At His
Fingertips
Dawn Atkins
MILLS & BOON
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To my friend Suzan,
for opening her heart and my eyes
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
1
“SO IF I WANT THIS GRANT, I should let you read my palm?” The young woman bumped the table with a knee, sloshing the gingko-chamomile tea Esmeralda McElroy had brewed to enhance alertness and calm for her and her clients.
“It’s not a requirement, hon. Consider it a bonus gift.” Esmeralda zeroed in on Cindy’s face. Something was wrong with Cindy’s grant application and Esmeralda had to figure out what. Esmeralda’s psychic skills weren’t a formal part of her job as director of the Dream A Little Dream Foundation, but they were the reason she’d been hired after the first director left. Olivia, the founder, had been a palm client and trusted Esmeralda implicitly.
The proposal for an exercise playland for toddlers was solid, but as Cindy explained the benefits of large-muscle development and parent-child bonding, her eyes were empty, her aura gray with gloom. Cindy had a dream, but it wasn’t this one.
“A gift? And this will help?” Cindy bit her lip.
“I could read tea leaves if you prefer.” Esmie had recently ordered some silver-needle tea that produced dramatic configurations. “Your aura is as gray as a rain cloud.”
“My aura is…gray?” Cindy blinked at her.
“Let’s stick with your palm, huh?” Esmeralda smiled kindly.
Cindy extended a hesitant hand and when Esmeralda cupped it, she felt a rough spot on Cindy’s left thumb. “Cuticles need a trim.” She paused, then spoke in the somber voice of a TV fortune-teller. “Through my crystal ball…I see in your future…a healing manicure.” She grinned. “I do nails, too.”
“Really?” Cindy laughed, relaxing as Esmie had hoped. It was no accident that her own aura was wild with light-hearted yellow.
“I love this.” Cindy touched Esmie’s index fingernail, which held the stenciled star with a rhinestone fleck she’d created for the thirty-fifth birthdays of her and her friends.
“Thanks. So…let’s see what’s going on with you, hmm?” She took Cindy’s hand again, closed her eyes, silently prayed for clarity and wisdom, then looked down at Cindy’s earth hand with its square palm and short, evenly spaced fingers.
The girl’s heart line held passion, but the angle of her thumb showed she was not ambitious…hmm.
Cindy’s story came together in Esmie’s head, clicking into place like puzzle pieces. “Ah…I get it.”
“You do?” Cindy said. “You get it?”
“You want to work with kids, Cindy, but not in a business, as a teacher. Here is your passion…” She pointed to the line. “This shows how you lead by example. This shows your need to interact with people. You’re a natural teacher.”
Cindy gave a sad smile. “But I only have one semester at Phoenix College.”
“That’s easy to fix. Request a scholarship from us.” Esmeralda tapped the grant application. “Whose dream is this?”
The girl flushed. “My dad’s. He read about childhood obesity and how yuppie parents hover over their kids, so he thought this would be a moneymaker.”
“He’s right, I’m sure, but you need to overcome your tendency to please others, sometimes to your own detriment. Use the courage that’s here.” She touched the large, curved upper Mars mount.
“That’s my courage?” She looked so hopeful.
“Absolutely. Tomorrow night I’m holding a Wish Upon A Star workshop. We help people pin down dreams and make them real. I think you and your dad should come.”
“My dad?”
“Sure. So he can own this dream—” she patted the application “—and understand yours.”
“Okay. We’ll come. Thanks.” Cindy beamed, then looked down at her hand. “You see anything else I should know?”
Before Esmeralda finished, Cindy had a plan to declare her independence from her father, an appointment for a full reading—and a manicure—and tears in her eyes.
Esmeralda accepted Cindy’s hug and said goodbye, pleased, but drained. Back-to-back appointments, someone’s dreams on the line every hour, was exhausting. But this was only week four. Surely she’d build stamina.
She had to make time to read through the grant applications on her desk—two daunting towers of spiral binders, portfolios and folders. She should work weekends, too, except her palm and nail clients needed her.
This week she had to hire a consultant to make sense of the
