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Cat met the worried gazes in front of her one at a time. “I’m confident that the dolls will arrive in the next two days.” They had to.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her assistant Adelaide had fully recovered from her encounter with the Santa Claus man and was ringing up a fairly hefty sale for a young couple. Tourists. The man had a camera slung over his shoulder and the woman was unfolding a street map.
“So the bottom line is that you have no idea whether or not the doll I ordered will arrive by Christmas Eve.” This time it wasn’t Mrs. Lassiter who spoke. It was the Santa Claus man. His voice carried and several customers who’d been browsing nearby stopped to stare in his direction.
“You said the dolls would be here no later than today,” Mrs. Lassiter chimed in. “Don’t we have a free trade agreement with Mexico? Would it help if I called my congressman?”
Cat turned the full wattage of her smile on the small group gathered in front of her and kept her voice calm. “I don’t think it’s time to panic yet. I only learned yesterday afternoon that the delivery of the dolls might be delayed a day or so. Might be. They could be on their way right now. Each doll is handmade, and a few of them weren’t quite ready for shipment. I told them to ship the ones that were immediately.” What she didn’t add was that Juan Rivero, who’d called her with the bad news, had answered her by saying that they only needed one more day. And then he’d hung up.
“In the meantime, my buying assistant, Matt Winslow, flew to Paxco, Mexico, late last night. I’m hoping to hear from him any time now.”
She should have heard from him already, even with the time difference. And Matt wasn’t answering his cell. Cat concentrated on the unhappy faces in front of her and firmly pushed that worry out of her mind.
“Worst case scenario, they’ll express ship the ones that are ready today, and Matt will personally bring back the dolls that are holding up the shipment with him.”
“You’re sure?” This question came from a very worried Mrs. Palmer.
“My granddaughter Giselle is expecting Santa to bring her that doll for Christmas. I showed her your brochure and that doll is the only one she wanted,” Mrs. Lassiter said. “I don’t want her to be disappointed.”
“It’s the same with my daughter.” In contrast to Mrs. Lassiter’s confrontational expression, Mrs. Palmer’s eyes held a great deal of worry and sadness. Her black wool coat was off the rack and was growing threadbare at the sleeves. “That doll was the only gift Mandy asked Santa for.”
Cat’s heart twisted. Both Mrs. Lassiter and Mrs. Palmer frequented her store. And because she made it a habit to learn as much as she could about her customers, Cat was aware of the number of visits that Mrs. Palmer and Mandy had made to the Cheshire Cat to choose that one special gift. If it didn’t arrive, Cat wagered there would be nothing else under the tree.
But the shipment would arrive. She’d been chanting that sentence to herself like a mantra all day long. The unique dolls that were now being finshed in the small town of Paxco, Mexico, were even more special to Cat because she’d asked the craftsmen to create them from a design of her mother’s. She’d taken twenty-four orders and added on one she intended to give her father. That had been in mid-November.
“The dolls are going to get here,” Cat assured the group in front of her. Her gaze lingered on the Santa Claus man. With his index finger, he shoved his glasses to the bridge of his nose and met her gaze for a moment. Once again, something tugged at the edge of her mind. She knew that she’d never seen him in the store and she wondered who had taken his order.
“You can track the shipment, can’t you?” The question came from the Santa Claus man in a calm voice.
Cat beamed a smile at him. “Absolutely. Just as soon as I get a tracking number.” Matt was supposed to phone her with that information. “Tell you what. I have a list of all your names and your phone numbers. I’ll call you just as soon as I get some news from my assistant. It should be before the end of the day. First thing in the morning at the latest.”
In her peripheral vision she saw that Adelaide had stepped away from the counter to assist a customer, and there was now a line at the checkout station. Matt was supposed to be here working today, but though she needed him badly, she needed him in Paxco more.
She masked her relief as the small crowd in front of her began to drift away—all except for the Santa Claus man who stepped forward and handed her a card.
“I’d appreciate a call the moment you get the tracking number.”
She glanced down at it, noted the ritzy address on East 70th and the name. George Miller. It didn’t ring a bell. She glanced back up at him. “Have we met before, Mr. Miller? You look familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it.”
He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. I would have remembered if we’d met before, Ms. McGuire.” He turned to exit the shop.
Cat tucked the card into her pocket, took out the notebook she always carried with her, and jotted down a reminder to personally call each customer who was waiting for a doll just as soon as they arrived.
One crisis postponed, she told herself as she moved as quickly as she could toward the checkout counter. As she did, she brushed by Adelaide.
Pitching her voice low, Adelaide said, “Nicely done. You’re better than anyone I know at defusing panic attacks.”
“I didn’t do so well on my own,” Cat murmured.
Adelaide shot her a quick sideways glance. “At least no one brought up the Nor’easter that’s due to arrive tomorrow. If they close down the airports…”
Cat clamped her hands over her ears, and Adelaide’s rich laugh filled the shop. She was a round, comfortable-looking single woman in her late fifties who combined a love of children with an accounting degree from Sarah Lawrence. In addition, she had a personal warmth that reminded Cat of Paula Deen, one of the most popular chefs on the Food Network. Adelaide had retired early from a lucrative job at Price Waterhouse and referred to her work at the Cheshire Cat as her little mad money job.
Adelaide patted Cat’s shoulder. “Just teasing. These winter storms are never as bad as the predictions. It’s all hype.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Cat said. Then she added, “The man who cut into your checkout line earlier—George Miller—did you take his order for one of the dolls?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before. Have you?”
Cat shook her head. “But there’s something familiar about him.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cat spotted the beginnings of a protest at the checkout counter. Dashing forward, she beamed a smile at the man who was first in line and rang up the sale. While he was signing the credit card receipt, she pulled her cell phone out and speed-dialed her neighbor.
Josie Sullivan was a retired schoolteacher in her early seventies who’d moved into the apartment below Cat’s about a year ago. She had an ethereal air that reminded Cat of one of Tennessee Williams’ southern heroines. But beneath her seemingly fragile exterior, Josie had an energy and an ironwilled determination that must have served her well in a thirdgrade classroom.
It certainly worked when she was steering customers toward a sale. Off and on over the past year, Josie had been filling in at the store during what Cat had dubbed the “crush hours.” Since their apartments were in the building that shared a courtyard with the Cheshire Cat, Josie could make it to the store on a moment’s notice. All she had to do was exit the back of their building, cross the courtyard and take a shortcut down an alley. The arrangement was working out so well that Cat was going to offer her a more permanent part-time job right after the first of the year.
“Cat, tell me you desperately need me in the store,” Josie said the instant she picked up her phone. “I’m simply bored to death.”
Cat smiled. “I desperately need you in the store.” Then she held out her hand to the harried-looking woman who was next in line at the counter. “Sorry you had to wait. Let me take that for you.”
BY EIGHT O’CLOCK, Cat’s head was aching and her feet were killing her, but she was finally able to lock the front door of her toy store. Even though the Cheshire Cat officially closed at seven, the shop had still been filled with shoppers. During the week before Christmas, one had to go with the flow, but she’d insisted that Josie and Adelaide leave at seven. On Thursday theywould close at 6:00 so that they could all attend the big charity ball her stepmother chaired each holiday season.
Cat had bought tickets for all of her employees, hoping to placate her stepmother. Gianna Merceri McGuire was not going to be pleased when Cat arrived without a date in tow.
A date. In the past year and a half, the concept had become foreign to her. The last time she’d gone out with a man she’d still been working at Macy’s.
It was then that she once more recalled the stranger who’d been standing at the edge of the small crowd on the sidewalk that morning. He’d been teasing his way into her mind all day. This was the first opportunity she’d had to think about the odd reaction she’d had to him.
No, odd wasn’t the precise word. She’d never had such an intense reaction to a man in her life. Not even to the men she’d taken as lovers. Cat frowned as she recalled that moment when his eyes had collided with hers. The contact had been as intimate as a touch. She hadn’t been able to think or move. All she could do was feel. Desire—raw, primitive, compelling—had filled her. And in that instant, an image had formed in her mind of the two of them naked, their legs tangling as they rolled across a floor.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. He was a complete stranger. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him.
But she had no trouble picturing him now. He’d been big, broad-shouldered and tall. He’d had a strong face, like a warrior. In the black leather bomber jacket and jeans, he’d looked tough. Not her usual type. But that hadn’t stopped her from imagining their bodies locked together.
Fisting her hands at her side, Cat pushed the image out of her mind. There had to be a rational explanation for what she’d felt—what she was still feeling. First of all, she hadn’t slept much the night before.And hewas a man whowould stand out in any crowd. Her body had obviously been trying to tell her something. Devoting all her time to making the Cheshire Cat a success had left a void in her life. That had to be it.
She’d better get back into the dating scene. Nothing serious. But some simple, uncomplicated sex held a certain appeal. Pulling her notebook out of her jacket pocket, she jotted a note to herself. NewYear’s resolution #1: Start dating again.
And the plan would have certain benefits. Next year she might have an escort for Gianna’s charity ball. Her stepmother wanted her in a serious relationship with a “suitable” man—suitable meaning someone with the proper social standing. Cat wasn’t about to walk down the path that Gianna had all mapped out for her, but a date now and then, someone to see a movie with—that would be enjoyable.
Right. Who was she kidding? When she’d looked into that stranger’s eyes this morning, going to a movie with him had been the last thing on her mind. She’d thought of sex, raw, wild, incredible.
Tucking her notebook back into her pocket, Cat firmly pushed all thoughts of the attractive stranger, the upcoming ball and the questions shewould have to handle from her stepmother firmly out of her mind. She had much bigger problems.
Those missing dolls. Striding to the small space behind the cash register, she opened a manila folder and thumbed through the orders she’d removed from her files earlier in the day. Twenty-four children were going to be disappointed if Matt Winslow didn’t get the shipment out of Paxco. And right now twenty-four unhappy customers were waiting to hear from her—and she didn’t have any news to give them. Closing the folder, she tucked it into her tote bag.
She hadn’t been able to get through to Matt all day, and he hadn’t answered any of the messages she’d left on his voice mail. She also hadn’t been able to contact Juan Rivero, the man who’d called her yesterday to tell her the shipment of dolls might be delayed.
Taking out her cell, Cat punched in Matt’s number again. Listening to the rings, she paced back to the window and scanned the street for her FedEx man. There was still a chance…But the only truck she spotted was delivering soft drinks to the bar across the street.
Cat closed her eyes and swore under her breath. The same bar where she was supposed to be meeting her father right now! Whirling, she dashed back to the counter and grabbed her tote. She was about to close her cell, when she heard the faint voice in her ear.
“Cat?”
She raced to the second step of the spiral staircase where reception for her cell was usually clearest.
“Matt, where are you? Tell me you’ve shipped the dolls.”
The only reply she received was a burst of static.
“Matt? Are you there?”
“Bad…”
“What?” Please not bad news, Cat prayed.
“Connection…terrible.”
He was right about that. His voice was fading in and out. Cat bit back on her impulse to ask him why he hadn’t called all day. Only one thing mattered now. “Tell me you shipped the dolls.”
“…tomorrow…Thursday…”
Therewas another burst of static.Whichwas it? Did he mean that they wouldn’t ship until tomorrow? Or that they would arrive tomorrow? Thursday was two days from now. Cat swallowed her disappointment. Starting tomorrow afternoon, there could be delays because of that Nor’eastermoving up the coast.
“…want to be there…to open them. Need to…”
“Did you ship all of them?”
There was another burst of static and then the connection was broken. Cat punched in Matt’s number again, but this time she was transferred to his voice mail.
“Call me back with the tracking number,” she said.
She’d feel better once she had something more concrete to go on.
In the meantime, her father was waiting, and tardiness had always been an issue with him. She set the security alarm, locked the door behind her, dashed toward the curb and quickly threaded her way through traffic to Patty’s Pub. Through the window, she spotted her father already seated at one of the tables.
For the first time all day, she had time to wonder just what urgent matter had brought her father all the way down to this end of town.
THE PHONE RANG, and the hand that reached for the receiver trembled slightly. Breathe. Don’t panic. “Hello.”
“Where are the dolls?” The voice on the other end of the line was soft and chilling.
Ashudderwas ruthlessly suppressed. “They’ve been delayed. They should arrive tomorrow—Thursday at the latest.”
The long silence caused a fresh flutter of panic.
“You’ll be in the shop when the shipment arrives?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“I’ll expect the doll I ordered no later than Thursday. Otherwise…”
The line went dead.
3
JAMES MCGUIRE ROSE as his daughter threaded her way through the packed restaurant. The crowd was a lively one, and the noise level nearly succeeded in muting the tinny-sounding Christmas carols that poured through the speakers. He’d arrived half an hour early and tipped the hostess to find him a table.
This wasn’t the type of place hewould have chosen, but he’d learned years ago to pick his battles with his daughter. And a pretty little waitress named Colleen had informed him that the Mulligan’s stewhere had been written up in the Zagat’s guide.
A rush of love moved through him when Cat wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. When he drew back, he held on to her for a moment and studied her face. Just as he’d suspected, there were circles under her eyes. Even as a child, she’d always given every project she worked on her all. It was high time she had something in her life besides that toy store. “It’s been too long, little girl. You have to get away from that store sometimes. I miss you.”
“You could always come down to this end of town and visit me in the Cheshire Cat,” she said.
McGuire winced a little. “Touché. One guilt trip deserves another. Sit down. I ordered you a glass of your favorite wine. Pouilly-Fuissé, right?”
“Right.”
“Colleen here recommended the Mulligan’s stew, so I took the liberty of ordering that, too. I’ll bet you didn’t take time for lunch today.”
Cat narrowed her eyes on her father. “You want something. Why don’t you just come out with it?”
“Now, Cat, can’t you believe your dad just wanted to see you?”
Her eyes narrowed even more. “Maybe when pigs fly.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Never could put one over on you, could I?”
“Maybe when I was six.”
He raised his glass. “At least take a sip of that wine. It costs the earth.”
Cat’s brows shot up as she reached for her wine. “And that single malt Scotch you’re drinking doesn’t?”
He merely smiled as he touched his glass to hers. “To a very happy holiday season.”
Cat sipped her wine. “You’ve got that gleam in your eyes. You’re up to something. If you came all the way down here to make sure I’m going to Gianna’s big charity ball on Thursday, I’ll be there. I also bought tickets for Adelaide, Josie and Matt. He should be back from Mexico by then.”
“Mexico?” He had to tread carefully. He wasn’t supposed to know much about her store.
She smiled as she took another sip of wine. “He’s in this little village. I’ve told you about Paxco, haven’t I?”
“Remind me,” he said. She actually started to glow when she talked about her business. It was something she rarely spoke of when the family gathered because of Gianna’s preference that she get out of retail. His wife had even gone so far as to offer her a job at Merceri Bank.
“Matt had to fly down there yesterday because this one shipment of dolls has been delayed. If it doesn’t get here, there are going to be twenty-four little girls who won’t get what they want from Santa.”
No wonder she was worried, McGuire thought. Her mother had died on Christmas Eve, and ever since then, Cat had put a lot of effort into making sure that everything was perfect at Christmastime. He’d done the same for her. But he couldn’t read any sign that she suspected something other than dollmaking was going on in Paxco. He placed a hand over hers. “Don’t worry, little girl. They’ll get here.”
