Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) by Linda Style Page A

chest again and squeezed hard. “Aren’t you, Pooh Bear?”
    In the next instant SaraJane was dragging out toys from a large wicker basket, completely absorbed in her task.
    Fascinated, Whitney felt catapulted back in time, as if she were watching her little sister. Her heart ached with the terrible knowledge that Morgan would never see her daughter again.
    And SaraJane would never know her mommy.
    “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Whitney,” Carl Blaelow stuck out his hand. “Good luck on your book. We’ll look forward to seeing it and we’ll be sure to tell all our friends about it.” Helen giggled.
    Whitney knew she should leave for the shop, as well. Though it was the last thing she felt like doing, she couldn’t stay with SaraJane the whole day, or she’d have everyone wondering.
    What she wanted was to pluck the child up and whisk her away. But she’d only just met SaraJane. She had no bond with her as Rhys and the grandparents did. And most importantly, she couldn’t even prove a kinship with her niece.
    Not yet.
    She had to bide her time.
    She bade the Blaelows goodbye, went to her room for her cameras and came back down. Just as her foot hit the bottom step, SaraJane appeared. She latched onto Whitney’s fingers and pulled her into the sunroom, where she had an assortment of dolls precariously perched on tiny chairs around a play table set with miniature cups and saucers.
    “Would you like some tea?” SaraJane asked, enunciating each word as clearly as a three-year-old could. She proceeded to hoist herself onto one of the chairs, her feet barely touching the floor.
    Watching the morning sun glint off her niece’s golden hair, Whitney took out her smaller camera and clicked off a couple of frames. “Can’t right now, sweetheart.”
    SaraJane seemed oblivious to the camera, going about the business of offering tea to the Raggedy Ann doll sitting across from her.
    “Maybe later, when I come back after work.” Kneeling beside her niece, Whitney fought a desperate urge to pull her close and hug her hard. Instead, she reached out to smooth a springy blond curl from the child’s face and squeeze her small hand.
    Swallowing painfully, Whitney stood. On the way out she turned and blew SaraJane a kiss. When SaraJane blew a kiss back, as naturally as if they’d been doing it forever, Whitney was sure her heart had burst.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    WHITNEY ENTERED THE SHOP and as she turned to close the door, a draft of wind pulled it shut with a bang. At the sound, Rhys’s voice boomed from the back office.
    “Be with you in a minute.”
    She picked her way through the aisles, glancing at the unopened boxes on the floor against the wall. A razor knife and price labeler lay on top. Yesterday Rhys had explained some of the jobs she could easily do, and she decided to go ahead.
    She set her camera bag on the floor outside the office. Not much she could screw up labeling and stocking shelves. Anxious to get started, she slit open a box with the knife, reached inside and drew out a package of T-shirts.
    The shirts, she’d noticed, were displayed on a side wall right above the bins that held the various sizes. Easy enough. She also noticed how precise and neat Rhys kept the store. Everything had its place.
    Everything she learned about the man challenged Morgan’s description. He’d told her his interest was in building motorcycles, one-of-a-kind custom-made originals. And from the photographs he’d shown her, his work was truly artistic, like metal sculpture. Art was a medium to which Whitney could relate.
    Rhys was a complicated man. And as much as she tried, she just couldn’t reconcile the picture Morgan had painted with the man she saw. So far . People weren’t always what they seemed and sometimes those who seemed the most together were monsters inside. Abusers with anger issues were the most dangerous. Syrup could drip from their tongue when contrite, but with the least