Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (13 page)

* * *

L
ATER
,
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.

S
UNSHINE 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.”

“Yeah.” SeLi nodded. To Morgan, she added, “At the last minute Nana called and canceled. ‘Cause her tea leaves said for her not to leave the house. Can you beat that? After me and Mom worked so hard to stuff that darned bird, too.”

Morgan looked solemn. “My dad does that a lot. Calls and cancels, I mean.” His pale blue eyes swept to Starr, and then he lowered his lashes quickly.

Starr felt guilty for no reason. Surely Clay hadn’t passed his outlandish accusations on to a child. Although, he might have—to deflect his own guilt. Still hurt, Starr began measuring coffee into the filter.

“So, whaddabout the cookies?” SeLi asked from behind her.

Starr sighed. “It’s okay. I don’t know that we’ll be home in time to do Christmas cookies this year anyway.”

“Neat-o.” SeLi jumped up and hugged Starr. “Now you can go chase your old sheep and I don’t have to stay here and be bored.” She plopped back into the chair and tapped a piece of the puzzle into place before she spoke again. “Till Moe told me today, I didn’t know a kid could go to school at home. I like to read and figure and stuff—I just hate goin’ to school. ‘Cause of kids like Buffy Jordan and that smart-mouthed Heather Watson.”

Morgan agreed. Then he stiffened and shot Starr a veiled glance, as if waiting for her to scold SeLi.

Starr weighed her response as she plugged in the coffeepot. “The world is full of people like Buffy and Heather, kids. Like it or not, you’ll have to learn to deal with them. You can study all the books you want at home, but it’s people who make the world go ‘round.”

“Well, I think Moe’s mom has the right idea,” SeLi said after a moment’s contemplation. “I say Moe’s a lucky duck to be taught at home.”

Thankfully the coffee dripper emitted its last hiccup, giving Starr a chance to rein in her unwarranted resentment of Vanessa McLeod. “If you’re happy, Skeeter, then I’m grateful to Morgan’s mother for including you.” Secretly, though, Starr felt sad for Morgan, a painfully shy boy who’d obviously had to spend more time with tutors than with peers.

The boy squirmed a minute then blurted, “It was Uncle Clay’s idea. He and my mom argued about it last night.” Almost reluctantly the boy’s half-defiant eyes met Starr’s shocked ones. Judging by his manner, she thought he had something more on his mind.

“Do you work for my dad?” The small, narrow chin jutted. “I was s’pose to be in bed, but I heard Mom ask Uncle Clay if you did. I didn’t hear Uncle Clay’s answer.” Morgan’s lower lip trembled. “If you do, uh, do you get to see him much?”

The plea left Starr’s heart in a vice. There was no doubt Morgan missed his father. The poor kid was confused by the circumstances keeping them apart. What would it hurt to ease his mind? It wasn’t like he’d be talking to any advocacy groups.

“I don’t
really
work for your father, Morgan.” Starr hesitated. What else had Vanessa and Clay discussed? Could be they were talking a different type of work, she thought wryly. In that case, maybe Morgan had heard other,
worse
things about her relationship with his father. Uncle Clay was a master of misinformation.

Regardless, Starr couldn’t bear to see Morgan hurting. Gently she said, “I’m helping your father on a special project. We don’t work together, Morgan. Mostly over the phone.”

The disappointment lurking in those sad blue eyes startled her. Starr leaned her head against a cupboard door as she shakily poured her coffee. If only there was some way she could ease his mind. Except that Clay wouldn’t welcome her intrusion into his family’s affairs. Although, to hear him tell it, there was no
affair
between Vanessa and him.

No. He’d much rather make her the scapegoat.

Well, maybe she could repair a bit of the damage—without attracting undue attention from Uncle Clay—and help Morgan, too. “Your dad’s a very busy man, Morgan. Do you know how important his work is for everyone in California?”

The youngster gave a little shake of his head.

“He’s been asked to run for the highest office in the state. It’s a great honor. But it’s not easy. It means he has to travel, meet as many voters as possible. Even with a tutor, it would be hard for you and your mother to keep up with his schedule.”

Starr bit her lip. She should probably have left well enough alone. But darn it, half her life she’d been shuffled between parents—always feeling like she was a bother to both. If by assuring this poor child that Harrison did love him, maybe his Christmas wouldn’t seem so empty.

Well, why not?

“Remember, Morgan, your dad loves you very much. Love doesn’t change or go away because you two aren’t together. I’ll bet he’s just as lonely for you as you are for him.”

Morgan’s lashes dropped again. A faint frown etched his brow. After a moment he began to help SeLi take the puzzle apart.

Over the rim of her cup, Starr noticed he sat more erect. Sighing again, she punched bread into the toaster. Was she right to meddle?

* * *

I
T WASN’T LONG
before she helped the children bundle up and watched them walk, or rather race, across the field to the ranch house. As she dressed, Starr vowed to put the problematic McLeod brothers from her mind.

Taking a second cup of coffee to the table, she sat and opened a topographical map of the area. Stanley had given it to her without her asking.

Starr smiled. Somewhere beneath the surface of the dogmatic scientist lurked a soft heart. Too bad SeLi couldn’t see through Stanley enough to be nice. If SeLi worried about his toothbrush filling that third slot in their bathroom, she needn’t. Starr would never see Stanley as more than a colleague and friend.

Setting thoughts of relationships aside, Starr submerged herself in studying the map and readying her charts, graphs and equipment. Then she familiarized herself with all the disorders known to kill bighorns. The next time she looked up it was noon. A quick check at the window showed Clay on a ladder, busy stringing Christmas lights along the eaves of the house. Morgan and SeLi danced along below. Asking a million questions, no doubt. Starr started to laugh, but a pang of regret gripped her, instead. Why? she wondered as she dropped the curtain and walked to the small refrigerator to pull out a slice of cheese. Because of the Christmas-card picture he and the kids presented out there putting up colored lights against a backdrop of pine trees, lazy cattle and snow? Or because of the sweep of dark hair that drooped appealingly over his brow? Or was it his soft cord shirt, the kind it was a pleasure to touch? He wore them open over snug, ivory undershirts.

Surely she wasn’t
that
shallow.

No. Her discontent ran deeper. She’d never been comfortable with the fact that life, especially during the festive holiday season, could appear so normal on the surface, yet be seething with heartache below. Like it’d been for her folks, who trimmed the biggest tree in town and bought each other, and her, the most lavish presents imaginable because it was Christmas.

Oh, for goodness’ sake. Starr shook back her hair and returned to her work. Maybe Morgan’s uncle
liked
the trappings of Christmas. With the ranch miles from anywhere, it seemed unlikely he was trying to keep up with the Joneses. For a moment, she tapped her pencil idly on the chart. She could walk over there on the pretext of checking on SeLi.

Her heart thudded irregularly.
And say what?
Nothing that wouldn’t be patently obvious. Quickly spreading out the map again, she grabbed a pad and began to record the landmarks along her proposed route.

Around two that afternoon SeLi burst through the door. She was spread from ear to ear with gingerbread cookie crumbs. Starr suffered another pang. She’d never seen SeLi so animated. So happy.

But after all, wasn’t that part of her reason for accepting this job? To give SeLi a “change of venue” was the way Harrison had put it.

Absently munching on the warm cookie SeLi had thrust into her hand before dashing off again with Morgan, Starr almost choked when someone pounded on the door.

Afraid it was Clay come to harangue her some more, Starr dropped the telltale gingerbread man and dusted sugar from her lips. Then she went to answer the door.

It was him. She just wasn’t prepared to see him on an errand of mercy.

“Hi,” he greeted her with a lopsided grin. Heavenly blue eyes peered over two large boxes brimming with tangled strings of outdoor lights. “The kids felt so bad about you being stuck inside missing all the fun of decorating that I decided to see if you’d like me to run a few rows of lights around your motor home. Give you a little taste of festivity while you’re working.”

Starr failed to close her mouth before the impact of his words made the breath catch in her throat. “I, ah...”

He shifted. “You don’t have to. It was only a thought.”

“Oh, it’s a great idea,” she said. “I, ah...you took me by surprise, that’s all.” She hooked her hair back over an ear and stepped back. “Brrr. Feels like it’s getting cold again. Would you like to come inside to straighten out the lights?”

“Yeah. I need to do it while the kids are with Vanessa having hot chocolate.” He gave a wry grin. “They helped far too much with the others strings. Took me twice as long.”

Starr’s laugh was immediate. “Been there. Done that. You have my sympathy. Kids can wear you out.”

“I don’t really mind,” he said as he walked inside, stripped off his outer shirt and set to work.

Starr admired the careful way his long, suntanned fingers unwound the strands of bulbs. Her mouth dryer than normal, she decided it would be wise to get some liquid refreshment of her own. Not hot chocolate though. “Unless you need help, I’ll go brew some hot spiced cider. A friend of mine puts together a mix every Thanksgiving. It’s delicious. When you finish, maybe you’ll try a cup?”

“You bet. My dad’s specialty at holiday time is hot spiced wine. He calls it
glogg
. Cures whatever ails you.”

She grinned. “Odd name.”

He chuckled. “I think that’s the last thing you say when you slide away from the table. Actually it’s Scandinavian. Hey, these weren’t quite as tangled as I thought. You put that cider on to bubble. I’ll have these hung before you know it.”

Starr caught herself humming a Christmas tune as she savored the cinnamon scent that began to permeate the air. The knot in her stomach tightened, but at the same time a strange sense of well-being stole over her.

The weak sun disappeared in a last puff of gold an hour later. Mugs of steaming cider in hand, Starr and Clay stood beyond the concrete pad to view his handiwork.

“Darn. Look there. Three blue lights all in a row. I tried to avoid that.” He sounded disgusted and started to hand her his cup as he bent to retrieve the ladder.

“Don’t.” She caught his wrist. “I like it that way. It doesn’t look so commercial.”

Her fingers sent a ribbon of heat skittering along his arm. Or could it have been her surprising statement? It didn’t strike Clay as something a person with four signed Monets would say. He shrugged and cleared his throat. “I really put them up for SeLi. Kid said she’d never driven around looking at Christmas lights. Seems to have missed out on a lot of other things, too.”

Starr felt as if there was some hidden meaning in that gruff delivery aimed at her. Suddenly her pleasure wasn’t half so acute. Before she could come up with a way to ask, Clay handed her his empty cup, gathered his boxes and ladder and had turned to leave.

“Bye. And thanks,” she called a bit belatedly, still troubled by the jagged barrier that had fallen between them.

Five minutes later Morgan showed up at her door with SeLi. He said the tutor was confirmed for the next day. Starr was relieved, especially now that she realized she couldn’t have taken SeLi up the mountain. Nor could she have left her alone, and it was important to get an early start. She felt an urge to hurry, to go after the answers she needed. Because these oddball feelings for Clay McLeod refused to be quelled.