Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (4 page)

Starr smiled and touched one of the girl’s shining braids. How could she not show encouragement? As usual, though, when she gave SeLi an inch, the little rascal took a mile.

“Jeez, mister.” SeLi gazed up at the man. “I know boyfriends get antsy ‘bout kids from another marriage, but she ain’t been. Married, I mean. She don’t even date much, ‘cept for nerdy Stanley.” The girl shot a sly grin over her shoulder at Starr.

Starr groaned. She didn’t
date
Stanley—not that it mattered. Maybe this was nothing more than a hideous nightmare. But no, she knew it was real the moment the stranger jammed his hat on so tight it rode the crest of black brows that met over the bridge of an impossibly aristocratic nose.

“I called you a wildcat,” he snarled. “Alley cat might be more fitting. Allowing yourself to be a kept woman is one thing. Having your kid solicit is quite another. I imagine the child-protection service would be interested.”

Starr wondered where to begin unscrambling this awful mess.

“He doesn’t work for Wicked Wanda, does he?” For the first time SeLi showed alarm.

Starr wanted to assure SeLi that he wasn’t with the county adoption agency, but at the moment she couldn’t be sure of anything. In the midst of a helpless shrug, her gaze fell accidentally on a piece of the check, which had stuck to the sleeve of her robe. A bold, black signature leapt out at her.

Barclay McLeod.

This lowlife was the senator’s brother?

Anger welled from the tips of Starr’s toes. “You have some nerve,” she said, tossing the piece of check against his broad chest. “How dare you threaten a nice man like the senator. How dare you threaten me!”

Her sudden offensive caught Clay off guard, and he backed toward the condo’s entrance.

In steady pursuit, Starr reached around him and yanked the door open.

Clay stumbled backward across the threshold.

The moment Starr saw him safely outside, she regained enough control of her senses to deliver a scathing lecture.

Entranced by the fiery halo of her hair under the skylight, Clay missed half her tirade—until she wound up by shouting, “I suggest you clean up your own backyard, Mr. McLeod, before you start on mine!”

The door, en route to closing in his face, jolted Clay back to reality. “What do you mean, clean up my yard?” He wedged the toe of his boot between the casing and the door. If he wasn’t always left to mop up his sister-in-law’s tears, he might find this woman’s last-ditch efforts amusing.

“It means,” Starr said, gritting her teeth, “ask yourself where the senator’s wife has been for the past few months.”

“At my ranch.” The thrust of Clay’s jaw dared her to make something of it.

“I rest my case.”

“So that’s Harrison’s angle. The oldest ploy in history. A poor, misunderstood husband. Well I hate to ruin your day, sugar, but he lied.”

“Don’t call me sugar!” Starr tromped on his toe. When he yelped and jerked it back, she slammed the door in his face and slid the bolt home. For just a moment she leaned against the cool surface, and held her breath. Did he think she’d fallen off a turnip truck?
She
knew who’d lied.

Lips pressed in a disapproving line, Starr crushed the piece of paper that bore his name and stuffed it into her robe pocket. She still wasn’t sure why he’d come. Were he and Harrison’s wife looking for someone on whom to hoist the blame for their infidelity? In meeting Harrison for lunch, had she played into their hands? Or did Barclay McLeod have a different reason? After all, Harrison had said his brother was “soft” on children and animals—like bighorns.

Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Starr rather thought the man cared for no one but himself.

At any rate, she had to let the senator know right away about this visit. On her way to the phone, Starr bumped into SeLi. The child’s face was pale and her eyes wide.

“Holy shit, Mom. What’d that dude do to make you so ticked off?”

“Watch it, little lady. You’re already in hot water up to your ears. I don’t think we need swearing added to the list.”

“I, uh, sorta forget now and then,” SeLi said. “Wasn’t he neat? If I had a dad like that, Buffy Jordan wouldn’t dare spread her dirty ol’ lies. Her dad’s an old fart with big ears. Jug ears.” She giggled.

“SeLi!” Starr closed her eyes and massaged both temples. “Stop it. We’re never going to see that man again. Now put your backpack away and let me make a call. Then we’ll talk.”

“Uh-oh,” SeLi muttered, skipping across the room. “I can see you’re gettin’ all tense again. I’ll just go do homework like you said.”

Starr nearly jumped out of her skin as the bedroom door slammed. She glanced quickly back at the more solid door that closed out Barclay McLeod. Tense was much too tame a word for how she felt, Starr decided. Homicidal was more like it.

At least she knew now how he’d gotten past Blevins. He was the Clay in Harris-Clay Enterprises, owners of these condominiums. Good grief! Harrison had given her a break on her rental payments, because otherwise she couldn’t have hoped to adopt SeLi. Starr fervently prayed the senator’s brother never learned about that.

The fingers that dug through her purse in search of the number Harrison had given her weren’t quite steady. She dialed, but connected with a machine. After stressing that it was important and hoping she didn’t sound hysterical, she asked him to call. Then she returned to her bedroom to don jeans and a sweatshirt. Had it really been only half an hour since she walked in? It seemed like a lifetime.

Now to tackle the problem with SeLi. It hadn’t escaped Starr’s notice how her daughter had neatly avoided admitting there even
was
a problem. Which meant it was roll-up-the-sleeves, get-down-in-the-trenches time. These sessions always took a lot out of her. Out of them both. Was she losing ground? When had SeLi decided she needed a father—and Starr a husband? If SeLi made remarks like that around Wanda Manning...well, it didn’t even bear consideration. Starr’s single status was the social worker’s strongest argument against finalizing the adoption. SeLi knew it, too.

Starr thought she and SeLi had come to terms about all of that. Perhaps not, though, if SeLi felt compelled to broach the subject with a perfect stranger.

Correction—Barclay McLeod was far from perfect. Starr couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to be good father material; obviously SeLi wanted a father badly. Was Wanda Manning right, then? Did SeLi need to live in a two-parent family?

Starr shook off her doubts. Adoptions of nine-year-olds were rare. Rarer still when the child came with an attitude. And boy, did SeLi have an attitude. Girding herself for the task at hand, Starr knocked on her daughter’s door.

SeLi’s CD player was on too loud for her to hear.

Starr cracked the door and stuck her head inside. Across the room the girl swayed to the beat of some current rock tune. Starr felt like more of a mother upon realizing she didn’t have a clue what the tune was. After a brief hesitation she decided to get everything right out in the open. Marching to the bed, she sat down and snapped off the music.

“I want us to talk about the visit I had today with the principal and your teacher, SeLi.”

The little girl froze. She whirled, her dark eyes snapping. “So what’d old Prissy Polly have to say ‘bout me? Nothing good, I’ll bet.”

Starr’s lips tightened. “Your teacher’s name is Mrs. Bergdorf. She’s a nice lady who is very concerned about your behavior.” Starr patted the bed in invitation for SeLi to sit, but the youngster stubbornly remained standing.

Starr kept her voice and gaze neutral. “I’ve heard what Mrs. Bergdorf and the principal had to say about an item belonging to another child turning up in your desk. As you denied taking it, I’d like to hear your version of the incident.”

Almond-shaped eyes glittered for a moment, then hardened in a way Starr hadn’t seen since the time she witnessed SeLi lie point-blank to a dock vendor. The child had taken an orange—for her ailing mother.

At first Starr thought SeLi was going to keep silent. Would she be defeated before they’d even begun? Suddenly, though, the girl sat on the floor to inspect a nonexistent spot on her sneaker and announced at large, “If I’d taken Buffy’s purse, do you think I’d be stupid enough to leave it in my desk?” SeLi raised her eyes defiantly. “I hate Buffy Jordan! She and Heather Watson think they’re such hot shit. They make up stories about me and get the other kids to laugh.”

All at once a sly grin replaced the hurt that flickered across the youngster’s taut features. “Wednesday I got even. I dropped a spider on Heather’s lunch tray when she wasn’t looking. She screamed real loud and flung her tray. Food flew all over Mr. Hood, and Heather got in trouble. It was only a bitty old spider, too.” SeLi tilted her chin smugly. Her braids brushed the carpet.

Starr glanced away to hide her smile. SeLi was such an imp. Starr tried to place Buffy Jordan, but dainty and blond were the only details that came to mind. She knew the Watsons, though. Heather wore frills and bows and never had so much as a speck of dirt on her at the end of a school day. Mr. Watson owned an import firm backed by old family money. As the school mostly catered to the rich, Starr assumed both girls were cut from the same upper crust. Until she came into her own money a year from now, Starr had to scrimp to pay tuition.

Parkwood Academy was far from her first choice. In fact, she’d had to trade liberally on her father’s name to get SeLi registered. But darn it, this was the third school since September. SeLi had managed to get herself expelled from each of the others for either bad language or stealing—or both.

Feeling helpless, Starr voiced a question that had been troubling her. “What do the girls tease you about, Skeeter?” Her deliberate use of an old wharf nickname was aimed at breaking down barriers. Sometimes it worked.

SeLi steepled her fingers, studied them, then let her hands fall loosely into her lap. “Just stuff,” she muttered, ducking her chin.

“Like what?” Starr probed gently.

SeLi shrugged noncommittally, blinked and tried to wipe away unwanted tears. “Stuff about my real mom coming to California to find my dad and him not wanting us. Buffy said her mother doubted anyone even knew who my dad was. And I couldn’t say I do, ‘cause I don’t.” Her delicate chin trembled. But she refused to let the tears fall.

“Oh, SeLi, honey.” Starr’s heart melted, and she reached out to gather the forlorn child into her arms. At the same time, anger flared at the mindless cruelty of adults who should know better. Adults who discussed a child’s painful history in front of other children. Rocking her gently, Starr tried to think what she could say to help ease SeLi’s sense of hurt and betrayal.

“I know your mother traveled all the way from Thailand to find him, Skeeter. There are people who say he was a sailor. I heard he died in some kind of accident at sea, never knowing you two had arrived.”

Starr framed SeLi’s face with her hands. “Let me tell you something, SeLi. Any man worth his salt would be proud to be your father.”

“Really?” SeLi asked. “
Any
man?”

“Of course.” But Starr didn’t like the fact that Barclay McLeod’s ruggedly handsome face abruptly intruded. She lost no time shaking the vision. “SeLi, are you saying those girls set you up because you don’t have a father?”

“Uh-huh. Before lunch Buffy showed family pictures. Everybody did but me. Later Heather told Prissy Polly she saw me take Buffy’s purse and rip up Buffy’s pictures. She lied. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

Starr hugged the child tight. “Don’t you fret, Skeeter. I’ll go see Mrs. Bergdorf again. We’ll get to the bottom of this. And tomorrow I’ll have a copy made of your mother’s passport photo. If you want, I’ll give you a dozen pictures of me. Now dry those eyes. How about if you do your homework and I’ll order in Chinese food for dinner?”

“Cool. Can I have pictures of your mom and dad, too?”

“Sure. I’ll go find some.”

SeLi started to turn away, then stopped and glanced back at Starr. “Sometimes...I take stuff, but I don’t mean to. Not like Buffy’s purse,” she rushed on, “but outa people’s pockets. You know, to make sure I still can. Trader John said if you don’t practice, the touch might leave when a body needs it.”

“You won’t ever need to pick pockets again, SeLi. Not for any reason.” Starr paused. “Honey...you don’t keep any of the stuff, do you?”

“N-no. Mostly I put it back.”

“Well, then, there’s nothing to be upset about. You won’t do it again, and now that we’ve had this discussion, in the future it won’t be an issue.”

SeLi fidgeted as if she wanted to say more. “But—”

Starr rose from the bed and smiled in spite of the fact she always felt drained after one of these talks. “No buts. There is
no
reason to steal from people. Now go on. Scram. Do your homework. I have some news to share with you about my job. We’ll talk at dinner.”

SeLi trailed Starr to the door. “Does your news have to do with the macho hunk?”

Starr grabbed the door casing. “Definitely not,” she said sternly. “I told you, we’ll never see him again.” She shivered. “Never would be too soon, believe me.”

SeLi buried her hands in her pockets again, and her face fell. “Never?”

“Absolutely. Now hit the books, kiddo, or I’ll eat your egg roll.”

SeLi still looked gloomy. “Don’t get that hot stuff.” She had to raise her voice, because her mother had moved down the hall.

“Szechuan?” Starr called back. “If I hear you starting homework by the time I reach the phone, I’ll leave it out. Otherwise it’s buyer’s choice.”

Starr held off until she heard scurrying feet and the scrape of a chair, followed by what sounded like books tumbling to the desk. She grinned. It worked every time.

Glancing out the window, Starr saw it was still raining. As she picked up the receiver to dial, she noticed a cab pulling in. Barclay McLeod climbed into the back seat. Even at this distance he looked formidable. What had he been doing so long at the complex? She had a terrible sinking feeling that she hadn’t seen the last of him at all.

B
LEVINS BROUGHT
the Chinese takeout upstairs, grousing good-naturedly as he always did about the smell driving him wild. Starr gave him money to pay the delivery man and on impulse mentioned Barclay McLeod. “To what do we owe the visit from Mr. Barclay McLeod?”

The portly gentleman smiled. “Such a nice young fellow. So polite. Mrs. Blevins is still in a swoon.” He winked. “Just joshing. Actually it was good to discuss outside maintenance with someone who can get things done. I send letters, but I’m never sure they get read. That last storm did some roof damage. Mr. McLeod said he’d take care of everything. He paid a visit to every owner before he left. Said he’d be back, too.”

Starr’s heart plummeted. So he’d visited everyone, had he? Clever man. Who would believe his talk with her had been any different from the others? It’d be her word against his. “Why will he be back?” she asked. “I mean, won’t he hire a contractor to oversee the work?”

“No. He said he’s a hands-on kind of guy. Hey, your food’s getting cold. The delivery fellow’s waiting, and Mrs. Blevins’ll give me what-for if I’m late for dinner.” He waved and ambled toward the elevator.

Starr stood in the doorway a moment. “McLeod’s hands-on, all right,” she muttered, stepping inside to securely lock her door. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t say his touch had been offensive. His offer, yes, but not his touch. Her mouth went dry, remembering. No, definitely not his touch.

“Yum-yum. Thought I smelled food.” SeLi stood in the kitchen archway and rubbed her stomach. “Hurry, Mom. I’m so hungry I could eat the carton.”

“Not so fast, young lady.” Starr lifted the still-warm bag above the child’s head. “Wash your hands and set the table.”

“Wash? I washed before I started homework. My pencil wasn’t dirty.”

Starr placed the bag on the counter, and when SeLi started to open it, she shooed her away. “Don’t you dare let the heat out before the plates and napkins are ready. Just because you like cold fried rice doesn’t mean I do.”

The child grumbled but did as her mother asked. When the individual cartons had been opened, each of them grabbed her favorite.

Sweet-and-sour sauce dripped onto the plate in front of Starr. She stuck out her tongue to catch the overflow, and the two paused and grinned at one another.

SeLi had chow mein spread from ear to ear.

Starr smiled. “Don’t let Mrs. Manning know how often I order in food, instead of cooking well-balanced meals, Skeeter. I have a feeling that’s the kind of stuff she’s documenting.”

SeLi reached for a second helping of chow mein. “Darcy feeds Mike and Kevin takeout when Joe’s out of town. Nobody cares what she gives her kids.”

“Mike and Kevin are Darcy and Joe’s natural children,” Starr said, referring to the Donnelly’s, who lived upstairs and, besides the Blevinses, were her only friends in the complex. “You and I have six months before the court finalizes the adoption. The thing is, SeLi, adoption by singles is still being studied. That’s why they’re so careful.”

“Studied how?” SeLi asked.

“Specifically as it pertains to us? Well, Mrs. Manning fills out a report each month. If I don’t measure up as a parent to the set of objectives they have, the judge may decide you’d be better off in foster care.” She toyed with her rice and frowned. “That’s why I harp at you so much on manners and all. They double-check everything.”

SeLi rolled her eyes. “You mean like not fighting at school and not swearing? That kinda stuff?”

At Starr’s reluctant nod, SeLi smiled and helped herself to the last egg roll. “Bet it’d help if you got married. If I had a mom
and
dad, Wicked Wanda wouldn’t have those stupid ‘jectives, right?”

Starr choked on a noodle. She quickly gulped down some iced tea. “Don’t call her Wicked Wanda. That’s the kind of things I’m talking about, SeLi. Please don’t label everyone you meet.”

Softening her reproach a bit, Starr reached over and poked the girl playfully in the ribs. “Who would you have me marry? Stanley?”

“Ugh! Stanley’s worse than Wicked Wanda ‘bout junk food. He’s always preachin’ at me to eat nutri...nutritiously.” SeLi stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

“That’s how parents are, SeLi. Mothers
and
fathers. Having two parents isn’t always hunky-dory. Sometimes they fight and you’re caught in the middle.” She stared off into space.

SeLi looked thoughtful. “You’re talkin’ about yourself, aren’t you?”

Starr gave a guilty start. “I...well, yes.”

“Your mother smells good, but she’s kinda weird. Is that why your dad split?”

Starr shrugged. “Not weird. If Nana Patrice lived on the docks she’d be considered weird. With her money, it’s called eccentric.”

When SeLi seemed confused, Starr smiled. “Forget I said anything. Hollywood marriages simply aren’t the best examples of lasting love,” she said cynically. “My mother’s made three unsuccessful trips to the altar, and she’s worse than you are about trying to find me a husband. I tell her the same thing—I enjoy my independence.” Star chuckled. “Look at the practical side, Skeeter. There’s no room in my bathroom for another toothbrush.”

Diving for a fortune cookie, SeLi broke it open and passed Starr the fortune. “Is the Christmas star out tonight, do you think?”

Starr glanced up from unfolding the bit of paper. “You mean the North Star?”

SeLi propped her chin on her elbows. “Nana Patrice called it the wishing star. She said she wanted a baby real bad, and one night before Christmas, she saw the brightest star. The Christmas star. She wished on it and her wish came true. Didn’t you know that’s how come she named you Starr?”

“Honey, my mother believes in rabbits’ feet, Ouija boards and four-leaf clovers. She won’t go out of the house without consulting her guru.”

“So?”

“So, don’t take her stories as gospel.”

“Well,” the child said firmly, “she didn’t name you Clover. Or Bunny.” SeLi giggled. “I’m gonna look for that old star.” She jumped up.

“It’s raining, SeLi. There aren’t any stars out tonight.”

The girl didn’t look convinced, so Starr gave a quick lesson in weather and felt vindicated when SeLi sat back down.

“Read my fortune, then.”

Starr read, “‘Something you want very much is within reach.’”

She frowned as SeLi clapped her hands and said, “Now read yours.”

Starr cracked open the cookie and nibbled on a piece as she read her fortune. “‘You will meet a tall dark strang—’” She threw it down. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. These are silly. They print ten thousand of these sayings.”

SeLi only grinned wisely as she snatched up the fortunes and tucked them into her pocket.

Starr reached across the table and tugged one of SeLi’s braids. “You haven’t asked about my surprise.” Rising, she gathered the cartons and placed the leftovers in the fridge. After trying to stuff the empty ones in an already overflowing garbage can—the emptying of which was on SeLi’s list of chores—she said, “Do you remember Senator McLeod?”

SeLi sat back, burped, then clapped her hand over her mouth, her dark eyes dancing. “Not bad manners, just good egg roll. Trader John says good beer, ‘cause when he drank, he really belted out the burps.”

“SeLi.” Starr curbed her exasperation and informed the girl, not for the first time, that it was polite to say, “Excuse me.”

“‘scuse me,” SeLi parroted dutifully. “What about the senator? He’s a cool dude. Old dude, but an okay head.”

Starr sighed. “He’s the one who hired me to work on the wharf. You know—when I met you and your mom. I was doing a special job, trying to isolate an organism that was making folks on the docks get sick. Senator McLeod pulled a lot of strings so I could take you to Nana Patrice’s that first night when we thought your mom had the bug worse than the other people did.”

“First time I ever had a bed all to myself,” SeLi mumbled. “That part was neat, even if I was scared. Mom and me always shared a mattress, you know. She was sick at her stomach lots.”

Starr sat down again and traced the pattern in the bright tablecloth. “Yes, so we learned later. At first the visiting nurse didn’t realize your mother’s illness was different from the food poisoning that was affecting everyone. If only she’d asked for help earlier—before her appendix ruptured.”

“Can we talk about your surprise? Talking about her makes me sad.”

“Of course, honey.” Starr touched the child’s face. “At lunch today the senator told me some wild sheep in the San Jacinto mountains are sick—sort of like the people on the docks. Only, the sheep are dying. The senator wants me to see if I can find out why.”

“You...you’re gonna go away?” The little girl’s lower lip trembled and tears sprang to her eyes. Stoically she dashed them away.

Starr hadn’t expected a tearful reaction.

“No, silly! Well, I am, but not unless you can go, too. That’s the surprise. Over Christmas break, if Wanda says it’s okay, we’ll take my dad’s motor home to the mountains for a week. I won’t have to work all the time. We’ll play in the snow and explore. What do you think?”

The dark eyes cleared and the sparkle returned. “Oh, wow!” Seli breathed. “I’ve never seen snow. Will we see deers? Or bears? Won’t Woody and Trader John just split a gut when I tell them? I bet they’ve never been to the mountains.” She bounced wildly in her chair.

“Whoa! Calm down.” Starr rested a hand on SeLi’s arm, ignoring her dock talk this time. Some would call them bums, the two derelicts SeLi referred to. Granted, she’d picked up some bad habits from the old coots, but they’d also protected her from those who would harm a child. They’d been SeLi’s family. Not exactly the influence Starr would prefer a child to have, but she recognized a need to wean the girl from them slowly.

“Remember,” she cautioned, “I have to get this approved. We don’t want Wanda reporting that I’ve run off with you.” Starr gazed into space, speaking more to herself than to the child. “I can’t imagine that she’d object.”

SeLi’s face fell. “Do you have to tell her? Wicked Wanda hates me.”

“Not you, Skeeter.” Starr saw no point in making an issue of the fact that
she
was the one the social worker disliked, not SeLi. Starr wished she knew why. “Tell you what, SeLi. If you can’t go, I’ll turn the job down. The senator will have to get himself another biochemist. Deal?”

SeLi gave her a thumbs-up and grinned. “De-al,” she drawled. “But don’tcha think Senator Dude can pull those strings again? Buffy and Heather’ll crap in their pants if they hear where I’m goin’.”

“SeLi Lederman! Young ladies do not say ‘crap.’”

“I thought you told me young ladies didn’t say ‘shit.’”

“That, too,” Starr said.

“So what
do
young ladies say?” SeLi demanded.

“Why, uh, they...” Starr floundered for a moment, then in a no-nonsense voice said, “They simply don’t speak of bodily excrements.”

“Well, gol-ly. That sounds boring. Why be one? Young lady, I mean.”

At a loss for a comeback, Starr was exceedingly glad when the telephone rang, providing her with a reprieve.

“That’s probably the senator now,” she said in a rush. “If you’ve finished your homework, you need to take a bath and get ready for bed. I’ll come say good-night when I finish here.”

“Okay. Don’t forget to tell him you’re gonna ask Wicked Wanda first thing tomorrow.”

“I will, I will,” Starr promised, snatching up the phone on the third ring.

The line crackled. “Starr, it’s Harrison. I know it’s late, but I just got your message. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

She thought he sounded exhausted. “It’s fine. I’m glad you called. This’ll be hard for you to believe, but your brother paid me a visit.”

“I know.”

“You do?” That stopped her. “Then I imagine you set him straight about our relationship,” she said, after recapping what’d happened. When she finished and encountered silence, Starr felt her cheeks grow hot. Maybe she hadn’t explained things well, but somehow, she’d expected sympathy. “Hello? Are you with me, Senator?”

“I’m here. I guess I’d better explain. You see, when I got home, Vanessa was packing. Said she was leaving me for good. I would’ve begged her to stay, but Clay showed up. Without so much as a hello he started lambasting us for having an affair—you and me, I mean.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” she burst out. “I denied it. But he wouldn’t listen. I hope you made it very plain.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“
What?
Why not?”

“Because Vanessa looked so shocked—and she acted jealous as hell. Kind of tells me how much she cares, if you get my drift. So I didn’t correct their mistaken impression. I didn’t come right out and confirm it, either, mind you.” He hesitated. “I just didn’t deny it.”

“How could you not?” Starr asked angrily. “You’ll be ruined politically. And what about me? When this hits the newspapers, Wanda Manning will see to it that SeLi’s taken away.”

He chuckled.

“Frankly I don’t see anything funny,” she said.

“Now, Starr, you’re making mountains out of molehills. Clay isn’t going to let this leak. I told you—deep down, he has a soft spot for family.”

“No, you said kids and animals.”

“Well, I should’ve included women, and women and kids spell family. He certainly has a soft spot for animals, too. Which brings us back to business. I don’t know how he stands on the oil explorations. At first he was violently opposed. You’ll have to guard what you say. I can’t take a chance on him stirring up trouble down there.”

“Really? Well, I can’t take a chance on him stirring up trouble
here.
Senator, I need to give your proposal more thought.”

“Now, now. Don’t get yourself in a dither. Trust me. Clay will escort Vanessa to Cloud Haven tonight. Way I see it, she brought this on herself by always running to him. A taste of her own medicine will do Van good. Let her stew for a few days, then I’ll call and throw myself on her mercy.”

“Sounds risky to me. Or should I say
for
me?” Starr twisted the telephone cord around her finger. “You didn’t see the way your brother looked at me—as if I was sewer sludge.”