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“Why won’t My Molly marry us?”
Dulcy’s voice broke—and Logan thought his heart would, too. “Is it because of me?” she asked.
“No, Dulcy,” he said. “It’s not because of you. Molly loves you very much. It’s because of me.”
“Maybe you asked her wrong.”
Logan smiled grimly. “Maybe I did”
“So ask her right and then she’ll marry us.” Dulcy nodded her head as though encouraging him to agree with her. She was like a teacher coaching a really slow student.
“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee she’ll say yes. But I’ll work out something so you and I can be happy. Just give me a chance, Dulcy. I’m not so bad.
The child cocked her head, assessing him, then she sighed like a grown-up and walked slowly over to lean against his knees. She patted his arm gently. “Don’t be sad, Grandfather Logan, okay? I know you aren’t bad.” She nodded several times as though adding up a column of figures in her head.
“You found me, that’s good. You gave me my Dulcy doll, that’s also good. You found me again when I got lost in the airport. And you slept on the floor next to my bed so I wouldn’t be scared when I woke up. That’s all good” She nodded once more and smiled up at him. “Okay?”
Logan didn’t think he could take much more without breaking down completely. I can do it, he told himself firmly. If I have to, I can raise this child alone, but God in Heaven, I don’t want to. Oh, Molly, I need you! We need you. Where are you?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Only Child—a finalist in the RWA’s 1995 Golden Heart Awards—is Carolyn McSparren’s first published novel. However, this talented writer has written poems and magazine articles for many years. She’s always loved romantic mysteries, but not until a friend took her to a local RWA (Romance Writers of America) chapter did she begin to write romance fiction.
Carolyn has lived in Germany, France, Italy “and too many cities in the U.S. to count In my checkered career,” she says, “I’ve sailed boats and raised horses. I’ve been a horse-show momma for my daughter, who is now grown and married.”
Carolyn now lives in the country outside Memphis, Tennessee, in an old house with three dogs, three cats, two horses and one husband—”not necessarily in order of importance.”
The Only Child
Carolyn McSparren
For Martha Shields and Amelia Bomar, who stuck with me from the beginning, and for Zilla Soriano, a fine editor.
Thanks also to Alix Sullivan, a real doll lady, for sharing her technical expertise.
MOLLY HALLIDAY DROVE her hands through her hair, picked up her scalpel and spoke to the grinning head on the table. “All right, Quentin Charles Dillahunt the Third, if you don’t help me get your eyebrows right you’re going to wind up in the slag heap.”
The small bisque head leered back through empty eye sockets as Molly began to carve tiny chunks from the moist unfired clay. Feathery eyebrows emerged bit by bit.
“Where are you attaching the horns?” Sherry Carpenter asked, glancing up from the doll magazine in her lap.
Molly grinned and kept working. “The real Quentin’s only four years old. What’s he ever done to you?”
“Not me. He tried to bite my niece Sarah’s ear off last winter. He’s a Little demon. You’re making him look downright angelic.”
“Mrs. Dillahunt, Senior, commissioned this portrait doll,” she told Sherry. “Another Memphis grandparent who thinks her grandkid is an angel. Thank God, I do my commissions from photographs. I don’t have to put up with Quentin in real life.”
Sherry unfolded from the bentwood