Child of Mine

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—”