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

by Linda Style

  “Right. And to hedge our bets, we’ve been getting some background on him, too. Looks like he might’ve been involved in a junk-bond scandal a few years back.”

  Whitney suddenly felt as if she were on a speeding train with no hope of getting off. “I don’t think so,” she said. “He told me he left his job when he suspected something wasn’t right.”

  “Doesn’t matter. If we can create doubt about his character, that’s going to help.”

  Her head swam. “So what’s next?” she asked, still trying to sort it out. It was near impossible to get beyond the fact that SaraJane’s father might be some nameless stranger who’d paid for sex with Morgan. Or that her sister had deliberately gone to her grave with such a secret. Yeah. It was tough to be elated at Willie’s so-called good news.

  “What’s next is you get what you want. Custody. Instantly.”

  ***

  Rhys had spent half the night wearing down the floor in his hotel room. At 4 a.m. he’d decided a walk outside might clear his head, and then discovered he didn’t have his jacket.

  But he couldn’t disturb Whitney that early in the morning and remembering her plane didn’t leave till noon, decided he’d get the jacket later. And he could see her again.

  By six he’d been to the hotel restaurant for breakfast and was back half an hour later. He resumed his pacing. He’d spent the entire night trying to figure out how to make things work out for all of them.

  Shared custody and/or visitation seemed reasonable, and he assumed Whitney would eventually agree. It was the only logical thing to do. Except that Whitney had to consult her attorney.

  But that wasn’t what was eating at him. They should be able to work something out with SaraJane easily enough. What bothered him was that whatever arrangement he came up with still didn’t seem satisfactory.

  That Whitney would go back to California or New York and he’d only see her when she came to get SaraJane, or when he did likewise, wasn’t good enough. Last night he’d forced himself to face it: he wanted Whitney in his life. Not just passing through.

  Last night when he’d looked into her eyes, he couldn’t find the words for what he’d planned to say. He kept hearing the voice inside telling him he had nothing to offer her, nothing that would make her want to spend her life with him. He couldn’t expect her to give up a life filled with luxury and excitement. And not once had she said she loved him.

  What would she think if he went to her now and professed his love? For all he knew, she always operated in the same way. Another assignment, another love affair. Except that he didn’t believe it, not for one second.

  He knew what kind of person Whitney was, and she wasn’t the kind to fall into bed with just anyone. He’d known it from the beginning. Her feelings went deeper than she was willing to admit…he was sure of it.

  In ten minutes he’d showered and shaved. Not much of an improvement, he decided, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. He combed his wet hair straight back and debated whether to call first or just go to her room and blurt it all out.

  Surely the lack of sleep had affected his brain. Right now it seemed even the simplest decision was hard to make. But it had been that way ever since she’d come into his life.

  What would happen if he told her his feelings? If she rejected him, he’d be in the same situation he was now—only with a bruised ego. Was that what he was protecting? His damned ego? Was that what his reluctance was all about?

  The truth was there, staring him in the face. An ugly reflection in the mirror. He was a coward. Because love was all about risk. And about trust.

  If he wanted a future with Whitney, he’d have to take the risk. He’d have to trust his heart to another one more time.

  If she cared about him as he did for her, they could work out the rest of it. Luth was right—no one had to give up anything. Maybe together they could have it all. One thing was certain. He’d never know if he didn’t talk to her.

  He was out the door. Impatience overtaking him as he waited for the elevator, so he bolted up the fire stairs and, four floors later, stood at the door to her room, sweating and out of breath, his heart hammering.

  Damn, he was both nervous and excited all at once.

  He glanced at his watch, then rapped, lightly at first.

  Then harder.

  Nothing.

  Nine o’clock. She couldn’t have gone yet. He headed to the phone at the end of the hall next to the elevator and called her room number. No answer. He left a voice mail message and hung up.

  Maybe she was in the shower. He marched to the elevator, deciding to leave a message at the front desk as well, asking her to call his cell or the room phone as soon as possible.

  With that done, he walked back to his room and waited.

  And waited.

  At ten he called her again and let it ring. Finally an answer. His heart leaped.

  “This is the housekeeper. I’m sorry, no one’s here now. They checked out and we’re just here cleaning.”

  When? When had she checked out? Had she even received his message? Immediately he called the desk.

  “Yes, Mr. Gannon, I was about to call to tell you there’s something for you at the desk. It’s a jacket on a hanger. You can pick it up anytime.”

  “Did Ms. Sheffield in room 625 check out?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t give you that information.”

  “Damn.” He banged the wall with the flat of his hand.

  “Sir, that’s the policy.”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t swearing at you.” Rhys gathered his composure. “I left a message for Ms. Sheffield earlier. Can you tell me if she got it?” A silence ensued, as if there might be some question about giving out that information, too. Finally the clerk said he’d look.

  “There are no messages from you in the box for room 625, Mr. Gannon.”

  Rhys lowered the phone, his energy drained. She’d gotten his message and left, anyway. He hung up…then waited, letting the disappointment settle before he called the inn.

  After the perfunctory hellos and asking about SaraJane, he told his mother he’d be home in a couple of hours. “Tell Dad I’ll go right to the shop, so he can plan to go home then.”

  “Oh, one other thing before you hang up, honey.”

  Rhys hoped she wasn’t going to ask about Whitney, because he didn’t have it in him to even talk about her.

  “You had a call this morning from your attorney, and he asked that you get back to him as soon as you can.”

  Rhys released a deep sigh. God, he was tired.

  “Is everything okay, honey?”

  For his mother’s sake, he feigned a cheerful tone. “Things are fine, Mom. I’ll tell you more when I get back.”

  But things weren’t fine. Not at all. Not with Whitney gone. He called his attorney.

  “Court-ordered blood tests?” Rhys was dumb-founded.

  “It was inevitable, anyway, in order to establish your son’s paternity.”

  “I know that. But what’s their purpose?”

  “Apparently paternity is being disputed.”

  Rhys scoffed. It was ludicrous. What did they hope to prove now? Paternity was something he’d never questioned. Even if Morgan hadn’t willingly given R.J. the baby, there’d never been any question about paternity.

  Good God, R.J. didn’t want his own kid, much less someone else’s. Then he remembered R.J.’s face—and his last words.

  A stab of pure unadulterated fear sliced through Rhys.

  In that finite moment, he knew the dark truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “IF YOU CAN MEET ME for coffee at Goldberg’s in ten minutes, I’d appreciate it. It’s right around the corner. I have to talk to my attorney about a few things and then I’ll be right there.”

  Coffee? Whitney’s invitation rang in Rhys’s ears. At this moment, hate was not a strong enough word.

  Whitney had waltzed into his world and made him love her, then she’d ripped his
heart to shreds and stolen the only thing that had any meaning in his life.

  They stood outside the chambers where it had taken the judge mere minutes to issue the order. Rhys didn’t need to be there, but he’d felt compelled. Even in his emotional distress, he couldn’t stay away.

  The blood tests had proved R.J. was not SaraJane’s biological father. That was two days ago and he was still reeling from the impact, unable to function normally. Shell shock was the only thing he could compare it with.

  The anguish was beyond pain, beyond tears. He was numb.

  “Sure,” he said, willing his voice to remain even. If nothing else, he’d see what he could work out to spend time with SaraJane once in a while.

  Whitney looked wonderful. Despite everything, he still appreciated her beauty. And he hated himself for even noticing. He forced a thin smile and nodded.

  Feeling as hollow as a gutted deer, he went to the coffee shop and requested the booth in the back. He sat on the side facing the door so he could see her when she came in. He ordered black coffee for himself.

  Whitney, no doubt, wanted to make arrangements to pick up SaraJane. The judge’s flat emotionless words awarding custody to the natural mother’s sister, Whitney Sheffield, still pounded in Rhys’s head.

  Whitney’s being awarded custody wasn’t a shock to anyone. After the blood tests, it was inevitable. She’d been kind enough to request the court to let SaraJane stay with Rhys and his parents until the legalities were finished.

  He blinked back the burning wetness behind his eyes. He swallowed the steaming coffee and scalded his tongue. All too soon, it would be over and he’d be left to pick up the pieces of his worthless life.

  Somehow he couldn’t get past the feeling that he’d failed them all. He didn’t know what he could have done to stop any of it from happening, but it just seemed there should’ve been a way.

  All he could do now was continue to help his son and hope for the best. All he could do now was hope to see SaraJane from time to time.

  Whitney entered the coffee shop, her gaze seeking him out. He’d never seen her dressed as she was today, in a pale-cream colored business suit, her hair swept into some kind of twist in the back with golden wisps framing her face. He’d only seen her in the casual clothes she’d worn in the shop, except for that one night at the convention—that one memorable night.

  He remembered how she’d appeared in the doorway of Smoky Joe’s, all long legs and floaty hair and dressed in witch-black. She’d cast her spell over him—and every other guy in the room.

  But the way she looked today only served to remind him just how far out of her league he was.

  In the few seconds it took her to walk to the booth, his mind played over the past weeks, their days together in the shop, the nights together at dinner, with and without SaraJane, the camaraderie and the lovemaking. Ah, the lovemaking.

  They were in the same league then.

  If nothing else, he had some great memories. If he could think of them, instead of his losses, he might get through this. But right now, even those memories felt like losses.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She stood in that casual confident way that made his blood rush. Was there a hint of pity in her eyes? He sure as hell didn’t need her pity.

  He straightened in his chair.

  “No problem. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Her soft eyes held his. Quickly he took another sip of coffee and shored his reserves. He wasn’t a kid fighting neighborhood bullies anymore. He had to learn when to give up. He was a big boy—and big boys don’t cry when they lose.

  ***

  Even before Whitney sat down, she felt the wall of tension vibrating between them. She literally ached with regret, although there’d been no alternative once the tests had determined R.J. wasn’t SaraJane’s father.

  Rhys knew it, too. And he’d finally given up, apparently realizing his case was hopeless. He could sell off all his assets and he’d still lose in the end.

  She bit her lip. How in God’s name would she ever get through this? She touched the waitress’s sleeve as she bustled by. “Coffee, please.” She placed her hands in her lap and looked directly across the table.

  “I’m sorry, Rhys. I’m truly sorry things worked out the way they have for you.” Damn, she knew it wasn’t going to come out right. “But I need to talk to you about SaraJane and how to go about this whole transition process.”

  His forehead furrowed, eyebrows clamped together. He waited for her to continue, but she couldn’t get the right words to come together. She pulled in a deep breath and forged ahead.

  “I realize it would be very hard on SaraJane if I just came in one day and whisked her away from the only family she’s ever known. So I was hoping you could help me with this.”

  Rhys’s eyes widened. He must’ve thought she was stark raving mad to expect his help in any way.

  “What I mean is, it’ll be harder on her if she knows you don’t want her to leave.”

  He leaned back against the booth with a derisive laugh.

  “What would you like me to do—send her away thinking I don’t want her?”

  “No. I’m simply asking you to make it easier for her by not letting her know how much you want her to stay.” She glanced down, twisting the napkin in her lap. She looked up again and found herself staring into eyes that glittered with pain. She bit her lip, forcing back her own tears.

  “I would never do anything to hurt SaraJane,” Rhys whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. His knuckles whitened around the cup.

  Whitney saw the muscle on one side of his jaw twitch violently. A moment later, when he’d obviously reined himself in, he said evenly, “How do you want to do this?”

  She exhaled, unaware till then that she’d been holding her breath. God, she admired his strength—and she loved him more at this moment than ever before. She glanced down, then back to him again.

  “I…I’ve been thinking about that. If it’s okay with you, that is,” she stammered. “I have some things to organize to get ready for having a child in the house. I think it might take me a week or two. And I hoped SaraJane could stay where she is—with you—during that time.”

  He nodded for her to go on.

  “Then maybe we could get her used to the idea that she’s coming to live with me. To be truthful, I really don’t know how any of this will work without your cooperation. Please say you’ll help make this easy for her.”

  Lord, she was asking a lot. Here she was, ready to rip away the light of his life and asking for his help to do it. “I think,” she added, “you should be the one to tell her.”

  Rhys had an elbow on the table, his chin cupped firmly in the palm of his hand. Whitney felt his enormous restraint—and suspected his courage.

  Then he took a sip of coffee and said, “You’re right. I’ll tell her. I’ll do whatever you want, keep her however long you need to get ready. Just let me know what you think is best and I’ll do it.”

  She swallowed hard. It had taken every ounce of strength within him to say that, she was sure. And she had no doubt whatsoever he meant every word.

  “Good,” she said, finishing the conversation. “I trust you’ll know when the time is right to talk to her, so I’ll leave that to you. I’ll be in touch with you both.”

  Raw emotion flared between them. He nodded, then put his hand over hers. “I’m so very sorry about your sister, Whitney,” he said softly. “I didn’t know. Truly I didn’t.” He inhaled shakily. “I know there’s no way I can make amends for R.J.’s part in that…”

  His voice cracked again and he shook his head, as if nothing he could say would ever be enough. “I’m sorry.”

  She squeezed his hand, got up, turned, then walked away. The few yards to the door felt like a thousand miles, and she held her breath, hoping to hear him call her back.

  But he didn’t.

  And she couldn’t see a thing through her tears.

  CHAPTER TWE
NTY-FIVE

  RHYS PARKED NEXT to his dad’s white Blazer. He sat for a minute debating with himself what to say to his parents. He felt physically ill thinking how losing SaraJane was going to affect them. They loved her as much as he did.

  Although Whitney’s attorney had assured him she wanted them all to continue to be part of SaraJane’s life, he could predict how that would go. Especially when they lived in different places, far apart.

  And SaraJane was so very young she’d soon forget all about the life they’d had together. Just as R.J. had.

  “Hi, son.” Johnny greeted Rhys at the door.

  Rhys could tell his dad was making every effort to act normally, even down to his cheery smile.

  His parents would put up a good front for both his sake and SaraJane’s. “How’d things go at the shop?”

  “Great, but I don’t think I’m going to give up innkeeping for motorcycles. Two guys came in looking like Marlon Brando in The Wild One, took one look at me and left. Don’t think I’d be much good for business.” Johnny clapped Rhys on the shoulder.

  “Nonsense. We’ll just have to get you some different duds.” Rhys tried desperately to keep up the small talk. Finally Rhys broached the elephant in the room because he knew his dad wouldn’t bring it up first.

  “It’s done,” he said, while hanging up his jacket. “I’ll tell SaraJane as soon as I can.” He dropped his briefcase onto the desk and opened it. “I have no idea how she’ll react.”

  “She’s sturdy. I guess if you approach it in the right way, she’ll be okay. She’s been asking about both you and Whitney.”

  Weary, Rhys thumbed through the papers he’d thrown into his briefcase. He found the one with Whitney’s phone number in California and handed it to his father after writing it down for himself.

  “Here, this is Whitney’s number in case anything comes up during the day that you want to tell her about. I’m not sure when she’ll be ready for SaraJane, probably in a week or two. Apparently she has some things to take care of first.”

  Johnny’s eyes went wide. “Really? What could be more important? It’s what she’s planned all along, isn’t it?”