re going.” She smiled brightly, covering her discomfort. “Rhys said he knows a perfect spot near some Anasazi ruins.”

  Johnny nodded. “Rhys is a pretty good tour guide. He spent a bit of time exploring the area when he first moved here. Kinda surprised me at first, how much he likes small-
town life. Guess you never know someone as well as you think you do. Not even your own children.”

  Whitney’s stomach plummeted, wondering if the comment was meant for her. But no, she’d noticed before how Johnny’s face lit up every time he talked about Rhys, and she could see he meant what he said. He was truly happy Rhys had chosen to live in Estrade.

  “You didn’t think he’d like it here? What’s not to like? It’s beautiful and the people are wonderful.” She stopped braiding her hair long enough to glance at him.

  “I felt at home immediately.”

  “Well, you know…” Johnny stood next to the cart and poured coffee into a delicate china cup.

  She smiled, watching his large hands handle the fragile dishes with ease. Hands that were so much like Rhys’s.

  “I had my doubts for a while,” Johnny continued. “Rhys lived in Chicago most of his life, and knowing the success he’d carved out for himself, I guess I figured it’d be kinda hard to go from all that excitement to such a quiet place.”

  He smiled. “But like I said, he’s adapted really well. Loves those motorcycles, you know. But I think he had to experience the other things first to figure out what was important to him.”

  Johnny was talking about Rhys, yet he could have been talking about her. Finished with her hair, she sat at the small gate-leg table and poured a little cream into her coffee. “Rhys seems happy with the choices he’s made,” she said as Johnny started for the door. I wish I could say the same.

  Johnny turned with a knowing look. “Making the decision is what matters. It’s the decisions that don’t work out that help us recognize the right ones.”

  Whitney nodded. She had a decision to make and it had to be the right one. But how would she know—and who would she hurt? She had to be sure of what she was doing. She couldn’t afford for it not to work out. The price of that lesson would be far too high.

  ***

  Sarajane pried a rock from the red-clay soil, using one of several sticks she’d collected, while Whitney relaxed on the patchwork quilt Rhys had spread on the ground. To Whitney’s surprise, Rhys had brought all the picnic supplies, including some gourmet sandwiches he’d picked up from Gretta the night before. Most of it, though, was perfect for a child. Grapes and apple slices, juice boxes and peanut butter and jelly sandwich squares.

  It had been a wonderful day so far, filled with laughter and fun. They’d hiked and played at Slide Rock, and Whitney had taken dozens of photos, even a few on the timer so they could all be in them.

  Finally Rhys had taken them to a place called Red Rock Crossing, and instead of settling in the most popular site, he’d led Whitney and SaraJane down a narrow path alongside the creek to a secluded area where an old mill stood, its giant paddle cracked and silent.

  A verdant clearing next to the stream was the perfect spot for a picnic. Rhys had spread the blanket under a towering sycamore tree, near the creek bank where the crimson rock of Twin Buttes was reflected in the crystalline water. Tired, Whitney had dropped to her knees on the quilt.

  “Iron,” Rhys said matter-of-factly, shoving up the sleeves of his black knit shirt. “It’s the iron in the soil that makes the rock red.”

  Whitney leaned on her elbows, feet stretched out in front of her. “Thanks, Mr. Geology. But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll just pretend some magic fairy painted them with her wand.”

  “I got more.” SaraJane plopped a pile of rocks at Whitney’s feet. “See?” she said proudly, her chubby fingers sorting through them. “A red one, a black one, and this little one’s a geode.” She held out a rock that resembled a clump of clay.

  Whitney looked askance at Rhys, who lounged beside her on the quilt. Whitney held the clump between two fingers. “How can you tell?”

  “’Cause it’s round.” SaraJane dazzled them with a smile, then skipped off, as happy as any child could be.

  Rhys raised his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Just thought she should know a little about what she’s picking up. You never know. I’ve heard there’s gold in them thar hills.”

  Whitney tossed one of the rocks at his booted feet. “So I hear. Or at least that’s what Charley thinks.”

  “Y’know, speaking of Charley,” Rhys said, brushing a red smudge from the knee of his jeans. “The other day, Mabel said he was going to the assayer’s office. Maybe he did strike a vein.” Rhys shook his head, smiling. “Wouldn’t that be something after all these years?”

  “Well, I have my own opinion about Charley.” Whitney peeled a banana. “I think Charley just uses that as a reason to hang around Mabel.”

  “He really does work the mine, you know.” Rhys hooked his hand around hers, brought the banana to his mouth and chomped off half of it. After swallowing, he rolled over to face her. “What if that old reprobate actually did strike the mother lode?” Rhys chuckled. “Maybe I should take lessons from Charley. I could use a strike about now.”

  His expression shifted from cheerful to pensive, and Whitney guessed he was thinking about the bank loan that had been refused. She’d been thinking about it, too, but she wasn’t quite sure how to broach an idea she’d had. Now that he’d brought it up, however…

  “You know, there are other ways to get money for your business,” Whitney said. At last, the perfect opportunity to do something for Rhys.

  “Right.” He produced a sarcastic laugh. “Like rob a bank.” He shifted to watch SaraJane as she sat on a rock poking at something near her feet.

  “Really. I’m serious. There are other ways.” She turned to look at him. “I could help.”

  His expression went cold. “SaraJane!” he called harshly. “Get back over here.”

  Whitney pulled back, eyes wide. She’d never heard him use that tone with SaraJane, and it struck a note of discord within her. Which was silly. He must’ve thought she was going to hurt herself. She waited a moment, and when he didn’t respond to her suggestion, she went on to clarify.

  “What I mean is that I could make you a business loan—the money you need for expansion. I also had some ideas about a mail-order catalog—”

  “SaraJane, c’mon over here.” Rhys bolted to his feet, hands on his hips. He cleared his throat. “You need more sunscreen.” He knelt to pick up the bottle of lotion and glared at Whitney.

  “I’m not a charity case, Whitney. I don’t need your money.”

  Oh, jeez! His voice was controlled, but she knew by the set of his jaw that she’d said the wrong thing.

  The man was proud—too proud for his own damn good. But given his change of mood, she didn’t pursue it. She took a soda from the cooler and raised it as if making a toast. “Okay,” she said. “But the offer remains open if you ever want to reconsider.”

  Still standing when SaraJane came over, Rhys pulled the little girl close and applied dabs of sunscreen to her nose and cheeks. His motions seemed sharper than usual.

  Oh-kay. It was obvious she’d spoiled the festive mood with her offer to help. Which irritated the hell out of her. Why was it okay for him to always offer his help, but not her?

  SaraJane ran back to her rocks near the stream, but remained within eyesight as Rhys had told her. He’d trained her well and she couldn’t help wonder how she would’ve done if she’d had the little girl since she was a year old.

  After several moments of silence, she said, “Talked to your father this morning. He reminds me a lot of you.”. “Or should I say you remind me of him.”

  She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “Oh?” he said.

  “He said he’s happy you’ve adjusted to life in a small town.”

  Rhys shrugged. “Yeah. I guess he was worried about that for a while.” He gave a short wry laugh. “Frankly, so was I.”

  He sat beside Whitney again. “I really respect my dad. My mom, too. Years ago, they made their plans and forged ahead. It took a long time, but they fulfilled their dreams.” A look of regret washed over his face. “Except for all the problems I’ve given them.”


  She reached out and gently placed her hand over his. “Your father is very proud of you. His face lights up like a football stadium on homecoming night every time he talks about you.”

  Rhys’s expression softened. “Yeah, but I sure don’t deserve it. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to get away from the neighborhood. We were dirt-poor and I always vowed I’d make something of myself…that I’d do better than they had. I was pretty self-absorbed.”

  He shook his head. “What I didn’t realize was that they had mountains of bills from their own parents’ illnesses and deaths, and didn’t believe in taking handouts. They worked hard for everything they have.” He stopped for a breath.

  “I didn’t understand then, but I do now,” he went on. “I succeeded in getting out, but I really screwed things up otherwise.” He hurled a rock into the stream.

  “I don’t think you should blame yourself for that. I mean, other people, other events, do influence our lives in ways that we don’t even know at the time.”

  “Maybe so. But ultimately the choices we make are our own. When I married Stephanie, I worked hard to build my career. I was so focused on that I forgot everything else.”

  Whitney saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. He blamed himself for the failure of his marriage, and it hurt to talk about it.

  But he had talked about it, and the fact that he’d opened up to her as much as he had made her spirits soar. He trusted her. In spite of everything, he trusted her enough to share his past, no matter how painful it was.

  “I didn’t know that Stephanie was having an affair, never even had a clue. I’d seen the relationship my parents had with each other, and it never occurred to me that mine would be any different.” His eyes filled with remorse.

  “Steph always pushed more. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough. Worse yet, I was blind. I didn’t realize how vindictive she was, never imagined she’d turn R.J. against me. Guess I wasn’t too bright there.”

  He snorted. “Hell, she was probably right. How R.J. turned out…it probably was my fault. If I hadn’t left, maybe he wouldn’t be in the trouble he is today.” Rhys picked up another rock and hurled it into the water.