Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (20 page)

Clay stopped her story. “Did Harrison intervene on your behalf—or SeLi’s? I can’t believe how alike those two are. Harrison conned everyone in our neighborhood by the time he was nine, too.”

“Not this again.” Starr glared at him over the rim of her mug. “Frankly I don’t see a shred of resemblance. Maybe it’s his silver sideburns,” she said sarcastically. “Or does he dye them to make himself look distinguished?”

“Only his barber knows for sure.” Clay laughed. “It’s not so much that I think they
look
alike, Starr. It’s more their mannerisms, I guess. And SeLi’s always a step ahead of her playmates when it comes to figuring the angles.”

“That’s a fact.” Starr sobered. “A learned response? I can’t begin to imagine living by my wits the way she did.” Starr set her mug down and ran a fingernail along a crack in the tabletop. “Do you remember when your wallet went missing?”

He nodded, ready to apologize for thinking she’d taken it. But she didn’t give him a chance.

“SeLi picked your pocket, slick as you please. I knew the day I took it up to you. Just yesterday I found out she’d taken some of your photographs. I’m sorry about that.”

“I know. She confessed to me. I stopped by to see you. She was in the kitchen collecting a workbook, and the photos were on the counter. I’m sorry I blamed you. I still can’t figure out how she did it without my being aware.” He frowned. “Although, if memory serves, I was preoccupied with you at the time.”

Starr felt her cheeks heat. He’d had a powerful effect on her, too. Still did. She just didn’t know what it was about SeLi that made him uneasy. She and SeLi came as a package, and if he had a problem with that, anything between them was over. “Tell me what business you had with Wanda Manning.”
There. That should get things out in the open.

Clay stood. He stretched the kinks out of his back and started to pace. “Harrison has always led a charmed life. Things come easy to him. Attorney at twenty-six. DA at thirty-five. State senator at forty-five. Young, pretty wife, and the first grandson on either side of the family. You get the picture. Plums fall into his lap, and he accepts them as his due. I have never, not in thirty-five years, seen him stick his neck out for anyone.”

“Never?” Starr flew out of her chair. “You don’t still think he...I...we’re... Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

Clay smoothed a hand over his mustache. “I know better than that now.” He shook his head. “Do you know why SeLi’s adoption file is closed?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t know it was. Who said?”

“Wanda Manning—when I went to see if Harrison’s name was on the birth certificate.” Clay felt a certain satisfaction in seeing her shocked expression.

“If you McLeods don’t beat all.” She pointed an accusing finger at Clay. “You suspect your fine, upstanding older brother of having a love child hidden away on the docks. Meanwhile, he’s convinced you’re having an affair with his wife. What a family.”

Clay bristled, then shrugged.

“I know politics is a dirty business,” she said, “but you two guys have enough material for a third-rate soap opera.”

Suddenly claustrophobic, Clay pulled back the curtain and sized up the weather. It was still snowing “Put like that,” he muttered, “it does sound sordid. Yet if you’d ever met my parents, you wouldn’t believe any of it. They’ve been married for more than fifty years, and they’re still crazy about each other.” Letting the curtain fall, he crossed the room and placed another log on the fire.

Starr didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she let it out. It was nice to hear that about his parents.

Clay paused to inspect the clothes he’d hung near the fire to dry.

Starr’s gaze followed him and softened.

Casually he stepped into the stiff jeans, but when he realized she was watching, he turned away to zip them. Then he laughed. “Guess it’s a little late for modesty between us now.”

Starr jumped up nervously and went to refill their mugs. But the day stretched long before them. If she shied away from everything he said or did, they’d never make it through this forced confinement.

Clay joined her at the counter. Apparently he had the same idea. “Maybe if you could see where I was coming from, Starr... Not every woman is as strong as you. Vanessa was raised by her father—a very old-fashioned Southern gentleman. Her upbringing is at odds with the demands of her life. I think that’s the cause of her migraines.”

He accepted the mug from Starr and took a sip. “In the early years of her marriage to Harrison, he treated her like a hothouse flower. She thrived on it. Then he began dividing his time between home and Sacramento, and little by little things changed. I remember when Morgan was born. Van wanted a full-time nurse. Harrison said he needed to bond with his constituents—most of whom can’t afford that kind of thing—so he refused. They argued about everything after that.”

Clay covered a yawn, then resumed. “To make a long story short, Harrison turned the ranch and other assets over to me. He stuck Vanessa and Morgan in a big old house in San Francisco while he went off glad-handing all over the state. I’m not excusing Van, but isolation and motherhood took their toll. The busier Harrison got, the more time she spent at the ranch. Most nights I was at least home for dinner. I swear to you, Starr, I’ve never touched her in anything but a brotherly way.” His flashing blue eyes dared Starr to say otherwise.

“I do believe you—now.”

“Good.” He went to inspect his boots that sat by the crackling fire. “At first Harris drove down on weekends. If I made a trip north, I took Vanessa and Morgan with me. Last year I noticed Van had begun to smother Morgan.” Clay sat and pulled on one boot. “I tried talking to Harrison. In hindsight I can see I may have added fuel to the fire. My brother’s indifference drove me nuts. Finally, last Christmas, I said to hell with him and did what I could for the boy. I never dreamed Harrison thought...” Clay swore and yanked on his other boot. “You know the rest of the story.”

She frowned. “There’s more?”

“The day you met Harrison at the restaurant, I’d just decided to find out what was going on. Why he never called. Why he seemed too busy for his wife and son. Maybe you don’t realize how much he’s changed. Anyway, once I got a look at you, I figured I’d found the problem. Except we’ve cleared that up, and I still think he’s acting odd—like he’s hiding something. God, Starr. I want to be wrong about his name being on that birth certificate. I really do.”

Jumping to his feet, Clay shrugged into his jacket and headed for the door. “None of this makes sense. But right now, I need to locate food for the horses again. Maybe we can get out of here tomorrow. Why don’t you take a nap while I’m gone? You didn’t get much rest last night.”

Before Starr could blink, the broken door vibrated on its hinges. Phew, he’d been carting around some burden. But the stuff about Harrison fathering SeLi and the blackmail... Of course, Clay knew his brother better than she did.

Starr yawned.

A nap did sound inviting. But if she slept now, would she be awake all night? Her breath caught. Would Clay expect her to share his bed again?

Did she want to?

Restless, she circled the room. Clay McLeod made her feel...well, to put it another way, he was the one she’d wished for on SeLi’s Christmas star. Yes, in spite of everything, he’d worked his way into her heart.

The sixty-four-dollar question—was she in his?

“Darn, darn, darn!” Starr kicked a leg of the heavy old rocker. All thought of sleep gone, she limped across the room to look over a supply of books the rangers kept. Technical manuals to do with forest preservation. A bunch of science-fiction novels. Several spy stories. She wasn’t in the mood. Well, her only other choice was a three-hundred-page book called
Whistlepunks and Geoducks.
A collection of oral histories of fishermen, wheat farmers, loggers and saloon-keepers from the Pacific Northwest. The author’s previous book was called
River Pigs and Cayuses.
It sounded as if the man had a sense of humor. She could use a laugh or two about now.

Only she couldn’t keep her mind on the stories. Instead, her thoughts drifted to Clay McLeod—and what living with him would be like.

C
LAY KNEW
he’d had to get out of the cabin. Every time Starr ran her tongue over those kissable lips, he’d wanted to forget small talk and take her back to bed. Physical labor—that was what he needed.

After spending half an hour digging out greenery for the horses, he cut and stacked enough firewood to last a decade. But the more he cut, the more visions of Starr crowded in. Swearing, he paused briefly to wipe sweat from his brow. Again his ax bit deep into a snow-encrusted log. Chips flew. The horses shied nervously. He glanced out the shed door and saw the sky had grown murkier and the flakes had turned into stinging sleet. His watch said four o’clock.

Damn. He’d suggested she go to bed. That was stupid. It wasn’t even suppertime. How in blazes could he sit around for hours watching her curled under a blanket he knew would bear her scent? Clay laughed. If he stayed out here much longer, this woodpile would make it into
The Guinness Book of World Records.

* * *

S
TARR TOSSED
her book aside and plumped the pillow into a corner of the daybed. Either Clay’s earthy after-shave lingered on this pillow case, or she had a vivid imagination.

The fire cast a warm circle of light. Staring into the dancing flames, she couldn’t help wondering why no one had mentioned to her that SeLi’s records were sealed.

Would she be able to get her daughter a passport?

Not that she had plans to travel anytime soon. She didn’t think her dad would invite them to visit him in Japan; she’d seen on the cover of one of the tabloids that he had a new girlfriend. A Japanese actress. At least now he was single, and this one was actually old enough to be her mother.

Starr’s eyelids drooped. She should remind SeLi to add a clause to her wish list for a dad—that he not have a wandering eye. Starr stretched out on the bed. Maybe a woman forgot such things when she fell in love.
Love.
The word evoked warmth, like the fire.
To love and be loved.
That was what she wanted in marriage. Was that so difficult, so much to ask? Clay seemed loyal to his family. Would he also be loyal to a wife?

Sleep overtook her in the middle of that thought. Soon Clay McLeod had worked himself into her dreams, too.

Clay found her asleep, snug as a bug when he staggered into the cabin under a massive load of firewood. The sweetness shimmering from her hit him like a stab to the chest. Walking softly, he deposited the logs, then sat for a moment in the straight-backed chair opposite the daybed. He studied her as he idly brushed wood chips from his jacket.

She possessed a natural beauty and a warm sense of humor. She was caring and loyal. A man could share secrets with this woman.

Clay felt a sharp wrench in his heart. He was in love, and he hadn’t recognized the symptoms. Amazing. But maybe not. He’d been in lust before, but at thirty-five, he’d pretty much given up on love.

The bleep of the radio broke into his reflections. He ran to answer it before the noise woke Starr. After her ordeal yesterday, she needed the rest.

Harrison’s voice boomed into the cabin. “Base station to ranger cabin three.” Twice, Harrison barked the phrase.

“I read you, Harris.” Clay let his annoyance show. “What’s up?”

“Let me talk to Starr,” his brother ordered. Static took over the airwaves before Clay could answer.

He fiddled with the dials, unsure whether to tell Harrison she was sleeping. His brother had a cutting sense of humor, and suddenly Starr wasn’t someone Clay wanted to joke about.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Clay said coolly. “Starr’s asleep,” he admitted after seeing no way out of it. “May I relay a message?”

“I’m not asleep,” she said with a yawn at his elbow. “Not anymore.”

Clay wheeled around. His arm brushed her breast. If her softness hadn’t stoked fires he’d thought successfully banked, the sight of her tousled from sleep would have.

“Get her up.” Harrison demanded, unaware that the two were standing there, by the radio, staring into each other’s eyes.

Fumbling, Starr took the microphone from Clay’s hand. Her voice bore the sounds of recent sleep. “I’m here, Senator. Who could sleep through the racket you made?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he said without preamble. “We want you to pull out. We’ll send somebody back in the spring to see if the cold weather has stamped out this virus or whatever. You’re off the hook, kid. In fact, why don’t you and SeLi join us for Christmas?”

Starr chewed on her lower lip. “You mean Calexco denied using the chemical?”

“I mean it’s no longer your concern. Relax, Starr. It has nothing to do with Calexo’s test well—which, by the way, showed excellent preliminary results.”

Starr heard a hint of nervousness in his tone. Clay heard it, too and frowned.

“Senator,” she said, “I work for Fish and Game. Those sheep are very much my concern. I know there’s Drixathyon in that stream. You have more clout than I do, Senator, but if you don’t apply pressure on Calexco, I will.”

Harrison snorted. “Clout. I’ll tell you about clout.
Money
is clout. People need it. Our state needs it. Who do you think has money? Companies like Calexco.”

“The price is too high. Tell them to go to hell,” Clay cut in.

Harrison was silent for so long both Starr and Clay thought they’d lost transmission. Finally his voice was back, cool and a bit stilted. “It’s not all that easy, Clay. You don’t understand.”

“You’re damn right I don’t. Spell it out for me, bro. Do they own you, or is it a simple matter of returning a few contributions?”

“For God’s sake, Clay. I don’t like being called on the carpet. We aren’t talking about the mob here. They’re businessmen, like you and me—friends. A few of us go way back. Besides,” he grumbled, calming a bit, “I believe it’s some new virus. I know these men. They have no reason to lie.”

“No reason?” Starr gaped at Clay. “They have the biggest reason of all. It’s called greed, Senator.”

“I didn’t realize you were a flaming socialist, Starr,” Harrison snapped. “Dammit, we need those jobs, and—”

Fortunately to her way of thinking static broke up the transmission again and whatever he said after that faded completely. Starr was so angry she could have spit. Unable to speak, she shoved the mike back into Clay’s hands and moved away.

Clay stroked his mustache for several seconds before he depressed the talk switch again. “Hey, bro. No need for tempers to get out of hand.”

Harrison’s laugh sounded garbled. “Pot calling the kettle black, Clay? This from the guy who rattled my teeth yesterday? I hope your hand is as discolored as my jaw.”

“If it means anything, I’m not proud of the way I acted. But our fight wasn’t about life and death. Take another crack at your friends at Calexco, okay? If Starr’s right about this, you guys might all be in hot water.”

The laugh that came through the speaker was brittle. “You wound me, little brother. Have you forgotten ‘tis the season to be jolly? This morning Van invited Mom and Dad and her dad here for Christmas.”

“And they’re all coming? Hey, great. Now I won’t have to ship that damned statue of mom’s.”

Across the room Starr listened to the banter between brothers and a sinkhole opened in her stomach. She nearly missed Harrison’s next comment.

“By the way, Clay, not to change the subject, but Vanessa took a call for you from a very disagreeable woman this afternoon. She refused to state her business and hung up when Van said we didn’t know when you’d be back. Are you telling me all of
your
activities are aboveboard?”

Wanda Manning. Damn!
Clay gave a guilty start. Why had he been foolish enough to get involved with that woman? Harrison didn’t sound like a man embroiled in blackmail. Well, when he got back to the ranch, he’d just have to call and tell her to get lost. To Harrison, Clay said, “If you didn’t get a name, I can’t very well defend myself, now can I? Uh-oh, transmission’s breaking up again. Before I lose you completely, tell me about thSe weather.”

Harrison seemed willing to change the subject. “If we can believe the weather bureau, your idyllic mountain vacation is almost over. They’re predicting a mass of warm air blowing in from Baja and snow should melt in lower elevations tonight. It’ll hit you by morning.”

“Vacation?” snorted Clay. “This is hardly Club Med.”

Harrison laughed. Clay saw Starr signaling him, so he clicked off for a moment.

She came back and took the mike again. “How is SeLi?” she asked a bit wistfully. “Is she where I could talk to her?”

“I don’t quite know how to tell you, Starr, but I don’t think she even misses you.” Harrison laughed, sounding his old self. “I’m out in Hank’s office. SeLi and Morgan are up at the house writing letters to Santa. I tell you, Starr, those two are acting just like brother and sister. She’s been good for Morgan.”

Starr was positive the color left her face. But maybe not, as Clay took the mike without giving her an I-told-you-so look. She clenched her fists. SeLi and Morgan were nothing alike. They weren’t!

“We’ll sign off now,” Clay said. “Call if you hear of any change in the weather.”

“Roger. Say, if that woman calls back, what shall I tell her?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Clay said. He didn’t want Harrison brooding over it and perhaps remembering Wanda’s voice. “If we get a Chinook, maybe Starr and I’ll poke around some more out where I found her. I started thinking. What if it’s fumes of some kind? Maybe Calexco’s flunkies didn’t cap their test well properly.”

Harrison didn’t reply. Clay tried to make contact several times and finally gave up. “Guess we lost him. Must be the storm. I’ll buzz him back tomorrow.”

Starr sighed wearily. “It’s not fumes.” She slumped into one of the two kitchen chairs, dropped her head and began to rub her temples. “I’m not sure what chemical action takes place. Somehow, when Drixathyon is mixed with water its properties change.” She shook her head and sat upright. “Did you get the feeling that bunch at Calexco thinks wildlife is dispensable? I don’t understand people like that.”

Clay’s heart twisted. She was such a compassionate person. Animals. Kids. She’d been giving as a lover, too. Only too aware he shouldn’t touch her when he was in this frame of mind, Clay walked up behind her and began to slowly massage her neck and shoulders.

“Would you tell me again everything you know about this Drixathyon?” Tilting her head back, he smiled down into her eyes.

Although her headache was subsiding under Clay’s hands, a different type of tension had built. She reminded herself she didn’t want him picking her theories apart.

But even after she told Clay she didn’t want to go back over old ground, she hadn’t counted on his persistence—or his magical fingers.

Her head lolled back and she groaned.

“Please.” He kneaded her shoulders and smiled that engaging smile again.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if they batted it around. After all, he might pick up on something she’d missed. Bit by bit, Starr went over what had happened from the time she left the ranch.

Clay’s fingers tightened when she told him how she felt after drinking from the stream.

“That’s basically all there is to tell,” she said, pulling away. She stood up and crossed to the kitchen to brew a new pot of coffee.

“Not much solid evidence to go on.” Clay carried their cups to the sink and rinsed them.

“Enough for me. I’m sure it’s Drixathyon. I just don’t know how it got in the stream. I hadn’t realized they used it in drilling on land. To be truthful, I didn’t dream I’d ever run across it again. If I knew more, I might have saved those last two ewes,” she said sadly.

Clay slid his hand beneath her chin and turned her face to his. “Don’t blame yourself. You did everything possible given the weather. If it clears tomorrow, as Harrison said, we’ll go find that stream and take a look around.”

“I will. You should go back to the ranch. This is my job, not yours, Clay.”

“Nonsense.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “That stream originates underground. Maybe the drillers accidentally blundered into it. Do you have any idea what we’d be looking for? Pellets? Granules?”

Starr gazed at him helplessly. “On the offshore rigs it was liquid. They pumped mud or sludge through the Drixathyon. The way I understood, it changed color if the properties in crude oil were present. On land, I honestly don’t know how it would work. And I’ve turned it over in my head so many times I feel like my brain’s going to self-destruct.”

Clay led her to the kitchen table, pushed her lightly down into a chair and returned a moment later with a steaming cup of coffee. He ruffled her auburn curls. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll see what Paul-baby has stashed for supper. There’s nothing we can do until it stops snowing. Might as well make ourselves at home until it does.”

Starr didn’t return his smile. “Clay, if you’re suggesting we play house...”

“I wasn’t. But I’d certainly entertain the idea.” He bent and brushed a soft kiss on her forehead.

She pulled back. Even the rough texture of his shirtsleeve where it touched her cheek was much too appealing.

However, Clay read the truth in her eyes—that she was just as affected by the kiss as he. Gently he pulled her from the chair and settled a real kiss on her lips.

Their two bodies fused perfectly. On a sigh, she rose up to kiss him back.

Groaning, Clay took the kiss deeper. All at once a gust of wind rattled the door. It blew open and the chair that had been tilted beneath the knob fell to the floor with a crash

They sprang apart.

Starr licked her lips. “Clay, we can’t do this,” she said.

“If we don’t, it’s going to be a long night,” he muttered, dashing over to right the chair and close the door.

When he came back, expecting to take up where he’d left off, she reached up to touch his face. “Listen to me, Clay. I didn’t have anything in the way of birth control. We took a chance this morning.”

“I see.” He cupped her hand. “Everything happened so fast I didn’t think.” Truth was, he wouldn’t mind if she
was
pregnant. He wanted her to be the mother of his children. Obviously she didn’t feel the same way.