The Only Child
Family Man"The Only Child is beautifully written, wonderfully rich, totally satisfying."–Debra Dixon, award-winning authorA Child Is Missing…Logan MacMillan hasn't seen his granddaughter, Dulcy, since the toddler was snatched by her fugitive mother three years ago. Logan never gave up hope of finding her until the moment his private investigator handed him a death certificate for a little girl named Dulcy MacMillan.A Child Is Found!Molly Halliday knows that the death certificate can't be Dulcy's. But Logan doesn't trust her. The woman lives in a fantasy world–she makes dolls for a living! However, Logan has to admit that one of her dolls looks exactly like his computer portrait of Dulcy as a five-year-old. And Molly modeled that doll on a child she saw less than a year ago.Join Logan and Molly as they search for Dulcy–and find much, much more than they bargained for."The Only Child is beautifully written, wonderfully rich, totally satisfying. What more could a reader want? Carolyn McSparren is a terrific, talented newcomer who has a gift for finding the emotional compass of a story." – Debra Dixon, award-winning author of Bad to the Bone and Doc Holliday
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Table of Contents
“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.”
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 rocker and smoothed down her immaculate slacks. “You’d better put that thing away. Zoe and Logan MacMillan will be here any minute.”
Molly checked her watch. “They’re not due for twenty minutes.”
“They may be early.”
“Give me five minutes. I really need to finish these eyebrows. I’m a week behind on my commissions, and I don’t get paid the rest of my fee until I deliver the finished doll.” Her hand rested momentarily on the head and she frowned over at her friend. “Besides, how come Logan MacMillan has to approve my deal with MacMillan’s? I thought Zoe ran the store.”
Sherry shoved a large ginger cat off a nest of magazines on the work counter and began to organize them into a neat stack. “She does, but her father actually owns it. Usually, he simply rubber-stamps her decisions, only this time he didn’t.”
“Well, he should have. My dolls will sell very well in MacMillan’s.”
“I know that, you know that, Zoe knows that. We just have to convince Logan.”
“Have to is right.” Molly waved a hand at the room. “I went two thousand dollars over budget building this darned workshop. I need some more outlets for my dolls fast if I’m going to pay the bills and have enough left over for frivolous stuff like food.”
“You had to build it, Molly. The dolls were taking over every flat surface in your house. Visiting you was like walking into a deli for very small cannibals.” Sherry wrinkled her nose. “Not to mention the dust.”
