by Linda Style
She whirled around in a circle, feigning excitement—and indifference to the stunned look on Rhys’s face.
Rhys stared. Finally he murmured, “I think I got lost somewhere in the middle. What are you trying to say?”
“Well, it was too late to reach you, but I thought you might want to keep SaraJane for a while longer.”
He eyed her suspiciously. She looked away, focused somewhere off in the distance, toward the ocean. It was all she could do to keep her voice calm, keep him from seeing her hands shake—and her heart break.
At this moment she didn’t know which of them hurt worse. She had to get either him or herself out of there.
“What do you say? Is it a deal? I go on the shoot and you bring SaraJane back to be with you while I’m gone? Maybe she can stay even longer?”
Rhys’s eyebrows bunched in the middle, then he pulled back, his expression incredulous. “I wouldn’t do that to her. Good God, Whitney! I’ve already prepared her for this. She’s ready to be here. How long do you plan to be gone?”
Whitney used every mental tactic she knew to steady her voice. “Don’t know,” she replied crisply. “Hopefully, not more than a month or so.”
Rhys’s mouth dropped open. “You…you expect a small child to come here and be with a nanny, a virtual stranger, for a month or more while you’re out taking pictures on the Riviera?”
His voice rose by the end of his sentence, and she saw the cords in his neck stand out, his face growing a deeper crimson with every word. Anger seethed from every pore.
“That’s why I hoped you might want to have her back with you,” she stammered. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could see it. “You can stay the night. I wouldn’t expect you to go back right away. Besides, I’ll be out this evening and won’t be here to bother you.”
She just kept babbling and he just stood there watching her. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she opened the sliding door to the beach. “I think I’ll go for a walk to make things easier for you. If you’ll take SaraJane out for dinner, I won’t be here when you return. Maddie will let you in.”
Saying that, she fled down the steps and onto the beach—out of Rhys’s sight.
Rhys stood, mouth gaping, taking tentative steps in one direction, then the other. What the hell had just happened?
The woman was crazy. What was she thinking? He’d brought SaraJane here to live. It was all planned.
Then Whitney up and decides to go on a photo shoot when she has a child to care for? Goddamn, what a mess. He raked his fingers through his hair, scanning the room to see where Maddie had taken SaraJane.
“SaraJane?” he called. Something wasn’t right.
“SaraJane!” he hollered.
“Up here, Poppy. In my new room with Maddie.”
Suddenly it didn’t matter to him if Whitney had custody or not. He was taking his little girl home for good, and Whitney would have to get her over his dead body. He flew up the stairs.
Several poster-size photographs on a table in the upstairs hallway caught his eye. He glanced peripherally while advancing down the hall to where he heard SaraJane’s giggles.
When he reached the room, he saw it was decorated like something out of an HGTV program or fancy home-decorating magazine. Frilly, but not too frilly, just enough for a precious little girl. As he gazed around the room, noticing the great care Whitney had taken, he was even more confused.
The Pooh bears, the dolls, the same tea set and oven SaraJane had at home, the dollhouse she’d been wanting forever—all the things SaraJane was familiar with and loved.
His heart lurched when he saw his own face on the wall, framed in white ceramic. And there were others, several of him, his parents—all of them, alone and together.
Something definitely wasn’t right. Why would Whitney go to all this trouble and then…
He looked at SaraJane, who was playing with the dollhouse; she and Maddie were laughing. “It’s okay, honey,” he said. “Just wondering where you were.”
What the hell? He backed away. “Just go ahead and keep playing. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Slowly he descended the stairs, looking around, searching for some clue to figure out what was going on. Because it didn’t make sense. Why would Whitney go to all the trouble of fixing everything up for SaraJane, hire a nanny and then decide to take a job in Europe? It just didn’t make sense.
The interior of the house was beautiful, which he hadn’t paid any attention to when he’d come in. The decor was casually elegant, just what he’d expect Whitney to choose. Just like Whitney herself.
The home wasn’t overdone with gilded mirrors and elaborate furniture; it was simple and uncomplicated. If anything, it tended toward the spare, but it was definitely warm and homey, with lots of windows to let the sunshine in.
In the family room, two supple white-leather couches flanked a full-wall entertainment unit with built-in bookcases. The tables were mostly distressed mission-style, mixed with some antiques. The walls were conspicuously bare, but he saw several large framed photographs vertically stacked against the wall behind one of the couches.
He walked over, deciding he wasn’t leaving until he found out exactly what Whitney was doing. He held up the first photograph. The girl was young and beautiful, almost more beautiful than Whitney, if that was possible.
He deduced from the M on the girl’s gold necklace that she must be Morgan, Whitney’s sister. SaraJane’s mother.
Sadness filled him as he thumbed through the rest of the photographs. Pictures of Whitney and Morgan as children, hugging, laughing, Whitney as a teenager holding a toddler on her knee—probably Morgan. He was struck by how much the little girl looked like SaraJane.
After his visit to R.J. in prison, Rhys had read the People magazine article about Whitney and her family. It had given him insight into the relationship between Whitney and Morgan, and in these photographs, he saw it even more clearly.
Whitney had been the one to watch out for her little sister, protecting her from the trauma of living with alcoholic parents—but who, he wondered, had been there to protect Whitney? Who had been there to dry her tears?
The last two photographs shocked him. They were of him, Whitney and SaraJane, the three of them on their picnic. He remembered the fun they’d had setting the timer on her camera, and Whitney, laughing and scrambling to get into position before the shutter went off.
These were photographs she’d cared enough about to enlarge and frame.
She loves you, boy. He heard his dad’s words as if Johnny was right there in the room. Rhys drew air into his lungs, hoping a blast of oxygen would clear his head. Despite all they’d been through, he still loved her. He charged back up the stairs to SaraJane’s room, stopping at the doorway.
“Maddie. Do you know anything about a photo shoot in Europe?”
The woman said, “I sure do, Mr. Gannon. Ms. Sheffield turned it down straight away. She said nothing’s more important than being here with this little gal.” She ruffled SaraJane’s hair. “Said she was only doing local assignments now.”
The pieces began to fall into place. How did he miss all the signals? What an idiot! An absolute dolt!
He bolted from the room, calling upstairs as he went, “I’ll be right back, Maddie. I’m going to the beach for a minute.”
He hit the deck running, down to the beach, scanning right and left to see which way she’d gone. Empty. His heart raced. Where would she go?
He glanced out to sea. The sun glowed low on the horizon, and soon it would be too dark to look for her, since there were no lights or piers along this stretch of beach. Pure fear pounded through him, and he started to jog in the direction of some faint footprints.
He came around an outcrop of rock and saw her walking slowly, head bowed, arms crossed over her chest.
Relief flooded him, but the fear, the thought of losing her, had hit him like a sledgehammer.
“Whitney!” he yelled. “Wait!”
Running, he caught up with her. “C’mon back to the house. We need to talk.”
Obviously surprised that he’d come after her, she hesitated. He grabbed her arm more roughly than he’d intended and swung her around toward the house.
“C’mon, we need to talk.”
She shrugged him off. “Excuse me. I’m not in the mood for being manhandled today.” She glared at him through moist eyes, rubbing her arm where he’d grabbed her. “Or ever, for that matter.” But she started walking back with him, anyway—in silence.
“Whitney, tell me again why you’re accepting this assignment.”
Nothing.
“Do you think you can just flip everyone’s life upside down and then run off?” He had to say something to get her to talk—even if it made her mad. “Is it that easy for you to do whatever you want, regardless of who you hurt? Is that your usual mode of operation?”
Nearing the house, she turned on him. “I will not make a scene in front of SaraJane. I had enough of that in my own childhood, and I don’t intend to subject her to the same. If you have something to say about my decision to continue my career, do it now and be done with it. If you don’t want SaraJane with you, you’d better let me know that, too.”
Rhys caught his breath. Half angry, half excited, he blurted, “Dammit. Yes, I do have something to say.” He latched on to her again, only gently this time, and stared directly into her eyes.
“I love you. That’s what I have to say.”
***
Whitney frowned. Was she hearing things? Had he really said, I love you? He moved closer and closer until she felt the warmth of his breath on her own parted lips.
“I said, I love you,” he whispered huskily. “And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”
Her heart danced crazily in her chest. In the last half hour she’d despaired of ever feeling whole again, and now, all at once, Rhys was standing there saying the words she’d ached to hear. Words from the man she loved, the man who said he loved her, too.
Was that possible—in spite of everything?
Rhys cracked the quirky little smile she’d always found irresistible. Her pulse raced. Her mind spun.
“It took your going away to make me realize I don’t want to spend the rest of my life without you.” His expression sobered and his eyes glistened. “Whitney, I want to marry you. I want that more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”
Marriage. The word, with all its implications, made her heart race, sent a jolt of fear through her. She stiffened, drew back.
“Whitney don’t do that to me.” Rhys tightened his grip on her arm. “I know what you’re thinking and I won’t let you shut me out. This is about us, only us. It’s you and me and what we’re going to do with the rest of our lives.” He paused for breath. “I love you, Whitney Sheffield, and I don’t intend to stop.”
He drew her into his arms, his body pressed close to hers. She was sure he could feel the violent thudding of her heart. Could she believe…?
“Whether you’re in Arizona or California or Europe,” he said lovingly. “Whether SaraJane is with me or with you, whether you want me to or not. I’ll still love you.”
Whitney melted from the inside out, a spark of hope flickering, struggling to ignite. Could it actually work for them?
“Oh, Rhys, you don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispered, her mouth so close to his she could almost feel the softness of his lips.
“The hell I don’t.” He locked his gaze with hers. Abruptly he tipped his head back and laughed out loud. Then he raised his arms high and shouted to the heavens, “Yes!”
A fraction of a second later, he embraced her, saying, “God, Whitney. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I’m saying. I know exactly what I want. I love you and I want to marry you. Yes, in spite of any problems we might have. We can work together. I can help you and you can help me. We can make it work.” He paused for a breath.
“You, me and SaraJane—we can be a family.”
Whitney’s heart stopped completely. A family.
“All I know—” Rhys’s pupils dilated and his voice became a soft caress against her cheek “—is that we were meant to be together for the rest of our lives. Trust me to love you, Whitney. Always.”
He pressed gentle kisses on her cheeks, lifting away the wetness, and then his mouth claimed hers, hungry, needy, and she tasted the saltiness of her own tears on his lips.
Trust me. Trust me to love you. A surge of warmth infused her. Oh…she did trust him. Without a doubt, she did. Because she’d never have left SaraJane with him if she didn’t.
Her heart swelled and suddenly her head spun and she was dizzy with love and joy, and she kissed him back and knew her heart was his forever.
When finally they broke the kiss, she said, “I love you, too, Rhys, and I will for the rest of my life.” It sounded—and felt—like a vow.
A giggle erupted from the dunes behind them, and SaraJane ran out, tugging off her shoes as she went. A slightly frazzled Maddie plunked down on the sparse tufts of salt grass, hands raised in exasperation.
SaraJane dashed over to them, grabbing Whitney around the knees. “See. You can’t get away now,” Rhys said.
SaraJane let go of Whitney and stared at her with round-eyed innocence. “Please don’t go away. I promise to be good.”
Whitney gasped with a shiver of recollection and a fleeting vision of her own past. She quickly reached down and scooped SaraJane into her arms, holding the child tightly between her and Rhys.
Oh, Lord, what had she almost done? She’d almost pushed the two most important people in the world out of her life. Her throat seized and she said in a whisper, “No, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. I love you very much, both you and Poppy. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”
SaraJane stuffed a finger in her mouth. “Promise?”
Whitney had come full circle. It was the same promise she’d made to Morgan so many years before.
But seeing the love and trust in SaraJane’s eyes, and the same love and trust in Rhys’s, she knew. Whatever it took, it was a promise she had to keep.
She rubbed SaraJane’s nose with her own and said tenderly, “I promise, angel.”
And SaraJane, apparently satisfied, wriggled down and planted her feet squarely in the sand. Placing one chubby hand on her hip, she cocked her head, looking up at both of them. Her blue eyes sparkled impishly. “Are you gonna stay, too, Poppy? ’Cause I want you and a mommy.”
Rhys looked at Whitney, his expression solemn. “I will, if you will.”
Whitney’s heart soared. “Promise?”
“Forever,” Rhys whispered. “I promise forever.”
HER SISTER’S SECRET
Copyright © 2014 Linda Fensand Style
LMS Press
Gilbert, AZ 85234
[email protected]
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
First Copyright © 2000 by Linda Fensand Style. Published as “Her Sister’s Secret” by Harlequin Enterprises Limited. This second edition has been updated to reflect changes in time, technology and language.
ALSO BY LINDA STYLE:
Fiction: from Harlequin Enterprises Ltd
Copyright © Linda Fensand Style
Her Sister’s Secret
Daddy in The House
Slow Dance With a Cowboy
The Man in the Photograph
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br /> What Madeline Wants
The Witness
His Case, Her Child
And Justice for All
Husband and Wife Reunion
Going for Broke
The Man from Texas
The Mistake She Made
The Promise He Made
A Soldier’s Secret
Protecting the Witness
Fiction from LMS Press
L.A.P.D. Special Investigations series:
The Deceived, July 2014, Book 1
The Taken, August 2014, Book 2
The Silent, September 2014, Book 3
COMING SOON: LMS Press
DETROIT RULES, Street Law series, book #1
Not everyone plays by the rules.
Non-Fiction:
BOOTCAMP FOR NOVELISTS BEYOND THE FIRST DRAFT: Writing Techniques of the Pros. By Linda Style Copyright © 2013, LMS Press, Gilbert, AZ 85234 (403 pages) In digital and in print.
Bootcamp for Novelists Basic Training Manual: What You Need to Know BEFORE You Write Your Novel. With Connie Flynn. Copyright November 2012. Available in digital format.
Linda’s books are available on her website, on Amazon, eHarlequin.com and other bookstore outlets. http://ww.amazon.com/-/e/B001HCV3PQ, http://www.LindaStyle.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda Style is an Award-Winning, National Bestselling author with over a million copies sold in thirteen different countries. With an education in behavioral science and in journalism, Linda has worked in a number of jobs, from social services to Director of a state mental health program to magazine editor, but she says nothing is more rewarding than writing her stories or romance, suspense and intrigue. Her books—often described as emotional, fast-paced stories that keep you riveted to the page — have won several awards, including the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence, the Orange Rose award for Best Book of the Year, and the HOLT Award of Merit.
When not writing, Linda loves to travel, a passion that has taken her all over the world and. allows her to indulge in her other passion … photography. A Minnesota native, she now lives with her family in Arizona, where she likes to play tennis and hike in the mountains — the best place in the world to think up more stories. She invites you to stop by her website at www.LindaStyle.com.
