Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance)

by Roz Denny Fox

  Before the cumbersome motor home had cleared the Grapevine, Starr hardened her heart to the love she’d held for Clay McLeod, too.

  Ten hours later, sunrise was still a few hours off when Starr crossed into San Francisco after dropping the canister at the lab. Rain and fog had impeded her progress for the last fifty miles. Her limbs were shaking by the time she parked outside her condominium.

  “Welcome home,” she muttered. The only visible light in the dark building was the one seventy-five-watt bulb Blevins always left on in the lobby.

  More tired than she’d ever been and more despondent, Starr gently woke SeLi and climbed from the vehicle. They took nothing in with them. Unpacking now would only make it harder for SeLi, she thought.

  Still, from the minute she opened her apartment door, Starr felt a certain relief at being home. Or she did until she remembered that she’d have to move, trust fund or no. Harris-Clay Enterprises owned the roof over her head.

  But she was much too tired to think clearly. Dazedly she helped SeLi off with her jacket and shoes and into bed for another hour or so of sleep.

  An underlying sense of doom denied Starr the same luxury. It was four-thirty in the morning, and she didn’t know a soul in the world she could call for any reason short of homicide.

  Sleep out of the question, she sat in the kitchen with nothing but the light from one gas burner. She’d filled the teapot, having decided one thing that might help was a strong cup of her mother’s favorite tea—Red Zinger. The name alone gave one gusto to face the day, according to Patrice Lederman.

  While Starr waited for the water to boil, she contemplated everything that had happened in so short a time. December, the month when people the world over made an effort to be cheerful, had been a nightmare for Starr.

  And the apartment didn’t even look like Christmas.

  The kettle emitted a squeal. Starr dashed to remove it from the heat, not wanting to wake SeLi.

  “Mmm.” The pungent aroma did lift her spirits. After a few sips, she decided the least she could do was put up a few decorations. Not that it made a lick of sense. Tomorrow she’d have to start looking for a new place to live. Yet in another way it made perfect sense. Not only would SeLi’s morning be more enjoyable, but decorating was bound to keep her own mind occupied. Occupied, and off Clay McLeod’s defection.

  She set her tea aside while she hauled boxes of decorations from the hall closet into the living room. Once there, she saw that the message light on her answering machine was blinking. Maybe it’s Clay. For just a moment, Starr’s heartbeat matched the tempo of the winking message light.

  But no, it was her mother.

  “Starr, honey,” Patrice began in the smoky voice that had helped make her a star. “I’m calling to cancel my Christmas Eve party. You’ll never guess what. Your father phoned from Tokyo. Claims he’s been thinking about old times. Says he misses me. Honey...Sam’s wiring me a plane ticket.” Nervous laughter trilled as the tape wound on. “Oh, tell SeLi thanks. Not that it’s certain anything will come of it. But it’s a start. SeLi convinced me to wish on the Christmas star one last time. I’ve never stopped loving your father, baby. Wish me well, huh?”

  Starr reached to turn on another light as she rewound the last part of the tape and played it a second time. The news shocked her. To her knowledge her parents hadn’t even spoken in the past three years. And yet Patrice had sounded more excited than Starr remembered her being in a long, long while. She sounded like a woman in love.

  With mixed emotions, Starr stopped the machine. She went around the apartment in a stupor, looping garlands along the mantel and attaching huge red bows to glowing hurricane lamps. Maybe the women in her family weren’t destined for lasting love. Her grandmother had been married five times. Patrice three. And now it sounded as if she’d be willing to try her first husband again.

  Starr arranged a bowl of pine cones on the hearth. Well, she wasn’t nearly so willing to forgive.

  Getting into the Christmas spirit, she assembled a small artificial tree to put in SeLi’s bedroom. Something about the tree created a sickening wave of nostalgia. She set the ornaments aside and went back to the kitchen to warm her tea.

  The tree was so...so Hollywood. White. Symmetrical. Pink bows. Pink lights. White glittering angels, each with a cherub face and platinum hair. Compared to the McLeods’ woodsy-smelling pine, strung with popcorn, cranberries and wooden ornaments, the artificial tree seemed a sham.

  Decorating this condo was a sham.

  After tomorrow—after she made that call to Fish and Game—Christmas would be ruined for a lot of people. Morgan, SeLi, Clay, to name a few. Not to mention herself.

  But she had no choice. Had never had one.

  Starr crossed the room and stood by the window. Lifting the curtain aside, she stared into the inky sky. Sometime in the last hour the fog had blown out to sea. A few stars sparkled. One stood out, winking brightly.

  SeLi’s Christmas star? For a dazzling, dizzying second, she thought it had followed them home.

  No. That made no sense. It was a trick. A regular old star, magnified through her tears. Starr let the curtain fall. She dabbed at her eyes. Her own life might be in shambles, but she’d be darned if she’d let Wanda or anyone else ruin Christmas for SeLi.

  At the table she picked up a pad and began making notes. If Patrice was on her way to Tokyo, that meant her town house, which was probably already decorated to the nth degree, would be vacant. A perfect hideaway.

  Suddenly Starr felt better. Let Clay and Wanda Manning plot. She would beat them at their own game. At least until January first.

  Try as she might, though, Starr was unable to lump Clay in the same barrel of bad apples as Wanda. Clay had a warm, tender, funny side that she loved. This time her tears refused to be checked. She put her head down and let them flow, succumbing in a few minutes to exhaustion—

  “Mom!”

  Starr jolted awake. She knocked her cup off the table. Cold red liquid splashed everywhere. Starr’s nose wrinkled automatically. What was that scorched, metallic smell?

  “Yikes!” She scrambled out of the chair and dashed to the stove. Her nice copper kettle was red-hot halfway to the handle. Switching off the gas, Starr swallowed a bad word as SeLi dashed into the room.

  “I couldn’t find you!” SeLi cried, throwing herself into her mother’s arms. “I went in your room. I thought you were gone.”

  “Hey, it’s okay, Skeeter. I’d never leave you.” But then Starr remembered that Wanda Manning might succeed in separating them forever. Her hug turned fierce.

  SeLi winced and wriggled free. “Ouch. Gosh, Mom, what happened? You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  Starr laughed and tugged on a messy dark braid. “You’ve been around my mother too much, young lady. That’s one of her stock phrases.”

  SeLi giggled. “The Christmas decorations are real fresh, Mom. ‘Cept you promised I could help.”

  “They aren’t fresh, SeLi. Every one is fake.”

  “No, silly. Fresh is, like, cool.” SeLi rolled her eyes.

  “Ah, well...” Starr was still bewildered. “Turns out we won’t need them. We had a message on the answering machine from Nana Patrice. She went to Japan for Christmas to be with my dad. I had all the boxes of decorations out when it dawned on me that her place is already decorated. Let me get cleaned up and make a couple of phone calls. Then we’ll load up our gifts and take them to her town house. Won’t that be a blast?”

  “No.” SeLi shook her head. “What if Morgan and his folks come back? ‘Sides, there ain’t nobody to play with at Nana’s. And her neighbors are pure weird.”

  How did one argue against fact? Starr didn’t even try. “I’ll fix breakfast and we can discuss it some more.”

  “I’m sure glad it’s not our breakfast that stinks so bad.”

  Starr smiled. “Sorry. I fell asleep with the kettle on. I’ll fix pancakes if you go pick up the newspaper. I just heard it hit
our door. Blevins must have seen the motor home and told the paperboy we were back.”

  “Pancakes. Goody, goody. Can I have peanut butter on mine?”

  “Sounds gross, but yes, I suppose. If you let me read the paper in peace. I haven’t seen any news in a week. I feel out of touch.”

  SeLi skipped off down the hall as Starr reached for the pancake mix. She had her head in the refrigerator looking for eggs when she heard the front door slam and SeLi’s muffled cry.

  “What is it?” Starr asked as the little girl rounded the corner at a dead run.

  “Morgan’s dad. His picture’s on the front page. I guess he’s really ‘portant.”

  “Let me see.” Starr snatched the paper from SeLi’s hand. Bold headlines set her heart skipping:

  State Senator McLeod

  Requests Private Hearing

  with Federal Judge

  In smaller type below it said:

  Harrison McLeod Withdraws

  From California Gubernatorial Race

  Fingers shaking, Starr plopped down at the kitchen table and began to read the fine print, breakfast forgotten.

  SeLi slid into the nook. “What’s wrong, Mom? Is Moe’s dad okay?”

  Starr looked up from an article that was vague at best. It was apparent, however, that someone had leaked news about the sheep. Who? Had he been sacrificed for Calexco? The oil company wasn’t mentioned. Neither was Clay. Only Vanessa in one brief line saying she supported her husband fully.

  “Mom?” SeLi shook her arm. “Mr. McLeod ain’t dead, is he?”

  Politically he was. But how to tell a child? “It has to do with his job, honey. Why don’t you have microwave waffles today? I want to go see what they say about this on TV.”

  “Okay.” SeLi didn’t act too happy, but she agreed.

  Starr hurried into her bedroom and snapped on the set. She caught the last of a news broadcast. Apparently the senator was slated to meet with the House Environmental Committee at ten, eastern time. Starr glanced at her watch and realized that was five minutes away. The last film clip showed a group—presumably environmentalists—waving placards that demanded Harrison’s head on a pike.

  Starr snatched the phone and dialed a friend in the Sierra Club. He asked pointedly whose side she was on.

  “The side of the sheep, Mark. Need you ask? What about Calexco? They’re as much or more to blame.”

  Mark refused to comment, and Starr had just hung up the phone when her doorbell rang. Darn. She couldn’t talk to anyone until she found out what precisely had happened.

  But SeLi ran to answer the door.

  “Don’t open it!” Starr yelled. “See who it is first.” Unsettled, Starr envisioned a mob of angry reporters. But no, she thought, trying to slow her breathing. Blevins wouldn’t have let strangers in. Oh, Lord! Maybe it was Wanda Manning.

  Or Clay? In spite of everything that had gone on between them, Starr’s heart began to gallop. She was never more aware than now of how badly she wanted to see Clay—how much she missed him.

  In any case, she was too late to stop SeLi, who sounded as if she wanted to keep the visitor out. Starr’s stomach lurched. That meant it wasn’t Clay; SeLi would be dragging him in. It was a man, though, judging by the sleeve of a sports coat she could see.

  “Stanley.” His name rolled off Starr’s tongue as he swept SeLi aside and marched in.

  “Well,” he huffed. “I’m certainly glad to find you at home and not aligned with those sheep-murdering McLeods. So far, they only have the goods on the senator, but I’ll bet that brother of his isn’t altogether innocent. Maybe next time you’ll listen to ol’ Stanley, eh?”

  Starr bristled. “Barclay McLeod wasn’t involved,” she said in his defense. “Be careful whom you accuse of what, Stanley. I wouldn’t be alive today if it hadn’t been for him.”

  SeLi ran up and pummeled Stanley’s coat. “Don’t you say bad things about Moe’s dad or his uncle Clay. Moe and me wished on the Christmas star. His mom and dad made up, just like we wished. His uncle Clay is gonna marry my mom. We wished that, too. We’re all gonna be family, and families stick together. Why don’t you just go ‘way? Mom and me don’t want you here.” The little girl tried pulling Stanley toward the door.

  “Starr?” Stanley sounded shocked. “How can you marry that ruffian?”

  SeLi’s words echoed in Starr’s head. They pulsed outward, wrapping around her heart, crystallizing her feelings for Clay.

  She loved him. When you loved someone you were in their corner through good times and bad. Like she’d back SeLi against all who’d brand her a thief and a pickpocket.

  Hadn’t the senator once described Clay as a sensitive man, one who listened to Vanessa’s problems? A man soft on animals and children and family? She’d seen that for herself. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t stick by his brother?

  And the answer came as a shock. Not the kind of man with whom I’d want to make babies and share my life. “SeLi,” Starr said earnestly, ignoring Stanley’s presence, “it was a mistake for us to leave the ranch. Run get your jacket. We’re going back. If it isn’t too late, if Clay will let us help him...”

  “Yippee!” SeLi shouted. She smirked at Stanley as she skidded past him and ran down the hall.

  “Don’t do this,” Stanley warned. “You’ll lose your job. Guilt by association. You’ll be fired.”

  Starr backed Stanley steadily out the door. Just before she closed it behind him, she said, “Calexco is the guilty one. Fish and Game, among others, has let them get away with murder for years. Get used to the idea of filing your own lab slips, Stanley. I’m about to shake things up.”

  She hurried down the hall after SeLi, pausing to look for her car keys. She was frantically turning out her pockets when the doorbell pealed again.

  “Don’t answer it!” Starr shouted as SeLi scampered past. Once again her warning came too late. This time, however, when she reached SeLi’s side, it wasn’t Stanley who barged in. It was the man responsible for her mad scramble—Barclay McLeod. His hat was in his hand, and his nephew, Morgan, stood at his side.

  “Before you toss me out,” Clay said, holding up a palm, “hear me out, okay?”

  Starr threw herself into Clay’s arms. She clung to his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

  Shocked, he flailed wildly for a moment. Then he took control of the situation, slid his arms around her waist and pushed her gently against the wall.

  Clay was breathing hard and little more than a step away from seeking a more comfortable place to continue this lovely interlude when the sound of childish giggles intruded.

  He loosened his hold on Starr and gazed tenderly down at her. “I came to plead my case,” he said, placing a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up. “Does this effusive greeting mean you no longer believe I condone what Harrison did?”

  She was distressed. “I realized you love him and that you’re concerned about his family. About your family.”

  “The love goes without saying,” he said, rubbing his thumb softly over her cheek. “Love is unconditional, but loyalty has to be earned. If you hadn’t left in such a rush, you’d have heard me ask Harris if avarice and greed is the example he wants to set for his son. Fortunately, after he calmed down and really thought about it, he admitted it’s not. That’s why he agreed to turn himself in.”

  Starr feared she’d made a fool of herself again in kissing Clay. He hadn’t mentioned her anywhere in that speech. So why had he come all this way? Suddenly she realized they probably wanted her to testify against Calexco. That must be what he meant by saying he’d come to “plead his case.”

  “I guess you two are hoping I’ll make a strong statement against Calexco. I will, but I’ll also have to tell what part the senator played. That’s assuming the canister I dropped off last night contains Drixathyon, and I’m sure it does.”

  Clay frowned. “I didn’t fly up here on no sleep to talk about any of this.”

  “O
h? Wanda Manning, then?” Starr glanced to see that SeLi was with Morgan a safe distance away.

  Clay shook his head. “You won’t believe this,” he murmured. “The name on that birth certificate wasn’t Harrison’s. It was Joel Forbes.”

  “Joel Forbes?” Starr blinked. “Any relation to Judge Forbes?”

  “His son. He died in a shipboard accident less than a year after he came back from Thailand. The judge didn’t know he had a grandchild until the paperwork showed up on his desk. Apparently the birth certificate was in among SeLi’s mother’s things. At his age, and a widower, the judge felt the wisest thing would be to ensure a good adoption. With both parents dead, he didn’t see a need for anyone to know the truth.”

  “How sad. I mean it’s his flesh-and-blood granddaughter. I’ll bet he’s mad at Mrs. Manning.”

  “I think it’s fair to say your case will be reassigned.”

  Starr frowned again. “Then I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

  “Didja come to ask my mom to marry you?” SeLi said. She seemed to pop up from nowhere.

  “Well, I...” Clay fiddled with the hat he still held and shifted from one foot to the other.

  “SeLi!” Starr’s gasp echoed down the hall.

  “That’s what Morgan said. Moe, didn’t you say that a minute ago?” SeLi demanded of the silent little boy.

  Blue eyes wide, the boy slanted his uncle a helpless appeal. “Isn’t that what you told Grandma McLeod?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then just ask,” SeLi prompted. “How hard can it be to say, ‘Will you marry me?’”

  Clay rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Listen, munchkin, proposing to a lady is hard enough without an audience. I know you want to help, but there are some things a man’s just gotta do for himself.”

  SeLi squinted up at him.

  Morgan tugged on her sleeve. “C’mon. I think he wants us to get lost.”

  “Well, gol-ly!” SeLi exclaimed. “Why didn’t you just say so? My mom decorated our tree last night, Morgan. Wanna see?”

  As the two clattered down the short hallway, Clay took a small, worn velvet box out of his pocket. “The element of surprise is gone, but since you didn’t take off or call the police, maybe that means you’ll accept this ring. It was my grandmother’s engagement ring. She wore it for fifty years.” He snapped the box open, and the light caught the blue stone nestled inside. “I was going to buy you one when I picked my folks up in L.A., but my mother suggested using this one. Do you mind?”