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Authors: Lisa Jackson

Whispers (13 page)

BOOK: Whispers
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Ten
“God help me,” Kendall muttered, holding her abdomen and pacing on the deck of her father's beach house. Why couldn't she just let Harley go? What was this obsession with him? Paige was right, she could have had nearly any boy she wanted, but the only one worth having was Harley Taggert.
It wasn't just that he was a Taggert, but he was kind and sweet—well, he had been. Until he'd met Claire, that mousy, useless Holland girl. What, what did he see in her?
Kendall, when she realized that he was going to break up with her, had become desperate. She wanted to marry Harley Taggert and wasn't used to not getting her way.
Her stomach churned, tears threatened her eyes, and she placed her hands against the rail to stare past the shifting dunes with their clumps of beach grass to the darkening waters of the Pacific. This view of the sea, stretching for miles to the horizon, had always had a calming effect upon her, had helped her put her life into perspective. But not this evening. Not when everything was so out of control. A couple walked by, holding hands, laughing, their bare feet making impressions on the wet sand as the frothy tide eddied and swirled around their ankles. Their dog—a rangy, red Irish setter—frolicked in the surf, chasing after sticks that the man threw, then bounding back.
The lovers seemed so happy. As she and Harley had been. Before Claire. Her throat closed in on itself, and she fought the urge to break down and cry. Never in her life had she felt so helpless, never had she wanted anything so badly.
She heard a car stop in front of the cottage and opened the sliding door when she heard footsteps on the stairs to the deck. Her heart leapt. He'd come. He still cared.
“Harley—” she cried, only to have his name lodge in her throat as Weston appeared, big as life, an easygoing grin stretching over his square jaw. “Oh.” Disappointment lodged deep in her soul.
“Thought you might be here.”
“Did—did Harley send you?”
Weston's smile, one that had melted more female hearts than it should have, curved easily upward. “Nope. Came on my own.”
“But how did you know that I—”
He leaned a hip against the railing of the deck and folded his arms over his chest. “When you leave a message at the office, word gets around.”
“I didn't leave—”
He waved off her explanation. “Doesn't matter. I just came by with some advice.”
The muscles in her back tightened. “I don't remember asking for any.”
“Believe me, you need it.” Weston glanced at her and sighed. “You know, Kendall, I'm surprised at you. I always thought you were a smart girl, one who knew what she wanted and figured out how to get it.”
“With Harley it's different.”
“Why?”
“It's just not so simple.”
“Sure it is.”
She ran frustrated fingers through her hair. “How?”
“Well, take advantage of the fact that he's not all that smart—don't argue the point, okay,” he said, holding up a palm when she tried to protest. “We both know his limits.” Weston's grin bordered on evil.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Trap him.”
“What?” Had she heard him right?
“Get pregnant.”
Her lips pursed. “I would never—”
“Sure you would,” he cut in, looking suddenly bored. “I overheard your last conversation with him. You've got him on the ropes, now finish it.” He hoisted himself onto the rail, back to the ocean, and stared at her. “Don't tell me you don't have the guts Kendall, because I don't believe it. I think you're a woman who knows what she wants and how to get it.”
She bit her lip and considered. “What—what if there's no baby.”
“Then make one.”
She'd never thought Weston was an idiot, but he acted as if all she had to do was wave a magic wand and . . . “I can't just pretend.”
“I didn't say to pretend. I said make a baby.”
“I think I'll need Harley for that.”
Weston stared at her as if she were incredibly dense. “Come on, Kendall. Harley's weak. Everyone knows it. All you've got to do is seduce him.”
“Seduce him? Just like that?”
“Trust me, he won't be able to say no.”
She considered his proposal. It had merit, true, but she didn't want to take any advice from Weston. He never did anything without a purpose—his own purpose. Eyeing him as she adjusted the umbrella sprouting from an outdoor table, she asked, “Why do you care?”
He glanced over his shoulder to the ocean, as if weighing his answer. “Don't suppose you'd believe me if I said that I was doing it because I cared about my brother.”
“Nope. Try again. What's in it for you?”
“Okay. Harley's a pain in the butt. Now he's mooning around about Claire Holland, talking about marrying her—”
Kendall gasped, a pain sharp in her heart. Never once had he mentioned marriage to her.
“—and that would be a disaster.”
“For you?”
“Yeah, and the whole damned family. Dad's so worked up about it, he can hardly concentrate on running the business. Going to give himself a heart attack or a stroke. Paige is upset, and I'll bet my eyeteeth old Dutch doesn't like it any better than the rest of us. This whole feud thing will start up again, and it will probably kill Dad.”
His argument didn't ring true. Weston had never cared about anyone in his family. He'd always been out for number one, and there had never been a number two or three in his life. “There's more to this, isn't there? This is personal.”
A muscle worked in Weston's square jaw. “Harley can't have a Holland,” he said bluntly.
“Why not?”
His gaze narrowed as it slid back to her. “Because he doesn't deserve any one of them—even Claire.”
“But he does deserve me?” Had he come here just to insult her?
“Look, I'm offering you a way to get what you want, that's all.”
“So that Harley doesn't marry Claire and mess up whatever plans you've got.”
“That's about the size of it.”
“What if he won't be seduced?”
“Get a phony pregnancy test result, marry him, and get pregnant on the wedding night. Figure it out, Kendall, this isn't exactly brain surgery.”
She gnawed on her lip. “What if it takes three or four months to get pregnant? He'll know—”
Weston swore under his breath, and when he looked at her it was with a new high-powered intensity. “You want a baby to seal this deal?” he asked.
“I—I guess.”
“Then I'll give you one.”
“What?”
The saliva dried in her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd heard correctly.
“I'll get you pregnant.” He dropped to the deck and advanced on her. Despite her loathing for him, she felt a thrill slide down her spine.
“You?”
“Same gene pool as Harley. Same blood type. There wouldn't be any question of paternity.”
“Oh, God.” Her heart was racing as her gaze locked with his. “What . . . what would you get out of this?” She swallowed hard as his gaze slid slowly down her body, then returned to her face.
“Your undying affection and gratitude.”
“I don't think I can—”
“Not even to be Harley's wife?” He reached for her hand, drew it up to his lips, and kissed the inside of her palm.
Her knees went weak, but she yanked her hand back quickly, as if his kiss had seared her skin. “This is nuts. No way—”
“Think of it. You'll be Mrs. Harley Taggert.”
“With your baby.”
“You could miscarry . . .”
She nearly threw up, and one hand shot up to cover her mouth. “You're beyond perverted.”
“Just trying to help.” She turned away, but he was quick and wrapped strong arms around her middle so that her breasts were resting on his forearms. “Think about it, Kendall,” he whispered into her ear as the ocean rumbled on the other side of the dunes and a hot July sun slowly lowered on the horizon. “We could have a little fun and then . . . bingo, you get Harley. What could it hurt?”
“Everything,” she said, disgusted, though her skin, where he touched it, tingled. “You could ruin everything.”
He laughed against her ear. “Don't think so, babe. You've done a good enough job of that yourself.” He released her and headed for the steps. Before rounding the corner, he called over his shoulder, “But if you're content to let Harley slip through your fingers so that he can marry Claire Holland, don't blame me. Nope, honey, you'll only be able to blame yourself for that one.”
Harley's voice had a definite edge to it. “I'm sorry, Claire, I'll call you later, but something's come up. Business. Dad won't let me out of it.”
Closing her eyes, Claire wrapped the phone cord around her fingers and fought the urge to scream. Something was wrong, definitely wrong, and all those doubts she tried so valiantly to hold at bay continued to inch closer, crowding her. “He's just trying to keep us apart.”
“I know, but I'll see you later. You know I will.”
“It's been over a week.”
“I know, I know,” he said, and Claire could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. Was he lying to her? Avoiding her? Why not just break it off? Despair clutched her soul. She loved Harley, adored him and yet . . .
“We'll meet later—well, probably not tonight but soon. I swear. Claire, I miss you.”
Do you? Do you really?
“Harley—?”
“What?”
Was there the hint of irritation in his voice? She was going to tell him that she loved him, but thought better of it. He was too distracted—too distant. “Nothing.”
“Good. Look, we should go sailing—at night.”
“I'd . . . I'd like that.”
“Meet me at the yacht club at ten—no ten-thirty. You know which berth.”
“Yes, but—”
“I'm sorry that I can't see you sooner. I . . . I love you. You know that.”
“I love you, too,” she said, but the words sounded hollow and false, said on cue because they were expected.
Fighting a headache, she stared out the window and watched as the sun sank behind the western ridge of mountains. Where had Harley been when he'd called? Who was with him? Why had he canceled again?
He doesn't love you, not really.
That thought was a bitter pill to swallow, one that would take gallons of self-esteem to wash down. She poured herself a glass of lemonade and pressed the cool tumbler to her forehead.
The house was hot and empty. With summer temperatures soaring and Dutch's steadfast refusal to add air-conditioning to the old lodge, the kitchen had collected a week of ninety-plus days' heat and trapped it. Even with the windows open it was hard to breathe.
Aside from the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front hall, the gentle hum of the refrigerator, and an occasional creak of ancient timbers, the rooms were silent. Miranda had left earlier without an explanation, as she often did these days. Dominique had insisted that Dutch spend the weekend with her in Portland, catching up with old friends, taking in a play, and enjoying the city. Tessa had escaped earlier with some friends who claimed they were going to see a movie, but it was probably all just a lie—everything was these days.
Shadows of the oncoming night stretched through the windows. Claire walked outside to sit in an old rocker that swayed on the back porch. As the sunset gave way to the purple of twilight, a few bats skimmed the lake's surface and fish jumped noisily in the water. One at a time the stars began to reveal themselves, and Claire wondered again what Harley was doing and with whom. His excuses were far too many and she was beginning to think that he was involved with another girl—probably Kendall Forsythe.
BOOK: Whispers
5.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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