Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance)

by Roz Denny Fox

  Hank Rogers was pleasant enough, but he was adamantly opposed to Starr trekking into the high country alone.

  “I told Harrison and I’ll tell you, young woman—only fools go up as high as the bighorns with the weather this unpredictable.” Faded blue eyes studied her from a solemn, weatherbeaten face. “You don’t look like a fool, miss.”

  Starr met his gaze with a frown. “Today I’m only planning to ride to the viewpoint. I ride well. I’ll take good care of the horse. I’ll do my own saddling and rubbing down. I’m also an experienced biochemist, Mr. Rogers. Believe me, I have great respect for Mother Nature’s fickle ways.”

  The old foreman’s snort might have been accompanied by a smile, but if so, it never reached his eyes. “I’d feel a sight better if Clay wuz to go with y’all,” he drawled. “He’s out checking on a cantankerous bull. Can’t this wait?”

  Starr’s fingers tightened around SeLi’s shoulders. She could feel the tension in the slender frame as the child eyed the black horse that nudged the man’s shoulder. “Uh, Mr. Rogers, my authorization comes from Senator Harrison McLeod. This doesn’t concern his brother.” Starr bit her lip, afraid she’d revealed too much even at that. But the possibility of being accompanied by Clay into the white wilderness sent her into near panic.

  The old man narrowed his sharp eyes as he jerked a battered cowboy hat over his furrowed brow. “Everything on this ranch concerns Clay McLeod, young woman. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

  Better for whom? wondered Starr, watching Rogers stalk away. “Is that a yes?” she called. When he nodded curtly, she smiled and tried to contain SeLi, who punched the air and yelled “All right!” at the top of her lungs.

  “SeLi, stop hopping about before you scare the horse.” Starr did her best to restrain the excited girl. “I know you’re ready to be off, but saddling up takes time.”

  SeLi squealed with a mixture of fear and delight some time later, when Starr boosted her onto the saddle of the dancing black gelding and quickly climbed on in front of her. As the horse responded to a mere touch of the heel, SeLi buried her head in her mom’s back, and let fly with a barrage of expletives.

  “SeLi! When will you learn that new experiences aren’t license to swear like a seaman?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Sometimes it just slips out.” But she didn’t remain contrite for long. “Do you think Moe could come with us some time? He said he never gets to go near the horses ‘cause his mom doesn’t want him to stink like one.” She squeezed Starr. “I think it’s a nice smell. A lot better than the wharf.”

  Starr laughed, her breath mingling with the wispy vapors from the snorting, blowing horse. Why did she find it amusing that Vanessa McLeod disliked the smell? It was that faint, earthy aroma mixed with a musky hint of leather that Starr found so compelling about Clay McLeod. She wasn’t attracted to men like the ones her mother paraded around, who smelled of lemon and spice. And those she worked with carried an ever-present odor of medicinal soap. Barclay McLeod smelled wonderfully male by comparison.

  Starr jerked her thoughts from their errant meanderings.

  As it turned out, the vista proved to be a brisk ride from the barn. Once there, it was as if nothing moved in the vast wilderness except the restless horse beneath her. Starr muttered under her breath about forgetting her binoculars. Deep down, however, she knew the chance of sighting a bighorn from here was practically nil. She’d need to go higher.

  “You know, SeLi—” Starr’s voice shattered the stillness as she turned the horse from the magnificent panorama “—neither you nor Moe will be able to ride with me when I’m working. I’m afraid it’d be too dangerous.”

  “I s’pose,” SeLi replied, sounding reluctant. “I gotta do the homework Prissy Polly sent, anyway—if I don’t wanna give Wicked Wanda new ammo.”

  “SeLi,” Starr scolded. “use proper names.”

  “Yes’m,” came the innocent reply.

  Starr really didn’t want to argue. She was only too glad to see the corral come into sight.

  Dismounting stiffly, she worried that it was too late to look for another place to park the motor home. The sun had dropped unexpectedly behind a thick layer of clouds. Starr shoved icy fingers deep in her jacket pockets in an effort to warm them before unsaddling the big black.

  “You go on to the motor home, Skeeter. You can get out fixings for grilled cheese sandwiches. We’ll have them with hot soup. How does that sound?” Starr stamped her boots to aid circulation in her partially numbed feet. It was beginning to spit snow again, and she wanted to settle the gelding.

  “Sounds real bad,” SeLi shouted over one shoulder as she skipped off.

  Starr laughed; to SeLi, bad really meant good. She pulled the horse toward the shelter of the barn and began to uncinch the saddle.

  The barn door crashed open. Starr jumped and grabbed at the saddle as it slid down the black’s steaming flank.

  “Where in hell have you been?” Clay growled from the doorway. With piercing eyes, he assessed the condition of the horse and shortly thereafter Starr’s wind-reddened cheeks. “Well,” he demanded, “I’m waiting.”

  “Bully for you!” she snapped, shaken by his sudden appearance. Unfortunately he’d been uppermost in her thoughts all day.

  With one powerful wrench, Clay hefted the saddle she was struggling to hold and deposited it easily beside a row of similar gear. He tossed a rough cloth her way. “Rub him down and feed him.”

  Seething, Starr began rubbing the horse with vigorous strokes. “I intended to do just that. You are not my keeper, McLeod. I don’t owe you any explanation. Harrison told your foreman I could have a horse.” She bit her tongue to keep herself from adding, So there. Suddenly she was rudely spun away from the flank she’d been drying. Clay’s long fingers clamped tight around her upper arms. His blue eyes glittered dangerously and his lips were compressed so tightly they were almost hidden in his day-old stubble of beard. He pulled her toward him, until her face was within an inch of his. “Get one thing straight. Harris runs the affairs of state, but I run this ranch. Understood?”

  Momentarily mute, she nodded. By all rights she should be furious with his high-handed manner. Instead, his unexpected nearness undid her. Heat pulsed between them. They both felt it, and both grew still.

  The big horse shifted, straining to reach the measure of oats someone had put in his feeder. His hindquarters brushed Starr and shoved her into the stall. Afraid of falling, she groped blindly with her hands. What she connected with was Clay’s flannel-covered chest. Two snaps popped on his shirt, revealing thick springy chest hair. As her fingers tangled in the crisp strands, her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth.

  “Did Raven step on you?” Clay’s arms, suddenly gentle and protective, herded her farther into the stall to make way for the big horse.

  Starr’s soft curves followed the lines of his harder body. The air around them all but sizzled as Clay sank with her into the hay and initiated a kiss he couldn’t quite seem to dominate.

  He thrust. She parried in the duel for control—or submission.

  Starr’s cry of surprise softened soon enough to a moan, and she slaked her thirst for kissing him back.

  At that moment Clay McLeod was iron and heat.

  She was jelly. Hot, bubbling, melting jelly. Thick and sweet, she flowed over him. Clay wouldn’t—couldn’t—have called a halt even if he’d been so inclined. Which he wasn’t. Having tumbled like a KO’d boxer, Clay was more than willing to stay down for the count. Provided they both got rid of some of these clothes.

  Plenty warm, Starr didn’t object when he delved beneath her jacket. The snap of a button from her blouse hitting the hay only joined the fireworks going off in her head. His kisses did that to her.

  Clay sighed when at last his hands touched her soft flesh. No words passed between them as he paid homage to first one perfect breast, then the other.

  Starr let herself be swept along on a tide of new feeling
s. She reveled in the first rasp of his tongue, and the second. Suddenly, though, amid the pleasure, the sound of childish voices beneath the window outside intruded.

  “SeLi,” Moe whispered loudly. “Whatcha doin? Mama sent me to find Uncle Clay.”

  “Shh,” SeLi hissed. “I’m lookin’ for that Christmas star I told you about. It’s too dark, I guess. Your uncle and my mom have been in the barn a long time.” She sounded only marginally concerned. “I’m s’pose to go get out bread and cheese, but this is real ‘portant. I got me a wish that needs magic.”

  “I wish on stars all the time,” he bragged. “Just find one and say, ‘Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, get the wish I wish tonight.’”

  “Gol-ly! I didn’t know that. You think any old star will do? My Nana Patrice said it hadda be the Christmas star.”

  As the children’s words penetrated, Starr began to pull away from Clay. Prickly straw had embedded itself in her naked back. Realizing what had poked her, she struggled to get up. Lord! What if Morgan or SeLi walked in on us?

  “Starr,” Clay murmured, his fingers seeking the zipper of her tan cords.

  “No!” She batted at his hand and scooted away.

  He nipped her earlobe and then soothed away the sting with the tip of his tongue. Mesmerized by her eyes, which glowed like fine jewels, he gazed down at her and said fiercely, “I won’t share you with my brother, Starr. Not with any man.”

  “Shh, you oaf. Get off me.” Starr shoved him hard and sent him rolling across the hay. Panting, she said in a hushed voice, “Where’s my blouse? Morgan and SeLi are right outside.”

  Clay jackknifed into a sitting position. “Forget them. I want this settled between us now. You may go for a ménage à trois, but I’m a little old-fashioned. So you tell big brother to buzz off, or I will.”

  The strangled noise she made in her throat nowhere near matched the outrage she felt in every fiber of her body. “You arrogant— I’ll ménage-à-trois you. What do you call what you, the senator and Vanessa have going?”

  Clay laughed. “That accusation is so ludicrous it’s funny.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said as she slid into her jacket and zipped it up to her chin. “I’m leaving. I hope you plan on taking care of that horse.”

  “Don’t try to turn the tables on me or change the subject, Starr. Come on. We’re getting too old for this. Don’t you prefer the luxury of a soft bed?”

  As Starr watched him calmly stuff his shirt back into his jeans, she stifled hysterical laughter. Why was he taking his time? Why was he talking at all? Didn’t he hear the kids at the door? As she left the stall, he raised his voice.

  “I can’t figure out the harebrained scheme you and my brother have cooked up. But let me say this—I expressly forbid you to ride into the high country alone. If you are here to do some kind of tests, tell whoever sent you to get a professional to do their dirty work.”

  Hand on the door, Starr drew herself up to her full five foot six. “I am a professional, you goof.”

  Clay walked over and framed her face with gentle hands. “Trust me, sugar, even you can change.”

  Starr pushed his hand away. “Listen to me. I—we—oh, what’s the use? And don’t call me sugar!” Frustrated, she jerked at the door, which opened to reveal Morgan, looking confused.

  Clay tensed. His smile slipped.

  Brushing past the boy, Starr didn’t know what else she could say that wouldn’t dig her hole deeper. She had to get away from here. Had to find another place to rent a horse.

  “Wait!” Clay hollered when it seemed she wasn’t going to stop. “If you really are here to do some work on the preserve, maybe I can help.” He bent down, and with a few words, sent his nephew trudging back to the house. Seeing Starr’s steps falter, he rushed to catch up.

  Someone had once told Starr that the best defense was a good offense. “All right.” She slowed her steps. “We had a report that a couple of rams died up on the preserve. I did my master’s thesis on the bighorns. I’m here to run some routine tests. From time to time I’ll need a reliable horse.”

  “Rams died? Of what?”

  She should have known he wouldn’t let it go. “That, Mr. McLeod, is what I’m here to find out.”

  He gripped her arms.

  She stepped back. “I’m not here to be mauled by you. Tomorrow I’ll find a new place to park.”

  “Hold on a minute.”

  “I can’t. I need to go check on SeLi.”

  “What’s my brother got to do with this job of yours?”

  “Nothing.” Starr crossed her fingers behind her back. “He just offered me the pad here, but I’ve changed my mind about using it.” Turning, she started to leave.

  “You won’t find another pad with hookups in this area.”

  She kept silent and walked faster.

  He turned and walked backward in front of her, blocking the wind. “The kids are good for each other,” he said quietly. “The real reason I came out to find you this afternoon was to ask if SeLi could join Morgan tomorrow. We’re trimming the Christmas tree. The day after, Vanessa has a tutor coming. SeLi mentioned she has some schoolwork. It would free up your days,” he said, staying her with a hand.

  She shook it off and studied him carefully. She wondered about his ulterior motive, never doubting he had one, and decided the sheep were more important. “Okay. What time do you want SeLi there in the morning?”

  “I’ll check with Vanessa and let you know.”

  “Send Morgan,” she said. “Either that, or SeLi can run over and find out.” Starr burrowed into her jacket as a furious blast of wind struck them head-on.

  Grasping her elbow, he stepped in front of her again, but she twisted away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

  He pressed his lips into a grim line. “If you’re waiting for my apology, you’ll have a long wait. Liars have that effect on me,” he said. “And be assured, sugar, I will get to the bottom of this.”

  Now she’d really done it. Why had she opened her mouth? She ran up the steps shaking so hard she had difficulty opening the door. “I’m not your sugar” was all she managed to say.

  Her nervousness wasn’t lost on Clay. What in blue blazes was she up to? He vowed not to let her take him for a fool. Just before she slipped inside, he called out a final warning. “Don’t try contacting my brother. I’ll be keeping close tabs on you.”

  * * *

  LATER, AFTER HE’D GROOMED Raven, Clay stood at his bedroom window and watched the lights go out in the motor home. He smoothed a hand over a jaw that needed shaving.

  After the last light was out, he dropped down on the bed and pulled off his leather boots. Flexing his newly freed toes, he kicked one boot across the room and watched it slide down the wall. If only Vanessa had a bit of Starr’s fire, her husband might not be looking elsewhere.

  He lay back on the pillow, fully clothed, arms crossed behind his head, and wondered why he gave a damn about any of them. It was their miserable little triangle and it didn’t concern him—or rather, it shouldn’t.

  Still, he puzzled over what he knew. A single woman who bucked all odds to adopt a dock child. His brother, involved in the adoption up to his ears, even though his own son lacked a father. How long before the Manning woman shed some light? he wondered.

  With a groan he stroked his eyelids closed. What he saw behind them was Starr Lederman. Beautiful. Well educated. A background of money. Why would she settle for the part-time affections of a married man?

  The questions were clear. The answers elusive.

  Clay rose and shrugged out of his clothes. Sighing, he crawled naked between gratifyingly cold sheets. He had a ranch to run and bulls to get ready for market. That was his first priority. If he had any spare time, he’d nose around. Otherwise, the best he could do was keep a very close eye on the woman who seemed determined to drive him crazy.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SUNSH
INE SOOTHED the soul, no matter how battered that soul might be, Starr thought as she welcomed the morning rays.

  Though the Chinook wind she prayed for hadn’t come to melt away the snow covering the ground, neither were there ominous storm clouds in the sky today. Except for deep patches of snow lying under the tall pines and the shrinking remains of the children’s snowman, the day might have been trying to herald spring, instead of a not-too-distant visit from Santa Claus.

  Stifling a yawn, Starr shrugged into a robe and made her way to the kitchenette. She was surprised to find SeLi and Morgan seated at the compact table putting together a jigsaw puzzle.

  “My, you two are certainly early birds this morning.” Her yawn refused to be suppressed.

  Both children answered her greeting with a giggle. “Moe came with a message for you, Mom. I hope you aren’t mad ‘cause he stayed—but you were sawin’ logs.”

  “No, no, of course I’m not mad, SeLi,” Starr assured her with more benevolence than she felt. “You were both very good.” Unfortunately, however, Morgan’s very presence reminded Starr of what had gone on last evening between her and his uncle.

  “Uncle Clay thinks the tutor will be here tomorrow at nine o’clock. Today, can SeLi help decorate our tree and make gingerbread cookies?”

  “Oh, wow! Please, Mom. I never made cookies.” SeLi’s eyes shone.

  Starr felt a pang of remorse. Making Christmas cookies was one of the things she wanted to do with her daughter. Things were so hectic it seemed she never had the time for extras.

  “Mom? Don’t you want me to make cookies?” A frown replaced her enthusiasm.

  Starr put a hand to her head. “It’s not that at all. I sort of thought we’d make and decorate sugar cookies when we got back home. My mother’s cook used to let me help her when I was about your age. I’d hoped you and I could make it a yearly tradition.”

  SeLi’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t Nana Patrice and you make ‘em?”

  Starr shrugged. “My parents were never home for the holidays. Their crowd skied at St. Moritz—that’s a ritzy place in Europe,” she explained. “Anyway, my mother isn’t very interested in cooking. Remember, I told you that when we invited her for Thanksgiving turkey.”