Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (23 page)

The senator said nothing.

Vanessa left from the room and swept toward Starr, who was busy herding her protesting daughter to-ward the front door, like an avenging angel. “Family stands behind family in this house, no matter how much you interfere.” Vanessa’s soft-spoken Southern drawl curled around Starr like bands of steel.

This must be how SeLi felt at school, Starr thought. Like an unwanted outsider. It was plain to see that the beautiful Vanessa held both McLeod men in the palm of her lily-white hand.

The silence that rode in the wake of Vanessa’s statement was broken by the shrill ringing of the phone. Starr hesitated as Vanessa picked up the hall phone. It might be Stanley calling back.

But it wasn’t; it was Wanda Manning for Clay. Starr knew, because Wanda’s voice boomed over the wire loud enough for Starr to identify the social worker.

Clay picked up the extension in the den. Vanessa hadn’t yet hung up the hall phone, and Starr heard Wanda tell Clay she had interesting news concerning a certain birth certificate. Starr jerked open the door and shoved SeLi out.

Oh, God.
How had the season of good cheer evolved into this nightmare? Starr had thought Harrison was a nice man, but he condoned death and destruction. She had given Clay her heart, yet he conspired with an evil woman to block SeLi’s adoption. And then there was Vanessa. Starr had totally underestimated the woman who led the McLeod troops into battle like a warrior queen.

Struggling with the unwieldy canister, Starr caught SeLi by the hand and ran blindly with her across the clearing. Halfway to the motor home, she thought she heard Clay call for her to stop—to wait. But it only lent wings to her feet.

O
UT OF BREATH
, Starr eventually slowed down. The wind stung her face and dried her tears, but didn’t come close to cooling her anger.

“Mom, are you crazy?” SeLi squealed. “What’s wrong with everybody?”

Starr dropped the girl’s hand to look for her door key. Her fingers shook, although the minute she stepped inside, the blast of warm air wilted her. “Pack your books and toys, SeLi. We’re going back to San Francisco.”

“Now?” SeLi’s face crumpled. “Morgan said we were gonna stay here for Christmas.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t expect you to understand. It concerns the sheep. We can’t stay, that’s all. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

SeLi stamped her foot. “I don’t
want
to leave! Last night me and Morgan saw the Christmas star. I said all the words like he told me.” Tears ran openly down her cheeks. “Morgan said I’d get three wishes, so I wished for Clay to be my dad. I wished we’d come and live at the ranch. And I wished for a sister so we could all be a family. Now we won’t be and it’s your fault,” she howled.

Starr had never seen SeLi so distressed. Not since the night her mother had died. “Oh, sweetheart,” was all she managed to say. How could she explain to a nine-year-old that the McLeods’ cheery fireplace, their wonderfully decorated tree and the outward picture they presented as California’s perfect family was a travesty?

There was no way. She numbly shook her head. When she got back to San Francisco she had to report Calexco. The media would come. The fight would get dirty. Wanda would arrive with a court order and take SeLi away. Starr’s shoulders bent under the load. What had, a month ago, promised to be the happiest Christmas of her life was about to become the worst.

“Do as I say,” she pleaded. “I want to leave in half an hour.” Pulling on her gloves, she took a wrench and went outside to disconnect the hookups.

Had it really only been a week since Clay showed up in the middle of the night to tease her about her neon sleepers? It seemed an eternity.

He’d saved her life. He’d helped find the canister. They’d shared laughter and passion. Didn’t it mean anything to him? Because if it did, he would sweep in here on a white charger and prove to her that the promises they’d made to each other with their lovemaking were stronger than blood ties. Nothing and nobody would stop him.

In less than ten minutes Starr had secured everything in the motor home. It was hardest leaving behind the Christmas lights that Clay had put up. For SeLi, he’d said, who now sobbed uncontrollably.

Near tears herself, Starr coiled the colorful lights carefully in a box and left them beside the utility pole.

Nothing she said to SeLi made any difference. But then, why should it when her own heart was breaking into a thousand pieces?

Starr had had years of learning how to deal with disappointment during this season of love, peace and goodwill. Did you ever get over the pain—or the expectations? she wondered as she started the engine and pulled away without looking back. Darn it all, she’d wanted more for SeLi. Much more.

On the way down the mountain, Starr rounded a sharp corner and the lights of Riverside spread out below. And above, it was as if they’d met all the stars in heaven. But there in the distance shone one star, brighter than any other.

She squinted. Was it SeLi’s Christmas star?

Determination stole over Starr. SeLi deserved the most wonderful Christmas of her young life, and Starr intended to see that she got it. Even if she had to call out the National Guard to hold off Wanda Manning.

Starr glanced around uneasily, wondering if there was indeed magic overhead.

“SeLi, honey,” she murmured to the child who had stubbornly turned her face away from the twinkling panorama. “Christmas is about more than wishes and presents. It’s about being honest even if that means risking something you value very much. And it’s about doing what you think is right, even if it loses you a friend.” Quietly she gave SeLi a simplified version of events at the ranch and ended by telling her the story of the first Christmas. When she finished, Starr thought she noted a slight softening of SeLi’s tense features.

Shortly thereafter, the little girl curled up in the seat and fell asleep. The miles ticked slowly by. Los Angeles after dark was a sight to behold. Decked out for Christmas, this—the city of angels—screamed out with a commercialism that belied everything Starr had just tried to impress upon SeLi.

Here among the glare of neon lights, she lost the Christmas star. The city of angels—where her father’s opulent home lay nestled in the hills of Hollywood a bit northeast of the freeway—was a world of lies and fantasies. It was the world Starr had been born into. Obviously it was Clay McLeod’s world, too.

No wonder Starr found it so hard to believe in Christmas stars and Christmas miracles. In twenty-nine years, she had yet to witness one.

Sending a last mournful glance in the direction of the house where for years she’d dreamed of having her parents back together, Starr pressed the gas pedal to the floor and left childish dreams behind.

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.