Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

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  by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Find the latest information and connect with Lesley at her website: www.lesleyannMcDaniel.com

  Montana Hearts series

  (Heartsong Presents)

  Book 1 Lights, Cowboy, Action

  Book 2 Big Sky Bachelor

  Book 3 Rocky Mountain Romance

  Holiday Hearts series

  Christian Romance

  Book 1 Christmas Bells are Ringing

  Book 2 Heavenly Peace

  Book 3 Home for the Holidays

  Islands of Intrigue: San Juans series

  Christian Romantic Suspense

  Book 1 The Unrelenting Tide by Lynnette Bonner

  Book 2 Tide Will Tell by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Crescent Cove series

  Christian Romance

  Book 1 Testing the Waters

  Book 2 Oceans Apart

  Book 3 Sink or Swim

  Madison Falls series

  Christian Women’s Fiction

  Book 1 Saving Grace

  Book 2 Jill Came Tumbling After

  Introducing April Hayman

  By Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Merry Christmas! Thank you for reading Comfort and Joy, and for celebrating the Christmas season by reading the Under the Christmas Star collection. I pray that it will not only entertain you, but bless you in a profound way.

  It’s my pleasure to introduce the next author in this set, April Hayman. Even though April is a new-to-me author and writer-friend, I know she and I have several things in common. For example, we’re both homeschooling moms who hate exercise and love coffee. I like her already! We also both love God and write for His glory.

  Knowing that to be the case, I’m looking forward to reading her book, Brushed With Love, which paints the portrait of Shelby, a young artist who must overcome many odds to find and keep love. May you be richly blessed by her story.

  Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Author of Comfort and Joy

  a novella by

  Copyright Notice

  Brushed with Love, original copyright © 2018 by April Hayman, all rights reserved.

  Description: An unlikely couple? Perhaps, but when Shelby Matthews and Beau Wright work together to reestablish the Wright family annual Christmas pageant, a beautiful picture of love, family, and commitment emerges in this modern retelling of Ruth and Boaz.

  Disclaimer: Each book in this collection is the intellectual property and copyrighted material of the respective author and/or publisher and is reprinted as a part of this collection (anthology) only once, only for a limited time, and only by permission of the owners. Olivia Kimbrell Press™ makes absolutely no claim on, or to, the property of the owner(s) which exceeds that permission.

  Shelby’s forehead rested on the steering wheel. Of course, the car wouldn’t start. Not after she’d yelled at her boss and gotten fired. She took a quick peek. Nope, her former boss, Sam Pavey, was still scowling at her from where he sat behind the registration desk in the office. She wouldn’t be getting a ride home from him, even with the dark clouds threatening rain. Nothing for it. She’d have to walk home and get her car later. Maybe Ed, friend and local mechanic, could give her a ride later to pick it up.

  She grabbed her backpack, swung out of the car, and met Sam’s eyes for a second. Did she dare step inside to grab her paintings? One look at his sour face decided it for her. It was bad enough that she’d yelled at him, but she’d sealed the deal when she’d insulted his wife, Dana. She slammed the door shut with more energy than she felt and began a quick march to the highway. When she looked back over her shoulder, the doorway stood empty. She’d definitely have to come back in the morning to get her stuff back.

  Shelby had asked at every store in town for a job, but only Sam offered her one. If there were other options, Shelby would’ve quit sooner. Unfortunately, her long purple hair, nose ring, and tattoos made her utterly un-hirable in the small mountain town. The close-knit community frustrated her and charmed her all in one breath. She could see how they cared for each other. They were a family. She wanted that, too. As a stranger to the close-knit community, no one trusted her. Only her second mom, Anne, vouched for her.

  Sam’s offer of a maid’s position at the Pineridge Motel had been a gift from God, and Shelby had accepted it with grace borne of thankfulness. A job was a job was a job. Money from a maid’s position could buy groceries as well as money from one of her unsold paintings. With Christmas coming, it didn’t leave much for extras, like Christmas presents.

  She snorted, sending a bead of water flying off the tip of her nose. Who was she kidding? Her paycheck wouldn’t cover the price of a Christmas tree or a ham dinner for two.

  She didn’t mind cleaning rooms for a paycheck. They were hideous, and it killed her to see such wasted potential. So, she’d started sprucing them up. It was a little thing here and there, a vase or a new sham. Eventually, Sam had noticed—for once—that the sheets on the beds had gone from two hundred thread percale to one thousand. She’d had to confess to the crime before he went through and fired all the staff. Then, when she pointed out that the Yelp scores had skyrocketed, mostly because of the decorating she’d been doing on the side, he’d had a change of heart. Eventually, Sam and Dana allowed her to paint the walls and hang her paintings in the rooms and the lobby. It was a thrilling moment, having her artwork displayed in public, even if that public was a second-hand motel in the back of beyond.

  Then everything changed. Dana decided that she could do a better job than Shelby and began to tear apart the hotel and remake it in her image. When the Yelp reviews began to drop, Dana blamed Shelby. To keep the peace, Shelby had helped Dana, and it seemed like things were settling down again. She didn’t complain about Dana’s sly remarks or her terrible taste in décor. She needed the job.

  But after Dana’s remodel was completed they received a particularly nasty comment on Yelp. Dana tail-spinned into a fury, blaming everyone in sight. Sam finally had to step in. He told Shelby to fix the mess that Dana had made and do it fast.

  Shelby did her best to do as he asked. The final restoration to a room Dana had destroyed was just about finished. She’d walked in that morning and found Dana vandalizing the room. Again. They’d had a fight over it, thankfully Sam had stepped in before it got physical. Relief was short lived when he took Dana’s side instead of Shelby’s.

  Anne had counseled patience, and a Mississippi uppercut if Dana got out of hand again. A smile crept onto Shelby’s face. Anne’s feistiness kept her young. She certainly acted more like Shelby should be acting at twenty-five years old than a senior citizen in her eighties. Fortunately, she hadn’t had to take Anne’s advice.

  Instead, she’d come to work and stepped into a maelstrom. One of the maids had been cleaning earlier and the paint had begun to strip from the wall. Another had found a crack in a poorly made wall decoration. Dana had pointed to Shelby and blamed her for the shoddy work. After all, it was Shelby who had redecorated it. Sam refused to take a side this time. He cowered in his chair, refusing to say anything for fear of setting Dana off. So, when Dana verbally attacked her, Shelby retaliated and began a shouting match to end all ages. When Sam tried to break in and calm things down, they both shouted him down.

  Then Shelby had done the unthinkable. She insulted Dana’s taste and decorating abilities. Dana had stopped screaming and her tone dripped ice when she fired Shelby. Sam hurried to cut Shelby her final check and then she was told to leave and never darken their doorstep again.

  She’d argued that her paintings were still inside and that they were her property. Dana didn’t want to give them up, but Sam stepped in and agreed to let Shelby come back the following day to g
et them. It was probably better that the paintings stayed at the motel, considering the clouds hung low and dark in the sky.

  A pattering of raindrops hit her face right before the late-November storm broke with a fury. The sudden cold numbed her legs, bare beneath her maid’s uniform. She should have stared Sam down and taken the time to change into her jeans. Too late now. She didn’t dare get off the side of the highway to change. There were too many stories of people getting lost in the woods.

  She opened her backpack, unhappy with the thought of her sketchbook getting wet, and pulled out an emergency flashlight. She flicked it on and yanked the hood of her sweater up before pulling one hand into the sweater’s arm. The other side got pulled down over her hand and the barrel of the flashlight. Her sweater would be twisted out of shape but it was better than a blue, frozen hand. Her toes, though, were a different story. The white tennis shoes wouldn’t keep her toes warm.

  What if I freeze out here on the side of the road? Anne will be devastated.

  She picked up the pace. As Shelby struggled against the howling wind, she realized it would take longer, much longer, than normal in the foul weather. Definitely not a one-hour amble.

  Shelby sent a silent plea to the Almighty. If it isn’t too much to ask, may I please get a ride home? A safe one that isn’t Dana Pavey? In your son’s name, Amen. She lifted her head—receiving a face full of water—and saw nothing but road, trees, and wind-swept rain. Oh well. It wouldn’t be too long before she came to the turnoff to Cottonwood Cottage.

  She lost track of time, with her head bent down and her thoughts turned inwards. Her foot caught on a piece of rough asphalt, causing her to stumble. Her hands went wide to catch her balance, but she lost her grip on the flashlight.

  It spun a few times, the light beam bouncing off the trees like a Roman candle before settling on the center yellow line. She sighed. At least it landed where she could get to it, instead of in the forest. She shivered at the silent trees standing sentinel. They scared her. The light pointed out toward the forest and bounced off a familiar tree. Its crooked trunk marked the halfway point between the cottage and the motel. Almost there.

  With that cheerful thought, she looked both ways. Wouldn’t want to be hit by traffic. Shelby snorted and stepped out into the highway to retrieve the flashlight. Once back in her hand, the light began to flicker. Shelby’s eyebrows came down as she thumped it against her palm. After a moment, the beam strengthened. Relief flooded her as the thought of walking home in the dark faded away.

  She took one step over the dividing line toward the side of the road when the trees were suddenly illuminated by a light beside her. Shelby jerked around and threw her arms up to ward off the huge pickup barreling down on her.

  Beau’s head throbbed in time with the rain hitting the truck’s cab roof. The storm broke as he ran from the hotel registration desk to his beat-up truck. The heater took forever to get going, and he sat there wet and miserable. It should have been snow falling, not rain. It wouldn’t fall anytime soon, according to the weather forecasts. Rain would continue until the new year unless some kind of miracle happened. No snow meant no spring thaw. The grazing would be bad for the cattle next year in the high Sierra Nevada mountains.

  With weathercasts in mind, Beau had gone down to the cattlemen’s meeting in Bishop to negotiate feed and hay for the winter months. To say it didn’t go well would’ve been an understatement. Prices were high—too high—and he refused to pay. He thanked the dealer one by one and left discouraged and empty-handed.

  A yawn cracked his jaw, and he shook his head to clear it. He should have stayed at the hotel in town and gone home tomorrow after a good night’s sleep. Except he couldn’t kick a nagging sense that he needed to get home. Must be the “honey-do list” the length of his arm. His lanky height of six foot two made the list pretty long.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up at the irony. He didn’t actually have a honey to make the “honey-do list.” Instead, his half-sister, Elizabeth, had moved back onto the ranch in March and announced things were going to change. Some of those changes were admittedly good. First, the kitchen got updated. At least he could brew a cup of coffee and toast bread at the same time now without worrying about electrocuting himself. He liked the greenhouses she designed and built. Fresh veggies in the winter? Yes, please. On the other hand, she tore apart the front part of the house in her need for renovation, making it difficult to get into his room.

  Elizabeth teased him that she would reveal all in good time, but as the construction continued, Beau reached the limit of his patience and demanded an explanation. Elizabeth handed him a photo album coming apart at the seams and primly informed him they were having a Christmas party. Filled with photos of happy faces, presents, and a beautifully decorated home, the album showed that the Annual Wright Ranch Christmas Pageant lived in people’s memories. Those memories passed to those who weren’t old enough—or had been born—to attend one. She informed him the traditional Christmas pageant needed to happen, whether he liked it or not. When he appealed to his ranch foreman, Gus, for help, he soon realized none of the ranch hands were on his side. They were wrapped around the willowy blonde’s pinky finger.

  The strains of the Nutcracker Suite filled the cab. He grimaced. Elizabeth had changed the ringtone on his phone. Again. He really needed to change the code on the stupid thing. Answer or not? Maybe talking to her would keep him awake. Another yawn stretched his face. Yep, the radio wouldn’t be enough this time. He jabbed the green button to accept the call and gripped the wheel. There was a tricky spot coming up on, a blind corner, and he didn’t want the truck to slide on the slick asphalt.

  “Hey, sis. What can I do for you?”

  “I am so happy to hear your voice,” said Elizabeth, her rich voice filled the cab with enthusiasm.

  His back straightened. Oh, no. An eager Elizabeth meant trouble.

  “What are you up to, Elizabeth Jo Wright?”

  There was a pause, long enough for him glance down and to check to see if the call dropped.

  “I don’t know what you mean. There isn’t anything ‘up.’”

  A cold splash of wakefulness wiped out Beau’s fatigue. “I know you. You have to tell me something, and you really don’t want to. What happened? I can take it. Did the bull get loose and demolish the greenhouse?”

  “No, that’s not it. I…”

  “Did the workmen stage a mutiny and make you walk the plank?”

  “Of course not,” said Elizabeth, all eagerness in her voice was now drowned out by an edge of annoyance. “I just want to…”

  “Did the police call about my fight?” He could imagine the frown wrinkling her forehead.

  “No, they … wait. What fight?”

  “Dale Jackson wanted another shot at Harvey.” Just the thought of their prize-winning bull in Jackson’s clutches made his stomach hurt. The man ran his ranch like he ran his corporation: ruthlessly and with as little overhead as possible.

  “You didn’t let him, did you?”

  “What do you take me for?” Beau shook his head. “Don’t answer that. But for your information, I turned him down flat.”

  “That’s not a fight, Beau. A disagreement maybe.”

  “It was definitely a fight. Sort of. He didn’t take kindly to another ‘no, thank you,’ and sucker-punched me.” Beau rubbed his still tender jaw. “Had to defend myself. I’m not ashamed to admit it wasn’t my finest moment.”

  “Did you press charges?” Elizabeth’s voice had turned hard. She didn’t like Jackson either, but Beau knew it was a lot more personal. “Never mind. I know you didn’t. It’s always ‘turn the other cheek with you,’ isn’t it?”

  “Now, Elizabeth,” said Beau, hoping his tone would warn her off from nagging him. The Lord said to turn the other cheek, so he turned the other cheek.

  “I swear you are a trial to me, Beau,” said Elizabeth, her heavy sigh reverberating through the speaker. “But I’m not going to let it
upset me. I’m much too happy.”

  “Too happy, huh?” Beau’s fingers tightened reflexively on the steering wheel, and his body braced. The last time she was ‘too happy,’ he’d ended up digging ditches on the ranch for a week as punishment from Dad. “Should I guess?”

  “No!” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is that I have good news. One I’m sure you’ve been waiting for.”

  “Okay,” said Beau, drawing out the two syllables. He prepared himself mentally before saying, “Hit me.”

  “I’m getting married!” Her voice turned dreamy like it always did when she began to talk about her wedding to Chris Tomlinson. Beau would’ve felt bad for the guy, but it meant he’d get the ranch to himself again. He winced a bit at the uncharitable thought and asked the Lord for forgiveness.

  Patience might be a virtue, but mastery of it eluded him. Maybe that’s why God put Elizabeth in his life. Beau let the tension ease from his shoulders. Patience. He could do this.

  “You know I’m happy about you and Chris getting married. He’s a good guy. But the wedding is months off.”

  “It was, but Chris showed up on the doorstep this morning and asked me to elope! Isn’t it romantic? We’re flying to the Bahamas tonight.”

  “What do you mean you’re going to the Bahamas?” Beau didn’t shout. Much. “What about Dad?” He paused for a moment. “What about the absolute mess you’ve made of my house?”

  “Our house,” said Elizabeth, dreaminess fading from her voice. “Besides, Daddy’s coming for Christmas to help with the pageant. You’ll have fun together. Think of all the male bonding time.”