Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (10 page)

Quickly she slid open the drawer, got out the file and scribbled the loan data on a notepad in her appointment book. When she’d finished, she circled Rhys’s desk, then dropped into the leather chair.

She opened the center drawer. It was tidy with small compartments for paperclips, rubber bands and pens. Nothing of interest, until she noticed something shiny poking out from under a stack of billing statements in the back. A photograph.

Gently lifting the corner with two fingers, she eased it from under the pile, careful not to disturb anything.

A photo of SaraJane. Sweet, darling SaraJane. All blue eyes and dimpled cheeks.

She wasn’t more than a year old in the picture, but Whitney could easily tell it was her niece. She flipped it over; nothing—no date or name. She started to slip the picture back when the corner caught on the edge of another photo.

She lifted it out and held it up. The Polaroid colors were faded, but she knew instantly that the man in the photo was Rhys. On the back “Florida” was printed in large bold letters.

Her heart warmed at the engaging picture. Rhys’s dark hair was flopped onto his forehead, and one arm was looped around the shoulders of a small boy who clutched a fishing pole and a string of fish.

Though Rhys’s bare chest and rippled stomach didn’t escape her interest, it was the young boy’s face that caught her attention. His eyes. There was something about his eyes…

His sister’s son? Yes, that was it. He’d said he had a married sister who lived in Florida with her husband and three children. The photo obviously meant something to him.

So, it was possible he really was a man trying to change the direction of his life. Maybe some traumatic experience had thrown him temporarily off-track and now he was trying—

“What do I need to do to get some help?” A gruff male voice sent Whitney’s hands flying and her insides into spasm. She looked up to see a customer standing in the office doorway. Quickly she shoved the photograph back and closed the drawer.

A wave of apprehension ran through her as she rose to greet the man. He was tall, at least as tall as Rhys, and had on a long black leather coat, the kind she’d seen on outlaws in old western movies.

He wore heavy black boots with metal around the toes, black leather pants and a black T-shirt. His hair was drawn into a ponytail and a two-day growth of beard was the same blue-black color as his hair. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored aviator sunglasses.

“I’m sorry,” she said, moving hesitantly toward him. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She wished like hell he’d take off the sunglasses. “What can I do for you?”

His body filled the doorway, forcing her to stop in front of him. She knew she shouldn’t be put off by the way he looked. Rhys had explained how many bikers were simply people who took up riding as a hobby, and for some, the clothes were part of it, much like tennis or golf outfits.

Yeah, right. The thought was no comfort, and her legs felt cooked noodles.

“Is Gannon here?” The gruff raspiness in his voice remained, but his tone was less insistent. She could tell from the tilt of his head that the eyes behind the mirrored lenses examined her from head to toe.

Ignoring the disconcerting image of herself in the lenses, she secured the barrette at the back of her head.

“He’s out,” she said, then instantly realized her vulnerability. “For a couple of minutes.”

She glanced at the rear door. Stupidly she’d fastened the safety chain after Rhys had left and now she was trapped inside. So she did the only thing she could and stepped forward. “Excuse me. If you’ll let me by, I can help you in the shop.” She made a parting motion with her hands.

He backed away from the door, surprising her. But she couldn’t help noticing the curl of a smile as she walked past him. Unnerved, she whirled around to face him and extended her hand.

“I’m Whitney. What can I do to help you?”

Holding her breath, she waited for his next move. He quickly enclosed her hand in his, then slid his thumb across it until he touched her emerald ring, a keepsake she’d inherited from her grandmother.

“So where’s Gannon? When did you say he’d be back?”

Fear shimmied through her. Easing her hand from his, she edged toward the front door, accidentally snagging a leather jacket and knocking it off the rack next to her. She caught it by the collar, fumbling until she’d slipped the thing back on the hanger and slung it crookedly over the bar.

“Soon. He’ll be back soon.” Her heart thumped maniacally. “If you want, you can wait.” She gestured toward a chair near the front. “Or there’s a coffee shop down the street.”

She whirled around, opened the door and stepped over the threshold, holding the door for him to follow. She pointed in the direction of Mabel’s Café, and when he walked past her to look, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Guess I’ll come back later,” he said, smiling.

She waited until he mounted his bike and roared off. Back inside, she shut the door and sagged against it, then heard the phone ringing in Rhys’s office. On her way to answer it, she congratulated herself on handling the situation quite well.

Still, she felt relieved when a little later she heard the rumble of Rhys’s bike out back. Ensconced behind his desk, Whitney finished the last phone order with a flourish, feeling a grand sense of accomplishment at completing the task. She’d enjoyed talking to the customers and helping them as much as she could, reading them information from the stock list Rhys had left her.

What Rhys really needed, she decided, was a good catalog with national distribution. Something slick with color photos. That might help with marketing and PR if he was interested in expanding the business as he’d said.

Hearing his footsteps, she gathered her paperwork into a neat pile, then jumped up to unlatch the safety chain.

“Everything okay?” Rhys asked, glancing around the office. He unzipped his jacket, shrugged it off and hung it in the small closet next to the door.

“Of course. Everything’s fine.” She pointed at the stack of papers on the desk. “That’s most of it. Four orders, all written up and ready to be shipped.” She nodded at the boxes by the window, still irritated that he’d doubted she could handle such a simple task.

He scooped up the papers and fanned the corners. “Hey, this is great. Really great.” He set the papers back on the desk and rolled his shoulders as if he needed to loosen up. “Any problems?”

“Problems?” She stepped from behind the desk, dismissing his comment with a casual flip of her hand.

“What problems could there be in taking a few orders? It’s not exactly rocket science.”

“But it’s money,” he said, then picked up the papers again. “Every little bit helps. Let’s see, this one is for—” his eyebrows arched “—two thousand dollars?”

Rhys leaned against the desk, stretched out his arms as if he needed glasses to read the order sheet. “You double-checked the figures?” He studied the paper again, as if he’d read it wrong.

“I’m not even going to respond to that.” Whitney pretended to feel insulted.

A smile formed, and with a glint in his eye, he asked, “What did you say to the guy that made him spend this kind of money?”

She shrugged and raised her hands.

He picked up another order. Both eyebrows shot up again. “Whitney, this is great!
Look
at these.”

Still clutching the order forms, he reached out and placed his hands on her upper arms. “You’ve just sold as much as I made in the entire past month.”

Now
she
was amazed. Not at herself, but that he thought it was such a big deal. She hadn’t done anything special; she’d merely acted as she would in her own business. Pretty much, she just happened to be there at the time the bigger sales came in.

But his words made her feel good, and she absorbed his praise like a kid who’d just gotten all A’s on her report card.

Only, that feeling was nothing compared to how her arms were getting all hot under his touch. Suddenly the room seemed crowded—and he was right there… If she took one little step, she could be in his arms, her mouth pressing against his, her body—

“That’s just crazy,” he continued.

And so was she. Yet, it was hard not to smile. “So I guess you think things were okay while you were gone?”

His gaze held hers, his features softening. “I think it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

In an instant that seemed to stretch to infinity, her ego soared. She’d not only brought in some money, apparently a lot more than expected, but also managed to allay his fears about her abilities.

Rhys grew still, and the sparkle of excitement in his eyes faded as his pupils dilated. His hands inched upward and her insides went all warm and liquid and Lord, she was glad the man who’d been in earlier had said he’d return.

In the past week her feelings about Rhys had been all over the place, and she wasn’t sure how she’d react if he ever made a move on her. She’d wondered more than once how it would feel to be wrapped in his strong capable arms.

But every time she wondered, anxiety would follow. And the most confusing thing of all was
why
she was drawn to him. Why was she fantasizing about a man like Rhys Gannon—a man she should despise. A man she
needed
to despise if she was to carry out her plan.

But right now it wasn’t hate on her mind.

As if he’d been reading her thoughts, Rhys stared at her mouth and gently stroked both thumbs down her arms. She stiffened, fearful she’d give herself away.

Rhys averted his gaze and dropped his hands. “Guess it’s your turn, huh?”

She blinked. “My turn?”

“For lunch. Why don’t you go and get a bite?” He stepped away, pulled out a file drawer, picked up one of the files and held it up to the light, squinting, as though it was hard to read. “And while you’re gone, I’ll see if I can handle things as well as you did.”

Smiling, she swung around and headed for the front door, her steps springy and light.

“If you’re lucky.”

CHAPTER TEN

MABEL, DRESSED IN JEANS and a sweatshirt with a hand-painted mountain scene on the front, yanked a blue gingham apron off a hook near the stove, stuck her head through the loop, then poured two cups of coffee.

Her eyes narrowed as she set one steaming mug on the counter in front of Whitney and shoved the sugar and creamer toward her.

“You’re a little late. Do you still want lunch, dear?”

“Sure. I’ll have the usual.”

Mabel removed the homemade bread from the oven and thumped out the loaves. She slipped a spatula under one and transferred it to a white marble slab, sparing Whitney a quick glance. “You eat breakfast?”

Whitney nodded. Mabel’s mother-hen instincts were right up there with Gretta’s. “I had a scone earlier at the inn. That’s more than I usually eat in the morning.”

“Gretta’s a good cook. She used to fill in for me when I needed a day off,” Mabel said. “But since she and Johnny opened the inn five years ago, she’s been too busy. Good thing, too.” Mabel paused and ducked her head into the fridge. A second later she emerged with a stick of butter along with Whitney’s sandwich. “Considering.”

“Considering?”

“Oh, you know.” Mabel smeared the butter across the crusty bread loaves. “All those family problems.”

Family problems?
Was she talking about Rhys’s past? Although Whitney was eager for any new information, she held her questions. She peered into her cup. “Yes, it’s hard to imagine,” she said, pretending to know what Mabel was talking about. She’d already learned not to pry, because people in Estrade were fiercely loyal to one another.

Mabel tossed the sandwich in the pan, and just as she appeared ready to say more, the sleigh bells on the front door jangled. “Right on time,” she said, glancing at her watch. She winked at Whitney and flipped the cheese sandwich. “Afternoon, Charley.”

Dang! Whitney watched Charley make his way between the chairs and tables, straightening those that were out of place. Rats. Just when Mabel might have given her some information.

“Hello, young lady.” Charley patted Whitney’s shoulder. Mabel set a cup of coffee in front of him while he eased his body onto the stool next to Whitney.

“Hi, Charley. Any luck out there today?”

Breakfast and dinner were rituals for Mabel and Charley, and lunch, too, when things weren’t going well at the mine. In the past week, Whitney had learned that Charley usually made just enough money to keep the wolf at bay. But he was certain that one day he was “gonna hit a vein”—he’d known it for more than thirty years.

She suspected it really didn’t matter much if he did or not.

Mabel rolled her eyes at the question and harrumphed. “You think that’s why the old goat goes out there?”

Charley ignored the comment and sent Mabel an affectionate grin as he addressed Whitney. “Still workin’ on that picture book of yours? Hardly seems a gal like you would enjoy hangin’ around a motorcycle shop.”

Whitney suppressed a grin. It had surprised her, too. A couple of weeks ago, the last thing she’d have considered was photographing motorcycles—or helping customers in a bike shop.

“Yep, I’m still working on it, Charley. Just barely started, actually. But I’ve got an excellent teacher.”

Mabel put Whitney’s plate on the counter, raising a silvery brow as she did. “So just how long is this research gonna take?” Her tone suggested more than research was happening.

The question was one she’d wondered herself. More importantly, she wondered how long Rhys would allow her to stay before he’d question her presence. She couldn’t drag out the project forever.

In the week since she’d found SaraJane, she’d become close to her. She’d become close to them all. And the longer she spent, the more she regretted what she had to do. “I don’t know,” Whitney answered. “I wish I did.”

“Maybe you’ll wanna stay here,” Charley said. “Like me.”

Whitney had assumed Charley’d been there forever.

He nodded at Mabel. “Yep, I took a fancy to Ma—”

“Charley, mind your manners,” Mabel cut him off, and they bantered back and forth for the rest of Whitney’s lunch hour, at times drawing Whitney into the conversation. They were quite the eccentric pair, and Whitney laughed right along with them.

She loved her lunches with Mabel and Charley. Her relationship with them was totally unlike any she had back home. And the strangest part was that it felt so natural. She couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to live in such a place permanently.

“Uh-oh,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Gotta go.” She polished off the rest of her sandwich, paid, then slipped her camera over one shoulder as she prepared to return to the shop. As she turned to leave, Charley caught her sleeve.

“Be careful, Whitney.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Your boss has been known to steal more than one young lady’s heart.”

Whitney moved toward the door. “Thanks for the warning, Charley, but I’m here strictly for business.”

Walking back, she applauded herself on how perfectly things had worked out. She’d arranged to be at the shop from ten until four. That way, Rhys could count on her help during those hours, and she could devote the rest of each day to her own work…and spending time with her niece. She didn’t know if Rhys was aware of how much time she been spending with SaraJane, or if he’d object. So far, he hadn’t mentioned it.

Her spirits soared whenever she thought about her niece. She marveled at the tiny perfection of the child’s features, so much like Morgan’s it made Whitney’s chest hurt. She loved to hear the SaraJane laugh and giggle, loved to hear her talk. Whitney hadn’t had the opportunity to spend much time around children, except to photograph them, but if she was any judge at all, SaraJane seemed exceptionally bright for her age, and she certainly was vocal.

The overwhelming love and pleasure Whitney felt simply watching her niece was beyond anything she’d experienced, and she couldn’t imagine her feelings for SaraJane would be any more intense if she’d given birth to the child. She couldn’t help wondering if her parents had ever had such deep feelings for either her or Morgan.

She sighed. She couldn’t change the past, but from here on, she’d do anything and everything to ensure SaraJane never experienced that kind of hell.

Returning to the store, Whitney noticed the back end of a black motorcycle protruding from the side of the building. She recognized the motorcycle ridden by the man who’d been there earlier.

She headed for the front door, then stopped. If she went in through the back she wouldn’t disturb them if they were in the store talking business.

Nearing the corner of Rhys’s workshop behind the store, she heard raised voices and then, through the window, saw Rhys inside. His back was to her and the other man stood on his right. The windows were slightly open, but she still couldn’t make out their words.

Inching closer, she saw the two men engaged in a rigid handshake. They both made some kind of sign, then hugged, first on one side, then the other. Whitney’s blood rushed.

She jerked back. The only time she’d seen that kind of behavior between men was in the movies.

It seemed out of place in a little town in the Arizona mountains. But Rhys
was
from Chicago, she remembered. Maybe his connections had followed him. Maybe, no matter where he went, they’d follow him and he’d never be able to make a new life for himself.

At that moment Whitney realized how much she wanted to believe in Rhys, how much she wanted to believe that what Gretta had said was true. But if it was, how would that affect what
she
needed to do?

Instinctively she raised her camera and clicked off a few frames of the men in conversation. Then, lo and behold, the outlaw handed Rhys a stack of money. She took another photograph.

Immediately after that, the door opened a crack. “Next week,” the outlaw rasped. “I’ll see you then.” A strange panic rioted within her. She had to get out of there…disappear before they saw her.

She backed away. She had a horrible feeling she’d just witnessed something illegal, and like it or not, she had it on film.

Her heart pounded excitedly. She stepped back and turned to run, but the heel of her boot sank into a crevice between the flagstones, trapping her. Shit. She yanked so hard her boot heel came off and was wedged between the stones.

She stared briefly at the broken heel, made a quick decision to forget it and dashed around the building to the front of the store, hoping if they saw her, they’d think she’d just come back from lunch. Breathless, she hit the steps two at a time, barreled inside and slammed the door behind her. Just as she did, she saw the outlaw fly around the building on his bike, a sleek black raven with the tails of his long leather duster floating behind like glossy pointed wings.

Hands pressed against the glass on the door, she watched his dramatic departure, her breathing ragged, absorbed in her thoughts.

“How was lunch?” Rhys’s voice sounded behind her.

She jumped, heart clanging inside. Slowly she turned, using every second to gather her composure. Straightening the lapels on her navy blazer, she moistened her lips.

“It was very nice,” she said curtly, her face stiff as plaster. Rhys’s eyes widened at her response.

“O-kay,” he drawled. “Anything I can do?”

“Nope. I’m fine.” Except for the fact that just when she’d decided he might be okay—that he really
was
trying to change his life—he did something to raise her suspicions.

“Fine and dandy!” she added, then turned and clomped away, one leg shorter than the other.

She felt Rhys’s eyes boring into her back. A second later he strode past her to enter his office, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “Women!”

***

When Whitney left for the day, Rhys hurried to the file cabinet to get out the loan application. No way around it—the money Luth had paid him, combined with what he’d saved over the past few months, still wasn’t enough.

He’d tapped every source he knew to pay for the trial; he’d even used all the money that had been slated to get the business off the ground.

As he stared blindly at the papers in front of him, allowing his thoughts to drift to more pleasant things…and to the woman who’d so recently swept into his life.

Her business acumen impressed him, his parents thought she was delightful, and SaraJane loved having her around. Hell, so did he. Whitney had been spending a lot of time with SaraJane, and he liked the way the two of them had hit it off.

Smiling, he reached for the photo. It wasn’t fair that a child so young should be robbed of a normal family life. Still, whatever they had now was better than what she would’ve had with her mother. Abandonment wasn’t exactly one of the criteria for Mother of the Year.

He returned the photo to its place on his desk.

Man, he was grateful he had his parents for support. If he could just get the business rolling, they could lead a nice quiet family life in Estrade, regardless of the past. He didn’t need lots of money to be happy; he only needed the security of knowing he’d done the right thing—this time.

His worst fear was that someday SaraJane’s mother would have a change of heart and come looking for her. He was well aware something needed to be done about permanent custody. But since no one was even aware he had SaraJane, and they still had to get through the appeal, the last thing he needed was to draw attention to
that
issue. He certainly didn’t want social services getting involved. They might put SaraJane in a foster home or, God forbid, return her to her mother.

Everything had to wait until the appeals were exhausted. Everything, including the wild notions that seeped unwanted into his brain. Thoughts that pitted desire against good sense.

He’d gone down that road before, and doing it again wasn’t even close to what he had planned for the rest of his life.