LITMIR.BIZ

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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.”

      Chapter Three

      Reeling, Leah stared at Matt’s back as he walked away. She’d never let herself believe Kyle could be dead. Because if he were, that meant…

      But the investigators had never found Kyle’s death certificate. Whitaker had to be wrong.

      “Wait! Please!” She ran to catch up to him. “When did Kyle die?”

      He stopped and turned to her, his words clipped. “Eight years ago.”

      She gasped. Shaking, she felt the last remnants of her self-control slip away. “That can’t be. We’ve been checking for years and never found a death certificate.”

      “His first name was John. Kyle was part of his middle name—Litchkyl.”

      All of Kyle’s lies. Even his name. He’d signed their marriage certificate as Kyle Johnson. He’d cheapened every single thing about their marriage.

      She closed her eyes, afraid to ask. Hope and despair warred in her heart. Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “And the baby? The boy?”

      He hesitated.

      And her heart nearly

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