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

by Linda Style

  R.J. motioned for the guard. “Get back to me on it, Pops.” His mouth twisted into a mocking sneer. “I’ll be waiting.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TWO DAYS LATER Rhys still hadn’t heard from his attorney. So far he’d found nothing they could use to cement their case. All they had was Rhys’s unsupported statement that he was the paternal grandfather and that he’d had physical custody of SaraJane for two years.

  Rhys sat on the couch in front of the fireplace and watched the flames dance. As the fire died down, he reached for the fireplace poker. God, he was tired. Damn tired. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours each night. He hated that he wasn’t in control and all he could do was wait. Unless they came up with something, the outlook was bleak.

  And to complicate matters, every time he looked at SaraJane, he saw Whitney. Doubt consumed him. When he wasn’t thinking of Whitney, he was remembering R.J.’s words—and the contemptuous look on his face. Whitney had been right. Even if R.J. was acquitted, he wasn’t capable of taking care of SaraJane.

  But he damn well was!

  Whitney had left immediately after their last meeting, then she’d called the inn with a Phoenix hotel number in case anything came up involving SaraJane.

  At first he’d been furious at her deceit, but when he’d finally managed to really think about it, he couldn’t deny she had every right to see SaraJane, every right to be concerned about her welfare. And it would be unfair to keep SaraJane from being part of her mother’s family.

  The child had grown to love Whitney, and his heart stopped every time SaraJane asked when she was coming back. But his feelings were so raw he couldn’t answer her.

  Whitney had led him down the garden path, and like a besotted fool, he’d willingly followed.

  She’d used him. But what really galled him was that he’d trusted her. The lady was hell-bent on getting custody, no matter who she hurt in the process. And he hadn’t even seen it coming.

  Rhys jammed the poker into glowing embers. He had to do something; he couldn’t just sit around and let the attorneys make all the decisions.

  He’d never felt so ineffective.

  He mustered up a hollow laugh. The joke was on him. He’d been protecting R.J.’s interests, and all his son cared about was money. Only a cold-blooded monster would sell his own child.

  And, God forbid, what if R.J. contacted Whitney with his offer? Would she take him up on it? A cold chill of fear ran up his spine.

  What would Rhys’s options be then? Right now, he had no options. Without blood tests, without a birth certificate or marriage license, he couldn’t even prove he was SaraJane’s grandfather.

  Despair grew in his gut, but in the middle of that despair, an idea struck. He dragged himself to the phone and punched the number for the inn. He wasn’t going to let things happen, he had to make them happen. Allowing Stephanie to take charge of R.J.’s life was a mistake he couldn’t correct now, but he could make a difference where SaraJane was concerned.

  “Mom, hi. Sorry to call so late. I wanted to say thanks for watching SaraJane tonight. I really needed the time to think.” He paused, thinking how to ask without saying what he planned to do. “And I have to ask another favor.”

  “Okay.” His mom was silent…waiting.

  “Yeah. I have to go to Phoenix tomorrow. So…I wondered if you could keep SaraJane there for another night.”

  “Oh. Of course,” Gretta answered without hesitation. “Is anything wrong?”

  His mother sounded tired. Both his parents had been through so much with him and R.J., and now this. Yet they never complained. They carried on, doing whatever was necessary to support their family. A lump of gratitude formed in his throat.

  “No, Mom. I just need to work some things out. Do you have the number for the hotel where Whitney’s staying?”

  He waited while his mother put the phone down and came back with the number, no questions asked.

  “Mom…” Rhys paused. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, appreciated all she’d done for him, but he couldn’t get words around the tightness in his throat. “Thanks.”

  Ten minutes later he was out the door, and two and a half hours later he was at Whitney’s hotel. It was midnight.

  ***

  Startled from sleep by a knock at her door, Whitney glanced at the clock on the nightstand. What the…? Who on earth would show up at this hour? Albert had returned to California and she didn’t know another soul in Phoenix. Maybe her cousin had forgotten something or missed his flight.

  She rolled off the bed and threw on her blue satin robe. Peering through the peephole, she was astounded to see Rhys standing on the other side. She ran her hands through her hair once before she pulled open the door.

  He stood for a moment, uneasy, his eyes avoiding hers. She gestured for him to come in, then moved aside and closed the door. She couldn’t imagine why he was here—unless something had happened to her niece.

  “Is SaraJane okay?” she asked urgently.

  “She’s fine. She’s staying with the folks tonight.”

  Worry was etched in his face, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. But why was he here?

  “Can I take your jacket?” she asked perfunctorily, not having any idea what to do next. What she wanted to do was rush into his arms and tell him everything was going to be okay, just as he’d said to her last week.

  But everything hadn’t been okay then, and it wouldn’t be now—not for any of them.

  He hesitated, his expression uncertain. Finally he shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to her.

  “Whitney. I don’t know where to begin, even though I’ve been over everything a hundred times.” He stalked to the minibar and yanked out a bottle of mineral water. He held it up. “D’you mind?”

  Hanging his jacket in the closet, she turned to him and shook her head. “Sorry, I should’ve offered.”

  Rhys unscrewed the cap, put the bottle to his lips and drank half the contents. Then he set the bottle on the coffee table, took Whitney’s hand and led her to the couch, where he tugged her down next to him. “We need to talk.”

  His pain was evident, and in the darkness of his eyes, she saw something else. Fear. A deep and desperate fear.

  He clasped both her hands between his and she could feel the tension vibrating between them. Sitting face-to-face, he said, “I’ve had some time in the past few days to think about what’s happened, and I’ve concluded that, as two adults, we should be able to talk things over and arrive at some solutions.” His voice was firm, as if he’d practiced what he was going to say.

  Anguish seared Whitney’s soul to see him like this. But she kept coming back to the same conclusion—she had to separate her feelings about Rhys from her need to gain custody of SaraJane.

  But the two were inextricably entwined. Did Rhys feel the same? The way he touched her hand, the tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her, said he did. Or was that her wishful thinking?

  Her heart in her throat, she waited for him to continue. Please, please say you love me like I love you. Tell me something I need to hear.

  “I realize you had a reason for doing what you did,” he said, his voice monotone. “I guess if I’d been in your shoes, I might have done the same thing.” He withdrew his hand, as if it was too painful to continue touching her.

  “I can’t say I’m proud of the fact that I didn’t see it coming. I guess I was too concerned with my own needs at the time.” He raked a hand through his hair, stood, grabbed the mineral water and guzzled the rest.

  He began to pace, talking slowly and precisely. “I realize that as SaraJane’s aunt, you have a right to see her, and she has a right to know her mother’s family. It would be completely selfish on my part not to acknowledge that. Most importantly, it would be unfair to SaraJane.”

  “Rhys—” Whitney wanted to tell him how sorry she was. She wanted to tell him her feelings for him were real, despite the circumstances that had
brought them together.

  “Please.” He held up a hand.“I’m having a tough time saying this as it is, so I need… I need to finish.” He dropped into the armchair across from her and leaned forward.

  “We both love SaraJane and want the best for her. And we’re both reasonable adults who should be able to work things out. So I propose we agree to a method that will be satisfactory to all of us.”

  He looked directly into her eyes. “I now believe you’re right about R.J. I don’t think he’d be the best person to raise SaraJane. Even if he’s acquitted.”

  Whitney clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open. Did he really believe that? Was there hope for them, after all?

  “I don’t intend for him to ever have the option of custody.”

  He hesitated and her heart went out to him. What had it cost him to admit that? Not just to her, but to himself.

  “But I still believe it would be wrong to take SaraJane from the people she loves and the only life she’s ever known, just because you made a promise to her mother. Her mother didn’t know what kind of life she has with me.”

  His eyes pleaded his case. “You said yourself that Morgan thought SaraJane was with R.J. and that he’d taken her without permission. Under those circumstances, I can understand her concern and yours. But now that you know she’s with family who love her and would allow you whatever visitation you wanted, it would be cruel to take her away.”

  Whitney’s heart thudded to her toes. “Visitation?”

  “Yes,” Rhys answered, a spark of hope in his eyes. “You could see her whenever you could find the time. We could work out a visitation schedule, whatever’s best for SaraJane.”

  Whitney felt the blood drain from her face. She sprang to her feet and turned away. God, what had she thought? That he’d say he loved her? That he’d suggest they get married and live happily ever after?

  How ridiculous was that.

  Would she never learn…

  She should have expected as much. Should have known. And in the back of her mind, she did. She’d known it would never work out.

  So why did she feel as if her heart had just exploded?

  Facing him, she saw the expectant look, the hope, and it hit her that any disappointment she’d had was minuscule compared to what he must be going through. He’d cared for SaraJane since she was little more than a year old; he’d been both father and mother to her, changed his life to accommodate raising her in the best way he could. And that included Gretta and Johnny, who thought the sun rose and set on their great granddaughter.

  What did she have to equal that? Love, yes. Money, yes. And that was about the extent of it.

  Still, there was no guarantee that Rhys wouldn’t turn SaraJane over to R.J. if he was released. The only foolproof way to prevent it was to gain custody herself. Just as she’d promised Morgan.

  “I’ll have to discuss it with my attorney,” she said, fighting to stay detached, or at least appear detached.

  Rhys’s face fell into hard lines.

  “I really couldn’t make a decision like that without legal consultation.”

  “Then there’s always the option of joint custody,” he said.

  Whitney stared blankly, her mind putting words into his mouth, wanting desperately to hear him say… And then there’s always the option you and I admit we’re in love and we raise SaraJane together.

  “You know. Two families have equal time.” He poked at the rug with the toe of his boot, then removed a tiny piece of lint from his black sweater, his eyes avoiding hers as he said, “I don’t believe that’s best for SaraJane, though. And I think we all want what’s best for her.”

  “Of course we do, Rhys,” Whitney practically whispered. “I’ll talk to my attorney and he’ll get back to you.”

  Rhys was silent, and when he didn’t make any move to leave, she asked, “Is there something else?”

  “Yes. How long will you be at the hotel?”

  “I’m leaving for California tomorrow at noon.”

  “I’ll wait to hear from you, then. I’m in room 227.”

  And then he was gone.

  For a long time afterward, Whitney paced the room, her nerves stretched to the breaking point. Rhys’s scent still lingered, reminding her he’d forgotten the jacket that she’d hung in the closet. He’d come back for it, she was sure, and if not, she’d ask the desk clerk to give it to him the next day.

  She reached into the closet, took the jacket from the hanger and slowly brought it to her chest. As she inhaled, her stomach pitched. Tears threatened. Forcing them back, and still holding the jacket, she sank onto the couch. What was the answer?

  Maybe she should drop her bid for custody and arrange some kind of visitation with Rhys. If she did that, she could at least hold on to a thin thread of hope that things might work out between them. But every time she thought about spending her life with Rhys, fear of another kind crowded in.

  Cradling the jacket as if it were a baby, she went to her suitcase and pulled out a photograph she’d taken of SaraJane and Rhys together. She stared at it. Her heart wrenched. She loved them both. So much.

  Her own life was empty by comparison. The wealth of love in Rhys’s family was something she’d longed for but had never truly believed in. It existed only in stories, only in the movies. It wasn’t real life for her—she’d never known anything like it.

  But it was real for them. And she was about to destroy it.

  How could she think about tearing them apart? If Rhys had custody of SaraJane, shouldn’t she be comfortable with that? Why did she have to pursue custody herself?

  Because she could give SaraJane a mother’s love. She could watch her grow and be part of her life, giving her the love and support every child needs.

  The love she and Morgan had never had.

  But so could Rhys.

  The difference was, he’d been doing it all along.

  She flashed on the times they’d been together. Remembered the happiness, the adoration in Rhys’s eyes when SaraJane ran to him, the raw fear when he thought SaraJane was in danger on their picnic. And she’d frozen. If it had been up to her and there really had been a snake that day, she wouldn’t have been able to protect the child.

  Oh, God. Pain welled in her chest for Rhys and in that instant she knew.

  She couldn’t do it.

  No matter how much it hurt her to leave SaraJane with Rhys, it was the only answer. The tears she’d been holding back began to fall at the thought of losing both of them—and at the thought of being alone.

  She would probably always be alone, she realized. But she couldn’t tear others’ lives apart to assuage her own loneliness. She set the jacket aside, then placed the photo on the nightstand, then sat on the bed to read the notes Albert had left her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE RINGING PHONE jarred Whitney from sleep, and it took a minute to orient herself. She wasn’t in her comfortable room at the Estrade Inn and she wasn’t at home.

  Groggy, she threw off the papers lying across her chest and reached for the receiver. Her senses went on alert when she remembered it could be Rhys wanting his jacket.

  “Yes? I mean, hello,” she answered, her voice husky with sleep.

  “Whitney, Willie here. Hope you’re up for good news this morning.”

  She wrestled herself to a sitting position against the headboard. “Right now I could use some good news,” she said, her spirits falling because it wasn’t Rhys on the line. She glanced at the clock. Maybe he’d still come for the jacket—

  “You may know this already if you’ve read the papers Albert brought you.”

  Albert had said the information in the papers might be important and that he’d faxed copies to Willie. “I started reading them last night but didn’t finish. I fell asleep. What is it? What should I know?” She shook her head to wake up. Rubbed her eyes and reached for her glasses.

  Albert’s scrawled notes were difficult to read. Most were
disjointed summaries concerning the two years of Morgan’s life, including an interview with R.J.’s next girlfriend. Another entry was about how Morgan had tried to get their mother to help her; apparently Kathryn never did. No surprise there. But why, oh, why hadn’t Morgan called Whitney? She would’ve dropped everything to help her.

  “So far, I haven’t read anything pertinent.”

  “It’s toward the end,” Willie said. “What it says may be just what we need to dispute Gannon’s paternity.”

  Whitney’s back went rigid. “What’re you saying?”

  “When you have a minute, look at the entries about three-fourths of the way through. The dates are right around the time when your niece would have been conceived. Apparently your sister and this Gannon guy weren’t sleeping together anymore.”

  He paused and she heard him drag deeply on a cigarette. Willie thrived on coffee and cigarettes.

  “Then there are two entries detailing how he convinced her to sleep with other guys to finance his habit. The woman said she didn’t know who the baby’s father is, but said she was pretty certain it wasn’t R.J.”

  Whoa… Whitney’s breath whooshed from her lungs like she’d been punched in the gut. Stunned, she gathered the papers into her lap and leafed through the part Willie had mentioned. “I don’t know what that really means, Willie. What if this woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

  “What it means is that we can get a court order to do blood tests. DNA if necessary. We’ll do whatever it takes. If the kid won’t consent, then we can get the grandfather’s DNA. That will work, too. If we’re lucky, this guy R.J. won’t prove to be the father. That will cinch custody for you, and it shouldn’t take too long to do it.”

  “And if it proves that he is?”

  “We’ll be no worse off than we are now. The fact that he forced her to sleep with other guys will prove he’s unfit to have custody, anyway.”

  “But it’s SaraJane’s grandfather who’s filing for custody.”