Sylvie spent the better part of the afternoon wandering through the hallways, doorways, and alcoves of Hannah Lee House.
Juliette spent the same amount of time talking, pointing out work already completed and areas still needing attention. Sylvie listened attentively, or pretended to do so, as she formed her own judgments about suitable decor and arrangement of rooms. The house was lovely, an old Victorian with quaint charm. By the time she had heard – for at least the seventeenth time – the plans for finishing the renovation work begun by the late Mr. Erikson, Sylvie’s attitude was on the upswing.
She had never been involved in a retail clothing business, but that didn’t worry her. If Juliette had been blessed with luck when it came to affairs of the heart, Sylvie had been blessed with an aptitude for success.
The dress shop, featuring high-end vintage clothing from past decades, would open in March when the tourist season began, and it would be a successful venture. Sylvie had no doubts about that. But she was realistic enough not to underestimate the amount of work that would be required during the coming months.
As she watched Juliette roam dreamily from room to room, touching the walls, then the woodwork, then the walls again, Sylvie resolved once more not to carry more than her fair share of the responsibility this time. Juliette was fond of imagining the finished product, but she tended to ignore the production line. And she was very good at leaving the details to someone else.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it, Syl?”
The sparkle in Juliette’s eyes, the excitement in her voice, rattled the windows of Sylvie’s doubts, chastening her for even thinking of past mistakes and negative possibilities.
“It’s wonderful, Juliette.” From years of conditioning she gave the reassurance she knew her sister needed. “I think you’re going to have a thriving business. It will take a lot of work, but from what I could see of the town, the type of clothing store you have in mind should fit right in.”
“I got the idea from this woman I met in Fayetteville. You should see her shop, Sylvie. She has some vintage couture gowns that are so beautiful they make my head spin.” Juliette circled the front room, smiling as if she were taking a curtain call. “But I told you about that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
Trailing her fingertips over the wall covering, Juliette assumed the graceful movements of a ballerina. It reminded Sylvie of the hours she had spent in learning to dance. Juliette’s interest in ballet had consisted mainly of choosing the best color and perfect fabric for her costumes.
Sylvie caught a strand of hair and anchored it behind her ear as she turned to look at the street through the front window. “Now that I’ve seen Hannah Lee House, I think I should at least take a look at the rest of the town. You’ve been telling me for months that Eureka Springs is a lovely place, but on the way here, you walked so fast I didn’t have a chance to see much of it.”
“I walked fast? My God, Sylvie, I thought you were in training for a marathon or something.”
“Just trying to keep pace.”
“Funny, I thought you might be in a hurry to put as much distance as possible between us and Max.”
Sylvie arched her brows in skeptical question. “That would be a wasted effort, considering how eager you were to accept his dinner invitation.”
“How could I turn down a celebration in your honor, Sylvie Anne?” Juliette’s expression was her own unique blend of devilry and innocence. “I was only thinking of you...and how much you’d hate to have to cook tonight.”
“Well, you can think of me when you explain to Max why I won’t be joining the two of you for dinner.”
Juliette shrugged with an artful indifference. “Afraid of the competition?” she asked. “Even after I told you Max isn’t interested in me?”
“Is that supposed to give me a head start in the race for his attention?” Sylvie tucked her purse into place with a snap of her elbow. “Thanks, but I’d rather sightsee now and have a headache later.”
‘Well, no one deserves a headache more. Stay home if you want, Sylvie Anne, but you know sulking doesn’t suit you.”
Ignoring the blatant attempt to shame her into changing her mind, Sylvie walked to the door and waited, perfectly comfortable with her decision.
Juliette drew a deep, very audible breath and made one last survey of her domain. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to do a bit of sightseeing. We’ve got plenty of time before our, I mean, my date with Max.” She walked to the door and waited for Sylvie to precede her outside. Then she closed the door, gave the stained-glass inset a loving pat, and turned the key in the lock. “It’s just as well you’ve decided not to come with us, Sylvie. It would probably be embarrassing for you to sit there while I tell Max how you used to worry about being so skinny and underdeveloped.” Her pause was slight and sly. “How you still worry.”
Sylvie smiled with benign frustration. “You were born too late to blackmail me, my little sister. I, on the other hand, know things about you that Max McConnell would give his left tennis shoe to know. But I really don’t think he can do without the shoe.”
“Sylvie, Max doesn’t want to know about me. He’s not, N-O-T, interested. Besides, I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon. And I don’t think I’m all that interested in him either.”
“Well, let me congratulate you on your good judgment.” Sylvie started to walk in the direction of the shop next door, only to stop when she realized Juliette wasn’t beside her. Turning back, she felt a definite twinge of conscience. Juliette had sucked in her lower lip. a gesture Sylvie knew well. It meant she felt strongly about the subject, whatever the subject of the moment might be, and she was preparing to defend her position.
“I don’t know when you developed that chip on your shoulder, Sylvie Anne Smith, but I don’t like it one bit. Max is one of the nicest, most attractive, most dependable, most...honest men of my acquaintance.” She gave her blond curls a boisterous toss. “If you don’t deep-six that attitude before dinner, you’ll be lucky if his interest in you lasts through the salad.”
Sylvie realized she’d lost count of the number of sighs that had escaped her in the past few hours. But whatever the total had been, it was now one more. “Juliette, Max is not interested in me. You’re imagining something that doesn’t exist.”
“My imagination has never been that good.” Juliette caught up to Sylvie and set a leisurely pace as they walked along the sidewalk. “And even if it were, even if I imagined that odd look in his eyes, you ought to make sure he gets interested. How often does a man like Max come along?”
The question was so melodramatic that Sylvie laughed. “So seldom, Juliette, it scares me to think of it. Why, with just a little bit of luck, I might have missed the experience altogether.” Sylvie turned her teasing smile toward the window of a confectioner’s store.
“One day lightning will strike you, Sylvie Ann. Someday, you’ll get what’s coming to you.” The dire promise faded away as Juliette sniffed the air like a connoisseur of fine scents and stepped forward to enter the shop. “Come on, I want to introduce you to some truly wicked fudge.”
Max was forgotten for the time being, and as Sylvie followed her sister and the aroma of chocolate into the store, she resolved to buy enough candy to keep him off of Juliette’s one-track mind.
During the next hour Juliette nibbled her way through three different assortments of sweets and refrained from mentioning Max at all.
Sylvie wasn’t even tempted to sample the candy, but twice she came within a breath of asking a question about Max. It was an unsettling sensation to realize that there were things she wanted to know about him. And it was even more unsettling to realize it would be impossible to bring up his name now without putting Juliette right back on the track of a conversation that was better left derailed.
The rest of the afternoon passed in an enjoyable discovery of the shops and craftsmen that made the town a popular tourist spot, but Sylvie’s feeling of disquiet lingered. She had a distinct sense of looking for something that eluded her. When Juliette stopped in front of a toy-filled shop window shortly before four o’clock, Sylvie knew what she’d been looking for.
The Attic was a small store, gaily painted in bright, primary colors. Through the glass panes Sylvie could see a room full of whimsy, a fantasy land of toys that she shrewdly guessed would tempt adults as much as, if not more than, children. So this, she thought, was the business side of Max McConnell.
“I knew if you chose the stops on our sightseeing tour, we’d get to Max’s shop eventually,” Juliette said sweetly. “Now that we’re here, we may as well go inside. That way you can explain to him in person why you’re too chicken to go out with him tonight.”
In reply Sylvie leaned closer to the window, cupping her hands around the tortoiseshell frames at her temples to press against the glass and block the sun’s glare. Her effort was rewarded with an enchanting display of dolls and dollhouses, wooden trucks and trains, a miniature carousel and a full-size carousel horse.
It had been years, Sylvie thought, since she had been anywhere near a toy store. But the tug of enchantment was still strong. Her fingers chafed with the desire to touch everything, and her mouth curved with happy childhood memories.
She looked up and found herself gazing into two incredibly blue eyes. As Max watched her, a sudden, warm pleasure whispered through her senses. Then it was gone.
As if he knew exactly what she was experiencing, Max smiled confidently and motioned her inside. Juliette was already through the doorway when Sylvie straightened and debated the possibility of not going in. But the idea was ridiculous – who could resist a toy store? So with a quick adjustment of her glasses she entered the toy store.
The interior was just as gingerbread bright as the exterior, and the carousel horse drew Sylvie forward. Juliette had obviously seen it all before, and she walked to the counter where Max stood, explaining with each step how Sylvie had wanted to see where he worked.
Ignoring the imaginative fantasy Juliette was spinning, Sylvie reached out to touch the smooth, painted surface of the carved horse.
‘Be careful.” Max came around the side of the counter as Sylvie glanced at him in surprise, her fingers hesitating an inch away from the horse’s wooden nose. “He’s no ordinary wooden horse. He’s magical.”
Sylvie shook her head.
Nonsense.
She was surrounded by nonsense. First Juliette and now Max. In outright defiance she placed her hand on the horse’s head. “What kind of tricks does he do?”
Max’s lips slanted with wry amusement. “No tricks, just magic. He’s a wishing horse.”
What a line, Sylvie thought, even from a man who owned a toy shop. “Well, what is he wishing for?”
“Don’t be dense, Sylvie,” Juliette advised from her perch on the counter top. “You’re supposed to make the wish.”
Which was ridiculous, but Sylvie realized she was the only one who seemed to recognize that. She lifted a resigned expression to Max. “Do I have to close my eyes and turn around three times first?” she asked dryly.
“All you have to do…” Max’s gaze dropped to her fingers which were moving idly over the wood. “…is rub his nose three times and make a wish.”
Sylvie couldn’t keep from laughing, although her fingers stilled of their own accord. “Did he come complete with instructions or are you just a clever salesman?”
“I like to think I’m clever, but since I made McKeever, here…” He gave the horse an affectionate pat. “…I guess I can take credit for the instructions too.”
Sylvie gave a sharp, appraising scrutiny to the wood beneath her hand. It was a beautiful replica, a carefully detailed carving, an exquisite piece of art. “You made this?” Her voice reflected her surprise, and the silence that followed was tinged with discomfort until Juliette saved the moment with a bubbly laugh.
“Of course he made it, Sylvie Anne. Max makes all the toys in his shop.”
Her appraising look, of its own accord, swung to Max. She realized her reaction was not flattering and that she ought to offer some form of apology, but she didn’t know how to do that without making the situation worse.
“You made all of these?” she asked, her gaze surveying the room, accepting his talent as real, but wondering at some of the other pieces in the shop.
“I take some things on consignment from other people. That dollhouse, for example.” He pointed to a three-story house with yellow wood shingles. “A professor at the University made it. He brings two or three dollhouses to me every year, and I have a waiting list three years out.”
Juliette leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, chin propped in her hands. “Max is saving that one for his little girl.”
For no apparent reason Sylvie’s stomach dropped.
His little girl?
She looked to him for confirmation, but he was looking at her sister with exasperated amusement.
“Can you repeat every word that has ever been said to you, Julie?”
“Word for word, usually,” she agreed, with a display of her dimples. “Just ask Sylvie Anne.”
Max’s blue eyes met Sylvie’s green ones and tension snapped taut inside her.
She lifted her chin and straightened her glasses. “She doesn’t repeat everything,” Sylvie said. “As amazing as it seems, Juliette neglected to tell me you have a daughter.”
Laughter rumbled deep in his throat. “Not so amazing considering that I don’t, actually, have any children. I happened to mention to Julie once that if I ever had kids, I’d go bankrupt. I’d want to give them every toy in the store. And that the first thing I’d wrap in a pink ribbon for my little girl would be that dollhouse.”
“That wouldn’t be good for business.”
His smile held steady, but only with a definite effort. “Maybe not, but what a boring world it would be if we only did what was good for us.”
“I suppose that’s a comfortable theory, considering that it will never be put to the test.” Sylvie turned to the assortment of dolls that lined the shelves. In a matter of steps she had moved away from Max and his wishing horse and into another section of the store. A safer and saner section, she hoped.
But Sylvie realized her mistake with her first careful look at the shelves. Here, too, was magic. The leftover magic of childhood memories and her own past delight in a Christmas doll. From the soft-sculpture, fuzzy-haired ragamuffin to the delicate porcelain face and hands of Cinderella, each doll was exquisite. Sylvie moved closer, her fingers reaching impulsively to touch the satin gown of one doll, the fur muff of another.
Her gaze fell to a baby in a quilted basket. Its porcelain mouth formed a pout and its tiny hands were poised in a lifelike position. The christening gown was made of a gauzy white fabric, embroidered with lace and ribbon. The bonnet was layers of stitching with a narrow ribbon tie. Sylvie didn’t know a great deal about dolls, but she knew these were exceptionally detailed and beautiful.
“I think she wants you to hold her,” Max said, and Sylvie’s hand fell to her side as he reached past her to lift the baby from the basket.
“I think you’re insane,” she muttered. She would have turned away, but his smile held her still as he placed the doll in her arms. It was absurd, she knew, but the doll felt oddly real nestled in the cradle of her arms. She looked into the sleeping face, touched the tiny fingers and the dimpled chin, and felt the stirring of new emotions as she lifted her gaze to Max. As he looked down at her, the expression in his eyes seemed somehow reassuring, almost tender. He was standing close. So very close.
Sylvie couldn’t quite catch her breath and practically shoved the doll at him. “I suppose you made her, too?”
Max took the doll and placed it in the basket again. With the skill of an artist he draped the christening gown in delicate folds and Sylvie wondered at his gentleness.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” He straightened, his eyes daring Sylvie to comment. “I made all of the dolls except that one.” He pointed out the cloth ragamuffin. “I prefer working with porcelain.”
Sylvie made one last effort to conceal her amazement and growing respect, but knew she didn’t succeed. “You made…?” She swallowed the inexplicable need to repeat his statement. “The clothing,” she said instead. “Do you make that too?”
“I have some help with that. My hands are too big to manage some of the tiny detail work, so I concentrate on designing the doll and let my assistant do the sewing.”
“Where is Miriam today?” Juliette asked as she jumped down from the counter to include herself in the conversation. “She’s usually here on Saturdays.”
“She left yesterday to visit her granddaughter in Cincinnati. I threatened her with early retirement, but she wasn’t impressed. I’m on my own this week.”
“You don’t have to be. Sylvie and I will be glad to help if we can. Won’t we, Syl?”
“We have plenty to do already, Juliette.” Sylvie protested mildly. “You have your own business to attend to, remember?”
Juliette frowned her disenchantment with that idea. “Of course I remember. But we can spare a few hours to help Max.” She turned to Max. “I can’t sew a button on, but Sylvie is a very good seamstress. She makes all her own clothes.”
Max turned to Sylvie, unable to resist imitating her earlier expression of surprise. “You made that outfit?” He gave free rein to the incredulous tone in his voice and was rewarded by the flash of irritation in her green eyes. “I’m impressed, Sylvie. If you’re ever in need of a job, just let me know.”
“Thanks, but I think I’m a bit too rational to work here.” She toyed with the slim leather strap of her shoulder bag as she let her gaze wander around the room. “Besides,” she continued, bringing her attention back to the teasing challenge in his eyes. “I bought this outfit and every other thing presently hanging in my closet. It’s been years since I did any sewing. You can’t always believe what Juliette says.”
“Can I believe what you say, Sylvie?”
“Oh, absolutely.” She gave her most convincing smile, despite Juliette’s annoying giggle.
It was not a genuine smile. Max realized that and was beginning to think he’d imagined the intriguing possibility of a warm, responsive woman beneath her cool sophistication. But still, there had been an oddly vulnerable expression in her eyes when she held the doll in her arms. That had surprised him. Not as much as he apparently had surprised her, though. Sylvie had done a fair job of flattening his ego this afternoon. Maybe he was crazy not to plead a headache and cancel tonight’s dinner. But what the hell, he didn’t have any other plans for the evening.
‘I guess that means you’ll be ready at seven, then.”
“Of course it does,” Juliette answered before Sylvie had a chance to speak. “We’re going home right now to start getting ready. It takes me a while, you know. And, although Sylvie would never admit it, she takes her own sweet time too.” Juliette offered a saucy grin. “It’s all the aspirin she takes.”
Max nodded his understanding. “Do you have trouble with headaches, Sylvie Anne?”
“Ever since I was seven years old.” Sylvie’s hands went to either side of the tortoiseshell frames of her glasses. “I think it’s time we were going, Jules.” She warned her sister with a look and moved to the door.
“Why don’t you walk us home, Max?” Juliette asked as she slowly followed Sylvie’s direction.
“Juliette.” Sylvie protested before Max had a chance to do so. “He can’t just close the store whenever he feels like it.”
“Sure he can. That’s one of the nice things about Eureka Springs. If you don’t want to work, you just close up shop and go home. Isn’t that right, Max?”
Sylvie shook her head at the idea. “It isn’t a good way to do business. Is it, Max?”
He was trapped between the two sisters, between two opposing points of view, and he decided he’d just as soon be shot for a sinner as a saint. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems like a good method to me,” he answered Sylvie. “I’m going to close up, but I can’t leave just yet,” he answered Juliette. “I’ll see you both tonight.”
He stepped forward to open the door, but whatever else he might have added was lost as two elderly women with large purses and empty shopping bags approached the entrance.. Max calmly flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a sincerely regretful and totally disarming smile. “We’re closed for the day. Try us another time.”
The potential customers grumbled good-naturedly as they turned away, and Sylvie stared after them in disbelief. She would have turned the stare to Max if he hadn’t ushered her out the door and onto the sidewalk beside Juliette.
“Tonight,” he repeated before closing the door with a definitive click.
Sylvie’s first impulse was to follow the two women and explain that The Attic would be open the next day and that they should certainly return then.
But of course she couldn’t do that, mainly because she had no idea if The Attic would be open the next day. Apparently Max was as casual about business hours as he was about everything else.
“Are you coming with me?”
The sound of impatience broke into her thoughts and Sylvie looked up to see that Juliette was already some distance away. With a last quizzical glance at the toy shop door she joined her sister.
“I can’t believe he just did that. Closing shop in the middle of the afternoon with customers right there in front of him.”
Juliette shrugged, demonstrating her lack of concern. “It’s his store. He can do whatever he wants.”
“But turning away customers is a terrible idea. I hope you realize the importance of regular store hours.”
“Oh, I do.” Juliette waved gaily to someone across the street. “And I wouldn’t dream of closing early. At least not while you’re here.”
That hurt, and Sylvie didn’t intend to let it pass.
She came to an abrupt halt in the center of the sidewalk. “In that case, I’ll be on my way. I won’t even have to pack my bags since I haven’t even unpacked them yet.”
Juliette stopped, her china-blue eyes brimming with apology. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it, Sylvie Anne. I want you to stay. I do. I need your help. It’s just that sometimes.... Well, you don’t seem to understand that there’s more than one way to do things.”
Sylvie acknowledged the possible truth of that, but she still held to her opinion that success didn’t come without a certain amount of effort and a great deal of self-discipline.
“All right, Julie, I’ll try to be more open-minded if you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to how to succeed in business. But you have to promise you won’t take Max as your example.”
“I promise not to take him as my anything. He wouldn’t let me anyway. He’s all yours.”
If she had learned anything over the years, Sylvie had learned when it was futile to argue with her sister. Breathing yet another sigh of frustration, she began walking again and Juliette matched her steps. It was almost a full minute before she became aware of Juliette’s wide grin and another thirty seconds before she asked the inevitable question. “What are you so happy about?”
“I’m just glad you’re here, Sylvie Anne. You know,” Juliette said thoughtfully. “I believe I’ve done you a tremendous favor in asking you to help me start this business.”
“Should I thank you now or later?” Sylvie asked dryly.
Juliette simply responded with a coy smile. “Oh, you can wait until after we’ve had dinner with Max. That will be soon enough to express your undying gratitude.”
“I’m not going to dinner tonight.”
“Of course you are. You don’t have anything else to do, and besides....”Juliette let the sentence slide as she paused in front of a window display. “What do you think of that blue sweater, Syl?” Tilting her head to the side, Juliette shook her head and answered her own question. “No, you’re right. The shade is too pale for me.”
“You should listen to me more often, Juliette.” Sylvie kept walking, hoping they weren’t too far from the house and a hot, relaxing, and blessedly quiet bath.
“Besides,” Juliette picked up her first train of thought as if there hadn’t been a break. “Going with Max and me tonight is the only way you can prove that you’re not a coward. You do have an image to uphold, Sylvie. You’re my older sister and I look up to you.”
Aspirin, Sylvie thought. She was definitely going to need some aspirin.