Child of Mine. Bonnie K. Winn
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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