Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (14 page)

And was it any wonder? As they ate, Starr was forced to listen to SeLi rave about the floor-to-ceiling tree that graced Clay’s den.

“Ya oughtta see it, Mom,” the little girl explained around a drumstick. “It’s got this big star at the top that blinks. Morgan says at night when the lights are off, it looks like the star of Bethlehem.” She swallowed then waved the leg in the air. “Is that the same as the Christmas star?”

“You mean the one on the tree or the one we see pictured over the baby’s manger?” Starr teased, catching the mood.

“The one over the crib, silly. I know the one on the tree’s just pretend. I had so much fun today, Mom. I just gotta see Nana’s star. I got a ‘portant wish.”

Even though SeLi’s sentences were disconnected, Starr understood. Biting her lip, she looked away. Darn it, she was still miffed at her mother for feeding SeLi such nonsense. Although in truth, considering SeLi’s experience of reality on the docks, a little fantasy couldn’t hurt.

“Maybe the star will be out tonight, Skeeter. After we do the dishes, we’ll go out and look.” Mentally Starr reviewed her sketchy astronomy. Was it the North Star that was so bright? It wouldn’t really matter to a little girl dying to make a wish.

SeLi wasn’t a lot of help with the dishes. Starr finished drying them and put up lunches, while SeLi did little besides talk about the star. “Is this wish something you want for Christmas?” The notion had just hit Starr. “If so, shouldn’t you drop a line to Santa?” For the first time, Starr wondered if she should pay closer attention to this important wish SeLi kept babbling about.

The child pursed her lips. “Moe says if I tell anyone my wish, it won’t come true.”

Starr rolled her eyes.
Good for Moe
. Now how could
she
find out?

“It’s time,” SeLi announced. “It’s real dark. C’mon, Mom. Get your coat.” She rummaged in the closet for her things.

“All right, all right.” Starr gave in laughingly.

But in the space of time it had taken them to eat, the clouds had moved in and snugged up against the San Jacinto mountain range. Clay’s cattle looked ghostly as they roamed through the pale mist.

Starr and SeLi stayed out only long enough to admire the lights Clay had strung on the house and motor home. Diffused as they were now by swirling frost, they were magical, or so SeLi declared.

“I hope so, Skeeter,” Starr said grimly. “I sure hope so. I need a little magic to find out what’s wrong with those sheep.” She set her full backpack just inside the door for easy access in the morning.

Starr’s mind was so filled with sheep that within moments of falling into bed she drifted off without one haunting vision of Barclay McLeod.

Dawn blossomed cold but clear. Starr dressed in layers that could be easily removed when the sun showed its face above the mountaintops. As she and SeLi trudged toward the ranch house, Starr gave her daughter explicit instructions to stay with Morgan until she returned from the mountains that evening.

Outside the kitchen door she dropped a kiss on SeLi’s nose and waited until the girl slipped inside.

Her own soft leather boots crunched across the frozen ground as Starr jauntily made her way to the barn. Once she looked back. The house lay quietly silhouetted against the dark stand of sugar pine.

Starr took a moment to pat each of the horses before she chose a sleek sorrel with a blaze. She based her choice on a gut feeling that the animal was surefooted enough for the high country. As she carried out her preparations, she remembered the last time she’d been in the barn. Intentionally she skirted the area where she and Clay had tumbled in the hay; just thinking about it quickened of her pulse. She pulled the cinch tight and tried to throw off the thought. She was ready to mount when Hank Rogers came in with a couple of the wranglers.

“Good choice, miss,” he grunted. “The boss said to give you a sturdy horse. Redwing here is about the best you can throw a leg over.” He reached out a gnarled hand and gave the saddle horn a jerk. “She likes a tight cinch, but looks as if you know your stuff.” Following the raspy-voiced comment, Hank held the animal’s head as she climbed on.

“Thanks for the advice, Mr. Rogers. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better about my using the horses.”

“None of my business. As long as the boss says. By the way, he asked me to get your route and what time you plan to be back.”

Starr toyed with the idea of telling him nothing. But realistically it was a reasonable request. After all, she was using a McLeod horse and SeLi would be in their care most of the day. She hesitated only the length of time it took to sling a dart-gun scabbard over the saddle horn.

“I’m taking Deer Springs Trail to the ranger cabin, then I’m heading up through Dark Canyon Pass. My return will depend solely on what I find. I suppose the snow is still fairly deep in the pass.” It was a statement, not a query.

“Hmph,” Hank snorted, withdrawing his hand from the reins. “Snow will be pretty deep all the way. If you have any luck at all, it’ll have driven the sheep down to around nine thousand feet for food and water. If not...” He shrugged.

Giving a quick nod of acknowledgment, Starr kicked the sorrel in the ribs and cantered off at a fast pace. She half tensed, expecting Clay to emerge from the house and stop her. She was at a loss to explain her disappointment when he didn’t even show up to wish her well.

Before long a thin sun rose overhead, and the snow-covered passage shimmered as though strewn with crystal. Comfortable with being alone, Starr uncapped her binoculars and paused often to study the jagged promontory for any sign of bighorn. The majestic sheep remained elusively hidden.

She had worked her way well past the vacant ranger station before dismounting to eat lunch. By midday she’d grown impatient with the continued absence of sheep. Although the landscape was beautiful, the eerie silence mocked her failure. So did the certainty of knowing it would be impossible to fade from Clay’s life if she didn’t find those sheep soon.

Starr ate the last of her lunch for a snack midafternoon and once again settled herself firmly in the saddle. She stood in the stirrups, ruefully rubbing her backside. “Bet I won’t sit much tomorrow.” She groaned. “I’m out of condition, old girl. Not used to these long hours in the saddle.” She patted the sweat-darkened neck of the snorting, blowing horse, who’d just picked her way around a rocky ledge and up a sharp incline.

Suddenly Starr reined in sharply and reached for her binoculars. She trained them on a mound of snow that didn’t seem to fit the other contours. Bringing it into focus, she gnawed at her lower lip.

Protruding from the misshapen pile of snow was the gray-brown curl of a massive set of sheep horns. Her stomach knotted.

Quickly she tethered the mare, grabbed her rucksack and slid down the rocky slope until she reached the downed sheep. The ram, a superb specimen, had been dead awhile. Some miracle had saved the carcass from carrion-eaters.

Starr carefully scraped away old snow, removing her gloves long enough to log information on a pad. She found no outward reason for the ram’s death. No broken bones, no sign of starvation and no bullet wounds or marks from carnivores. He carried no tag from the game department marking him a weak male. And this was not a time when males fought among themselves.

Starr pushed the hair from her eyes, feeling baffled. This animal had died in the prime of life for no apparent reason. After finishing her examination, she scrubbed her hands vigorously with scoops of fresh snow. Her fingers stung from the bite of the cold.

The next step was filling vials with blood samples. Judging by how long he’d been dead, she doubted that blood would reveal much. Once that was finished, she carefully re-covered the body with snow and stamped circles around it to ward off any scavengers. It was possible she’d need a second opinion later. Depressed at not finding an obvious cause of death, she stowed her gear.

She was so engrossed in the task she was surprised to see that the sun had slipped behind the mountains. She decided not to push on. The wind moaned hauntingly through the jagged rocks, and she shivered. The sound brought with it a longing for companionship. For no reason she remembered how warm she’d felt the other night—in Clay’s arms.

And where will those thoughts get you?
she asked herself.

“Come on, Redwing, let’s call it a day.” She sighed. Why, at a time like this, would she want Clay McLeod? It would make more sense to want a fellow chemist to help find answers to this puzzle.

Fortunately a brisk wind stung her cheeks and gave her something else to think about. Behind the wind rolled a new bank of clouds. Storm clouds. By the time Starr reached the corral, the top of the mountain was obscured, and those same clouds had begun to spit snow.

She was grateful for the shelter of the barn and lost no time rubbing down the damp horse. Again she deliberately avoided the stall where she’d shared kisses with Clay. Once the horse was fed, she hurried outside.

A light, steady snow had begun to fall. Starr was thankful for whatever inner voice had prompted her to turn back. Head lowered against the wind, she nearly missed hearing SeLi call her from the open door of the ranch house.

Starr waved. She might as well go in to phone for a courier; she’d also leave a report for Harrison. He’d probably be as frustrated as she was.

Morgan appeared behind SeLi in the bright opening. As Starr stomped into the foyer, it took both giggling children to close the door against the strong wind.

Boots dripping, she hesitated in the red-tiled entryway, quietly surveying Clay’s home. This was her first glimpse. She hadn’t been prepared to find it so...so homey. “Get your coat,” she told SeLi abruptly. “I need to make a couple of phone calls, but it’ll only take me a minute.”

Her gaze lingered on a fire that crackled cheerfully in a massive beehive fireplace in one corner of a wood-paneled living room. Nearby the children had left a game spread out. Pieces lay haphazardly on a handwoven Indian rug that had obviously cost a small fortune.

Where did Clay McLeod get off giving her a hard time about her artwork?

The room beyond gleamed in the flickering firelight and the soft reflection of lights on the Christmas tree. Starr felt uneasy about the absence of adults. Where were Clay and Vanessa? In bed? No. Not according to Clay.

Morgan broke into Starr’s musing. “Uncle Clay was gonna come find you. He was ‘most ready to go when he got a phone call. He told SeLi and me he didn’t want you gettin’ lost.”

SeLi ran up and hugged her mother around the waist, bestowing a quick grin of relief. “Better let him know you got back, Mom. He’s in the den. Moe and me’ll finish our game.”

Feeling a stab of guilt for her thoughts about Clay and Vanessa, Starr headed in the direction of the Christmas tree. As she entered the room, all she could see were shelves filled with books. Finally, the edge of an oak desk.

A lump rose to clog her throat. She stepped to where she could see better and glimpsed Clay’s dark head bent over his desk. He didn’t notice her. Starr might have turned and made good her escape if he hadn’t glanced up just then.

For a moment he looked happy to see her. Then he frowned. She couldn’t hear his conversation over the children’s chatter. If his call was private, he needn’t think she’d come to pry. But because she was staring at him, she chanced to read his lips. Plain as day she saw,
Thank you, Mrs. Manning, we’ll be in touch.
She shook her head, denying what she thought she’d seen. Anyway, Wanda wasn’t the only Manning around. What possible reason would Clay have to speak with SeLi’s social worker? None. There had to be another explanation.

Releasing her breath slowly, Starr experienced a sense of dizziness. Her stomach seemed to drop.
Honestly, talk about paranoid!
Surely she’d only imagined that Clay smothered a guilty look as he put down the phone and came to meet her. But fingers of doubt had already crept up Starr’s spine and into her heart.

Dazed, her mind sorted out every conceivable combination of words he might have uttered. She kept returning to what she’d seen. Working in a busy, noisy lab, Starr—like everyone there—had become adept at reading lips. Yes, she was certain of the words. She just wanted some plausible reason for them that didn’t involve her or SeLi.

“Starr.” Clay clasped her cold hands in his warm ones. Feeling her stiffen, he let go. “Did the kids tell you I was ready to send out the dog with the brandy?” His twinkling gaze traveled to the pulse beating at the base of her throat, and his smile softened.

Starr could do little but nod and wonder why suddenly her limbs felt weightless.

“Are the kids finished with their game?” Clay asked.
Damn, but I want to touch her,
he thought.
To hold her and drive that wary look from her eyes.
When the weather socked in, he’d been worried sick. In fact, he was getting ready to go find her when that Manning woman called. She didn’t have any information. Clay suggested they forget it, but the fool woman wouldn’t take no for an answer. Truth was, he no longer knew what he wanted. All he knew was that what he felt for Starr Lederman made him want to believe she was not involved in anything unsavory.

“Did you have a productive trip?” He touched Starr’s cool cheek.

She jerked away. “No.” Why did she have the feeling that this sudden concern of his was really an elaborate smokescreen?

Clay frowned. He placed a hand at her waist and led her toward the fire.

She stretched out her hands, but they failed to get warm.

“I’m glad you showed sense enough to turn back before this storm broke. Don’t ever underestimate the danger.” He said this in the same tone with which he asked her to take a seat on the couch.

Before Starr had time to resent his little lecture, he withdrew and crossed to the bar, where he poured two drinks.

On returning, Clay pressed a glass into her hands. “I’m going to call Harrison. Whatever the reason for this project of yours, let them delay it until the weather turns. Or they can send someone else. I don’t want you taking chances on the mountain.”