Child of Mine. Bonnie K. Winn
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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