Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (27 page)

He drove into a circular drive, his gaze drawn upward. The two-story white stucco home was magnificent. Even in his imaginings, he hadn’t pictured it quite like this. SaraJane would certainly have the best.

When he stepped from the car, the humid salt air enveloped him. It was almost balmy for late October, he decided, remembering the times he’d been in Southern California on business.

He lifted SaraJane from her car seat, and she wriggled down from his arms, then waited for him to hand her the small backpack she’d insisted on carrying because Whitney carried one.

He’d convinced her to leave most of her things in Estrade, saying she’d be coming back. Or he could send them later. The resilience of a child, he thought ruefully. Would that he had some of it. Still, he hadn’t told her exactly how long she’d be staying…that it would be indefinitely.

Rhys held SaraJane’s hand as she bounced excitedly waiting for the front door to open. She rang the bell again and he gently held her back. “Patience is a virtue,” he said, trying to lighten the moment.

SaraJane looked up at him, eyes wide. “What’s a birtue?”

He laughed. “Nothing, sweetie. Poppy is just being silly.”

As he spoke, the door opened and a pleasant fiftyish woman stood before them. Rhys started to ask for Whitney when the woman knelt down to SaraJane’s level.

“Well, hello, sweetheart. You must be SaraJane. I’m Maddie and we’ve been expecting you.” Her warmth seemed genuine.

SaraJane said, “Hi. I’ve been ’specting to be here, too.”

The woman laughed and stood up, smiling at Rhys.

“Hello, I’m Maddie Harrison,” she repeated. “You must be Rhys. Please come in.”

Following the woman into the foyer and through the living room, Rhys saw Whitney coming through a sliding door in a wall of windows that led directly to the ocean.

The sight of her took his breath away. She wore gauzy vanilla-colored pants and a flowing matching top that was slit up the middle to the waist. Her pale hair hung loose, exactly the way he liked it.

Hurrying toward them, she reached down and in one quick motion scooped SaraJane into her arms. Whitney whirled around and smiled over her shoulder at Rhys, and something warm and wonderful unfolded in his chest just watching them.

Yeah, SaraJane would be just fine. What more could he ask?

Whitney set the child down, then hugged Rhys as if they were old friends and there’d never been anything more between them. He’d wondered how he’d feel seeing her again—wondered what he’d say.

And now he knew. They’d act like friends. Even though he wanted her. Loved her.

Moments later they sat at a table on the deck sipping coffee and making small talk while SaraJane drank milk and chomped on one of the chocolate-chip cookies Whitney had baked.

“Go ahead,” Whitney said, seeing him eye the platter. “But just remember, I don’t know the Heimlich maneuver.”

She remembered. He wasn’t the only one who remembered the first time he’d touched her. Rhys snatched a cookie and took a bite. “Not bad,” he said after swallowing. “I’m surprised. I didn’t know you could bake.”

“Lots of things you don’t know about me, I guess.” Her tone was sexy, challenging.

“Oh, you’re probably right. But I know the important things.” His eyes searched hers for a connection, and almost instantly he was lost in those transparent blue eyes…eyes that said she still felt something for him.

Oh, boy. Time to get a grip. Was he losing his mind? Hallucinating? He shoved the cup away. “I think I’d better go now.” He wasn’t going to let himself believe this was anything more than what it was.

His palms started to sweat. He got up and motioned SaraJane to come over, then knelt next to her.

“Listen, punkin…” His voice broke. SaraJane threw her arms around him in a fierce hug.

***

Whitney’s heart constricted. She clutched her throat, then touched fingertips to her lips as she watched the two of them. Still crouched, Rhys set her apart from him and began again, his chin quivering just the tiniest bit. She saw the shine of tears in his eyes.

“I think it’s about time…” He cleared his throat. “About time for me to go.”

Whitney’s chin begin to quiver, too.

“We’ll see each other soon, sweetheart, and you be…” His shoulders heaved upward as he drew in a calming breath, his voice almost a whisper. “You be a good girl for Whitney, okay?”

“Poppy, don’t go!” SaraJane flung both arms around his neck, again. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with us,” she demanded.

Rhys hugged her and Whitney saw him struggling to stay focused…to win the battle of emotions that had to be warring within him. He smoothed SaraJane’s hair from her face and held her at arm’s length, looking deeply into her eyes. When he spoke, the tears were in his voice.

“Hey, remember what we talked about? Remember our pact?”

SaraJane nodded, her curls bouncing.

“And you have all the phone numbers so you can call me collect whenever you want.”

SaraJane nodded again and he tweaked her nose.

“See, no problems. And remember…” He cleared his throat a second time. “Remember how much Poppy loves you.” He looked at Whitney and his voice broke again as he finished. “And how much Whitney loves you, too.”

“Yes,” SaraJane whispered.

“So give Poppy one last hug and then go play for a little while.” When she put her arms around his neck, he held on, burying his face in his little girl’s shoulder, smelling the scent of her, imprinting this moment in his mind, forever.

DEAR GOD. HOW COULD she do this? How could she be so cruel? Rhys’s controlled despair tore great chunks from Whitney’s heart, and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to hold back her emotions.

When Rhys loosened his grip on SaraJane and pried her chubby fingers from around his neck, Whitney interrupted, her voice choked with emotion. “Rhys, please.” She touched his shoulder as he stood up. “Please, I need to talk to you for a minute.”

She glanced at SaraJane, who looked up at her with all the love and trust in the world. “SaraJane, sweetheart, maybe Maddie can show you around for a few minutes while I talk to Poppy, okay?” Whitney nodded at Maddie, who instantly took over, taking the child by the hand, chattering as they disappeared down the hallway.

“I have something to ask you, Rhys.” She looked at him, groping for words. Trying to work out her thoughts, she frowned and averted her gaze, looked down and swiped away the hair that fell in front of her face. Control. She had to stay in control. Smooth easy voice. Breathe…and for God’s sake, slow down.

“I feel really foolish about this,” she said, waving a hand. “I just got this offer for an incredible shoot in Europe, and—” she laughed, a shaky warble that didn’t sound like her at all “—and wouldn’t you know, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

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.