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