Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (5 page)

“Naturally. He’s trying to be Vanessa’s hero.”

“How can you defend him after what you said earlier—about them carrying on an affair behind your back?”

“Ahem, I, uh, could’ve been wrong. My son, Morgan, let a few things slip today. Enough to make me think Clay and Van may not be sleeping together—not yet, anyway. I love her, Starr, enough to go to any lengths to get her back.”

“Yes, well, I can’t help wishing those lengths didn’t involve me.”

“Believe me, they’ll be halfway to the ranch by now. Put it out of your mind, honey. I did. Listen up—I’ve had someone at the university call your boss. You’re cleared for a two-week leave. That’ll give you a week for me and a week to do the Santa thing. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that secrecy is imperative.” He paused. “If you run into trouble getting equipment, let me know. Otherwise I’ll call again tomorrow night.”

At once the line went dead. Starr clicked the receiver. “Hello?” She heard a steady hum and glared at the phone, not believing he’d simply hung up. But after returning the receiver to its cradle and waiting for a ring back, she decided that was precisely what he’d done.

Amazing. Politicians—they all had colossal egos and played silly little-boy games. Starr had a funny suspicion that the senator didn’t know his brother well at all.

Put it out of your mind,
he’d said. All right. She’d go tuck SeLi into bed, write up a list of the equipment she’d need, then soak in a hot tub. After that she would crawl into bed and forget anyone by the name of Barclay McLeod existed. By morning all would be rosy again.

* * *

S
TARR SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
from experience that the morning wouldn’t be rosy. It rarely was in the Lederman household. She liked to sleep until the last possible second, and as a result she and SeLi were often late. Never one to eat breakfast, Starr had been forced to change her ways when she became a mother. More accurately, she’d seen a need to change when she caught SeLi hoarding food under her bed. That, and Wanda Manning’s checklist, with three nutritious meals a day right at the top, had been strong motivators.

These days, though, SeLi usually ate anything put in front of her.

Not today.

“Why me, Lord?” Starr exclaimed to the kitchen clock. Last night hadn’t been too good. Sleep had evaded her. Not because she was worrying about her encounter with Barclay McLeod, but because she’d been plotting into the wee hours how best to approach Wanda with this outing. Her uncharacteristic lack of patience with Seli definitely reflected her loss of sleep.

“This is lumpy,” wailed SeLi, expression militant. “Why can’t I just eat cold cereal like kids on TV?” Her spoon made ragged craters in a bowl of steaming oatmeal porridge as she picked out lumps and plopped them on her napkin.

“SeLi, stop that. Oatmeal is good for you. It’s
supposed
to have a few lumps. I always ate hot cereal when I was a kid. Especially when it was cold and rainy out.” Starr bent and gave SeLi a coaxing smile around the hair ribbon she held in her teeth as she attempted to French-braid SeLi’s hair.

“Ouch!” The girl jerked away. “You had a cook—Nana Patrice said. I bet no cook ever fixed yuck like this.” Plop went another lump, only this one flew and stuck to Starr’s chenille robe.

“Darn it, SeLi, watch—” The doorbell rang sharply, cutting off the rest of Starr’s lecture. She swiftly tied a bow at the end of the braid, then settled her hand on SeLi’s shoulder to keep her seated. The girl had leapt up to answer the door.

“That’ll be Kevin and Mike,” SeLi said in the tone of one seeing a reprieve. “You’re not really gonna make me finish this junk, are you? The school van won’t wait,” she warned. “Yesterday the driver told Darcy you’ll have to get up earlier or he’ll leave me behind.”

Starr scraped at the cereal embedded in her robe. “Sit. If it’s the van, it’s early.” She checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes early. He’ll just have to wait.”

Starr was determined SeLi wouldn’t wriggle out of eating this morning, even if she had to drive all three kids to school herself. “Eat half. I’ll invite the boys to wait in the living room.”

“Brother.” SeLi sat and picked up her spoon.

On her way down the hall, Starr gloated a bit over this minor triumph in the clash of wills. Yesterday the principal had recommended that she dig in her heels on some of the smaller issues. He said the larger ones would follow. It sounded logical. After all, SeLi had had free rein a long time.

Well, no one ever said motherhood was easy, Starr thought as she opened the door and stepped behind it to conceal her ratty robe. It was comfy and warm, but not fit for any neighbor who happened to be in the hall to see.

“Come in, guys. SeLi will be with you in a minute. Have a seat in the living room. I guarantee you won’t be late for the van.” Starr nearly choked on her last word as the door swung fully open to reveal the last person she’d expected to see. Barclay McLeod!

It took a moment for the shock to pass. When it did, she snapped her open mouth shut so quickly she bit her tongue. The moment she was able to speak, she asked icily, “What do you want?”

“Not a morning person, are we?” Clay shrugged and doffed his black Stetson. The action drew Star’s eye to his Western-cut suit, white shirt and tie. He looked impeccable—and very handsome, she admitted grudgingly.

A spark of vanity made her feel a bit embarrassed about how she compared in her rumpled state.

“How did you get into the building?” she demanded, transferring her anger to its rightful place.

Barclay McLeod again stepped uninvited into her home. “In answer to your first question, I seem to have misplaced my wallet. I thought perhaps I’d dropped it here. The answers to question two seems obvious, but I’ll explain in case it slipped by you. As property owner, I have a master key.” He seemed amused by her attempt to hide behind the door.

Starr held on to her temper by a thread. “There is such a thing as a tenant’s right to privacy. Since you’ve already invaded mine, by all means, retrace your steps. Look for your stupid wallet. You won’t find it here.”

“Thanks, I will. It contained a fair amount of cash. Enough for someone needing a quick getaway,” he said pointedly.

“Good. When you find it you can get out of Dodge.” Why was he still here, instead of heading south as Harrison had said? Starr thought it was ironic that a man so drop-dead good-looking could be such a jerk. Today he looked civilized, too. Yesterday he’d been more appropriately dressed in satanic black.

She lingered by the door while he knelt and looked beneath her couch and both chairs. Her gaze was caught by the sprinkle of dark hair on the wrist of the arm reaching to feel beneath the furniture. Suddenly very warm, Starr shifted from one slippered foot to the other and nervously retied her robe. Why, the two times he’d shown up, did she have to look as if she was heading for bed? Especially since he thought she made her living there.

When he rose and glared at her, she willed her features to remain passive. Instinct warned her not to let him see how nervous he made her. “You obviously left your wallet someplace else. Did you check under your sister-in-law’s bed?” she asked sweetly.

Before he could react, the doorbell rang. No doubt Darcy’s twins this time.

“Hi, fellas.” She waved the pair in and the man out. “If you don’t mind,” she said to her unwanted guest, “I have a busy morning ahead.”

Mistakenly she’d thought he would leave. Instead, he introduced himself to the twins.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I’m going to check on SeLi’s progress. I won’t object if you’re gone when I come back.”

Staring at her coolly, he turned back to the boys. “Do you kids go to a neighborhood school?”

Mike, the more outspoken twin, answered as Starr hastened into the kitchen. “Nah,” he said. “We go to a private school, ‘cause our mom thinks we’ll learn more. Why? You got kids?”

“No. But my nephew moved in upstairs last night. He’s been home-schooled. But I think it’d be good for him to have friends his own age.”

Starr had returned with SeLi in tow just as Clay made his big revelation. Did Harrison know? she wondered, unable to hide her dismay. She was startled by SeLi’s squawk. The girl stopped right in the middle of thanking her for the family pictures. “What’s he doin’ here, Mom? You said we’d never see him again!”

“He lost something, honey,” Starr said absently. In the next breath she asked Clay, “Do you mean the senator’s son, Morgan?”

He smirked. “Yes. Cozy isn’t it? Luckily I noticed a vacancy when I checked the books. Perfect for Morgan and his mom. But then, I’m sure his parents breakup isn’t news to you.”

It wasn’t of course. But obviously the estrangement was more permanent than Senator McLeod realized. Or at least more than he wanted to think.

SeLi sidled past both Starr and Clay, then ran for the door. “C’mon guys, the van’s waiting. Mom, you’re still gonna go see Wicked Wanda, aren’t you?”

In the process of digesting Clay’s news, Starr glanced up and nodded at the departing child. “This morning,” she murmured.

Clay frowned. “How is it you have a job but don’t ever seem to work? And who’s Wicked Wanda?”

“Wanda Manning. SeLi’s case worker.” Starr broke off suddenly. What had struck her in the midst of her preoccupation was the odd way her daughter was acting toward Clay. Yesterday she’d all but had Starr married to him. Today she couldn’t seem to escape the man fast enough. Fear gripped Starr’s heart.

“Please leave,” she told Clay. “I have to run. I—I forgot to give SeLi lunch money.”

“Fine. Vanessa promised me breakfast in exchange for helping her move.”

Tight-lipped, Starr acknowledged this new information with nothing more than a nod. She didn’t want to hear about his breakfast arrangements. Or his sleeping arrangements. Right now she needed to stop SeLi. It would be a touchy situation, but if she didn’t ask the girl about Clay’s missing wallet, she’d have this knot in her stomach all day.

Not caring that she still wore her bathrobe, Starr ignored the elevator and ran down the three flights of stairs. She caught up with the children as they were about to leave the building. Asking the boys to hold the van, she motioned SeLi back.

The girl’s guilt showed in her reluctance. Starr’s heart spiraled downward as she realized the time for finesse had passed.

“Do you have something to tell me about Mr. McLeod’s wallet, SeLi?” she asked gently.

SeLi ducked her head. “I was gonna tell you ‘bout it last night. Till you made such a big deal over Buffy Jordan’s purse.” Defiant eyes rose to meet Starr’s troubled ones. “I didn’t take her old purse.”

“Forget Buffy’s purse for now. What about Mr. McLeod’s wallet?”

Narrow shoulders shrugged. “He didn’t even have it buttoned in his pocket. Somebody downtown coulda heisted it easy.”

“But they didn’t, did they, SeLi? It was gone before he went downtown, wasn’t it?” Starr ignored the van driver’s impatient honking and smoothed back strands of dark hair that had already escaped SeLi’s braid.

“It’s under my mattress,” the girl mumbled. “Can I go now?”

Starr sighed, stepped back and gathered the lapels of her robe beneath her chin. For a moment she closed her eyes. This compounded yesterday’s theft at school. It was serious business, and she didn’t know what to do.

“I didn’t take any of his money,” SeLi stated defensively as she ran toward the van.

Starr’s eyes sprang open. “I sincerely hope not,” she said, even though SeLi probably didn’t hear her as she boarded the van. Once it was under way, Starr turned leaden feet toward the elevator—an elevator on its way down from the top floor and the penthouse where Barclay McLeod was no doubt about to enjoy breakfast.

Oh, Lord, she hated the thought of facing him! She hadn’t the foggiest idea how to go about returning his wallet. But Starr knew she’d go to any lengths to protect SeLi. With all her heart she believed permanence and stability in SeLi’s life would ultimately erase her compulsion to steal. All Seli needed was a chance to prove herself.

But if Wanda got so much as a hint of this, SeLi would be instantly whisked away. To keep that from happening, Starr would face ten Clay McLeods if she had to.

S
TARR RAN UPSTAIRS
, went inside and straight to SeLi’s room. She found the wallet tucked beneath the mattress, as SeLi had said. She handled it gingerly, like a hot potato, even though the smooth black leather was cool. She placed it on the kitchen counter while she cleaned up the breakfast dishes. But the wallet bothered her; it seemed to mock her efforts as a parent. So Starr took it to her bedroom and stuffed it in her purse until she could decide what to do.

The simplest and most expedient approach, she decided as she showered and dressed for work, would be to march upstairs and hand it to its owner. And tell him what?
That
was the tricky part.

She straightened the collar of the navy blue, no-nonsense suit she’d selected with an eye to visiting Wanda Manning. It made her look less youthful, more conventional. So did the gray eye shadow.

In the midst of this brief self-assessment, Starr made up her mind—she would simply return the wallet, saying SeLi had
found
it. And once he had his wallet back with its contents intact, why should he doubt her story?

The closer she got to the penthouse, the more her resolve, and her knees, seemed to waver. Twice she reached for the doorbell before finally pressing it. And what would she would say if Vanessa answered? As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Clay himself appeared at the first ring.

He’d removed his suit jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows of muscular, suntanned forearms; he clutched a hammer.

Starr winced. She’d just as soon not face him when he held a blunt object. But what choice did she have?

“Mr. McLeod.” She spoke first, hoping for some softening in the hawkish features. There was none, unless one considered the curl of dark hair that drooped appealingly over his left eyebrow.

Bravely she cleared her throat and plunged ahead, “I, ah... It seems SeLi found your wallet. The kids were in such a hurry to catch the van this morning it completely slipped her mind until I ran down to ask if she had lunch money.” Not used to lying, Starr felt her palms grow damp. To hide her discomfort she dug in her purse for the offending item. Finding it at last, she held it out, suspended lightly between her thumb and forefinger.

His steely-eyed inspection began at the top of her carefully contained curls and roamed downward to the tips of her low-heeled pumps.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” he said grudgingly. “I’m not easily duped. How many men are tempted by your delectable wares—only to be parted from their money without a sample?” He took the wallet from her hand, opened it and fanned through a sheaf of bills. “You’re good,” he grunted, “Very good. So why blame the kid?”

Starr’s temper flared. “I didn’t
blame
anyone. Nor did I come here to be insulted. You’ll find every last cent there. I trust this will be the last we need see of each other.” Heat stung her cheeks and she shifted her raincoat to the other arm.

Clay McLeod laughed as he slid the wallet into his back pocket and buttoned it in place. “Come now. This is a small intimate complex. There’s no doubt we’ll meet again.” He paused. “Unless you’re not neighborly. Is that it, hmm? Afraid people might find out what you really do?”

Starr’s steps faltered. She went on the defensive. “I’m a biochemist, Mr. McLeod. For the state of California. And a darn good one.”

“Is that where you’re going dressed like a corporate VP? I thought chemists wore long white coats. Or is that only on TV?”

“We do wear lab coats at work,” she informed him. “Not that it’s your business, but I have an appointment downtown.”

He stiffened. “I’m making everything you do my business. I’ve moved here for the express purpose of becoming your shadow.”

Starr’s jaw went slack. “
You
moved...here? I thought you said
Vanessa and Morgan
did.”

Clay shrugged. “It’s a big suite. Two complete wings. No reason to rent downtown when I have a great view of the condo entrance from my bedroom here. I can see everyone who comes and goes. Mention that to my brother, will you?”

Her fingers curled around her purse strap until she realized she was playing into his hands and relaxed her grip. “You’ve got it wrong.
If
the senator visits, it won’t be to see me. After all, his wife lives here.
And
he owns the building.”

“Technically not. When he chose politics our joint holdings became mine, at least on paper. Did he mention all leases are up January first?”

So that was it. Harrison had agreed to let her catch up on the rent when the trust was turned over to her. Both she and Mrs. Blevins kept a running account of how much Starr actually owed. Now it sounded as if the senator’s brother wasn’t aware of that—and intended to change things. Well, Starr would be darned if she’d beg.

“Go to hell, Mr. McLeod.” Whirling, she walked away.

Clay dropped his hammer in the hall, closed the door and followed her to the elevator where she was angrily punching the button. He leaned against the wall and slowly rolled down his shirtsleeves. “Does that mean you won’t reconsider San Diego?”

“Look, enough already. Take this up with your brother. He agreed in SeLi’s court hearing that we’d have this place until the adoption’s final. That’s six lousy months.” Seeing his frown, she threw up her hands and headed for the stairs. “Oh, what’s the use?”

Clay mulled over the curve she’d just thrown him. What did Harrison have to do with her adopting an Asian child?
Amerasian,
he corrected thoughtfully. And the judge in their case was a longtime friend of the McLeods. “Uh, how are you getting to work?” he called. “Blevins said your car is in the shop. Is my big brother providing a limo? If so, you won’t be hard to follow.”

Starr’s steps slowed—although if she kept going and slammed the heavy fire door, she wouldn’t have to listen to him. “I use public transportation, Mr. McLeod,” she said in a tone so sweet it dripped honey. “Bus number 1203. We make twenty-two stops between here and my office. Feel free to count them. I hope you choke on the diesel fumes.”

“Hey,” he yelled seconds before the fire door slammed. “You want a lift? May as well, since I’m going your way.”

Starr almost never swore, but she did so now, succinctly. She’d been wrong about the door; it didn’t block sound as well as she’d thought, judging by the thoroughly masculine laughter that chased her down the stairwell.

Ordinarily she hated waiting for a bus in the rain. Today she welcomed the cooling drizzle. Except that while she stood in the doorway struggling to open her stubborn umbrella, bus number 1203 zipped past without stopping.
Blast and damn!
It only ran every fifteen minutes. In addition to having a perfectly wretched morning, now it appeared she’d be late to work, as well.
Fantastic.

Without warning, the stupid umbrella opened with an unexpected
whish.
Starr stomped out into the downpour but had barely reached the bus stop when someone honked. Glancing up, she saw Clay McLeod parked at the curb in a big dark Blazer. It figured he’d drive a tank. Starr ground her teeth and ignored him.

He rolled down his window and leaned out, seemingly undisturbed by the slanting rain pummeling his Stetson. “No need to get wet while you sulk. The mature thing to do would be to let me drive you to work.”

Her back teeth all but cracked. Didn’t he just love seeing her shoes getting soaked! Not in a million years would such a jerk expect her to take his offer. Which was exactly why Starr decided to accept.

“You’re absolutely right,” she said amiably. “Never let it be said that a Lederman doesn’t know when to come in out of the rain.” Jumping over a large puddle, she marched toward him. “San Francisco traffic is dreadful when it rains. I trust you’re a good driver, Mr. McLeod.”

Clay made a quick recovery from his surprise. At least enough of one to jump down, slog around the vehicle and gallantly open her door.

By then, though, Starr was thinking maybe she hadn’t been so smart—she’d seen the height of the step and compared it to her slim skirt. Ready to reverse her decision, she turned and met his knowing smirk.

“Problems?” he murmured seductively.

Starr squared her shoulders and shook her head. She laughed, deciding to be honest. “You know I do, darn it. By any chance, does this contraption have a portable step?”

“Afraid not.”

His little half grin irked her. “A gentleman would lace his hands together and make a lady’s first step easier,” she said.

“Now, you know. I’m no gentleman.” A wicked laugh lurked just below the surface of his words. Then without warning, Clay slid his large hands beneath her coat and spanned her waist. Taking his own sweet time, he boosted her up and into the cab.

Starr felt her skirt slither to midthigh. Unfortunately she had her purse, her lunch and a half-open umbrella to dispense with before she had a hand free to yank it down. She could well imagine the back view she presented for Barclay McLeod’s pleasure.

“Mmm,” Clay murmured as he let go and thumbed his hat back on his head.

Dropping her things, Starr gave a sharp tug on the back of her coat. She treated him to her best glare and plopped down onto the seat. But she’d forgotten he was so tall. Sitting placed her nose at level with his very white, toothpaste-ad smile.

Without warning, Clay leaned forward and brushed a cool kiss over her lips. Then he stepped back and calmly shut her in.

Shock waves ricocheted clear to Starr’s toes. Her entire body bucked as the door’s latch engaged, cutting off any chance of escape. Dazed, she watched the outline of his broad shoulders through a window speckled by rain as he circled the hood and slid beneath the steering wheel.

“So,” he said without a hint of inflection, “which way? And don’t give me the bus route,” he said over the sound of the engine. “I’m not about to make twenty-two stops.” Casually he removed his damp hat and dropped it on the seat between them.

As if in slow motion, Starr faced front and broke the all-too-compelling connection with his gaze. Every nerve in her body was functioning on overdrive.

She desperately wanted to appear controlled. Better yet, bored. The very last thing she wanted was to blurt like some ninny, “Did you kiss me?” Yet that was exactly what came out of her mouth.

Clay’s dark brows arched to meet a dark curl that refused to be tamed. “Sugar, when I
kiss
a woman, she doesn’t normally ask if I did. Now, about that route? I hate to press, but we’re in a bus zone and one of those stretch models is stopped back there at the light.”

“I meant...you
did
kiss me. Why?”

With a steady hand, he injected a CD into a state-of-the-art system that promptly filled the cab with a bluesy country tune. “I couldn’t have you thinking my curb service is less...satisfactory than Harrison’s, could I?”

“You are the most desp—”

“Despicable man,” he finished. “I know, but it won’t matter in a minute ‘cause, honey, we’re gonna get creamed if you don’t give me some directions.”

Between the hiss of air brakes and furious blasts from the angry horn of the bus, Starr rattled off an entire set of directions without taking a breath. “Left lane for a block, left at the light, right at the corner. Go three miles on the freeway to the first exit, make a left, a right, then another left.”

Clay swore and bulldozed his way into a busy lane.

Starr smiled. “Oh, did I go too fast? Sorry.”

“Not to worry. I know the way to your office. I thought you were going to see a woman named Manning this morning. I assumed you meant before work. My mistake.”

Starr froze. Either he had an uncanny memory or he did indeed plan to follow her everywhere. “I’m going to work,” she said too fast. “I’m not sure Mrs. Manning will have time to see me today.” She took care to avoid his eyes. “What with all this rain, I may even skip going.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So if you persist in this silly little spy game, there’s no need to drive back into town until five.” She recalled the hammer he’d been holding when she’d gone to the door of the penthouse. “I’d hate for you not to finish Vanessa’s carpentry project.”

“Leave her out of this. I intend to check on you at lunch.”

Starr dangled a brown paper bag in front of his nose. “Corned beef on rye. Another boring lunch at my desk. But, gee, if I’d known you were coming, I’d have made you a sandwich—arsenic on whole wheat.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Clay stayed on the freeway for several miles, then left it and drove two blocks, finally pulling into the parking lot across from the building where she worked. Letting the engine idle, he reached for his hat.

“No need for both of us to get wet,” she said quickly. “You wouldn’t want to spoil me, now would you?” Gathering her things, Starr hopped out. The long drop jarred her teeth.

Clay’s hand hovered over his hat for a moment. Leaving it, he shrugged expansively. “Suit yourself.”

“Ta-ta,” she murmured sweetly, shutting the door hard enough to rattle his windows. She seethed as she dashed through the rain, never giving a thought to using her umbrella.

Clay watched her join a group of women on the walkway. It surprised him to see that even at a distance she stood out. At first he dismissed it as merely her rich auburn hair, which made a dazzling crown of color among nondescript browns and blonds. But it was more than her appearance, he decided when she sailed blithely into the old brick building. Few women could have resisted taking a final peek to see if he’d gone or stayed.
She
didn’t.

Starr Lederman had class, he’d give her that. Either she didn’t care if he dogged her footsteps or she didn’t have anything to hide. Tapping his lips with his thumb, he wondered whether to revise his assessment. But maybe the lady just played one helluva game of poker. Clay’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel in time to the hammering of rain on the roof of the Blazer. She was up to something. He’d bet his last dime on it. Question was, what? Yesterday his brother had acted damned odd, too. Where most men would have denied an affair if confronted, Harrison seemed almost pleased. Was he covering some greater sin?