Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (6 page)

Maybe he should pay his own visit to that social worker, Clay thought. If Starr intended to call for an appointment, it might be smart for him to swing by social services now. Yes, he’d do that.

* * *

S
TARR STOOD
at the window in her boss’s office on the fourth floor and observed Clay McLeod’s departure. Two fingers strayed to her lips, and as his vehicle disappeared, her stomach unknotted. Behind her, the steady rise and fall of her boss’s words started to make sense. “It will reflect well on the department that the university chose you for this special project.”

“Thank you, sir,” Starr said before Mr. Jensen launched into one of his long-winded speeches. “I really hate asking another favor today.” And she meant it, too. Yesterday when the school called, Starr had hated having to leave her desk piled high. And then her late lunch with Harrison... “I wouldn’t ask for time to visit Mrs. Manning if there was any other way,” she said after explaining her need to see the case worker.

The white-haired man nodded. “Go now. I’ll explain to Dr. Ellsworth.”

Starr thanked him again and used his phone to call a cab. The element of surprise might just work to her advantage with Wanda Manning.

Less than a half hour later Starr thought perhaps she’d been right. Wanda flew out of her private office the moment the receptionist announced Starr’s arrival. Wanda even sent the receptionist on a break and sat at the woman’s desk. Always before, Starr had been kept waiting for hours.

“To what do I owe this unscheduled intrusion?” Wanda asked.

Left to stand, Starr realized the speed with which she was being seen was all that had changed. “My job is taking me out of town over SeLi’s Christmas break. I’d like permission for her to go with me.”

“As if you hadn’t already had it approved by Judge Forbes.”

Starr’s smile slipped. The senator must have called the judge, even though she’d asked him not to. If she’d only known, she could have saved herself a trip.

“Since you’re here,” Wanda said, “I want you to know that I’m opposed to everything about this idiotic scheme of yours. You think that just because you have clout with the judge, you can flit off at the last minute on a poorly thought-out vacation. To me it shows irresponsibility. I’ve said before and I’ll say again—that child needs a stable home in a two-parent family.”

Wanda’s thin lips barely moved as she continued, “Frankly I’m not sure why I was assigned to this case, the way you break rules.”

Starr stiffened her spine. “I’d hoped we could set our personal differences aside and agree this trip would be good for SeLi.”

“Hmph!” Mrs. Manning’s denigrating sniff accompanied a toss of her mousy curls. “I’m afraid you and I will never agree. Your kind thinks money talks. I am not impressed by your wealth or your association with political power. I’ve seen both come and go in my time. As far as I’m concerned, you are no more a fit parent for that child than her own streetwalking mother was. Which I intend to prove before this adoption is final.”

Starr was taken back by the vitriolic speech. “My father has money and power, Mrs. Manning, not me.”

“Oh, no? Am I mistaken about your trust fund?”

For a moment Starr didn’t know what to say. Then temper kicked in. “It’s true my grandfather left a modest sum that I’ll get when I turn thirty. Silly me, I imagined the money would be a bonus for SeLi. To pay for things like college. Surely you don’t have to like me to see the benefits!”

“Like you?” Wanda sniffed. “If you have nothing more to say, Miss Lederman, I have another, equally distasteful caller to see. It seems there’s no end to the line of rich and powerful people in our humble office today.” A dour look crossed her face as her gaze alighted on the door to her private office.

Starr glanced that way herself. For a moment she thought maybe Clay...but, no. She shook her head. He wouldn’t come here. Why would he?

Still, the thought of
anyone
overhearing this discussion embarrassed her. Starr turned away. She couldn’t wait to escape this oppressive room. But good manners dictated she at least thank Wanda for her time.

Or did they?

She paused, a hand on the doorknob. “This visit has been no more pleasant for me than it has for you. You should realize, however, that I haven’t the slightest intention of letting you take SeLi away from me. You may not approve of me or my single status, but there’s an important fact you’ve missed. I love SeLi—and she loves me. But maybe love is a foreign concept to you, Mrs. Manning. Good day.”

* * *

A
S THE FRONT DOOR
closed savagely behind Starr, the one leading to the social worker’s private office creaked slowly open.

“Rich bitch!” Wanda’s fury was almost palpable, and it stopped Clay from stepping fully into a room still vibrating with it.

At last, appearing to have gained control, Mrs. Manning managed a halfway civil tone for the man who waited. “Now, how may I help you, Mr. McLeod?” Her clipped speech reflected her lingering agitation. “As I was about to say before we were so rudely interrupted by Miss Lederman’s unexpected visit, your brother has already gotten permission from Judge Forbes for the Lederman child to leave the city. I have no doubt that you know the power the senator’s name wields. After all,” she finished sarcastically, “I am but a poor servant of the state, and this is an election year.”

Clay thrust his hands deep into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. Something in the way Starr went to bat for the child touched him. But he’d come here for answers. What he had was more questions.

“The walls are thin, Mrs. Manning. I heard every word of your exchange with Miss Lederman.” Clay stopped short of saying the woman’s own attitude had left him with a bad taste for certain representatives of the social services in this town.

“Our agency is overworked and understaffed, Mr. McLeod. Visits without appointments add to the load. Could you get to the point, please?”

Clay freed one hand and dragged a thumb across his lower lip—an action that reminded him how soft Starr’s mouth had felt under his earlier. Quite a contrast to the hard determination he’d heard in her voice moments ago. Which was the real Starr Lederman?

Irritably he switched gears. The only reason for his visit today was to determine his brother’s interest in this adoption. Was it political—or was it personal? While in Wanda’s office, Clay had put together some possibilities. He didn’t like the one that most insistently reared its ugly head.

About eight years ago Harrison’s marriage had hit a low spot. It rallied briefly—until Morgan was born. Other men acted sappy over their firstborn. Not Harris. He threw himself into his work. But what if Morgan
wasn’t
Harrison’s firstborn? And what if his opponents knew?

Damn, suspicions of this nature were distressing. Yet he had to ask. “Uh, Mrs. Manning...” Clay cleared his throat and studied the tips of his boots. “Do you know why my brother would take a personal interest in this particular child?” God, he wanted out of this suffocating room.

Mrs. Manning’s unfeeling eyes showed a spark of interest. “Perhaps
you
can tell
me,
“ she said curtly. “Go ahead, Mr. McLeod. I’m listening.”

Clay didn’t look at the woman as he began to pace. “What do you know about the child’s mother? What did she do? Was she pretty?”

“Those are odd questions. Pretty is as pretty does, Mr. McLeod. She had no visible means of support, other than the usual for homeless dock women, if that’s what you’re talking about. Do you mind my asking what difference it makes?”

“I’ve only recently learned of the senator’s involvement with the little girl. As his brother, I find it curious. I mean, Miss Lederman isn’t related to us or anything.” He stopped beside the desk, bile threatening to choke him. “As you pointed out, this
is
an election year. My brother’s opponent isn’t new to mudslinging. Do you follow me?”

The woman merely inclined her head.

Clay crossed to one of the room’s narrow windows. With his back to the social worker, he lifted a dirty slat of the miniblind and restlessly monitored the progress of slow-moving vehicles on the wet streets below. In a low, impassioned voice he expressed the fear that had begun to fester ever since Starr had planted the seed of doubt this morning. “Is it possible that Harrison is SeLi Lederman’s biological father?” There was no point in mincing words.

At the woman’s shocked gasp, Clay struggled to breathe in the stale air. His fingers tensed on the slat. Apparently whatever Mrs. Manning had expected him to ask, it had definitely not been this question. That brought Clay at least a degree of comfort.

He turned and she sat forward. The old chair protested in a loud squeak. “I must say that’s an interesting notion, Mr. McLeod. One I hadn’t considered.”

“We can’t rule it out, then?” He was disappointed. Her words hadn’t delivered the unequivocal relief he would’ve liked.

“Only Judge Forbes can do that.”

Clay frowned. “Judge Forbes and my father go way back—to law school. I attended elementary and high school with the judge’s son, Joel. Lost track of him when I went off to college. I heard he’d joined the navy after his mother died. Haven’t thought of him in years.”

“Yes, well, Joel was killed in a training mission off Alcatraz a few years back. The judge hasn’t been himself since. He should retire, if you ask me.”

Clay walked back across the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Naturally a man would dote on his only son.” Which brought him back to wondering why his own brother didn’t. Morgan hardly knew his dad.

“I assume you have reason to suspect your brother,” Wanda Manning mused aloud, breaking into Clay’s reflections.

“Frankly you’re one reason, Mrs. Manning. You seem to resent his involvement.”

Her top lip curled to reveal teeth yellowed by too many cigarettes. “He vouched for Starr Lederman, who is a rich spoiled brat. Do-gooders like her are the worst. Gung ho when it enhances their image. Then, like old toys, their projects are dropped when they tire of being charitable.”

Clay rubbed his neck. “She sounded pretty sincere a moment ago.”

“A lot you know,” Wanda said smugly. “I lived in a series of foster homes when I was growing up. One of my foster sisters could have been Starr Lederman’s twin. I wasn’t fit to wipe her boots. Oh, the whole family patted me on the head and threw me crumbs to show their rich friends how benevolent they were. Poor little Wanda—saved from the evils of the streets. But never quite good enough to be in their social circle. Sincere, Mr. McLeod? I doubt it. There’s a well-defined limit to the good works of the wealthy.”

Suddenly, as if realizing she might have said too much, Wanda pressed her lips into a disapproving line and changed the subject. “Actually, Mr. McLeod, you’ve hit on something that’s always puzzled me—why a man as well connected as the senator would choose to involve himself in the nitty-gritty of this case.”

“Would the girl’s birth certificate shed any light?”

“Perhaps.” Her fingers toyed with a pencil. “Except that Judge Forbes ordered the records sealed.”

Clay arched a brow. “What exactly does ‘sealed’ mean, Mrs. Manning?”

“It means no one has access. Oh, SeLi can petition to see them when she turns eighteen, but no one else.”

“That’s it? There’s no other reason to
un
seal them?”

“Sometimes in a rare instance. If an adoptee should need an organ transplant or has severe psychiatric problems—those types of things.”

“Well, I guess that’s that.” Clay was almost relieved by the news.

“Maybe not.” Wanda Manning stood up as her receptionist came back into the room. “I believe it’s in SeLi’s best interests to stop this adoption. A biological father is one way. Perhaps I can find your answer.”

Clay didn’t like the gleam in her eye. But he’d read the professional certificates displayed on her wall. She wasn’t a novice in this business.

“Where can you be reached?” she asked, thrusting a pad and pen at him.

Clay hesitated briefly, then reached for his wallet. “I have a business card with the phone number of my ranch. I’m staying here in San Francisco temporarily, but I’m due to auction some bulls before Christmas and I’ll be spending the holiday down there. How long do you think it’ll take?”

“I’m not sure,” she murmured. “Maybe two or three weeks.”

“Then this card should do it. I have an answering machine here, but I wouldn’t want a message to fall into the wrong hands.” He was thinking of Vanessa. “If you call and I’m not there, leave a number.”

“No need to mention confidentiality. I understand.” She took his card, then looked at him curiously. He was thumbing rapidly through the photo windows in his wallet. “Is something wrong, Mr. McLeod? Have you lost something?”

“What?” Clay looked up.

“I said, have you lost something?”

“A couple of family pictures,” he muttered. Seeing her interest, he returned the wallet to his back pocket. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I assume this concludes our visit.” Clay stepped into her office and took his hat from a brass rack. He came out and offered his hand. The fingers clasping his in return were bony and cold. It was all Clay could do to keep from snatching his card back and hightailing it out of there.

He didn’t. He withdrew his hand and walked to the door.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. McLeod.”

Even her voice grated on his nerves. And the discomfort, the sense of being soiled, remained with him after he’d placed the solid barrier of the door between them.

As he clattered down the winding staircase of the old building, the noise of his footsteps helped rid him of the unclean feeling—although if Starr Lederman was any better than the woman upstairs, he wouldn’t have two empty frames in his picture slots. One a school photo of Morgan, the other a candid shot of himself that Vanessa had taken last Christmas.

Starr had lied when she’d said nothing was missing from his wallet. Why? It was time he found out more about her. What if she was a blind? A lovely decoy for somebody who might be blackmailing his brother?

Clay tried, but he couldn’t recall exactly what she’d said at their first encounter. Something about environmentalists or wildlife advocates. She worked in Fish and Game, and there was definitely something fishy going on.