Tasha's Christmas Wish (9781460341315) Read online

  Chapter 2

  By late afternoon, Tasha had sold several more dolls, but had taken no orders for the custom-made dolls. She decided that rather than spend the money on an expensive hotel dinner, she would just stay in her hotel room and eat the granola bars and fruit she’d brought with her from home.

  As the crowd thinned, she noticed Quinton talking to a woman who sold clothing that looked like it included elements of tie-dye and quilting. Quinton was dressed in his long wool coat. She didn’t need to get closer to him to know that his trousers would have no wrinkles and his shoes would look as though they’d just come out of the box. The young woman threw back her head and laughed at something Quinton said as he ran his fingers through his wavy blond hair.

  “I’d like to get this doll for my granddaughter.” Tasha drew her attention back to a silver-haired woman holding the Shirley Temple–like doll in the red polka-dot dress. The woman clicked her purse open.

  Tasha nodded. She touched the doll’s ringlets. “I’m sure your granddaughter will love it.” She poured so much time and love into each doll that when she did sell one, she felt like a teacher saying goodbye to a graduating student.

  The woman placed a credit card on the counter. “Meagan likes dolls, even at her age.”

  Tasha wrapped the doll in tissue paper. “How old is your granddaughter?”

  “Meagan’s seventeen. She’s going off to college this fall. I thought the doll would be a nice reminder of home. She can have it in her dorm room to remind her of how much her Grammy loves her.”

  Tasha placed the doll in a box. “Dolls are a good way to remember someone special.”

  “This doll looks like my little Meagan when she was starting off to school, just six years old.” The woman sighed deeply. “The time goes by so quickly.”

  “That’s what my mom always said.” Tasha placed the cover on the box and handed it to the woman. “I hope Meagan likes her gift.”

  As the older woman walked away with her treasure, Tasha glanced at the booth where Quinton had been. He was gone.

  She shook off the rising tension she felt in her neck and shoulders. Quinton and Newburg were her old life. She looked around at the myriad dolls—some smiling, some sad, some old, some young. This—she rested her gaze on the blue eyes of a lady doll in a flowing purple ball gown—is my new life. She glanced at several other dolls. And these are my new coworkers. She smiled. They’re not a bad crowd to work with.

  She stopped for a moment when she got to the doll depicting an older woman sitting in a chair with her needlework. The doll’s head tilted to the side and her gray-and-white hair was pulled up into a loose bun. “Hello there, Mama.” Tasha had painted a clear glaze over the hazel eyes to mirror the glittering brightness of her own mother’s eyes.

  Tasha had been an only child and a late-in-life baby. Her father, a gentle man with a weak heart, had died when she was five. Maybe that was why she was so sympathetic to Mary’s loss. Her mother and, as Tasha put it, a hundred other moms and dads at church had raised her. Moving back to Montana wasn’t just about starting the business. Her mom’s failing health had clinched the deal. She’d be home soon enough to hug the real “mama.”

  Tasha noticed Mary’s stuffed cat and picked it up. The image of Philip holding Mary flitted through her mind. She’d felt a little spark when Philip had looked over his shoulder at her. Just a chance encounter—she’d probably never see the two of them again. Maybe she could leave the cat at the front desk and hope they’d come looking for it.

  She slumped down in her chair and stared out at the thinning crowd. Closing time was only a few minutes away.

  * * *

  The wind kicked up and the temperature dropped as Philip opened the trunk of his car and pulled his briefcase out. Already, biting needles of snow stung his skin. Shading his forehead with his hand, he looked up at gusting snow and dark sky. This storm was going to be a doozy. He slammed the trunk shut.

  Once inside the lobby of the hotel, he rested the briefcase on a chair and clicked it open. He unzipped an inside pocket and pulled out a five-by-seven photograph. Each time he removed the photograph, he told himself he wouldn’t look at it. He told himself that keeping the picture of his wife and daughter close by was a way of getting through the grief, but looking at it was torture.

  Each time he told himself that, and every time he ended up staring at the photograph of the smiling woman with dark brown hair and gray-green eyes and the beautiful child she held in her arms. The sharp pain of loss had subsided into the intense ache of grief. He wondered if that ache, that longing to come home and find his wife and daughter making cookies and laughing, would ever go away.

  This time, though, he was going to do something positive, something healing with this photograph, for Mary anyway. An idea had germinated when he’d seen Mary holding the Victorian doll with the bundled-up baby.

  He’d dropped Mary off with her cousins and aunt so he could talk to Tasha Henderson about his idea without Mary knowing.

  He strode toward the ballroom. When he arrived, the doors to the ballroom were still open, but only a few people milled around. Most of the booths were covered with sheets.

  A security guard strode toward him. “Can I help you, sir? This place if going to be closing up in about two minutes.”

  Disappointment settled in, making his shoulders slump. “I was looking for the woman in Booth 9.” He pointed in the general direction. “The pretty redhead with all the dolls.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know the one,” said the security guard. “She left less then a minute ago. Said something about going upstairs to her room. You might be able to catch her.”

  Philip patted the security guard’s shoulder. “Thanks.” He ran toward the stairs, hoping he wasn’t too late. As he hurried, he realized that this wasn’t just about getting a doll made for Mary. He was glad to have an excuse to talk to Tasha again.

  * * *

  As she made her way through the lobby, people sauntered through the hallways with room key cards in their hands. The hotel was packed.

  Her room was on the fifth floor, but a meal of granola bars and tea was nothing to race up the stairs for. She stopped in the hallway and kicked off her shoes. Leaning against the wall, she rubbed her calf with her bare foot. Standing all day was hard on her legs. She put her shoes back on and thought about finding a deli or someplace that served cheaper meals than the hotel offered. But the snowstorm beating against the tall glass windows told her that was not a good idea.

  She walked the long hallway to the stairs, passing groups of people. Holding the stuffed cat, she trudged up the stairs. She hesitated. She’d intended to leave the cat at the front desk. Her calves ached and her back muscles bunched up like strands of knotted rope. She could take the stuffed cat down after a meal and a hot bath when she felt refreshed. She massaged a sore spot on her shoulder. Right now, she didn’t feel like dealing with anything. She was on her second flight of stairs when she heard pounding footsteps behind her.

  Someone called her name.

  Tasha glanced down the stairs.

  When she turned around, several people stepped by her on the stairs offering only a passing glance. Then Philip Strathorn rushed around the corner and stopped on the landing. “Tasha Henderson.”

  “Yes.” Tasha walked down several steps to the landing. He stood close enough for her to smell the woody scent of his cologne. He bent his head down. His hair was the same light brown as Mary’s, but not curly.

  “I asked the security guard if he’d seen the pretty redhead from Booth 9.” Philip leaned against the wall. “He said you’d gone this way. I couldn’t talk to you earlier because I had Mary with me.”

  Heat rose up in Tasha’s cheeks. So that was the impression she’d given him, that she was pretty.

  Philip continued, “I know this is rude
of me. I should have caught you before you closed down shop for the day.”

  “No, it’s all right.” Tasha liked the gentleness she saw in Philip’s brown eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t mind.”

  “I need you to create two custom-made dolls for me.” Taking his hand away from the wall, he stood up straight, waiting for her response.

  “Two dolls?” Tasha’s tired feet felt a little less sore. Fatigue melted off her neck and shoulder muscles. Two custom dolls would cover the cost of heat and electric for her studio, enough supplies for maybe ten more dolls and dinner at the café with Mom. “Those dolls are labor intensive. The price would be close to a thousand dollars for two dolls.”

  “Price is no object.” Philip pulled a photograph from the inside pocket of his ski jacket. He handed her the picture, his eyes searching. “It’s my wife, Heather, with Mary.”

  Tasha stared down at two bright faces: a woman holding a little girl in her arms. Now she knew where Mary got her curly hair. They were dressed in matching red sweaters. The woman’s coloring was darker than Mary’s, but she had the same heart-shaped face. Soft gold lights twinkled in the background.

  “Heather died over a year ago. I thought maybe if Mary had a doll to hold—” Philip shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  His expression darkened, which had the same effect on his face as a cloud passing over the sun. She noticed the slight glazing of his eyes, that almost indiscernible sadness. Guilt washed over her. This man and his daughter were hurting. How dare she think of the dolls only in terms of monetary gain?

  He sighed deeply. “Maybe this is a dumb idea.” He held out his hand for the photograph.

  “It’s not a dumb idea at all.” She drew the photograph closer to her chest and looked him in the eye. “Dolls give children comfort and maybe healing, too.” With the stuffed cat flung over her shoulder, she touched his arm. “You know, when abused children are brought to shelters, one of the first things they give them is a teddy bear or a doll. It makes them feel safe. When a child has to go to a new place, a hospital or something, holding a doll comforts them. It’s not a dumb idea, Dr. Strathorn.” The emotion in her words surprised her. Was she trying to convince herself as well as Philip that doll making wasn’t silliness?

  “Thank you, I needed to hear that.” His shoulders relaxed. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Please, call me Philip.”

  She still held his arm just above the elbow. She let go of him and drew her attention back to the photo. She hadn’t intended to speak so passionately.

  He touched the photo she held in her hand. “Mary cries every night. Sometimes she has bad dreams. I thought maybe the doll would do what I can’t—make her feel as if her mother is near.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It might comfort her.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “I think it’s a beautiful idea, Philip.” He had worry lines on his forehead, much too prominent for a man who was probably not past thirty-five. He smiled faintly, but she saw the tightness in his jaw. “My order forms are back at the booth. Are you going to be around tomorrow?” She pulled one of her cards out of her purse and placed it in his hand.

  “My sister has a room here. I was going to go back to the house with Mary, but I don’t want to drive in this storm. Mary can spend more time with her cousins this way anyhow.”

  “You live here in Denver?” Tasha shifted the stuffed cat to the crook of her elbow.

  “Yes, how about you?”

  “I used to. I moved back to my hometown, Pony Junction.” Still wrestling with the stuffed cat, she placed the photo inside the purse and snapped it shut. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it. It’s a little town in Montana. It was cheaper to start a business there, and I’m closer to my mom.”

  “Actually, I have heard of it. It’s about thirty miles from where my sister and her family live in Monroe Springs. Mary and I spend time there when I can get away from my practice, which isn’t often.”

  Philip pulled a business card out of his wallet. “This is my office number. If you need to discuss the project, it would be best if you didn’t call me at home. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for Mary.”

  She shifted the stuffed cat again so she could take the card from Philip.

  Smiling, Philip lifted the toy out of her arms. “I can take this off your hands.”

  “Sorry, I’d grown so used to having him, I’d forgotten that he wasn’t mine.” They both laughed. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned to go up the stairs.

  “Listen—” He hesitated. “Since I bothered you after you were officially closed, why don’t I make it up to you? I’ll buy you dinner—that is, of course, if you don’t mind eating with my sister’s kids and Mary.”

  Tasha turned back around. Philip seemed nice enough, but she hardly knew him.

  Philip held up the stuffed cat. “You could personally return Mr. Happy. My daughter would think you were a hero.”

  Tasha stared down at the plastic eyes of the cat. “Is that his name?” Her growling stomach made up her mind for her. “A nice meal sounds wonderful. I’d be glad to join you.”

  “Good, I’m supposed to meet Grace and the kids downstairs in about ten minutes.” He flopped the stuffed cat over one arm like a coat.

  “Lead the way,” said Tasha.

  Chapter 3

  Philip heard the chatter of voices and the tinkle of plates and silverware before they stepped through the big French doors of the Four Winds restaurant. The pungent aroma of rosemary and fresh hot bread greeted him. Almost every table was occupied.

  The dining room featured a high ceiling with three crystal chandeliers. On the far wall, diners sat beneath a painted panorama of a forest beside a lake with white-capped mountains towering in the background. At each corner of the mural, a cherublike creature blew wind from his puffed cheeks.

  Philip requested a table in the middle of the room so Grace and the kids would be able to see them. Tasha sat down opposite him and opened her menu. The light played across her face, giving her a warm glow. She was very pretty in an unassuming way.

  His sister and the kids appeared at the entryway. “Grace, over here.” Philip waved.

  Grace stopped a few feet short of the table and stared at Tasha. “Philip, I had no idea you could buy people at the craft fair.” Grace was a stout, broad-shouldered woman with short, wavy brown hair and a smile that took up most of her face. She was dressed simply but elegantly in black slacks, a print silk tank top and a matching big shirt.

  Philip laughed. “This is Tasha. She’s going to help me with the secret.”

  “Oh, right, the secret,” said Grace as she took a seat to the left of Philip.

  “What secret, Daddy?” Mary sat in the chair beside him. The pastel pink of her dress made her skin seem even paler. A lace collar paralleled the curve of her chin and jaw.

  “If I tell you, it won’t be a secret anymore.” Philip put his head close to hers so their noses touched.

  “Please, Daddy.” She pulled back and wrinkled her nose at him, a look that never ceased to delight him.

  “No, princess, I’m not telling.” Philip held her chin in his hand.

  His niece and older nephew slipped into their chairs while their little brother crawled onto his mother’s lap. Sucking two fingers, he rested his head against Grace’s chest.

  Philip tousled the older boy’s hair. “These are my nephews, Travis—” the boy smiled, revealing braces “—and Shawn.” Shawn turned his head and snuggled into his mother’s shirt. Grace touched his fuzzy head.

  His niece piped up, “And I’m Damaris.” Two blond braids fastened with round bobbles framed Damaris’s face. She wore a hot pink sweater with a bunny on it.

  Tasha nodded at each of the children.

  “Tasha just m
oved to Pony Junction.” Philip lifted his glass of ice water.

  “Really, whereabouts do you live?” Grace unrolled Travis’s napkin and placed it across his lap.

  “I renovated the old barn on Gurston Road.”

  “I know where that is. We’re just about thirty miles from there. The organic food farm, just off Weaver.”

  “I’ve seen the signs. There are a lot of little one-horse towns all around that area,” said Tasha.

  “My husband, Gary, drives a truck during the winter to help make ends meet. Things are tight sometimes, but I really like living in the country.” Grace took a sip of water and gazed at Philip over the top of her glass. “I keep trying to talk Philip into moving. We could use a good doctor out there, and Mary would get to see her cousins more.”

  “Grace, don’t get started. You know my practice is established here in Denver.” Philip raised his eyebrows at his sister. “I have no desire for small-town life.”

  Grace unfolded her napkin. “He never would listen to his older sister,” she teased.

  The waiter came by and they ordered. While they waited for their meals to arrive, the conversation turned to what they had seen at the craft show. Everyone chattered as steaming plates of food were set in front of them. Philip inhaled the citrus scent of his roast duck. His mouth watered as they bowed their heads to say grace.

  Tasha whispered, “Amen,” and lifted her head. With a glance at her, he silently thanked God for the blessing of a good meal and company before scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy.

  “Can we go to the pool after dinner?” Travis shoved a French fry slathered with ketchup into his mouth.

  “I don’t see why not,” Grace said. She turned to Tasha. “We’d love to have you join us if you don’t have any plans after dinner.” Grace offered Philip a raised-eyebrow look that he recognized.

  Grace must have seen how he stared at Tasha and decided to play matchmaker. He’d flirted with the idea. She seemed nice, but they lived in different cities and had very different lives.