Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance)

by Roz Denny Fox

  She tried to melt behind the door.

  “Isn’t that my line?” he growled. “Unless something’s changed, this is where I live.”

  “Clay? Clay?” A trilling voice pierced the black night. Starr glimpsed a pale blur hovering in what appeared to be an open door at the main house. “Did you find out who’s camped on our land?”

  “I’ve got everything under control, Vanessa,” Clay shouted. “Get back in the house out of the cold before you catch your death.”

  Jealousy ripped through Starr, unwarranted though it was. Damn him for worrying about his brother’s wife when he didn’t seem to have any qualms about keeping her standing in subzero weather.

  But what did she care? If he let her stay the night, tomorrow she’d be gone—even if she had to find a place in Banning and drive that mountain every day, she vowed with a return of spirit.

  She stepped back into the motor home, determined to get out of the cold. Clay, however, had other ideas. His wide shoulders blocked her attempt to close the door.

  “Please...” she began tiredly. But he climbed in and held up his hand to silence her and flashed his light around the paneled walls.

  “Good Lord, woman, it’s as cold as a well digger’s knees in here.”

  “Really? I hardly noticed.” Her sarcasm was lost on him.

  “You’re not in the city. Turn up the damned heat.” He stepped closer, enveloping her in a ring of light. “My God, your lips are blue and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “I can’t turn up the heat,” she said defiantly. “I couldn’t figure out how to hook up the electricity.”

  “Doesn’t this fancy rig have butane?”

  It killed her to say, “No. The tanks are frozen closed.”

  Clay grinned and touched her cheek. “Somehow I didn’t think that was your normal nightly attire. But what the hell was Harrison thinking, not to give you a key to the house? After all, he had no way of knowing I’d be here. I only decided today.”

  Not thinking how it might sound, Starr blurted, “Did he even know you and Vanessa were still in San Francisco? I certainly didn’t tell him.”

  Clay let his hand fall away. That night at her place when they’d shared—what?—kisses, she’d claimed he misunderstood her relationship with his brother. Lord, but he’d wanted it to be true. He really had.

  After all, when two men coveted the same woman, it spelled trouble in capital letters. And if those two men were brothers, it spelled disaster.

  What a fool he was to come chasing after her. But Blevins had insisted it was a simple vacation. “Go back to bed,” he ordered gruffly “I’ll hook up your electricity and we’ll discuss this in the morning. I still have to secure my plane.”

  “Plane?” Starr echoed blankly. She was numb from cold and exhausted. No wonder he looked so fresh, he hadn’t spent twelve hours on the road.

  “I’ll lock up after you leave,” she said stiffly.

  “Do that.” He slammed the door on his way out.

  Dazed, she fumbled with the lock, turned on the electric heater, then stumbled back to bed where she lay awake staring at the ceiling. Maybe she could slip away early—she found the promise of further confrontation with Barclay McLeod distressing.

  And what reason dared she give him for being here? What could she say that wouldn’t jeopardize Harrison’s project?

  Unless—the thought left her breathless—he really was spying for some advocacy group and had followed her. If so, was there a way to let him know that they were really on the same side? How could she, though, and not risk spreading needless panic and confusion?

  Lord, what a mess she was in. “You’re here to find out what’s killing some bighorns, and that’s all,” she muttered, plumping her pillow. “Leave the politics to Harrison.”

  Comfortable at last with her decision, Starr closed her eyes. The reassuring clicks emitted by the now-running electric heater were as beautiful to her ears as the most exquisite music.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  STARR AWOKE to the smell of coffee. As she lay there trying to connect mind to body, the aroma of burned toast overpowered the more pleasant odor.

  “SeLi?” she called when she discovered the down bag lying empty.

  All trace of last night’s misery apparently erased, the girl skipped through the door to their sleeping quarters. Her heavy pajamas had been discarded, but she still wore crumpled jeans and the shirt she’d slept in. Recently unbraided hair fell in corkscrews down her back. She paused long enough to view her mother’s striped pajamas with a smothered giggle. “Holy shi—! Where did you get that neon prison suit?”

  Starr raised a warning eyebrow, and SeLi switched to wheedling. “Get up, Mom. Get up! Wait till you see outside.” Bright eyes twinkled. “It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” She twirled and clapped her hands.

  “What?” Starr leapt up and yanked aside the curtain over the bed. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “That’s awful.” She wiped a hole in the condensation with a corner of the blanket. Not a blizzard, but most definitely a snowfall. The trees around the ranch house were dusted white. Even as she watched, large, fluffy flakes drifted lazily toward the ground and settled softly on the covering of white already there. “But last night the stars were out!”

  She sank back on the bed just as SeLi returned with a steaming mug of coffee. “Gosh, Mom. Did you see the Christmas star?”

  “What?” Starr closed her eyes, savoring the first mouthful.

  “You know, the Christmas star. The one I been wantin’ to see.”

  Starr shrugged. “Honey, I was pretty busy driving. Maybe you should forget that silly star.”

  “No.” SeLi crossed her arms. “It’s not silly.”

  Soothing her daughter with a hug, Starr let her mind forge ahead to the condition of the trails leading into the preserve.

  A loud knock shook the coach. Starr slopped hot coffee down the front of her sleepers and her breath stalled as SeLi ran to open the door. Damn, she’d intended that both she and SeLi would be up and gone by now. It was Morgan McLeod who stood outside, though—not his darkly handsome, very annoying uncle.

  The boy’s pale face was nearly obscured beneath a snow-covered wool cap pulled low over his ears. A light blue snowsuit and thick mittens added pounds to his thin frame.

  “Mom! It’s Moe!” shouted SeLi excitedly. A blast of frigid wind swept a trail of wet snowflakes along the vinyl flooring.

  “Uncle Clay wants you to come to the house, Ms. Lederman,” Morgan said politely. “And can SeLi come out and play?” Two pairs of bright eyes looked expectantly at Starr.

  She smoothed tangled curls over one ear and tempered her retort. After all, Morgan wasn’t responsible for his uncle’s arrogance. “I can’t go anywhere until I’ve showered and dressed.”

  Noting their long faces, she added, “No reason for SeLi to wait. Provided you stay where I can see you from the window.”

  Their happy cries were Starr’s reward. “Wait there, Morgan,” she directed. “It’s too warm for you to come inside the way you’re dressed. I bought SeLi a snowsuit. It’ll only take a minute.” Actually it was with the Christmas gifts she didn’t want SeLi to see yet.

  “A snowsuit?” SeLi’s dark eyes glowed. Smiling, Morgan plopped down dutifully on a snowy step.

  “Stay close and don’t let yourself get too cold,” Starr cautioned a few minutes later when SeLi, covered except for her face, joined the boy outside.

  “We won’t,” they chorused, playfully scattering the white powder with booted feet.

  “I’ll bet.” Starr smiled as she shut the door. She envied them. It’d been ages since she’d played in the snow. But duty called, she decided as she washed her hair. Then there was Clay’s summons. She pulled a wry face.

  While in the shower, Starr remembered a set of brochures she’d picked up from a travel agent. She backed out of the tiny bath and stopped midflight on her way to find her purse. Clay McLeod’s rangy body lolled comfortably on her co
uch. His legs, clad in jeans, stretched into the middle of the floor. One of her coffee mugs rested on his knee.

  Starr’s heart failed to beat. She wasn’t certain how long he’d studied her towel-draped body with that lazy smile.

  “Big improvement over the sleepers,” he said, gesturing with his cup.

  Starr ignored the pulse that suddenly hammered in her ears. “What are you doing here? I told Morgan to tell you I’d be over later.”

  Clay’s smile faded instantly. He sat up straight, gripping the mug between his knees with both hands. Why did she have to look so damned appealing? It was hard not to notice that her skin shone like sculpted marble, since so much of it was showing.

  Unfortunately the real reason for his visit spoiled the view. “I brought a message from your lover.”

  “My what?”

  “Harrison called this morning and got Hank Rogers, my ranch foreman. Oh, he hinted around, asking about the weather and did we have any unexpected guests. Hank didn’t know what the hell Harris was talking about. I know he was checking on his precious Starr.”

  “No. I...he...we...I intended to stay elsewhere,” she said.

  “Don’t blame you a bit. A wife gets in the way. Don’t worry, sugar. I didn’t say a word about your atrocious nightwear when I called him back. I’m sure he’s much more used to seeing you as you are now.”

  She sighed, refusing to let him provoke her further. “You’ve delivered the message you came to deliver. Now I want you to leave.”

  “All in good time. When I lit into Harrison, he fed me the same crap you obviously laid on that poor devil, Stanley—about some phony project. You really should keep your stories straight. The Blevinses think you and SeLi are on vacation.”

  “Stories str—” Starr broke off to grab the large towel she’d wrapped about her body. It had slipped when she sucked in her breath. She gathered it close and raised her chin. “I can’t have a reasonable conversation with someone as narrow-minded as you. Now would you kindly have the decency to go? I’d like to dress.”

  “Good idea,” he snapped. “Get some clothes on. It’s damned difficult to concentrate with you standing around looking like some centerfold.” Clay rose and glared at her. His towering height seemed to shrink the already small space. “I’ll just warm my coffee.”

  He brushed so close Starr could feel the heat of his body through her towel.

  “Do that,” she spat, determined not to flinch. “You’ve had a lot of practice making yourself at home.” She couldn’t help tossing a barb. “Won’t Vanessa wonder what’s keeping you?”

  Clay paused, gritting his teeth. Oh, how she loved to taunt him with his brother’s infidelity. Only this time she’d gone too far. He spun away from the stove, sending Starr into full retreat, which forced him to yell at her through the thin wall. “Maybe you’d like to know that I left Van on the phone with Harrison—discussing divorce.”

  “Divorce?” Starr stuck her head out the sliding pocket door. She held a bulky sweater over her breasts. “Wh-what about Morgan?” she asked, recalling SeLi’s story about the boy crying in the night for his father.

  “What about Morgan? His world is topsy-turvy. Has been for a year. But they say kids are resilient. So maybe in the end his life will improve.”

  Starr thought about how she herself hadn’t been at all resilient as a kid. “Easy for you to take the coldhearted approach,” she sneered.

  Clay looked as if he was about to explode.

  Starr couldn’t think why. But of course, he must feel guilty.

  “Just get dressed,” he said, turning his back on her and curling both palms around the edge of the counter.

  His anger was almost palpable. Starr felt better once she was safely covered—in tan cords and that bulky sweater. In control again, she stalked past him, jerked open the front door and peered around outside.

  “What in damnation are you doing now?” he asked, addressing her slender back. Lord, but that woman fit a pair of cords nicely. And her getting dressed hadn’t done a thing to slow his pulse.

  “I’m checking on SeLi. She isn’t used to this weather. In fact, this is the first time she’s seen snow. I worry about frostbite.”

  Clay gave an offhand shrug. “The kids are okay. They went over to the house to warm up and play checkers. I decided they’d had enough snow for the first time out. Promised them we’d take a look at their snowman.”

  Starr slammed the door hard. One of the many things about Clay McLeod that annoyed her was his take-control attitude. He might assume responsibility for Morgan, but he had no right to make decisions for SeLi.

  “Since you’re leaving, please send SeLi home.”

  “What’s the hurry? They’re having a good time.” Clay lowered his gaze and sipped from his cup. Had he really expected to shake Starr up with news of Harrison’s divorce? She was probably gloating. But she was a fool if she thought Harrison would marry her in an election year.

  Clay watched through his lashes as she crossed the room to fill her own mug. Damn her! He’d like to wring her beautiful neck. He choked on a swallow of coffee. Who was he trying to kid? If he didn’t leave now, he’d do something stupid—like carry her back to the bedroom and make very thorough, very passionate love to her.

  Slamming his mug down on the counter, Clay got to his feet and stalked toward the door. To hell with Harrison, his mistress and her trumped-up project. It gave him immense satisfaction to know he’d upset their little rendezvous.

  Starr gazed openmouthed as he stormed out, slamming the door without even a word of farewell. “Of all the nerve,” she fumed aloud. “Who does he think he is?”

  She peered out a small window, and her heart wrenched a little as she watched his lithe form move through the new snow. When the door to the ranch house shut hard behind him, she flinched.

  Forget him, she told herself. Save your feeling bad for Morgan and his father. But the pain lodged in her heart said something different. Tall, lean, moody Barclay McLeod awakened yearnings in her that no other man had ever stirred. It helped only marginally knowing that when all of this was over, he’d know how wrong he’d been about her.

  But at the moment, Starr reminded herself briskly, she wasn’t here to moon over a man. Her mission was to find out who or what was killing those sheep. In fact, this would be a good time to read the file she’d picked up from a friend in the Sierra Club.

  Starr dug a manila folder from a pocket in her briefcase. She sat down and quickly became engrossed, even though the legalese was often difficult to wade through. After reading three documents, she thought she’d pretty well figured out what the data boiled down to: yet again, some smooth-talking federal politician—someone like Senator McLeod—had talked about oil and how the situation was “critical to national survival” to sell the state a bill of goods. Oh, there were phrases like “limiting exploration to nondestructive seismic tests,” but Starr knew how often companies and their people stepped over those ambiguous lines. It was her fear, as well as the fear of other conservationists, that unless tighter controls were exercised, accelerated exploration might scatter or destroy herds it had taken years to build. Sierra Club members foresaw elimination of entire subspecies if wilderness protection was breached.

  Starr sat back and pondered. Dedicated to saving all animals, she viewed these oil explorations as a threat to the Wilderness Act. Realistically, though, the deed was done. Senator McLeod hadn’t single-handedly cracked the moratorium, but he bore much of the responsibility for exploiting its ambiguous clause here in California.

  She got up and began to pace. Should she back out now? If she did, who would Harrison and his cronies get to replace her? Someone. Their kind always did. Maybe someone not as interested in the fate of the sheep. Or was she conjuring up tigers in the night where there were none? She continued to pace.

  That was the way SeLi found her an hour later when she burst through the door, her cheeks rosy from the crisp air, her lips curved in a happy sm
ile.

  “Moe taught me how to play chess.” As usual, SeLi talked with her hands. “We had hot chocolate and marshmallows in front of a fireplace bigger than two of Nana Patrice’s. And we built a giant snow dude in Moe’s front yard. Did you see him, Mom? Did you?”

  For a moment Starr stared blankly at her daughter. Then with ease, she made the transition back into motherhood.

  “Why don’t I come look now?” she asked, knowing she needed a break. “I’m glad you had a good time, Skeeter.” Starr tweaked the girl’s button nose, then dived into the closet for her boots.

  “Know somethin’, Mom? Moe’s mother is beautiful. When we first got inside, Moe thought she’d been crying. She was better after Uncle Clay came back. They stayed in the kitchen a long time. Say, do you think Moe’s mom might be real sick, like my mom was?” The child’s concern wasn’t feigned.

  Starr’s back stiffened involuntarily. “Barclay McLeod is not your uncle,” she snapped, not really meaning to. The minute she saw SeLi’s face begin to crumple, she said more gently, “I just mean he’s Morgan’s uncle. Don’t you think he’ll take care of everything?”

  SeLi still didn’t seem mollified. Starr wished she could retract her jealous outburst. SeLi had suffered during her mother’s long illness, and sickness of any kind truly worried her. Starr hugged the girl and stroked her hair. “I’m pretty sure Moe’s mom isn’t as sick as yours was.”

  When the child sighed and nodded, Starr took a heavy jacket from the closet and shrugged into it. “Hey, let’s go check your snow dude, huh? Then I want to talk to Mr. Rogers, the ranch foreman, about borrowing a horse. How would you like to take a horseback ride?”

  SeLi barely contained her excitement over the prospect of seeing a horse up close, but her patience lasted long enough for Starr to properly admire the snowman. It was somewhat lopsided, and they joked about the way it leaned. The fun didn’t quite outweigh the fact that the sooner Starr found out what was killing the sheep, the sooner she’d be free of all the McLeods.