Read Online Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) by Linda Style - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda Style
Ads: Link
him. It was typical self-centered born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-her-mouth behavior.
And he hadn’t exactly given her a rousing welcome.
He slapped a hand on the toolbox, hefting it with purpose. Good hard work…the most effective way he knew to take his mind off things he didn’t want to think about. Like Whitney Sheffield. And sex.
***
“Hello?” Whitney stepped through the wide double doors into the foyer of the inn. When no one answered, she fished her room key from her purse. If Gretta and Johnny were around, they’d see the car and know she’d returned. She could get the rest of her luggage later.
She bounded upstairs and swung open the door to her suite. Entering, she set her camera gear on the chair in the sitting room, then walked toward the window. As she did, she caught the scent of fresh flowers and noticed a daisy-filled glass vase on a gate-leg table next to the couch.
Gretta’s touch, she figured, stopping to finger the delicate crocheted doily under the vase, registering how everything blended so perfectly with the peach-and-vanilla floral pattern of the sofa and the quilt on the bed. A gentle rap on the door turned her around.
“Yes?” she called. “Please come in.”
Johnny’s cheerful face greeted her. “Welcome back. I came up to see if you need help with your luggage.” He stood tall in the doorway, his height and build oddly familiar in the muted light of the hallway.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t think either of you were here,” she said, smiling at the warm welcome. “And yes, I’d appreciate it. There are only two bags.” She handed him the car keys. “I travel light.”
“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say,” Johnny quipped before he turned to head down the stairs.
Hearing laughter outside her window, she swiveled around to take a peek, but couldn’t see anyone.
“Here you go, young lady.” Johnny returned with her bags a minute later and hauled them into the room. He left them near the closet, then hoisted the largest piece onto the luggage rack. Finished, he dusted his hands and headed toward the door.
Whitney walked with him. “Do you have other guests?” She pointed to the window. “I heard people outside.”
Johnny’s face lit up. “Nope. That’s probably our grandchild—we watch her most every day. And a delight she is.” He started to go again, then asked, “Can we expect you at dinner tonight?” His salt-and-pepper eyebrows bunched. “Gretta’s the best cook in town.”
“Funny, that’s what Charley said about Mabel’s cooking,” Whitney joked, adding, “but after the muffins I had the other day, you don’t have to convince me of Gretta’s culinary expertise. What time did you say? Seven?”
“Actually, it’s at six.” He stopped at the door. “If you decide to come, better let Gretta know by soon so she can adjust the menu.”
Whitney smiled, appreciating the invitation. “Thanks. I think I can say right now that I’ll be there.”
She’d been in such a hurry driving back from the Phoenix airport she hadn’t taken time to eat. And now, even though she was famished, she needed to hustle over to Rhys’s store to see what kind of schedule she could arrange with him. Maybe even shoot a photo or two.
She would photograph Rhys, she knew that. First of all, he’d probably think it strange if she didn’t, since that was supposedly why she’d come to Estrade. And regardless of her negative feelings about the man, he’d make an excellent subject.
Even without his motorcycle attire, he had an intriguing quality about him, a latent volatility that simmered just beneath the surface. It was exactly what made him so interesting. Photographically. If she could just capture that essence on film…
When she arrived, the sun was low, its coppery light stretched over the weathered-pine storefront, giving it the appearance of an old photograph yellowed with age. Standing in the street, she clicked off several frames from different angles.
In
And he hadn’t exactly given her a rousing welcome.
He slapped a hand on the toolbox, hefting it with purpose. Good hard work…the most effective way he knew to take his mind off things he didn’t want to think about. Like Whitney Sheffield. And sex.
***
“Hello?” Whitney stepped through the wide double doors into the foyer of the inn. When no one answered, she fished her room key from her purse. If Gretta and Johnny were around, they’d see the car and know she’d returned. She could get the rest of her luggage later.
She bounded upstairs and swung open the door to her suite. Entering, she set her camera gear on the chair in the sitting room, then walked toward the window. As she did, she caught the scent of fresh flowers and noticed a daisy-filled glass vase on a gate-leg table next to the couch.
Gretta’s touch, she figured, stopping to finger the delicate crocheted doily under the vase, registering how everything blended so perfectly with the peach-and-vanilla floral pattern of the sofa and the quilt on the bed. A gentle rap on the door turned her around.
“Yes?” she called. “Please come in.”
Johnny’s cheerful face greeted her. “Welcome back. I came up to see if you need help with your luggage.” He stood tall in the doorway, his height and build oddly familiar in the muted light of the hallway.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t think either of you were here,” she said, smiling at the warm welcome. “And yes, I’d appreciate it. There are only two bags.” She handed him the car keys. “I travel light.”
“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say,” Johnny quipped before he turned to head down the stairs.
Hearing laughter outside her window, she swiveled around to take a peek, but couldn’t see anyone.
“Here you go, young lady.” Johnny returned with her bags a minute later and hauled them into the room. He left them near the closet, then hoisted the largest piece onto the luggage rack. Finished, he dusted his hands and headed toward the door.
Whitney walked with him. “Do you have other guests?” She pointed to the window. “I heard people outside.”
Johnny’s face lit up. “Nope. That’s probably our grandchild—we watch her most every day. And a delight she is.” He started to go again, then asked, “Can we expect you at dinner tonight?” His salt-and-pepper eyebrows bunched. “Gretta’s the best cook in town.”
“Funny, that’s what Charley said about Mabel’s cooking,” Whitney joked, adding, “but after the muffins I had the other day, you don’t have to convince me of Gretta’s culinary expertise. What time did you say? Seven?”
“Actually, it’s at six.” He stopped at the door. “If you decide to come, better let Gretta know by soon so she can adjust the menu.”
Whitney smiled, appreciating the invitation. “Thanks. I think I can say right now that I’ll be there.”
She’d been in such a hurry driving back from the Phoenix airport she hadn’t taken time to eat. And now, even though she was famished, she needed to hustle over to Rhys’s store to see what kind of schedule she could arrange with him. Maybe even shoot a photo or two.
She would photograph Rhys, she knew that. First of all, he’d probably think it strange if she didn’t, since that was supposedly why she’d come to Estrade. And regardless of her negative feelings about the man, he’d make an excellent subject.
Even without his motorcycle attire, he had an intriguing quality about him, a latent volatility that simmered just beneath the surface. It was exactly what made him so interesting. Photographically. If she could just capture that essence on film…
When she arrived, the sun was low, its coppery light stretched over the weathered-pine storefront, giving it the appearance of an old photograph yellowed with age. Standing in the street, she clicked off several frames from different angles.
In
Similar Books
