Authors: Phyllis Halldorson
Clint put the card in the pocket of his jeans and slid a
lightweight blue pullover over his plaid sport shirt. Paul, a
championship golfer, was playing in a golf tournament in Monterey this
weekend. It was the perfect time for Clint to meet Ms. Haley face to
face and decide for himself just what kind of person she was. If she
had nothing to hide, she'd be richer by the price of a doll and he'd
have peace of mind. If she was after Paul's money and family prestige,
then he'd take appropriate action, with a clear conscience.
An hour later he stopped his cream-colored Cadillac
Eldorado in front of a yellow Victorian house on top of a hill in the
older residential district of Placerville. There were two doors. The
one at the top of the five wide stairs that led to the porch was of
heavy beveled glass and walnut, obviously the original. A second one a
few feet to his right was solid walnut and new. A tastefully printed
sign in the large old-fashioned window beside it announced that this
was The Home of Mary Elyse's Fairy-tale Angels.
In the absence of any instructions to walk in, Clint rang
the bell and waited. He was just about to ring it again, when the door
was opened by a young woman. "Good afternoon," she said in a husky
drawl, "I'm Mary Elyse. Won't you please come in?"
Clint stared. No wonder Paul was besotted! Mary Elyse
Haley was exquisite.
Her hair was the most startling thing about her. It was a
medium shade of auburn and cut to frame her heart-shaped face in a riot
of loose curls that lengthened to tumble around her shoulders and upper
arms. Her full lips were tinted the exact shade of rose that glowed
naturally on her high cheekbones, and her eyes were light brown with a
tinge of green and a subconscious hint of seduction.
His undisciplined gaze roamed downward to the slender neck
and the full high breasts, which seemed to strain under the avocado
cotton fabric of the dress she wore. A matching braided belt encircled
her small waist, and her swing skirt suggested gently flaring hips and
slim thighs, which tapered to slender calves and trim ankles. Her small feet were encased in multicolored low-heeled
pumps.
Clint felt a stirring in his lower body and dragged his
attention back to the business at hand. Good Lord, what was the matter
with him? He was supposed to be evaluating her for his brother, not
lusting after her for himself. This unpalatable job was going to be
even more difficult than he'd anticipated.
He smiled and tried to keep his eyes under control as he
stepped inside and directly into her display room, which, no doubt, had
been designed as the front parlor. "Thank you," he said a bit
belatedly. "I'm Clinton Edwards." He used his middle name but didn't
add the Sterling. He didn't want her to recognize him. "I need a gift,
and somebody suggested one of your dolls."
Her answering smile lit up the room. "They do make lovely
presents," she said as she led the way to a big glass case. "Is the
lady a collector?"
"Uh… yes. That is, she loves beautiful things."
"Is there a special type of doll she prefers?"
Clint blinked. "Type?"
Elyse's laugh was as rich and husky as her voice. "There
are different categories of dolls, Mr. Edwards."
" 'Clint'. Please call me 'Clint'." He wanted to get
things on a more informal basis. It would make it easier to find out
what he wanted to know.
"All right, Clint. Some of the classifications are Antique
Reproduction, Celebrity, Fashion… I specialize in storybook
dolls, my version of children's storybook characters." She opened the
glass door and pointed to one about fifteen inches tall. "This is
Little Tommy Tucker. He has his lute, and you can see by the shape of
his mouth that he's singing for his supper."
She moved her hand and picked up another, dressed in an
elaborate ball gown. "This is Cinderella." She held it out to him. "She
comes with a change of clothing—a tattered dress and a broom
for sweeping cinders."
He took the doll from her and held it. It was perfect in
every detail. "Do you make these yourself, or do you just design them?"
"Oh, I make them all, from the design to the finished
product, except for the wigs and the shoes. Although I had to do
Cinderella's glass slippers myself." She wrinkled her nose and her eyes
twinkled with amusement. "I cheated a little, though. They're actually
made of clear plastic."
"I'm impressed," Clint murmured, and he meant it.
He sincerely hoped she was the sweet and honest lady she
seemed to be. She could break his brother's heart if she wasn't.
Clint spent the better part of an hour examining dolls and
asking questions. But it wasn't the dolls that fascinated him; it was
their creator. She was a real charmer. But was she also just a little
too good to be true? So far she hadn't done or said a thing to make him
believe she wasn't exactly what she seemed to be. Yet it was also
obvious that she was very bright. Was it possible that she'd recognized
him as Paul Sterling's brother, the senator, and was playing along with
his deception?
He was running out of questions and wondering how he could
move the conversation to a more personal level, when the door that
separated the shop from the rest of the house opened, and a little girl
appeared, wearing pajamas and looking damply tousled from sleep.
"Mommy, my nap's all gone," she said with a yawn.
Elyse scooped her up in her arms and cuddled her against
her shoulder. "So I see, sweetheart," she said as she brushed the
child's reddish hair back and kissed her on the neck.
She turned toward Clint. "This is my daughter, Janey.
Janey, can you say hello to Mr. Edwards?"
Janey raised her head and looked uncertainly at Clint. She
was almost as beautiful as her mother with her mop of red-gold curls in
disarray around her elfin-like face. "Are you going to buy a doll?" she
asked, omitting the preliminary hello.
"Janey!" her mother admonished.
Clint reach out and curled a lock of the fine hair around
his finger—something he'd been wanting to do to the child's
mother ever since he'd arrived. "Yes, Janey," he said, "I'm going to
buy a doll. But they're all so pretty that I can't decide which one I
want."
She squirmed out of her mother's arms and ran over to the
glass case. "Buy this one," she said, her face glowing with excitement
as she pointed to one on the lower shelf. "It's me."
Clint squatted down to get a better view and recognized
the child in the doll immediately. It's wig was a profusion of titian
curls, and it was dressed in a white party dress of ruffles and lace
with tiny hand-embroidered flowers sprinkled across the bodice. He knew
immediately this was the one he wanted.
He smiled at Janey, standing next to him. "It looks just
like you," he said, "and it's the most beautiful doll in the case. Does
she have a name?"
"Her name's Amanda Jane, just like me, and she's going to
a tea party."
"I can see that," he said. "She's all dressed up. If I buy
her and take her home with me, will you and your mother come and have
tea with us sometime?"
Slow down, Sterling
, he admonished
himself.
Don't bring the child into this with invitations
you can't honor
.
Before Janey could answer, Mary Elyse spoke. "I'm sorry,
Clint, but that doll's not for sale." She indicated a plaque next to
the doll, which he'd missed. "It's one of a kind. I won't duplicate it.
If you have a son or daughter, I could make a doll that looks like him
or her… but you realize it would be very expensive."
Clint felt an unreasonable sense of disappointment as he
stood to face her but silently acknowledged it was just as well. "I'm
not married, nor do I have children, but I can understand why you
wouldn't want to sell the reproduction of your little one." An idea
occurred to him. "Was it a gift for her father?"
She shook her head. "Janey's father is dead."
Dead! That possibility had never occurred to him, but if
she was the type of woman she seemed to be, this was the only
explanation that made sense. What man in his right mind would walk away
from Mary Elyse Haley and leave her to bear and raise his child alone?
"Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry," he said, surprised at the depth
of feeling that accompanied the words.
"Thank you, but it happened before she was born. And
please call me 'Elyse'. I only use the first name for business
purposes. My family and friends have always called me 'Elyse'."
Clint nodded. "I like it. It suits you."
Elyse looked down at her daughter. "If you'll excuse me
for a few minutes, I'd better dress Janey. Would you like a cup of
coffee while you wait?"
"If it's not too much trouble," he answered as she reached
for the coffeepot on the tea table beside her. She motioned toward the
love seat fitted into the bay window area at the front of the room and
handed him a bone china cup and saucer painted with delicate blue
flowers. "Sit over there if you like. I'll only be a few minutes."
Elyse worked quickly as she dressed Janey in slacks and a
T-shirt. She was a little uneasy about leaving a strange man alone
downstairs. Not that Clint was strange. Actually, he seemed like one of
the nicest men she'd met in a long time.
Handsome, too. Tall and muscular, with short black hair
and the most astonishing green eyes. Eyes that probed and dared her to
hold anything back. He was unique but strangely familiar. She was
almost sure she'd seen him before, and yet she knew she'd never met
him. Odd.
She ran the brush through her daughter's disheveled hair,
so like her own, then sent her outside to her swings, slide and jungle
gym.
Back in the shop Clint was just finishing his coffee. He
stood as she came in, but she signaled him to sit back down. "Are you
in a hurry, or would you like a refill?"
"I have the rest of the day," he said as he held up his
cup. "Will you join me?"
He looks right at home
, she thought
as she took another cup from the tea table and filled them both, then
sat down beside him on the small sofa. She was already seated before
she realized there was barely enough space for the two of them. Their
thighs almost touched, and his size and raw masculinity were nearly
overpowering.
Flustered, she quickly said the first thing that came to
mind. "Have you decided yet which doll you like?"
"I like them all," he answered, a look of amusement in his
watching eyes. "But I think I'll buy Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son for my
sister. He looks like my nephew, little devil that he is."
Elyse laughed and tried unobtrusively to put more distance
between them. "That's a popular doll. People are almost as taken by the
pig under his arm as by the doll itself."
"Did you make the pig, too?"
"Oh, sure. That's part of the nursery rhyme; I couldn't
leave it out. If you noticed, Miss Muffett has a spider, Simple Simon
has a pie, and so on. How old is your nephew?" The elusive scent of his
shaving lotion tantalized her nostrils, bringing with it an urge to
know more about this man who did exciting things to her heartbeat.
"Donnie's seven, and he has brothers five and two. They
live in New Hampshire, so I don't see them as much as I'd like."
"Do you have other sisters and brothers?"
He seemed to hesitate, but then he said, "One older
sister, who has teenage children and a younger brother who's not
married. Now it's your turn. How many are in your family?"
She ran her finger around the rim of her mug. "My older
sister, Liz, and I are the only ones left. And Janey, of course. Our
mother died of cancer when I was ten, and a week later Dad suffered a
stroke and only lived another month."
Clint moved to take her hand in his, and for a moment
their thighs did touch. His was firm and warm and sent small tingles
down her leg. He squeezed the hand he was holding. "It seems you've had
more than your share of sadness in your young life," he said gently.
"Yes." She lowered her eyes for a moment. "But I was lucky
to have Liz. She's twelve years older and was just out of college when
they died. She took over and finished raising me. We inherited this
house, so we weren't uprooted, and there was insurance that helped." He
continued to hold her hand, and she felt oddly comforted.
"Does your sister make dolls, too?"
"Oh, my, no. I'm the dreamer. She's the intellectual. She
teaches high school English and literature."
He was silent for a moment, then asked, "Does she have a
family of her own now?"
"No." Elyse's instinct was to leave things at that, but
those hypnotic eyes of his seemed to loosen her tongue. "Liz was
married a few years ago, but it didn't work out. She's divorced now and
lives here with Janey and me. She's out of town for the weekend."
It occurred to Elyse that this tall, handsome and
single
man would be a good match for her sister. He was mature and he had the
confident, relaxed style of a man who had achieved success in whatever
it was he did for a living. Although he was dressed casually, his
clothes were designer quality, and she'd noticed the cream-colored
Cadillac parked at the curb when she'd answered the door.
Perversely Elyse was glad Liz wasn't home. For some reason
the idea of Clint Edwards and her sister as a twosome upset her.
Besides, although Liz vehemently denied it, she showed every indication
of being in love with Paul Sterling, the young man she'd met on the
golf course in Cameron Park a few weeks ago and had been dating
steadily ever since. Because of the age difference—Paul was
ten years younger—Liz refused to consider the possibility of
a romance. Still, they'd gone to Monterey together for a weekend golf
tournament, and Elyse wasn't making any bets they'd still be "just
friends" by the time they returned.
The sound of the doorbell jerked her back to the present,
and she looked at her watch. "Oh, heavens!" she exclaimed as she stood.
"How did the time get away from me? This will be the lady who called
earlier to ask if she could come by and see the dolls." She headed
toward the door. "I'll ring up your sale while she's browsing."