Tasha's Christmas Wish (9781460341315) Read online

  “Just television and an early night. I have to get up at six to open the booth. I don’t have a swimsuit with me, but you guys would certainly be better company than the nightly news.”

  “It’s settled, then,” said Grace. “Come join us at the pool.”

  The children took the lead in the conversation, chatting about school, pets and what they wanted for Christmas.

  While they ate, Philip snuck a glimpse at Tasha as she joked with Damaris about some new toy he’d never heard of. She was a natural around children. Yes, she was pretty and very kind. Still, he found himself making excuses for keeping their relationship strictly business. He wasn’t ready for anything else just yet.

  * * *

  After dinner, Tasha went upstairs to freshen up before meeting the others at the pool. During the meal, Tasha had sensed that Philip was staring at her, but when she glanced in his direction he looked at his plate. Was there more going on here than just business? Was there even the slightest possibility of something more?

  She’d caught a glimpse of him in her peripheral vision. His hair barely touched his ears. Light from the chandelier accented blond streaks in his sandy-brown hair. Okay, so he was attractive, intelligent and he was a good dad.

  But even when he was joking with the kids, his smile would fade and that indefinable shadow settled into his expression. Then he managed a much more artificial smile, one that didn’t show in his eyes. Although she was drawn to him, she thought it best to keep this relationship just friendly. There must be things he was dealing with she couldn’t begin to understand or fix. That was God’s job.

  When she stepped out of the elevator, she saw Quinton. He was facing her door, leaning against the opposite wall while he wrote on a piece of paper. As always, Quinton looked as if he’d fallen out of the pages of an upscale men’s catalog.

  His eyes brightened when he noticed her. “There you are. I was just leaving a note to let you know I stopped by.”

  “You were at the fair all day. Why didn’t you come over and say hi to me then?” The irritation in her voice surprised her. He hadn’t come by to say hello to her and that hurt. Despite what she told herself, she still had feelings for him.

  “I was working the room. Making contacts, et cetera, et cetera.” Quinton ran his hands over his wavy blond hair.

  “Find any new talent?”

  “None as gifted as you.” He reached out and touched her cheek. “I miss you, Tasha. I sit in church by myself every Sunday.”

  The warmth of his touch lingered on her face even after he pulled his hand away. Quinton was a man Tasha should have been proud to take home to meet her mother. He was successful, handsome, hardworking and, above all, a Christian. Yet Tasha had always felt as if there was something missing from their relationship, though she could never quite put her finger on it. The number of hours he spent working had always been a point of conflict for them—but there was something else that just didn’t feel right, despite the qualities in his favor that should have made him a perfect match.

  Tasha swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the stir of mixed-up emotions she felt. “Thank you for stopping by. It was good to see you again.” She struggled to keep her voice neutral. The veil between affection and anger was thin, and right now she was wrestling with both.

  She pulled her key card out of her pocket, swiped it in the slot and pushed open the door.

  As she stepped into her room, she heard his footsteps on the carpet behind her. “I thought maybe we could go out for coffee.”

  Tasha spun around. “I’ve made other plans, Quinton. Thanks.” There really was no such thing as making a clean break in a relationship. He was stirring up old emotions. Feelings she could keep at bay as long as she was a twelve-hour drive away from him.

  “What plans?”

  “I’m meeting—” She kicked off her loafers. “Quinton, it’s none of your business. We’re not dating anymore.”

  He picked up one of the dolls she had left behind to be repaired. “Even if you don’t want me to be part of your life, our sales at Newburg Designs have been down since you left.” He held the doll by one leg and pointed it at her. “Maybe when you get done playing with dolls, you’ll come back.”

  Rising tension, triggered by indecision, made the back of her neck tighten and her temples throb. It would be so easy to come back. Then she wouldn’t have all these bills hanging over her head. “I’m not playing with dolls, Quinton. What I do is meaningful.” This was one of the reasons they’d broken up. He was utterly unsupportive of her dream. He ridiculed it. “When I was working for Newburg’s slave factory, nothing was ever mine. I had no control. Newburg was always reworking my ideas.”

  “If that’s all it’s about, maybe I could just talk to her.”

  “No, no, it’s more than that, Quinton. I want my work to mean something, to help people. I don’t want to make clothes for self-indulgent, rich women.”

  “Making dolls helps people?” His mouth curled slightly—almost a sneer.

  She thought about showing him the picture of Mary and her mother, but trying to explain this to Quinton felt useless. She had already tried a hundred times to get him to understand. “Just go, Quinton, please.”

  He looked at her with blue-gray eyes, his gaze unwavering. “If that’s what you want, Tasha.” He tossed the doll back on the dresser. “Newburg says to remind you to come by the office before you leave. She has a surprise for you.”

  “I know. She told me.” What could Newburg’s surprise possibly be? It must be big if she had told Quinton to remind her. “I’ll come by the office on Monday, early.”

  “Maybe we could do brunch.”

  “No, Quinton. I really need to get back home. I lose workdays when I do a craft fair.”

  “Don’t tell me you actually have that many orders to fill.” Quinton crossed his arms.

  Tasha felt like throwing a pillow at him. Okay, so she didn’t have endless piles of work to do because everyone wanted her dolls. It was still mean of Quinton to point it out. “Why don’t you just go, Quinton?” Tasha rested her forehead in her open palm.

  “Tasha, I’m trying to help you.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “The number one rule of business is if you are not making money, do something else.”

  Tasha pulled away from his touch. “It’s not about money. It’s about doing what I love.” Quinton stared blankly at her. She could talk until she was blue in the face; he would never understand. “Just go, please.”

  He left without another word. She heard his feet brushing the carpet and the door clicking shut. Tasha plopped down on the bed and stared at the doll in her arms. Brown glass eyes gazed up at her. She brushed a golden strand of hair off the doll’s face.

  Maybe Quinton was right. Maybe she was just being foolish. She had spent months praying before she gave notice at Newburg Designs. And moving back to Pony Junction allowed her to be close to her seventy-year-old mom. Was she wrong in thinking that making dolls was what God wanted her to do?

  She opened her purse and pulled out the picture Philip had given her. If her design could provide comfort for Mary, that would make it all worthwhile. She placed the picture on a nightstand.

  Pushing herself up off the bed, she unbuttoned her flowing blue dress and slipped into a pair of jeans and a purple jewel-neck blouse. After a quick glance at herself in the mirror and a little lip gloss, she headed upstairs to the pool.

  Chapter 4

  The pool was on the top floor with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that looked out on the city. When Tasha stepped across the threshold, wet heat settled on her skin and the scent of chlorine hung in the air. The snowstorm muted the twinkling lights from buildings. Through the steamy windows, she could just make out the outline of skyscrapers and the random blue glow from windows.

  Besides Philip’s f
amily, there were only a few other people at the pool. An older couple sat in lounge chairs in matching yellow bathrobes. The woman, wet hair matted to her head, leaned back against her headrest and closed her eyes. She reached over and patted her sleeping husband’s arm. Another man swam laps in the far lane. His face turned toward Tasha and then away in a blur of motion and water. Triangular elbows jutted out of the water at precise intervals.

  Grace looked up from the magazine she was flipping through and waved Tasha over with a big toothy grin. “Have a seat.” She tugged at the unzipped sage-green terry cover-up so it hid her hips and stomach.

  The white plastic lounge chair creaked when Tasha sat down.

  Philip roughhoused with the boys by letting them stand on his hands and then tossing them in the water. The two girls floated around on a single inner tube, kicking idly, giggling and pressing their heads close together.

  Grace glanced out at the pool. “He’s so good with kids. Too bad he won’t have any more.”

  “He’s young. He might marry again.”

  “A few months ago, he thought he was ready to start dating.” Grace shook her head. “Believe me, there were plenty of women standing in line. Everybody wants to date ‘the doctor’—needy, desperate women. I think he got tired of it.” Grace closed her magazine. “He likes you.”

  “Me?” Grace’s candor caught Tasha off guard. “I barely know him.”

  Grace patted Tasha’s leg. “I saw the way he looked at you at dinner. A sister knows these things.”

  “I’m flattered. But I’m trying to get a business off the ground. I don’t have time for a relationship.” Certainly not with someone who lived twelve hours away. She glanced at Philip as he held his hands close to his face to block splashing water. The acoustics of the pool room accentuated the rich bass tones of his laughter.

  Grace responded to her protests by raising one eyebrow and drawing her lips into a straight line. She sighed. “I think the whole dating thing just made him miss Heather more.”

  “How did she die?”

  “Philip probably didn’t tell you that part. It’s hard for him to talk about it. She had pancreatic cancer. She was only ill for a short time, but I think because he was a doctor, he thought he should have been able to do more.”

  Lost in thought, Tasha settled back into the lounge chair. “How’s he doing now?”

  Grace sat up straighter. “Ever since Heather died, he’s been working more and more hours at the clinic.” Grace stared out at the pool. “I’m just a big sister. I can’t tell him anything. But he’s drowning his sorrow in work. He’s not dealing with it.”

  Philip and the boys sent up a huge spray of water. Tasha laughed as it sprinkled her jeans.

  “Hey, watch it. You got water drops all over my magazine,” Grace taunted.

  “Would you like some cheese with that whine? You poor baby. Why don’t you jump in the pool and get even?” Philip chided.

  The boys joined in. “Come and get us, Mom. Come and get us.”

  Grace stood up and took her robe off. “I think I will.” She ran for the pool and did a huge, splashing cannonball. The eruption of water was followed by a burst of protest from the children, screaming, “Oh, Mom!”

  “I’m so embarrassed.” Damaris slapped her cheeks with her hands, rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “You think that was embarrassing...” Grace proceeded to splash water on her daughter and Mary. The two girls jumped off the tube and joined in the water fight.

  Tasha watched. “Now I wish I’d brought my suit.”

  “You’re missing out on all the fun,” Philip yelled in between dodging water bullets.

  Tasha shook her head. What a wonderful family. Would her life have been different if she’d had siblings? Being an only child had given her lots of time to develop her artistic abilities. Dolls had been her best friends. Maybe that was why she liked them so much. Still, it would have been nice to have a brother to protect her or a sister to play dress-up with.

  About half an hour later, everyone crawled out of the pool. The three other people had already left.

  Philip toweled his wet hair. He looked at his sister and cocked his head to one side, which Tasha took as some kind of signal between siblings. “Grace, why don’t you take the kids downstairs? I’ll join you in a minute.”

  Grace picked up on the signal and gathered the kids together. As the children ran ahead of her out of the pool room, she caught Tasha’s arm just above the elbow. “Listen, if you need some fabric for your dolls, I can sell some to you at cost. I stocked up on it when I became delusional and thought I had the talent to be a professional quilter.”

  “Actually, any supplies I can get wholesale are worth it. Maybe I can stop by your place sometime.”

  Philip waited until Grace was out the door before addressing Tasha. “I have more photos at home if they would help you make the dolls.”

  “The photo you gave me will be a good start. But anything that shows other facial angles would be helpful.”

  “You’ll have them done by Christmas?” He swung his towel over his shoulders.

  “I should be able to get them done a few weeks before.” She leaned a little closer and touched his arm. “I thought I was going to spend the night alone with the television. Thank you for inviting me to dinner. You have a wonderful family. I like your sister.”

  “She’s all right for a big sister. After—after Heather died—Grace, well, she—” He wiped a wet spot on his arm with his towel. “Well, let’s just say she’s the strong one in the family.”

  Philip’s grief over his wife still seemed very close to the surface. Not wanting to say anything that would aggravate his sorrow, Tasha remained silent.

  They sauntered out of the pool room and down the hall together. “Thank you for doing this for Mary.”

  “Custom-made dolls are my favorites.”

  They lingered in the hallway. Grace’s words—He likes you—floated into her mind. Tasha took a step back. Best not do anything to encourage a pointless relationship. This was business—just business.

  His wet hair was slicked back from his face, making his brown eyes stand out even more. Tasha took a second step back. “What floor are you on?”

  “Just down one flight.”

  As they walked down the hall and to the stairs together, she couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him. There it was again, that sad look in his eyes. Philip was enduring an ache that she could not possibly hope to assuage.

  They walked down the hallway, exchanging small talk, until they stood outside Grace’s hotel room.

  Tasha could hear the laughter of the children from inside the room. If they were anything like she was as child, staying at a hotel was the most fascinating thing in the world. The kids probably wouldn’t go to bed for a long time.

  A little body banged against the partially open door. Tasha smiled. “I hope you don’t have to work tomorrow. You’re probably not going to get much sleep.”

  “I always try to take Sunday off. We can catch the late service at church. I have to work a lot of hours, but since—” Again, the awkward pause. “I try to spend as much time with Mary as I can.”

  “She’s a sweet girl.”

  Philip’s face brightened and he grinned. “Thank you.” He was definitely a daddy.

  Tasha said goodbye, promising to keep him informed about her progress on the dolls.

  When she got to her room, Tasha gazed out at the city. The blizzard had let up a bit, and she could see the glow and twinkle of Christmas lights everywhere.

  It would be good to spend a leisurely Christmas with Mom. When she was working for Newburg Designs, she was lucky if she had time to say hello to her mother before she had to turn around and drive back to Denver.

  Without her substantial salary f
rom Newburg, she wouldn’t be able to buy her mother the lavish gifts she had loved to give her. Her mother would be happy with any gift—that was not what Christmas was about for them. Still, Tasha liked the thrill of seeing Mom’s face when she opened a box and saw a one-of-a-kind leather purse or imported perfume. Mom had always been frugal. Tasha liked spoiling her.

  She sighed and plopped down on the hotel bed, idly tracing the floral design of the bedspread. When she was working for Newburg, she had lots of money but no time, and now she had lots of time to spend with people she loved, but money was always a worry.

  As she gazed at the doll propped up beside the TV set and thought of the mounting bills waiting for her at home, she wondered if she had made the right trade-off.

  * * *

  At the sound of Mary’s crying, Philip’s eyes fluttered open. Grace and the kids were in the adjoining room. Mary had wanted to do a sleepover with her cousins, but he knew the bad dreams and crying would wake everyone and embarrass Mary.

  He slipped out of his bed and walked over to her bed without turning on the light.

  He stroked her forehead. “Mary, it’s Daddy. You’re having a bad dream.” He gathered her into his arms and rocked her back and forth, humming a soft lullaby until she quieted. He stroked her head and held her a moment longer before laying her on her side and covering her with the blanket.

  She stirred but did not wake. He retrieved Mr. Happy from the end of the bed and lifted her arm and placed the stuffed cat so Mary could hold it while she slept.

  Unable to go back to sleep himself, he slumped down in a chair and sat in the darkness. If he turned on a light to read, he might wake Mary. He rose and tiptoed across the room, opening the door to the adjoining room slightly.

  He doubted Mary would wake up again, but if she did, Grace would hear her. He grabbed a book and headed down to the fifth floor, where he knew there was a quiet lounge. He’d been to medical conferences here and had found the lounge when he needed a moment away from the crowds and the constant shoptalk. He put on his robe and grabbed the bag of cookies Grace had made for him. Stepping into the hall, he made sure the door was locked behind him.