Tasha's Christmas Wish (9781460341315) Page 5

  “No, but this job pays well enough and frees me up so I can do what God wants me to do.”

  “How are the Christmas boxes for the orphans going this year?”

  “We shipped over a thousand boxes last week. We’ll get another thousand before Christmas. And next year, Charlie and I will be able to go over to South Korea to help out for at least a month.”

  “Maybe that’s what God wants me to do. Work at a good-paying job and use the money to help others,” Tasha said.

  “Sorry, that’s my dream. You were called to be a doll maker.”

  “But I don’t have the money I owe the contractors—”

  Bernadette held up the warning finger again and drew her lips into a straight line. “No whining. Just trust—”

  “Tasha, darling. You’re here.” A voice rang out from the top of the stairs. Cecily Newburg, dressed in a hot pink sheath with fur at the ends of long sleeves and around the collar, motioned for Tasha to come up the stairs.

  Bernadette said, “There will always be naysayers and dream killers in the world. The trick is not to listen to them.”

  “Do come up here and see your surprise.” Newburg’s voice was lilting and singsongy, very theatrical. “Visit with me for a little bitty.”

  Bernadette patted Tasha on the back and winked. “Good luck, kiddo.”

  Newburg minced her way down the metal stairs on four-inch heels. Today Newburg’s hair was candy-apple red and pulled off her face with a gold headband. She held a sheer pink rectangular scarf in her hand. “I’ve been waiting all morning for you. Come, come, darling. See your surprise.”

  Tasha walked behind Newburg to the top of the stairs. What could Newburg possibly be this excited about? Tasha’s boots sank into the plush carpet of the hallway that led to the offices.

  Newburg waved the scarf playfully. “Close your eyes.”

  “You’re going to blindfold me?”

  Newburg scooted around behind Tasha. “Come on, close your eyes. Have a little fun.”

  The sheer fabric of the scarf pressed softly against Tasha’s eyelids. “This surprise must really be something.” Tasha felt a tug at the back of her head. Certainly Cecily wouldn’t go to all this trouble just for a box of fabric scraps. The floral scent of Newburg’s perfume intensified. Noise from the factory floor seemed to get louder.

  Cecily’s hands pressed into Tasha’s shoulders as her voice chimed from behind her. “Okay, now, I’m going to guide you. Take about ten steps this way.”

  Tasha tried to remember the layout of the upper floor, not an easy task with one of her senses disabled.

  “Four more steps this way. Good.”

  Near as she could tell, they were walking roughly in the direction of her old office. A turnaround from Newburg, a vote of support, would be such a welcome blessing. Think hopeful thoughts. Think hopeful thoughts. A door creaked open. The faint scent of cinnamon drifted up to her nose. And what was that other smell—fresh paint?

  Newburg turned Tasha’s body slightly and Tasha heard a bubbling sound like water flowing over rocks.

  Cecily pressed her lips close to Tasha’s ear. “Are you ready?”

  “Oh, I’m ready.” Tasha’s heart pounded in anticipation. What on earth could Newburg have for her?

  Newburg made a drum roll noise as she untied Tasha’s scarf. “Ta-da!” She squeezed Tasha’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

  Tasha gazed into what had been her old cubbyhole of an office.

  “We knocked a wall out.”

  “The old storage room?” Disappointment flooded through her. This was definitely not a vote of support for Tasha’s Dolls. It was a bribe to get her to come back to Newburg Designs.

  Newburg dashed into the office. “I’ve got some cider brewing.” That explained the cinnamon scent. Newburg waltzed around the new office, pointing out its features like Vanna White presenting consonants. “You have your own espresso machine. And look at this—a new heater. No more wearing a coat while you work at the computer.”

  Shaking her head, Tasha took a step into her old office. “Cecily, I—” The office had been expanded from an eight-by-eight cell to almost double that size. In the corner, a tiny fountain bubbled over smooth round stones. An abstract painting hung on the wall, one of Newburg’s favorite local artists, not Tasha’s.

  “So what do you think?” Newburg beamed. She laced her hands together and raised her eyebrows. “Is it fabulous or what?”

  Tasha glanced around. Newburg had placed a microwave close to her old desk. A huge framed photo of a model in one of Tasha’s award-winning evening gowns hung behind the desk. “This must have cost a lot...to remodel.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Newburg poured cider from a teapot and handed the steaming mug to Tasha. “You still haven’t told me what you think.”

  Tasha swallowed as her stomach tightened. The scent of cinnamon and apple rose from the mug. She didn’t want to hurt Newburg’s feelings. But she had never asked for a different office, never said that would be a condition of her staying at the job. “I think...I think...that this will be a very nice office for Octavia.” Tasha spoke as gently as she could, almost whispering.

  Newburg’s mouth fell open. She moved several pens on Tasha’s old desk, arranging them in a straight line. “Octavia is not going to last. I’m offering the job to you before I do another job search.” She looked up from the desk, her eyes intent on Tasha. “We’d love to have you back, Tasha.”

  Tasha closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “Cecily, this is a really wonderful office.” She took the few steps to where Newburg leaned against the desk. “But it’s not my office anymore.” Tasha touched Newburg’s shoulder. “My job and my life are in Pony Junction now.”

  Newburg pulled away from Tasha’s touch. “You can’t tell me that business is booming.”

  Tasha’s jaw tightened. “It takes a while for a business to get a solid start. Of course, as a businesswoman, you know that.” She tried not to sound defensive. But Newburg was rubbing salt in open wounds. I don’t need someone to remind me that my business is not succeeding.

  “I can offer you a ten percent pay raise.”

  “Cecily, I—”

  “I don’t understand you, Tasha. Why would someone give up a good-paying job and move to a town that doesn’t even have a mall?” Newburg wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yes. Because God told you to.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Tasha set the cup down on the desk so hard that the amber liquid splashed out. She shook her head. It was one thing to ridicule her new job, but now Newburg was making fun of her faith. “I didn’t ask for this office. You can find another designer.”

  Newburg turned her back to Tasha. “You are wasting your talent. This offer won’t be open for much longer.”

  Quinton cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway with a stack of papers and a clipboard in his hand. “So what do you think of your new office, Tasha?” The blond hair and deep tan made him look as though he’d just put down his surfboard and stepped off the beach. She had always found him physically attractive, but Tasha knew that the only place to get a tan in Denver this time of year was in a tanning booth.

  She narrowed her eyes at Newburg’s back. “It’s not my office.” She took several deep breaths to calm down.

  Quinton’s gaze went from Tasha to Newburg and back to Tasha. He spoke haltingly. “We were just hoping—”

  Tasha was so upset, words spilled out of her mouth. “I gave notice. I kept my commitments and fulfilled my contract. I finished all the holiday designs before I left. This is not my job anymore.”

  Quinton shoved one hand into the pocket of his gray slacks. “We had to make one final offer. You were an asset to this company.”

  “I didn’t want us to part like this. I wanted us to remain friends
,” Tasha pleaded.

  Quinton stared at the floor. Newburg turned around, glared at Tasha and then spoke to Quinton. “Was there some reason you came in here, Quinton?”

  Tasha sighed. Newburg was doing her “you’re invisible, I can’t see you, Tasha” routine.

  Quinton’s left eyelid ticked, always a sign that he was nervous. “It can wait.”

  “Tell me, Quinton.” Newburg crossed her arms over her chest.

  Quinton held up the papers. “I wanted to talk to you about these expansion ideas. I don’t know if our designs will appeal to middle America.”

  “Isaac Mizrahi did it. Vera Wang did it. Why can’t I?”

  “I’ll run it by the accountant, but I don’t think we have the capital. Even if we do, we only have this one factory.”

  Newburg let out a loud gust of air. “Just do the PR and advertising, Quinton. Let me determine the direction this company goes.”

  Tasha cleared her throat. “I came for the last boxes of my stuff.” As she’d already told Newburg, she didn’t want to part on these terms, but she wasn’t going to bow to Newburg’s manipulations, either.

  Newburg glared at Tasha. “They are by your...by the desk.”

  “Thank you,” Tasha whispered. The tension in the air was palpable.

  Quinton said, “I’ll help you carry them out, Tasha.” He set the clipboard on the desk.

  Newburg strutted toward the door. “The offer won’t be open much longer, Tasha.” She stood in the hallway. “You’re throwing your life away.”

  In a futile effort to get rid of the tightness close to her heart, Tasha took in a deep breath.

  Out in the hallway, Newburg yelled at somebody down on the factory floor.

  Tasha placed two large boxes on top of the desk. “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Quinton.”

  Quinton grinned as he picked up one of the boxes. “You know Newburg.”

  “Yeah, I know Newburg.” Boy, did she know Newburg. Tasha glanced around the luxurious office on her way out. No, putting up with Newburg’s hot/cold mood swings was not worth the pleasure of working in an office like this.

  Five minutes later, Quinton closed the back doors of Tasha’s van. He stood in the November cold, rubbing his arms.

  “You should have put a coat on.” Quinton’s wavy blond hair shone in the early afternoon sun. It was that look of casual perfection that had first attracted Tasha to him.

  “I’ll be all right. I’m sorry about Newburg’s manipulative attitude.” The tone of his voice was warm.

  “It wasn’t a surprise. I worked for her for six years, remember.”

  Quinton stepped toward her. “Even if you’re not going to come back, maybe you and I could still be together.”

  “We’ve got a twelve-hour drive between us.” She spoke gently.

  A veil fell over Quinton’s eyes. He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got to get back inside before I freeze.” His words were colder than the air.

  Tasha knew that look. He was trying to hide his hurt. Maybe that was the reason Newburg and Quinton worked so well together. Quinton’s moods could be just as erratic as Cecily’s. One moment he could come across as arrogant and overconfident. The next, he seemed almost fragile. He did have some endearing qualities.

  Tasha watched as Quinton raced back to the warehouse. She hadn’t meant for anyone to be hurt by her choice. Was she being selfish for wanting to fulfill her dream, for wanting to move closer to her mother?

  Tasha opened the door of her van. She had told Quinton as plainly and as tactfully as she could that there could be nothing between them. But Quinton was a salesman to the core. He simply would not hear her no.

  Yes, she had cared for him. Yet a year ago, when he had suggested they become engaged, she had said no. Tasha and Quinton shared the same faith, but for some reason she couldn’t view him as marriage material. Even if she had remained in Denver, she and Quinton wouldn’t have stayed together.

  Slamming the van door, she turned the key and waited for the engine to warm up. She felt as if birds were beating their wings against the inside of her rib cage. Tasha flipped through her collection of music and shoved an instrumental worship CD in the slot. The soft strains of an acoustic guitar filled the van. The birds fluttered less.

  She drove through early-afternoon traffic and, without knowing why, took a slight detour to drive past the building where Philip’s office was. She glanced at the high-rise as she waited at a red light.

  Philip was nice, and Mary was adorable, but she needed to focus on making her business profitable. She sure shouldn’t feed any of the feelings of attraction for Philip that had budded inside her.

  The light turned green. Tasha pressed down on the accelerator, speeding toward the vast open road that led back to her new life.

  Chapter 6

  Philip Strathorn turned Tasha’s business card over in his hand. He smiled at the pencil drawing of the Raggedy Ann doll before tossing it on his desk beside a pile of medical journals. She’d probably done the drawing herself. What a gifted woman. And fun. Any woman who wore fuzzy bunny slippers was okay in his book.

  A nurse poked her head into Philip’s office. “Your bronchitis is waiting in Exam 3, and Lower Back Pain says she has another question for you, Exam 5.”

  “Thanks, Angela.” Philip sighed deeply and stared out the window. A fluffy snowfall drifted out of the sky.

  Lower Back Pain always had another question for him. The woman came into his office at least twice a month reeking of perfume and looking for any excuse she could find for Philip to examine her. Her illnesses were minor or nonexistent.

  He picked up Tasha’s card again and held it close to his nose. It smelled like paper and ink. Why had he hoped to find Tasha’s faint floral scent?

  “Dr. Strathorn, is everything all right?” Nurse Angela Hargrove’s gray hair was set off by green Christmas bulb earrings. A “Jesus is the Reason for the Season” pin decorated her smock.

  “I’m fine...just thinking.”

  She turned to go.

  “Hey, Ang,” he said, placing Tasha’s business card carefully in his top drawer, “after today, why don’t you see if Dr. Belmont can take Lower Back Pain. If she protests, just tell her my caseload is heavy.” Philip suspected that after a couple visits with seventy-year-old Dr. Belmont, all of Lower Back Pain’s ailments would be cured.

  Angela winked at him and made a gun with her finger. “Gotcha.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “That wouldn’t be a lie, you know, about you having a heavy caseload.”

  “Have you been talking to my sister?” Philip stood up, grabbed his white coat off the back of the chair and slipped into it.

  Angela shrugged. “She and I are conspiring to get you to learn how to relax.”

  “I do know how to relax. Don’t you have paperwork to fill out or something?”

  Angela smiled at him and shook her head. “Or something,” she chimed in. She left his office and headed down the hallway.

  The phone rang just as he stepped across the threshold.

  “Hey, ya big palooka. It’s your sister.”

  “Grace, I was just talking about you.” He stepped back into his office.

  “Good, I hope. Gary took another truck run to Arizona, and I’m stuck in the house with three children. Very scary. Why don’t you and Mary come up and participate in the nightmare?”

  “You know I have to work, right?” He rested his hand on the back of the chair.

  “And I also know none of those doctors would raise an eyebrow if you took a whole week off. I’m only asking for the weekend,” Grace said.

  “Sis, don’t get started again with your pop psychology. I work because I like to work. And it’s a twelve-hour drive to your place. That’s not exactly a w
eekend kind of trip.” Philip tugged at the collar of his lab coat and then sat down in his desk chair.

  “So that’s a no, huh?” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “Too bad, I was going to call Tasha and see if she wanted some of my fabric. You wouldn’t happen to have her number, would you? Maybe she’ll come over for dinner since my little brother is so busy.”

  Philip pressed the receiver close to his ear. “Grace, you’re being a little too obvious.” He glanced at the drawer where he’d placed Tasha’s card. The mention of her name made his stomach somersault.

  “Obvious? Moi? Does Saturday work for you? You and Mary can fly up on Friday and leave Monday. That’s only two days off work. I’ll drive out and meet you at the airport.”

  Philip sat back down in his chair. “I did say I’d give Tasha some more photos. I’ll come up, but don’t push, Grace. I mean it. I don’t want to live through any more real-life episodes of The Bachelor.” He swiveled his chair back and forth.

  Grace’s voice softened. “I hear ya. No more big-sister matchmaking.”

  “See you late Friday.” Philip hung up the phone after giving Grace Tasha’s number. He glanced back at his desk drawer where he’d tossed Tasha’s card. He rose from his chair and headed down the hallway to deal with Lower Back Pain one last time.

  * * *

  Tasha pulled her cardigan around her shoulders. The big barn was always a little chilly, but today she was certain it was warmer outside than inside. She had only a woodstove for heat.

  The scanned photograph of Mary and her mother fell out of her printer. Tasha set it up on her easel and paced back and forth, never taking her eyes off the photo. Later she would take measurements of the faces to determine how close the eyes were to each other, what the proportionality of the features ought to be on the custom-made doll. But first she needed to study the faces.

  Planting her feet, she stared directly at the photo. The bodies of the dolls were just the standard adult-and child-size bodies. Since Mary would want to hold the dolls, Tasha thought a soft cloth body with a wire skeleton would be best. The individuality of her dolls came from the sculpted head and hands.