Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (20 page)

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.

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 kind. 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?”

“Everything’s fine, Mabel. I just need to be…somewhere else, and Whitney’s not here. If Charley comes back soon, maybe you can send him over till I get back.”

“Sure thing. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on the place. You better treat that young lady right,” she added.“She’s a keeper.”

Yeah, he’d thought so, too—in moments of madness. “I treat everyone right, Mabel. You know that.”

“Things ain’t always what they seem, you know. Sometimes you gotta keep an open mind.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did Mabel know? In the short time Whitney’d been in Estrade, she and Mabel had become fast friends. An odd combination, but it seemed to work for both of them.

“I will. My mind’s so open it’s a sieve. And thanks, you’re a sweetheart.”

A few minutes later the Sportster rumbled underneath him as he snaked down the switchbacks. The wind whipped his hair across his face, reminding him he’d forgotten his helmet. But there was no time to go back—not if he was going to catch her.

When he’d asked her to leave, he’d acted impulsively out of his own hurt. He hadn’t even allowed her to explain.

Regardless of what it meant to him personally, the whole situation could affect SaraJane’s future. He needed to think straight—with his head, not his heart.

When he reached the inn, he saw her car still there. His body flooded with relief. And thank heaven his folks had gone shopping in Flagstaff and taken SaraJane along. They didn’t need to know. No one needed to know until he could make some sense of it all.

He parked the bike, charged in and took the stairs two at a time. Her door was open.

A suitcase yawned across the bed, and Whitney stood with her back to him, dragging clothing from the drawers. Apparently she hadn’t heard him come in, because when she turned to put something in her suitcase and saw him, she jumped.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Her hair hung loose, framing her face. He nearly crumpled at the sight of her…yet he kept his distance.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “My head is clearer now.”

She continued placing folded items neatly in the suitcase, pointedly ignoring him.

He stepped into the room, walked to the bed and slapped the suitcase shut.

“I said I’m sorry.” He shoved his fingers through wind-snarled hair and tried to catch her gaze with his.

“I’m sorry. I should have let you explain.”

She looked away, then sank onto the bed, her shoulders slumped in defeat, hands folded on her lap. Her shoulders heaved upward as she drew a deep breath. Oh, man, it was all he could do to keep from dragging her into his arms.

But hell,
he
was the one who’d been hurt. Why did he feel such a need to comfort her? Did he have no pride whatsoever?

“Do you want me to explain now?” she asked, turning to face him. Her pale hair fell across her forehead, and she brushed it away, staring at him with those limitless blue eyes—eyes seared with pain.

“Please,” he said softly, sinking to the bed on the opposite side.

When she finished her last shaky sentence, there was nothing left of his tattered heart. If he’d been in the same situation, he would have done exactly the same thing. How could she tell him why she’d come when she’d been given a description of him that rivaled Jack the Ripper’s?

He shook his head. He stood. He paced in front of the bay window. “So let me get this straight,” he said, suddenly wanting more than anything to fix things between them.

“You came here thinking I was your sister’s lover, SaraJane’s father. You believed I was a drug dealer and that I’d kidnapped my own daughter to get her mother to come back…or get the family money. And before SaraJane’s mother, your sister, died, you promised her you’d find SaraJane.” He stopped to breathe.

She nodded and continued for him. “When I saw Luth give you money, I thought he was a part of some drug scheme you ran from the shop, but later when you told me R.J. is SaraJane’s father, I realized I were wrong.” She bowed her head. “So very wrong.”

“And everything else you told me, all the rest of it, is true? Your name. Your profession. The book, all that?”

She nodded, stared out the window beyond him.

“Exactly when did you decide I wasn’t the Manuel Noriega of Estrade?”
What about when we made love?
Did she believe he was the scum of the earth then? “Why didn’t you tell me the truth when I told you about R.J.?”

She stood, turned toward him and crossed her own arms. “Rhys, after a very short time, I figured something wasn’t right. I knew you couldn’t be the person Morgan had described way before you told me about R.J. But I didn’t know what to do.”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “When I thought you were SaraJane’s father, I began to think Morgan must’ve lied about you. But I didn’t know why. I needed time to figure it out. To see for myself. I also realized I wanted to get to know SaraJane…in case I couldn’t stay once I told you who I was.” She stopped again, her breath catching.

“And…and then I felt so terrible because I was attracted to you. Yet, I’d made Morgan a promise.” She placed shaky fingers over her mouth, shook her head.“I’d made her so many promises I didn’t keep. I felt so guilty. Guilty because I left her with our parents when she was so young. I felt responsible for what happened to her.”

She took in a few jerky breaths. “I still do. If I hadn’t left…” Her voice cracked, and she waved a hand, unable to speak. “Then…when you told me about R.J., I…I couldn’t think.” She looked away, then back to him.