Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

  Then there was Lena. He scowled. That woman was a thorn. Period. He regretted ever dating her in the first place and the whole thing had ended on a sour note. Lena’s memory could give an elephant a run for its money. Now if he could only convince Shelby of that.

  “Wright, your order is ready if you need help loading it into your truck.” John, the hardware store’s manager, clapped him on the shoulder. “What you looking at?” John squinted. “Is that Anne’s girl? Never thought I’d see Anne again much less her with a daughter.”

  “Shelby isn’t her daughter,” replied Beau, turning around and heading toward the back of the shop. “Just a good friend.”

  He grabbed an armful of boards and hauled them out to the truck. John came after with the rest of the order.

  “Could have fooled me.” John handed him a sales slip. “Let me know if you need more paint. The girls and I are looking forward to the Christmas pageant. Any hint as to what the festivities include yet?”

  “Not sure yet,” said Beau as he went over the bill. “Shelby’s doing most of the planning for it now that Elizabeth is on her honeymoon.” He assumed she was on her honeymoon anyway. He hadn’t heard a word from her since she took off. He assumed she’d talked to their father.

  “Is that right?” John’s bushy eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. “We’d wondered what she was doing out at your place so much.”

  Beau peered over the top of the bill at John. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” John waved his hands at Beau. “Just that there’s some speculation as to what she’s doing out there. I figured she was cooking and cleaning, what with your sister out of town.”

  “She’s not,” said Beau, through clenched teeth. “She’s putting my house back together after my sister tore it apart and then left. And she’s done a great job of it, too.” He looked around and saw a few people staring in his direction. He raised his voice, “And you can tell anyone else who’s wondering that she’s a hard worker and a good Christian woman.”

  He yanked his billfold out of his back pocket, tossed the money at John and strode out of the store without another word because if he did, he felt like all the anger would explode. How could the people of this town—his home—think that of Shelby? It was completely unfair.

  He slammed the tailgate shut and threw himself into the driver’s seat. He saw Shelby through the window at the small antiques shop. She was looking at some kind of glass ball but put it down again. She smiled at the owner, Mrs. Martinez, and then disappeared from view.

  A cell phone rang, and he picked his up to see who was calling, except the screen was blank. He searched the passenger side of the cab and found Shelby’s phone on the floorboard. He hit the answer button.

  “Hello?” He swallowed and tried again, this time not so gruffly. “Hello, this is Shelby’s phone.”

  “Who is this?” asked a woman in a quavering voice. “Where’s Shelby?”

  “I’m sorry, Shelby isn’t here right now. But I’d be glad to give her a message.”

  “Oh. Tell her that Anne called, please. I have something important to tell her.”

  “Anne, this is Beau Wright. How may I help you?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Beau Wright? You’re the young man Shelby’s been working for lately?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pushed his cowboy hat up off his forehead. “Shelby wandered off without her phone.”

  She snorted indelicately on the other end of the phone. “Sounds like her. Anyway, the home is releasing me early next week, and I want Shelby to come get me. I’m tired of being here, and I want to go home.”

  “Ma’am I’d be happy to come get you and bring you back. Make it a surprise for Shelby.”

  “Oh, well that’s very kind of you Mr. Wright.”

  “Call me Beau.”

  “Beau, thank you.”

  “Any time.” They said goodbye, and he tapped the off button. Shelby still hadn’t come out of the store. The art store—Art’s on Main—was next door. He could run over there and pick something up for Shelby. It was his way of saying thank you for letting him borrow her painting. He’d buy it from her, but something in his gut told him that wouldn’t be a wise course of action.

  He set her phone down on the seat and hurried over to the shop. The owner, Arthur, stood in the back stocking the shelves. He lifted his head when the door chimed.

  “Well, hello there, Beau! Hadn’t thought to see you in here.” Arthur pushed the last pencil into its holder and held out his hand for Beau to shake. “What can I do you for today?”

  Beau scratched his chin. “Ah. I have a friend who paints. In oils, I think. She said she was needing some new stuff.” He did a half turn around the store. “But I have no idea where to start.”

  Arthur gave him a gentle smile. “Is this friend dabble in the arts or is she a professional artist?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Oh yes,” said Arthur, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “The quality is different. And the price of course.”

  “Of course. Well, this friend is a professional artist.”

  “That makes it easier. Follow me.” Arthur led him to a wall covered in small silver tubes with colorful labels. Beau had no idea what any of it meant. “Did your friend tell you which colors were needed?”

  “Uh.” Panic set it. He couldn’t remember any of the names. “Just blue and yellow. Oh, and a red one.”

  Arthur’s eyes danced, and Beau knew the old man was laughing at him on the inside, but he was too well-bred to do it on the outside.

  “Why don’t I give you a selection of the six most popular. You can also give your friend a gift certificate to come back and purchase specific colors.”

  Relief swept through him. “Sounds good.” Who knew that picking out a couple of tubes of paint could be that hard?

  Arthur deftly picked out six tubes of paint and took them to the front counter. He rang that up and then entered the cost of the gift certificate. He pulled out a lovely green paper with Gift Certificate printed in gold along the top. “Now who do I make this out to?” Arthur looked at him expectantly, his pen hovering above the paper.

  “Shelby Matthews.” Beau looked at the total of the purchase and nearly passed out. “Are you sure you entered that correctly, Arthur? Seems like a lot for a bunch of little tubes of paint.”

  Arthur was bent over the certificate, writing Shelby’s name with swooping curls. “You’d be surprised at how expensive it can get, my friend. There.” He picked up the certificate and fanned it for a few seconds before placing it in an envelope and into the heavy white bag with Art’s on Main stamped on the side.

  “I’ve not seen Miss Matthews artwork, myself, but I see Anne from time to time, and she is most complimentary. By the way, do you know how Anne is doing? I keep meaning to go down to Bishop, but it’s just me in the shop at the moment.”

  “She’s doing fine, according to Shelby.” Beau pulled out his wallet and handed Arthur his credit card. “I’ve talked to her on the phone, and she seems like she’s in good spirits. We’re hoping she comes home soon.”

  “Oh, that’s excellent news.” Arthur beamed at Beau as he handed Beau the bag and credit card. “Well, you have a great day. And do send Shelby in some time. I’d love to chat with her.”

  “Will do.” Beau stuffed his card back in the wallet, put his hat back on his head, and still made it back to the truck before Shelby. His impulse purchase put him back just under a hundred dollars. It would definitely be worth it, though. Then again, perhaps she’d prefer flowers? He mulled it over and decided to bring flowers with him to her house on Saturday. He grinned to himself. He’d managed to surprise her with that.

  There was a knock at the window. Shelby pointed at the lock. He leaned over and unlocked it for her.

  “Hi there.” She began to climb into the truck. “Find all you needed?”

  “I think I did.” He nodded to the p
hone on the seat. “You forgot your phone again.”

  She picked it up and slid into her pocket before settling into the seat. “I was wondering where that went to.” She looked out the window, as a few people came out of there hardware store and tried not to stare. “Are they staring at us?”

  Beau scowled at the passerby. Even those that hadn’t been in the hardware store. “Ignore them. Are you done with all your shopping?”

  “Yep. I even went to the antique shop, although I didn’t get anything. She’s got great vintage-y Christmas stuff, but I just can’t make myself spend money on something that isn’t useful as well as decorative.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  A warm glow curled in his chest. “Don’t worry about it.” Getting the present was the right move. She chattered the whole time back, and he listened intently. She was astutely observant and did a bang-on impression of several of the residents.

  “Have you met Arthur at Art’s on Main?” Beau deliberately looked at her rather than where he’d put the bag. “His store is chocked full of art stuff. You’d like it.”

  She shook her head, the purple braid swinging behind her. “Not yet. Anne knows him, though. They chat whenever we’re out. To tell the truth, I try to stay out of expensive shops like that. I want to buy all the art supplies and can’t.” She smiled at him, and he noticed that she had a dimple. How had he missed that?

  Beau pulled up in front of the cottage ten minutes later. “Need any help bringing your things in?” Shelby looked at her one bag and then back at him. He winced. “Okay, maybe not.”

  The corner of her lip quirked up. “I think I got this one. Thanks, though.” She hesitated in the open truck door. “Are you coming on Saturday, still?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He wouldn’t either. “See you then.” He watched her walk into the cottage and shut the door. He only left when the lights flickered on, and she waved from the window. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.

  Shelby contemplated the painting before her as she slurped noodles from a blue china bowl. Something was missing, and she was going crazy trying to put her finger on what it was. Should she call Ya Ya for her opinion? She set the noodle bowl down on her painter’s stool and snapped a few photos with her phone. She sent the request to Ya Ya by text and went back to the kitchen to clean up.

  She stopped in the living room on her way to the kitchen. Beau was right. She really did need to decorate this place. She’d need a tree first though. Which meant going into the forest. She gulped. Maybe she could find a Christmas tree lot in town. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? Everyone in Bristlecone went out onto national land and cut down their own tree.

  She turned away from the unChristmas-like living room and headed into the kitchen to wash her bowl. After cleaning up and making a cup of coffee, she checked her messages. Nothing from Ed. That meant her car was still dead. There was a missed call from Anne.

  “Huh.” She punched the number in, and Anne picked up after the third ring. “Hey, Anne.”

  “Shelby! It’s so good to hear your voice dear. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. Is Peter with you?” He’d been suspiciously absent lately. Probably because he knew that she wouldn’t cook for him like Anne would.

  “No, dear, he’s working right now.” Her voice burst with pride. “He’s making some good money, too.”

  “That’s great.” And a little suspicious. She didn’t say that though. “I don’t think I’ll be able to come up on Saturday. So instead, I was thinking of playing hooky on Monday to come see you.”

  “No!”

  Shelby pulled her ear away from the phone.

  “What I mean to say was, no, dear, don’t come down to see me. Friday is such a busy day you know what with therapy,” her voice trailed off for a moment, “and other things.”

  “Oh, well, if you’re sure?”

  “Don’t you worry about me. Now tell me, did you give him the painting?”

  And Shelby gave Anne a blow-by-blow of what transpired that day. She kept everything in, even how she felt about Lena. There wasn’t any point in lying to Anne. The old gal’d just sniff it out anyway.

  “I do have vague memories of Lena. She had a rough home life.” She could hear Anne shift in the bed, making it squeak. “Not like your home life, of course, but rough in the sense that she was expected to be perfect, and no quarter was given for being anything less than that. You can’t do that to a child and expect them to be well-adjusted adults.”

  “That explains a lot,” said Shelby dryly. “Even her insistence on dating Beau.”

  “That was after I left, dear, so I can’t give you any insight into that.” Anne paused before adding, “You could ask him yourself and find out what really happened. Right now, you’re only operating on half the information.”

  Shelby leaned her head against the wall. She was right. Of course she was. “I’ll try but no promises. It’s not like he really invites deep conversations about his personal life.”

  Anne made a non-committal sound in her throat. “Do you want him to?”

  The question hit Shelby right over the head. Did she? And she found that the answer deep inside was a resounding yes.

  “I do. I really do,” she answered, voice filled with wonder. Then she came crashing down to earth. “But I’m not sure how to do that. He’s so… so serious all the time.”

  “Maybe all you have to do is show him that it’s okay to have fun.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well dear, they’ve brought in the wheelchair so that must mean they’re here to take me either to therapy or dinner.”

  “I’m betting it’s dinner considering the time.”

  “I wouldn’t take that bet.” Anne chuckled on the other end of the line. “Talk to you soon.”

  Shelby said her goodbye and hung up. She contemplated what to do next. Maybe pull some of the ornaments and decorations from the loft down into the living room. That way she and Beau could get started right away on Saturday, which sent off a barrage of flutters in her stomach. She just needed to trust him. After all, he had earned her trust.

  She got up to stretch when the phone buzzed, and a message popped up on the screen. Ya Ya had gotten back to her. Shelby read it aloud, trying to make sense of the text speak Ya Ya used liberally.

  Love it as is. Let me sell it. Come visit soon, darling.

  She blushed with excitement. Maybe it really was just anxiety keeping her from showing her work to people. Ya Ya was what clinched it. If the gallery owner liked her portfolio, she would definitely talk to Ya Ya about a showing in the Bay area. But for now, she’d stay and work for Beau.

  She swallowed hard. Having a show meant leaving Bristlecone and Anne. More, it meant leaving Beau behind. Her heart ached at the thought. She clutched her phone to her chest. That was the real reason, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to leave because this was where Beau was. She stared at the phone, formulating a response in her head.

  Thanks much. Feedback helpful. Maybe visit soon.

  She swallowed hard, sent a small prayer heavenward, and hit the send button.

  A message immediately came back from Ya Ya. Anytime darling. Call me when ready.

  A wide grin spread across Shelby’s face. She squealed and tore around the cottage, laughing at the top of her lungs. Seconds later she threw herself on to the sofa and squeezed the pillow to her chest. Life just didn’t get any better than this.

  Shelby stood at the edge of the property, where the gravel from the drive met the wild tangle of grass and weeds that led into the forest surrounding the cottage. She held an ax in her hand, purchased at the hardware store in town. The manager had shown her how to hold it properly and gave her a typed-up list of what to do if she accidentally hit herself with the blade.

  She figured it couldn’t be as hard to cut down a pine tree as he made it out to be. She turned to the experts on Yo
uTube. There’d been hundreds of videos full of advice, some of it dubious, but some of it looked like it was real. She’d spent a good fifteen minutes watching how to swing the stupid thing and finally had gotten the gist of it.

  Now all she had to do was go get one.

  And that was the sticking point. To get a tree, she would have to go into the forest voluntarily. Every time she’d tried to do that in the past, it was like the darkness beneath the pine boughs was a force field that she couldn’t get through. Those dark shadows could hold anything. Monsters. Murderers. Squirrels. It was a dangerous world, and she didn’t want to go.

  But if she didn’t, there wouldn’t be a tree to decorate. Anne had specifically said she wanted a tree this year. Of course, she said she wanted a plastic one from the big chain store in Bishop. Shelby wasn’t having any of that. It was a real one or none at all. She checked the clock on her phone. Beau would arrive soon, and she needed to put the cookies in the oven.

  Shelby took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm her heart rate down. “I can do this.” Positive affirmations, according to Pinterest, were helpful. She repeated it a few times, but all she felt was stupid for saying them out loud. She closed her eyes. How much did she want a decorated tree? Shelby gripped the handle of the ax tighter. She wanted it a lot.

  The first, forced, step was agony. Her pulse jumped and began to do a fandango in her chest. Sweat poured down her forehead like she was running a marathon. “I can do this. I’m not afraid of a forest.” She shook the ax at the forest. “Do you hear me? I’m not afraid of you, squirrels!’ She stopped a moment to listen. Nothing stirred. Maybe the squirrels were hibernating. That made the next step a bit easier to take.

  Finally, she stood toe to root with the closest, towering pine tree. The gloom beneath the boughs hid how far back the forest went. She gulped back the nausea that rose suddenly. “I can do this. I can do this.” She lifted her foot to step into the forest. She got about two feet in before the world began to crash in on her. Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t breathe. The ax dropped to her feet as she clutched at her throat before stumbling out into the sunlit driveway. Shelby knelt in the gravel, tears streaming down her cheeks.