Page 77 of Whispers

“Mr. Taggert?” His secretary’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Miss Forsythe on line two.”

Weston felt a warm sense of satisfaction. Time to break it off with Kendall. What a shame. “I’ll be right with her,” he said, then set the alarm on his watch for two minutes. Kendall, that cold, lifeless bitch, could damn well wait.

Eighteen

Miranda’s fingers closed around the bottle of prenatal vitamins she’d gotten at the clinic. She was pregnant, there was no doubt, the doctor and a pregnancy test confirming what she’d already suspected. Now she had to tell Hunter. Oh, God. What if he didn’t want the baby? Tears threatened her vision as she climbed into her car. What would she say to him? To her parents? Claire and Tessa?

She, who had always been in control.

She, who had mapped her life out at the age of twelve.

She, who had tried so hard to be a source of pride to her family.

Pregnant.

“Remember: It’s not the end of the world, but the beginning,” she told herself again as she flipped on the radio and rolled down the window. Pushing on buttons until she found a station that was playing a bluesy Bonnie Raitt tune, she drove toward Stone Illahee. Warm air blew through her hair and on impulse, she pulled off the road near a beach turnout, kicked off her shoes, left the vitamins in the car and walked barefoot onto the sand. The dunes gave way to flat, deserted beach, and soon she was near the ocean, feeling the icy water of the tide wash over her feet as she stepped around clear pieces of jellyfish and the jagged edges of eviscerated crabs and clams. Marauding gray seagulls kept watch, hoping for another scrap of food, and on the horizon a few fishing boats drifted on the sea.

She found a log wedged into the dry beach. One side was blackened from campfires, the other nearly buried from the drifting sand. Would she come here with her son or daughter, build sand castles, chase the waves, throw a Frisbee for a rambunctious pup?

Would she marry Hunter?

Sitting on the log, she clasped her hands together and was so lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until a shadow fell over her shoulders.

Startled, she turned quickly and nearly died.

“Thought that was your car,” Weston Taggert said, squatting so that he was on eye level with her.

“What do you want?” The last person she needed to deal with was Tag

gert.

“Company.”

“Buy a dog.”

Weston’s eyebrows quirked up. “Bad day?”

“That just got worse.” She started to rise, but he caught her hand. “What’s got into you?”

“Common sense.” Yanking her hand away, she picked up her sandals and let them swing from her fingers as she walked to her car.

“What have I ever done to you?”

Her back stiffened, and though she knew she shouldn’t be baited by him, she whirled, sand fleas skipping out of her path. “I’ve seen the way you look at me and I think it’s disgusting,” she said, remembering the leers he’d cast in her direction while they were both still in high school. “I heard some jokes you started at my expense, and, worst of all, you’ve been two-timing my sister as well as my friend.”

“Friend?”

“Crystal. You remember her?”

“Vaguely.”

Miranda saw red. “Leave them both alone.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.