Читать книгу: «Child of Mine»
Although he’d never expected to be part of raising a baby, Matt had fallen in love with Danny at first sight.
But while Matt was still learning how to clean up diapers and mix formula, there was a car accident and his brother—Danny’s father—died.
And then it was just the two of them. An ill-prepared bachelor and a baby abandoned by his mother. That’s when Matt made the promise he never intended to break.
And he’d built two cradles. One for the house, one for the shop. So he could watch over Danny, protect him. He would do anything, give anything to keep his boy safe. Even if it was from the child’s own mother.
BONNIE K. WINN
is a hopeless romantic who’s written incessantly since the third grade. So it seemed only natural that she turn to romance writing. A seasoned author of historical and contemporary romance, her bestselling books have won numerous awards. Affaire de Coeur chose her as one of the Top Ten Romance Writers in America.
Bonnie loves writing contemporary romance because she can set her stories in the modern cities close to her heart and explore the endlessly fascinating strengths of today’s woman.
Living in the foothills of the Rockies gives her plenty of inspiration and a touch of whimsy, as well. She shares her life with her husband, son and a spunky Westie who lends his characteristics to many pets in her stories. Bonnie’s keeping mum about anyone else’s characteristics she may have borrowed.
Child of Mine
Bonnie K. Winn
MILLS & BOON
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And God gave Solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and largeness of heart, even as the sand that is on the seashore.
—I Kings 4:29
For Donna Hobbs, friend, sister, keeper of secrets, guardian of memories. You’ve been there for me through everything. We’ve shared weddings, babies, dreams and everything in between. I think often of the days we tunneled to lunch, walked to Sam Houston Park, the library. Our connection transcends the miles, but I miss you, dear friend.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Prologue
Los Angeles, California
The carton was small. But it was all Kyle had left behind when he’d disappeared eight years ago, taking their precious baby, stealing her hope.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the attic of her parents’ Brentwood home, Leah Hunter dug through the contents of the carton as she had hundreds of times before. She’d tried to leave it behind when she moved to her own apartment. But she couldn’t. She was searching for a clue, any clue that could tell her where Kyle had gone.
She had been nineteen when she’d married him. A naive nineteen, she realized now, because she’d believed Kyle’s lies. But she’d never believed he would kidnap baby Danny.
Leah picked up the only unique item in the carton, a hand-carved box. It was so simple it was elegant. She opened the hinged lid and smoothed her fingers over the sleek wood interior, searching for a hidden panel—yet again. But she still couldn’t find anything. Like everything else Kyle had left, it was a dead end.
She had been as dazzled by him as he’d been by her parents’ money. It was all he’d ever wanted from her. But when they wouldn’t hand out the money, he’d taken Danny.
Frustrated, Leah tapped on the side of the box fiercely. A small drawer, the same size as the base of the box, slid open.
Her heart skipped a beat. Shaking, she lifted it to the light.
The drawer was empty, but engraved on one side was a name: Matt Whitaker. And a place: Rosewood, Texas.
It could just be the name of the person who’d carved the box, Leah realized. But it was the first clue in eight years. And nothing would keep her from trying to find her son. Nothing.
Chapter One
Rosewood, Texas
Whitaker Woods. Like the box Leah clutched in her hand, the native pine storefront was simple. Pushing open the door, she expected to find small, similar pieces inside. She was surprised instead by the array of large furniture. Dramatic armoires, one-of-a-kind chairs, trunks, chests.
“Can I help you?” An older woman emerged from the back, the wood floor creaking beneath her.
“Yes.” Hope crowding her throat, Leah showed her the box. “I’m trying to locate the sales record for this.”
The woman wiped her freckled hands on the industrial apron she wore. “That I can’t do.”
Leah fought her disappointment.
“Matt only makes these for friends or family,” she continued, picking up the box. “He doesn’t sell them.”
“Oh?”
She turned the box over. “Yes. They’re special.”
Leah seized the new information as if were gold. “Do you by chance know Kyle Johnson?”
“Kyle? No.”
Leah hadn’t really expected that she would. Still… “Could I speak to Mr. Whitaker?”
“Matt’s not here right now. He’ll probably be back in a few hours. I could have him call you.”
“That would be great.” Leah handed her a card. “This has my cell number. I’m staying at Borbey House just down the street.”
“Annie’s place. I know it.”
Leah smiled. “Thanks for your help.”
“Welcome to Rosewood.”
Matt whistled as he unloaded the pickup truck. He was especially pleased with the custom hall tree he’d just finished. The concept was Victorian. The contemporary design, however, was all his own. He loved working with his hands. Always had. Bringing the wood from one life to another.
Easing the hall tree through the back door of the store, Matt was careful not to scratch the multiple layers of varnish.
“Boss, that you?”
“Yeah.”
Nan walked through the swinging doors that separated the display area from the back room and spotted the hall tree. “Oh, that’s nice!”
He stood back, surveying the piece. “I’m happy with it.”
“Bet it doesn’t last long. And you’ll have a dozen requests for more.”
“You’re better than an ad in the Houston Chronicle.”
Nan grinned. “Glad you noticed.”
“How’s the day been?”
“Steady. Cindy Mallory wants to talk to you about ordering some new furniture for the triplets. Sounds like a pretty big commission. And I sold that rocking chair I’ve had my eye on for my youngest daughter. Should have bought it myself when I had the chance.”
He chuckled. “I told you to put it aside.”
“Sold it to a tourist for full price, Matt.”
“Not everything’s about the bottom line.”
“Good thing I take care of the books,” she chided. “Oh, and a pretty young woman came by to see you.”
“Ah…wish I’d been here.”
“She had one of those special little boxes you make, wanted to see if I could trace it.” Nan handed him Leah’s card. “And she wanted to know if I knew a Kyle Johnson.”
Matt froze.
“Told her that you just made them for special friends. She’s staying over at Annie’s place. Card has her cell number on it, too. Seemed nice enough. Funny though. Her having the box and not knowing they’re special. But I told her I’d ask you to call.” Nan paused. “Matt? You okay?”
“Yeah…sure.”
“You never used to sell the little boxes, did you?”
“No. Uh…I’d better get back to the house.”
“Well, okay. You sure everything’s all right?”
“Yeah. Just been a long day.”
Nan glanced at her watch. “It’s just after two. You want some coffee?”
“No. You go ahead.”
Back in his truck Matt studied the card. And eight years crashed away.
Sitting in an overstuffed chair that was so comfortable it should have lulled her into a nap, Leah stared at the phone in her room. A few hours, the clerk had said, before Matt Whitaker would return to the store. She’d unpacked and tried to fiddle away as much time as she could but she still had too much left on her hands. It would be awhile before he called. She pictured her mother back in L.A., anxiously waiting to hear if she had any news. Might as well let her know not to sit by the phone.
Rhonda picked up on the first ring. “Leah?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Have you found out anything?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Maybe you should have let the investigators—”
“Not this time, Mom.” Leah’s jaw tensed. “I have to do this one on my own.”
There was a pause. “Maybe you’re right. The detectives never found out anything despite all their searching.”
No. And though Leah had believed Kyle would bring Danny back, he hadn’t. She sighed.
“We could contact the FBI again,” Rhonda reminded her.
“It didn’t work the last time.”
Rhonda’s silence told Leah her mother didn’t appreciate the comeback. But the silence was short-lived. “How you could have been married to a man who left absolutely no record of his name…and for you to not have his social security number…”
Leah didn’t have an answer. Kyle hadn’t held a job while they were married and her mother knew it. And the FBI found that the background he’d told her was fiction—a fairy tale to make a gullible girl fall in love. Which gave them nothing to trace. “What do you want me to say?”
Rhonda must’ve tapped her rings against her desk, the sound coming clearly through the phone. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in going over old wounds.”
What did it matter now? They’d already been scraped open. Leah rolled her eyes. She knew her mother was just anxious about Danny. But the woman was cranking her own anxiety level even higher. She struggled to keep her voice calm. “Is everything okay at work, Mom?” Hunter Design was a thriving L.A.-based design firm with an international clientele. Kyle had seen only dollar signs in the family-operated business. Her parents had been willing to hire him, but he hadn’t wanted to work. He just wanted the money.
“Jennifer’s keeping an eye on your jobs. She’s competent, even if she doesn’t have your touch.”
Jennifer was Leah’s assistant. “She’ll be fine.”
“Leah? Don’t be too disappointed if this doesn’t…well, turn into the lead you’re hoping for.”
“I won’t, Mom.”
Once she’d said goodbye to her mother, Leah glanced around the storybook room in the quaint bed-and-breakfast. She had been on hyper-speed since she’d found the secret compartment in the box and decided to pursue this long shot at finding Danny. On edge, she’d flown to Houston, rented a car and driven more than three hours to this small town, hidden in the heart of the Texas hill country. She’d heard it was a beautiful region, but she’d barely seen anything she’d driven past.
The thought of just sitting, without anything to do, was making her crazy. Maybe she could walk off some of her nervous energy.
Stopping at the antique breakfront that served as a desk, Leah rang the bell. Annie, the B and B owner, popped out of the adjoining kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth. She was more than happy to forward any messages to Leah’s cell phone.
The air was clear, delivering early spring’s promise of new life, as Leah walked down the old-fashioned boardwalk. Tall elm trees shaded the street. The buildings belonged to a different era, she realized. Enchanting Victorian structures, which all housed working businesses.
She passed a quaint drugstore, hardware store, costume shop and newspaper office before reaching Whitakers Woods. She lingered in front of the wide-paned window, but didn’t see a man inside. The door opened and a customer stepped out.
The woman Leah had met earlier called out to her. “Hi, there!”
Leah walked inside. “Hello…”
“I’m Nan,” she said with a smile. “Should have introduced myself earlier. Matt was here sooner than I thought and I gave him your card.”
“Great! Then I guess I’ll be hearing from him soon.”
Nan nodded. “Oh, my, yes. Matt’s real good about getting back to people.”
Relieved, Leah smiled. “That’s wonderful. Thanks for your help.”
“Glad to do it. You settling in at Annie’s?”
“Yes. It’s a charming place. Like the town.”
“Thing is, it’s a real town, not put on for tourists like some places. No T-shirt and souvenir shops. Not that we don’t welcome visitors, but this is our home.”
“I got that sense right away.”
“Good. Hope you have a nice stay.”
Leah crossed her fingers. “I’m counting on it.”
Matt sat at his kitchen table staring at Leah’s card. It had to be her. It all fit. L.A. The box John had taken from him…along with Matt’s savings.
“Kyle” she’d called him. Kyle Johnson.
His half brother had always hated his real name. John Litchkyl Johnson. Litchkyl, their mother’s maiden name. He’d been John all his life in Rosewood. His hick life, he’d called it. He must have gone by Kyle once he’d gotten to California and married Leah.
But why was she here now?
She’d abandoned John and their baby when Danny was only six weeks old. What kind of woman did that? Only the lowest kind.
And she had money, John had said. Enough to have hired nannies, people to help out, to make raising her child as easy as possible. Instead she’d left. Said she didn’t want the responsibility of a kid.
Matt could still feel the weight of that tiny bundle in his arms the first time he’d held Danny, the clutch of little fingers around his own. The promise he’d made.
He knew John had his faults. His half brother had been immature, irresponsible. But he also knew that a child belonged with his parents. At least the one who cared enough to stay with him. John had abandoned his own dreams of making it in California to come back to Rosewood where his only family remained. Their mother had passed on when John was sixteen, and John’s father had died years before. Matt was all he had left.
And though he’d never expected to be part of raising a baby, Matt had fallen in love with Danny at first sight. That had never changed.
But the family dynamics had changed almost immediately. While Matt was still learning how to clean up diapers and mix formula, there was the car accident.
And then it was just the two of them. An ill-prepared bachelor and a motherless child. That’s when Matt made the promise he never intended to break.
And he’d built two cradles. One for the house, one for the shop. So he could watch over Danny, protect him. That wasn’t going to stop. He would do anything, give anything to keep his boy safe. Even if it meant taking over as the only father Danny would ever remember. Oh, he’d tell Danny the truth when he was old enough to understand. And he knew none of his neighbors would dare bring up the sensitive subject. Yes, he would keep Danny safe. Even if that meant keeping him from his own mother.
Chapter Two
“Are you sure there aren’t any messages for me?” Leah asked.
Annie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I double-checked. If I’m out, I have an answering machine. Locals are usually pretty good about leaving messages. I can’t be as sure about out-of-towners…”
“It’s local. Whitaker Woods.”
“Oh, they’re really good about getting back to you.” Annie smiled. “Matt’s stuff is special, isn’t it? People find out about his furniture, drive up here from all over. Usually Nan is at the store most of the time, though.”
“Actually, I need to speak to Mr. Whitaker.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t followed up with you since yesterday.” Annie glanced at the clock. It was after seven. “Wow. It’s been a day and a half. That’s really not like him. Have you talked to Nan?”
“Repeatedly. Seems he’s out on a commission job.”
Annie nodded sympathetically. “Matt works like an artist, gets all caught up in what he does.” She pointed across the room. “See that bench? He recreated it from some fuzzy old photos for my grandfather. Took great care with every detail. The original was lost in a fire. It was a wedding present to Gramps from my great-grandparents. And it meant so much to him when Matt was able to make another one. He said it brought Granny closer to him those last years.” Annie cleared her throat. “Anyway, like I said, Matt becomes really caught up in his projects.”
Leah understood, but it wasn’t getting her any closer to talking with him. “Thanks anyway.”
Climbing the stairs back to her room, she couldn’t help but wonder. Matt usually got back to people quickly. So, why wasn’t he getting back to her?
At breakfast the next morning, Leah dawdled over her French toast.
“Do you want another slice?” Annie offered.
“No, thanks. It’s delicious, but I shouldn’t be eating anything this rich for breakfast.”
Annie chuckled. “The guests usually say that. But they rarely order anything else after they try it. It was my grandmother’s recipe.”
“I’m guessing you were close to your grandparents.”
“This was their place. The one that didn’t burn down.” Annie lifted the coffeepot. “More coffee?”
“Since I’m the last one in the dining room, why don’t you join me, unless I’m keeping you from something?”
“Best offer I’ve had all morning.”
Leah added more cream to her cup. “Do you ever get tired of having your house full of people?”
Annie hesitated. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Actually, I’ve been considering combining work and home spaces—I’m a designer.”
“Really? That must be interesting.”
“I like it. But then I kind of fell into it. It’s my family’s business. A third-generation business.”
“Like mine. This was a bakery during my grandparents’ time.”
“So you know what I mean. I grew up playing with fabric and paint. I thought sample books were toys.”
Annie grinned. “I’d have loved that. I’ve always wanted to do something more with this place.”
“It’s beautiful. Fits perfectly with the period of the building, of the town actually.”
“Thanks. For the most part, these were my grandparents’ furnishings. They used this room for the display area so it was a natural for the dining room. But I’d like to put my stamp on another room.”
“It’s the woman in us,” Leah commiserated.
“True.”
Leah sipped her coffee. “Do you know if Whitaker’s combines its workshop and retail space?”
“Hmm? Oh, there’s a work space at the store, but Matt does most of his work at the shop behind his house.”
“Did you have a particular room in mind to redo, Annie?” Leah asked, picking up on her earlier comment.
“One the public doesn’t have access to, I think,” she mused. “Maybe my bedroom.”
For a few minutes they talked about Annie’s decorating wish list. Leah didn’t want to rush the conversation, but at some point she intended to ask Annie just where the Whitaker house was.
If Matt Whitaker wouldn’t call her, she would have to call on him.
The rambling two-story house was old, well kept and surprisingly cozy-looking. It also appeared to be empty.
First, Leah rang the bell at the front door. Then waited. Then rang it again. And again.
She tried knocking.
She tried the back door.
Not thwarted, she searched out the shop. A tall, wide double door stood open. Apparently theft wasn’t an issue in this part of the world.
She found nothing but wood and tools in the orderly, pine-scented shop. She breathed in the smell of newly cut timber and wood dust, but they didn’t tell her if Whitaker had been there that day or even that week. She suspected the shop always smelled of freshly cut wood.
Going back to the house, she took out a card, scribbled a message on the back—explaining that she urgently needed to speak to him—and tucked it in the space by the front door.
Leah considered camping out until Matt Whitaker returned, but who knew when that would be?
So she checked again at the store. Nan was apologetic, assuring her that Matt would be in touch at some point.
She waited at Borbey House until after five o’clock and drove out to the Whitaker house again. No one was home.
Frustrated, she returned to the bed-and-breakfast.
Annie was tidying the parlor. “Any luck?”
“None.” Disheartened, she started climbing the stairs.
“Wait.” Annie put down her feather duster. “I know it’s exasperating, I mean, you driving all this way, not being able to get in touch with Matt. Why don’t you come with me this evening to the church supper? It’s always fun. We have games afterward.”
Leah was about to refuse. “And Matt might be there.”
That clinched it for her. “Oh? Are you sure I won’t be in the way?”
“At our church? Never. It’s a potluck and we always have plenty of food and then some.”
Annie was about Leah’s age, and her lively dark eyes were warm and inviting. But Leah didn’t want to take advantage. “Then, can I make a donation?”
“It’s not necessary. Really, everyone’s welcome.”
“Hmm. I couldn’t help noticing that you make a lot of extra pies.”
“This is Borbey House—Hungarian for ‘baker.’ Selling the pies is a holdover tradition from the days when my grandparents ran the bakery.”
“Good. I’d like to buy two, please.”
Annie grinned. “Hungry, are we?”
“I’ll let you pick the flavors.” Leah glanced down at her jeans and frowned. “I didn’t bring a dress.”
“You look about the same size as me. I’ll loan you something.”
“Really?”
“It won’t be a designer label, but if that doesn’t bother you…”
“Annie, you redefine hospitality.”
Rosewood Community Church was located in a beautiful old building. Annie explained that the structure had sustained an electrical fire that had nearly wiped it out a few years earlier. But the membership had come together to rebuild. By using some of the original stones, they had maintained the best of the past, while making sure they had a future.
Leah listened as she clenched and unclenched her sweaty hands, studying the people around them. She leaned close to Annie. “What does Matt Whitaker look like?”
“Um…tall, early thirties, dark brown hair that’s kind of sun-streaked…” She paused. “You know he works with lots of wood and tools, so he’s fit, muscular. Casual dresser. What did I leave out?”
Leah shook her head. “Not much.” But she couldn’t stop staring at every man who passed by.
She didn’t pay much attention to the tables of food, although she followed Annie’s lead and filled her plate, then took a seat. The people were friendly, introducing themselves. She was surprised by their welcome. It was so different than being in the city.
“There’s Matt. About two tables over on the left.” Annie pointed tactfully. “See? Next to that family?”
Leah was relieved to finally see him. She’d begun to think that even in such a small town she wasn’t going to catch up to him. Although she wanted to pin him down now, manners kept her from bothering him until he finished his dinner.
A man and woman sitting at the table between hers and his stood up, clearing her view. It was then she saw the young boy at Matt’s side. A boy that looked to be about the same age Danny would be. Leah swallowed.
She always noticed young boys, wondering how her own son had turned out. Still… She watched father and son together. Their postures were nearly identical. Their gestures similar. Matt paid careful attention to the boy.
“Dessert, Leah?” Annie asked.
“No, thanks.”
“There’s a cheesecake over there calling out to me. I don’t want to be rude, so I think I’ll go answer.”
“Mmm.”
Annie shrugged and walked over to the dessert table.
Leah watched Matt Whitaker and the child. Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, the two heads were bent together and she could see the boy’s grin, Matt’s quick smile.
They were close. It was evident in the easy body language, the looks they exchanged.
Surely a man who loved his son this much would understand her quest.
As Leah watched, the boy jumped up from the table, hugged Matt and then ran to join the other kids his age in the games that were beginning. Leah found it difficult to take her gaze from him, watching until he and the other children left the fellowship hall with a basketball, probably to go to the gymnasium.
Annie had returned with her cheesecake, extra happy that she’d found chocolate sauce to go with it. She urged Leah to go over to see Matt.
He was still at the table, finishing his meal, when she approached.
“Mr. Whitaker?”
He glanced up.
“I’m Leah Hunter.”
His expression turned wary. “Yes?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you at your store. Sorry to ambush you here.” Leah smiled, trying to take the businesslike edge from her words. “I’m with Annie. I mean, she invited me to the church supper, being a stranger in town and all.”
Not a word from him.
“And me being at loose ends,” Leah continued, filling in the awkward silence. “I wasn’t planning to be in Rosewood long. I just came to talk to you. I think Nan gave you my card.”
The silence was so protracted she wondered if he would speak.
When he finally did, his voice was deep, somber. “She gave it to me.”
Which told her nothing. “So…” Leah studied his unblinking gaze. “I’m trying to trace down a box I have—”
“Nan told you we don’t keep records on the boxes.”
“She said you only make the boxes for family or special friends—”
“Miss Hunter, my friends don’t sell their boxes.”
“I didn’t say I’d bought it.”
“You’ve come a long way for nothing then.” He stood, stepping aside and pushing his chair up to the table.
“No, Mr. Whitaker, I haven’t.” She pulled the box from her purse. “This is the first clue I’ve had to finding my son in eight years and you’re not going to just dismiss me.” She held it up. “This belonged to Kyle Johnson. Did you know him?”
His expression was at first startled, then guarded. His lips thin, pressed tightly together. One word finally emerged, as though it were painful to say. “Yes.”
Her hope, thready at best, flared. She bit her lower lip to stave off tears. “Oh, Mr. Whitaker, you don’t know what this means to me.” Despite her effort, one tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away. “Where can I find him? I know he’s difficult to pin down.”
“Not anymore.”
“No?”
“He’s dead.”
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