Cross My Heart Read online

  Cross My Heart

  By

  Phyllis Halldorson

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Such little hands to be so talented."

  "They not only fashion exquisite dolls, but they soothe a small daughter's fears and hurts," Clint murmured. "I'll bet they could drive a man mad."

  The tingle turned into pinprick flames, and Elyse was in imminent danger of melting. No man had ever affected her like this before with just a touch and a few huskily spoken words. She had an overwhelming urge to find out just what her hands could do to him.

  She felt a gentle tug on her arm as he pulled her toward him, then the hot flush of embarrassment as her face flamed. He was seducing her—and without even half trying. She jerked her hand from his and jumped up. "Go away, Clint," she rasped. "I don't want you here."

  He rose, too, and stood behind her. "I'm not sure I can," he said simply.

  Dear Reader:

  Romance readers have been enthusiastic about the Silhouette Special Editions for years. And that's not by accident: Special Editions were the first of their kind and continue to feature realistic stories with heightened romantic tension.

  The longer stories, sophisticated style, greater sensual detail and variety that made Special Editions popular are the same elements that will make you want to read book after book.

  We hope that you enjoy this Special Edition today, and will enjoy many more.

  Please write to us:

  Jane Nicholls

  Silhouette Books

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  First published in Great Britain in 1988

  by Silhouette Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

  Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  © Phyllis Halldorson 1988

  ISBN 0 373 50838 7

  For our other sons and daughters: Bob, Dwayne, Manuel, Jan and Linda.

  PHYLLIS HALLDORSON like all her heroines, is as in love with her husband today as on the day they met. It is because she has known so much love in her own life that her characters seem to come alive as they, too, discover the joys of romance.

  Other Silhouette Books by Phyllis Halldorson

  Silhouette Special Edition

  My Heart's Undoing

  The Showgirl and the Professor

  Chapter One

  For the third time in as many days California State Senator Clinton Sterling reread the report from the private detective agency. It told him nothing he couldn't have found out for himself and was a waste of their time and his money.

  He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. Mary Elyse Haley. What kind of woman had his younger brother, Paul, gotten himself mixed up with this time? All Clint had before him were statistics. Age: 24. Height: 5'5''. Weight: 118 lbs. Curly auburn hair. Brown eyes. Two years of college. Owner of Mary Elyse's Fairy-tale Angels, a custom-designed doll shop. She'd been born in the foothills town of Placerville, known during the gold rush days as Hangtown, and had lived there all her life.

  Her neighbors and friends thought highly of her, and her handmade porcelain dolls won prizes every year. She sounded almost too good to be true—with one exception. She'd never been married, but she had a four-year-old daughter named Janey.

  Clint frowned. Twenty-five years ago that would have been a glaring flaw, but today it was almost commonplace. Obviously he was going to have to go and see for himself if Paul's taste in women had matured any since the last time.

  The disagreeable thought made him shudder. In spite of the fact that he was a politician, Clint was a private person. He firmly believed that everyone was entitled to privacy in his personal life, and the thought of prying into his brother's made him squirm.

  Damn Paul, anyway. He was twenty-six years old, and it was time he grew up. Instead he was still addicted to fast cars, fast women and a fast turnover in both. The last glory-seeking bimbo he'd romanced and then dropped had taken her sad story to one of the tabloids, and the resulting notoriety had been embarrassing to the Sterling family and potentially harmful to Clint's political future and Paul's law career.

  Now thirty-eight, Clint had never married, and the tabloids were always speculating about his love life. When he'd proved to be dull copy, they'd gleefully jumped at the unsavory firsthand story about the playboy brother of the esteemed lawmaker.

  Now Paul was apparently seeing another woman, and Clint's public relations advisers were bringing pressure to bear on him to make sure she wasn't the kind who would make more trouble. This was an election year, and with the primaries coming up in a couple of months, more objectionable publicity could conceivably lose Clint his seat in the Senate. Especially since his closest contender in the party was Mr. Clean incarnate. The man was either a saint or an expert at covering his past sins—and those of his family members.

  Clint's ambition reached all the way to the governor's office, and he had no intention of allowing his brother's irresponsible actions to jeopardize his chances.

  The ring of the telephone broke into his thoughts, and he dropped the report on his big desk as he reached for the receiver. The call must be important or the switchboard wouldn't have put it through, since it was already long past office hours. He hoped it wasn't something that had to be taken care of tonight. It had been a long busy day, and he still had a thirty-minute drive from Sacramento to his home in the residential community of Cameron Park.

  As he picked up the receiver, he made a mental note to call on Ms. Mary Elyse Haley the following day and buy a doll. Surely there must be a lady among his acquaintances who would appreciate an expensive collector's item as a gift.

  Elyse reached into the rectangular box, pushed aside the white tissue wrapping and lifted out the little boy doll dressed in blue tweed knickers and a blue linen shirt. His firm cloth body was reclining on its side with his knees drawn up, and his porcelain face, with a sprinkling of brown freckles across his nose, was resting on his porcelain hand. His eyes were closed in sleep, and clutched in the crook of his other arm was a miniature brass horn.

  "Here you are, Mrs. Wilson," she said as she held him out to the middle-aged woman on the other side of the counter. "Little Boy Blue complete with horn."

  The woman took the doll and cradled it in her arms. "Oh, he's absolutely adorable," she said breathlessly. "I'm going to display him on the coffee table. My husband's building me a stand with hay for him to sleep on."

  Elyse smiled as she took the doll back and again packaged it in the tissue-filled box. The woman continued to talk. "I have your Little Miss Muffett sitting on top of my television, and everyone who comes in comments on it. I never thought I'd be able to afford another doll, but then I won a thousand dollars in the lottery and this is the first thing I bought."

  "I'm flattered," Elyse said warmly as she handed the box to the customer. "Congratulations on your winnings, and I hope you enjoy my little boy."

  "Oh, I will, and if I ever win again I'll be back for another. I hope someday to have the whole nursery-rhyme set."

  The woman left, balancing the box in her arms, and Elyse grinned happily as she secured the check for two hundred fifty dollars plus tax in the cash register. It was a beautiful warm Saturday in April, the trees had a thick green coat of leaves, and the pansies, daffodils, tulips
and azaleas were in full, colorful blossom. She loved spring in the Sierra foothills.

  Elyse glanced around the shop. It had originally been the front parlor of the big old family home that she and her sister, Mary Elizabeth, had inherited when their parents had died.

  Elyse grimaced. She didn't usually think of her sister as "Mary Elizabeth." She'd always been known as "Liz", just as Mary Elyse was always called "Elyse". It was unfortunate that their mother, whose name was Mary, had insisted on naming her two daughters after herself, and giving them such similar middle names had only compounded the problem. In instances where they had to use their full names nothing but confusion and frustrating mix-ups resulted.

  Her gaze skimmed the schoolhouse clock on the wall, and her brown eyes widened in surprise. Almost one o'clock. Long past time to bring Janey in from the backyard, where she was playing on her new swing set, and give her some lunch.

  Clint Sterling picked up the business card from his dresser. It was made of heavy bond paper with just a slight tint of pink. The drawing of a little girl doll in a ruffled pinafore filled the right top corner. Centered in the middle were the words Mary Elyse's Fairy-tale Angels and, under that, an address and phone number in Placerville, California. It was an excellent card: businesslike enough to impress bankers and informal enough to attract doll customers. Paul's latest love was apparently a good businesswoman, a departure from the kind of women he'd been attracted to in the past.

  On the other hand she could also be smart enough to plot a little mischief if things didn't go her way.

  Clint grimaced with distaste. It went against his nature to make quick assumptions, but he couldn't afford another family scandal and Paul had demonstrated that his judgment in such matters couldn't be trusted.

  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 dr
essed 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.