Under the Christmas Star (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  Shelby plopped down onto the bed, making the suitcase begin a slow slide down the bedspread. She barely grabbed it in time. “I don’t know,” grunted Shelby, pulling the suitcase back onto the bed. “Maybe that I know what I’m doing? It’s got nothing to do with Beau.”

  Anne raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, not everything to do with Beau. I have an opportunity to have my work put in a gallery and prove that my work is really mine. I have an opportunity to earn a living by doing what I love.”

  Anne hobbled into the room and sat next to Shelby on the bed. She slid an arm around Shelby’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “It’s hard for me to let you go.” Anne leaned her head against Shelby’s. “But, it’s your life. You go do what needs doing. But I’m asking that you come back and finish what you started. With the Christmas party and with Beau. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand.” Shelby sat there for a few minutes, hugging and being hugged. “I need to get going if I’m going to be there anytime soon.”

  Anne pulled away, wiping her hand across he eyes before leveraging herself off the bed with her cane. “I can’t bring those paintings out for you, but I can hold the door.”

  Shelby sniffled. “Any help is appreciated.”

  Beau tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Shelby’s car was gone, and she hadn’t been at the ranch. The living room light shone through the window. Anne was home at least. Maybe she’d offer him coffee while he waited for Shelby to come back.

  With that cheerful thought, Beau swung out of the truck, careful with the small, festive package held in the crook of his elbow. He had a feeling that if package wrapping were an Olympic event, Rose would win the gold medal hands down. Still, he didn’t want to drop it.

  He rapped on the door and waited for Anne to let him in. As seconds stretched into what seemed like hours, Beau fidgeted and eventually leaned over to see if she was on her way yet. A flash of white lace was the only warning she was at the door when she yanked it open.

  “Beau.” Anne pulled the throat of her housecoat closed with one hand. “What are you doing here?”

  He moved the box from the crook of his arm to his hand. “I’m here to see Shelby. May I come in to wait for her?”

  “Oh, well. Hmmm.” She pursed her lips before stepping inside. “You’d better come in.”

  “Thanks.” Beau wiped his feet on the doormat and then hung his hat just inside the door on the hat stand. Anne shuffled toward the kitchen, not waiting for Beau.

  “Sit there,” she jabbed at the seat at the head of the table. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Beau did as he was told and sat at the table. The present became the focal point of the room, with its shiny bow and delicate curling ribbon. “Do you know when she’ll be home? I’d like to give this to her soon.” He pushed the box forward to show Anne the gift.

  Anne handed him a mug and then plopped into a chair opposite him. “Too big for a ring.” Beau rubbed the back of his neck, which had heated up.

  “No, ma’am, not a ring.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a Christmas ornament that Shelby admired over at the antique shop.”

  “Rose’s place on Main?” When he answered in the affirmative, she inclined her head toward the package. “Must be special if Rose wrapped the package up like that.”

  “I think so.” He turned the box around so the tag faced him. He glanced at his watch. “I don’t mean to be rude, Anne, but do you know when Shelby’ll be home. I’d really like to give this to her before I get started on the chores.”

  “Oh, Beau,” tears formed in Anne’s eyes. “If only you’d come sooner.”

  Alarm raced along his arms, causing goosebumps to appear. “What do you mean?”

  “Shelby.” She looked away from him and at the empty chair at the spot where Shelby normally sat. “She’s left.”

  “Sure, but she’ll be back.” His heart hammered against his ribs at the unencouraging look on Anne’s face. He swallowed an inconvenient lump that decided to form in his throat right about then. “Won’t she?”

  Anne’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She pressed her lips together and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Where did she go?” He jumped up from the table, catching the chair as it tipped backward, and began to pace. “Why did she leave?” Beau stopped in mid-stride. “Was it because of something I did?”

  “Oh, my dear boy, I wish I could tell you.” She held on to the table for support. “But it’s not my place.”

  “You’re not making sense, Anne. Of course, you can tell me.”

  She shook her head, some of the wispy edges of her hair moving in the breeze. “No, I can’t. She asked me not to.”

  Fear for Shelby’s safety, and rising anger, made Beau more forceful than he usually would have been. “That’s ridiculous. Why not?”

  “All I can say is that you may want to chat with Pastor Grimes.”

  “What has the pastor got to do with anything?”

  “She was at the church today. She’d volunteered for the Christmas decoration,” whispered Anne. “The pastor was there and knows more about what happened.” She covered her throat with one delicate hand. “Please don’t try to make me break my promise to Shelby.”

  Beau stood frozen to the spot, fear and anger warring against one another.

  Anne leaned forward and reached a hand out to him. “Go talk to the pastor, Beau. Please.”

  “I’ll do that.” The immobility that held him captive broke, and he snatched the gift off the table. He paused, searching Anne’s face for any clue as to why Shelby had left without a word. She looked away, unable to meet his eye. Beau growled low in his throat and strode to the door, ignoring Anne’s soft gasp. He shoved the hat on his head, not bothering to put the coat on.

  Beau seethed with anger and humiliation by the time he whipped the truck into the parking lot. He strode into the sanctuary, expecting it to be filled with women—and some men, off from work. Instead, only Pastor Grimes and a few of the core staff remained.

  “Pastor Grimes, a word, sir.” Beau made a beeline for the pastor.

  “Beau.” The pastor held a hand out for Beau to shake. “It’s nice to see you on a day other than a Sunday.”

  “You too.” He came to a screeching halt just before crashing into Grimes. “Have you seen Shelby? Anne said she was here earlier today.”

  “Ah yes.” The pastor excused himself from the other person he was chatting with. “Let’s step aside for a minute.”

  Beau agreed with a sharp nod.

  “What I’m about to tell you is an issue that we’ve been dealing with since I became the pastor.” He took a deep breath and let it out again. “Someone said something that wasn’t true. Shelby heard it and, for whatever reason, took off like a shot. I tried to stop her from leaving, but it was impossible. She didn’t want to chat about what happened. And,” he ran a hand over his bald spot on the back of his head.

  “She got upset by some gossip? That doesn’t make sense.” Not in the time he’d known her had she ever listened to gossip, and she’d never run from anything.

  Pastor Grimes buttoned and unbuttoned his gray cardigan. “Well, this is my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening. It was just so busy.” He shoved his hands into the cardigan’s pockets. “That’s neither here nor there. Shelby overheard a parishioner talking about herself and,” the pastor cleared his throat, “and yourself in particularly intimate details.”

  “Why didn’t you stop Shelby from leaving?”

  “How was I supposed to do that?” Grimes shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not like I could tackle her!”

  Beau scrubbed his hand across his face. He couldn’t believe she’d listened to some gossip and—even worse—believed it. Why hadn’t she come to him?

  “Excuse me,” said a small woman, breaking into their conversation. “You’re talking about Shelby Matthews, right.”

  “Now Martha, I don’t think…
” Pastor Grimes trailed off. Marta narrowed her eyes at him. He cleared his throat. “Go ahead, dear.”

  “It was Lena telling tales.” She leaned back from them and searched the area for listeners. “When confronted about what she’d been telling others, she laughed it off. Said that Shelby was too sensitive and couldn’t take a joke.” She shook her head, corners of her mouth turned down. “It wasn’t though. She meant every word to tear Shelby apart.”

  A tsunami of fury hit him, leaving him shaken at its ferocity. “Shelby’s gone.”

  “What?” Mrs. Grimes groped for her husband’s hand. “Are you sure?”

  “Anne told me. And now I know why.” He swept the room, looking for Lena. “Is she still here? Lena, I mean. I’d like a word with her.”

  Pastor Grimes eyes grew round, and he shook his head with some violence. “She’s gone for now. I’m sorry, Beau, but until Shelby comes back, there’s not much we can do for her right now.”

  Beau’s hands clenched and unclenched. He needed to tell Shelby it was a lie, that Lena was being cruel to get back at him for something that happened years ago. He pivoted on his heel and walked away, pulling the phone from his pocket as he did so. He punched in the number with exaggerated care, afraid that he’d break the screen if he tapped too hard.

  The phone rang once twice, and three times. He let out a ragged cheer, but that turned to dismay when he realized it was just her voice mail.

  “Leave a message after the beep,” said her perfectly perky message. It felt wrong, her voice was softer.

  “Shelby, this is Beau. Call me immediately when you get this message. I know what happened at the church today. I need to talk to you about it. Call me as soon as you get this.” With a frustrated sigh, he cut the call. If she was hiding from him, she was doing an excellent job of it.

  What was worse, though, is that she thought he was involved, directly or not. He slid the phone back in his pocket and looked back over at the pastor and his wife. There were in the corner having a heated discussion. At least Mrs. Grimes was actually talking to him. She’d not run away from the problem.

  Defeat finally emerged as the clear victor over his emotions. Time to go home. Maybe she’d be back in the morning.

  Shelby shifted in the heels Ya Ya insisted she wear. The shoes pinched her feet, and the dress, too tight and too black, combined with the feeling everyone was looking at her made this one of the most miserable evenings she’d ever had. Then there’d been the voice mail. She tried hard not to think about it the last few days but every time her attention wandered, there it was again. Beau’s anguished voice telling her he knew about the church.

  “Darling, you look miserable.” Ya Ya swept through the crowd, holding out her hands to Shelby. Whispering to Shelby, she added, “Continue. It’s good for business.”

  Shelby snorted but squeezed the proffered hands and bent down to kiss Ya Ya’s cheek. “You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”

  “Misery is good for the soul.” Ya Ya reached up and patted Shelby’s cheek. “If you are not miserable, how will you recognize the joy?”

  She pulled back and tilted her head, black hair swinging to the side. “But I do not think that this is suffering-for-art misery, hmmm?”

  Shelby swung away, hand going to her throat. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “There is only one thing that must be done.” Ya Ya stood as straight as her four-foot-eleven frame would allow her. “Love comes before all. Without it, we would not have this.” She swept her arm, encompassing the whole room. Only a few people glanced their way, most being fully aware of Ya Ya’s eccentricities. “Come. Let me show you something.” She marched past Shelby, who followed. She didn’t dare not to.

  They rounded the corner to a secluded section of the gallery. There, by itself so every eye would focus on it, was her portrait of Beau. Shelby looked away, unable to face even the painting. She’d felt it a mistake to even bring it, but Anne had insisted.

  Ya Ya gazed at the artwork, hands on hips. Without turning around, she declared, “This is love. It pours from the canvas, warms the viewer from the inside.” She turned hands clenched at her chest. “We fall in love with love.”

  “But.” She turned slowly and forced Shelby to look at her. “But,” Ya Ya waggled one finger at Shelby, “this passion cannot be felt unless the artiste feels it too. Hmm?”

  Shelby swallowed hard and raised her eyes to the painting. “You’re saying that I’m in love with Beau?”

  “No, darling.” Ya Ya grasped Shelby’s hands in a tight grip. “You already have.”

  Ya Ya pulled her around and stood her in front of the portrait. “This is your declaration. The moment you laid your brush to the canvas, you declared your love for this man.” She sniffed once. “He must be worthy of you, darling, or I will be disappointed.”

  Shelby felt a chuckle rise and catch in her throat. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  “Most certainly not.”

  They stood there in silence, Shelby soaking in Ya Ya’s speech. “Ya Ya,” whispered Shelby. “I think I may have made a mistake.”

  “Mm. Possibly. But that is good.”

  Shelby glanced down at the tiny woman. “How in the world can that be good?”

  Ya Ya tipped her head back and gave Shelby a wide smile. “Because mistakes can be fixed.”

  Ya Ya pirouetted on the tip of her tiny boot and began to move away, leaving Shelby standing there with her mouth hanging open. “Close your mouth, darling, or you’ll catch flies.”

  At the end of the alcove, Ya Ya placed one hand on the wall and turned slightly to face Shelby. “Also, this showing was a success. I would say, if an artiste wanted to take some time away, to contemplate her life, then she wouldn’t be missed.” Ya Ya blew her a kiss before turning the corner.

  Shelby stared at the painting for a minute more. “I’m such an idiot.” She pivoted on her heel and stumbled. Yanking off her shoe, she hopped as fast as she could toward the gallery’s front door.

  “Shelby, I’m Clint…” a tall, distinguished man with silver hair smiled at her and held his hand out.

  “Can’t talk. Late.” Shelby pushed past him and yelled over her shoulder, “Tell Ya Ya I’m going home.”

  She heard Ya Ya faintly greet the man with enthusiasm as she headed into the night. It took her about an hour to change out of the ridiculous, if beautiful, evening dress and pack her bags. “Phone, phone. Where’s my phone.” She tossed the room, finally finding it under the bed.

  “Yes!” Shelby jumped up and hit the on button. Nothing happened. ‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Just have to charge in the car.”

  She packed her few things and headed out the door. The trip would take her all night, but she could just charge the phone in the car. When she tried to plug the cord into the car, Shelby found that it wouldn’t fit into the cigarette lighter.

  “Ed can soup up an engine, repair doors, and make the car new again but he can’t put in a USB port?”

  She threw the useless phone on top of her bags. “Just gonna have to show up I guess.” Butterflies bounced around in her stomach at seeing Beau again. She’d been wrong not to trust him. Even if he didn’t care for her, Ya Ya was right. She loved him not just for herself, but because he was a good man and deserved better than what she’d done.

  Shelby yawned, cracking her jaw. It was just past dawn and Bristlecone—home—was just in sight. She’d need to freshen up if she was going to face Beau soon. Wouldn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of telling how sorry I am.

  The cottage was dark when she pulled up to the front door. “That’s odd.” Usually, Anne was up with the birds and had already sucked down most of a pot of tea by the time Shelby was ready for the day. She hurried inside and called for Anne. A sense of déjà vu swept over her. Shelby ran to the kitchen but didn’t find a note this time. Maybe Ed would know where Anne was. They’d been spending enough time together recently.

 
Shelby rushed down to the garage, relieved to see that Ed had already opened the shop.

  “Ed!” she ran into the garage. “Where are you?”

  “Shelby!” Ed came hurrying out the office and swept her up into a bear hug. Setting her down gently, he growled, “Where have you been? Anne wouldn’t tell any of us, even though we could see it worrying her. Did you do something to your hair?”

  “What? Yes. I dyed it back to my natural color. Going purple was my way of standing out and I don’t need to anymore. Anyway, Anne’s not at the cottage, Ed, and she should be.”

  “Well now, lass, you’ve been gone, and Anne couldn’t get you to answer your phone.” He gave her a disparaging look. “She’s made a decision to sell part of the land. Not that I agree with her, but it’s her land to sell as she sees fit.”

  “But why?” cried Shelby. “I was selling my paintings to raise money to pay her bills.”

  “Seems like she wanted to stand on her own two feet.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t listen to me about it.”

  Shelby ran a hand over her braid. “Where is she then? I’ve got to stop her from making a mistake.”

  Ed’s snort was a cross between a bull’s challenge and bear’s growl. “With that weasel of a brother of hers. Found someone to buy the land. What was his name?” He scratched his head and then his eyebrows shot up. “Jackson. Rancher down in Bishop. Anyway, Peter drove Anne down last night as the meeting’s this morning.”

  “What am I going to do?” Shelby began to pace back in forth, her mind turning like a hamster wheel. “I don’t think I can get down there fast enough.”

  “Well, you might want to ask Beau.” Ed picked up his tea mug and took a swig. “Although he’s been acting a might bit mopey lately.”

  Shelby froze in place. “What you do you mean by ‘mopey?’”

  Ed shrugged. “He’s down in the dumps, grouchy with everyone. Isn’t that what mopey means?”

  “I guess.” She began to pace again.