Under the Christmas Star (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  He swallowed convulsively. Not necessarily the conversation he thought he’d be having with the woman Shelby considered her mother. “Well, that’s a good question. An interesting one, in fact.” He glanced over and saw the humor hovering around the edges of her eyes. “I get this feeling you already know the answer to the question you just asked.”

  She tilted her head to the side, just enough that her earring touched the collar of her crisp white shirt. “She needs to be loved by someone that is worthy of her. But someone who understands that it’s hard to accept a gift she doesn’t feel she’s earned.” Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “That’s why it took her so long to trust us and then trust the Lord. Can you imagine coming from a broken home and having to trust that Someone you can’t see, feel, or hear, and then accept that He loves you more than life itself and did, in fact, give up His life for yours?”

  “I guess I’ve never thought of it that way.” His respect for Shelby jumped greatly. “I don’t know if I could do that.”

  “You see, everything she does is brushed with love. From the baking, to making a home feel welcoming, to the artwork she creates when no one’s looking. She pours herself into it because she feels like she needs to pay for the things she freely receives from others.” Sadness passed over Anne’s face. “I hope you understand what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “I think so.” Beau tried to compare it with his experiences with Shelby. “But I’ll have to think on it some.”

  “You go right ahead, dear.” Anne settled back in the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.”

  He murmured a “yes ma’am” and felt both guilty and relieved when he heard Anne’s first soft snore. He had a lot of thinking to do in the next two hours.

  Shelby stomped around the house, slamming drawers, and generally being in a horrific mood. After leaving the art gallery, she’d wanted to scream her frustration to the sky. She had tried to pray but couldn’t get the words out. Instead, she’d spent the better part of an hour on her knees in the living room, crying. Not the beautiful kind either.

  Oh no, she got the kind where snot ran down her face, her nose turned tomato red, and her eyes were puffy. She looked a mess and didn’t really care who saw her. Stan had tried to console her but had backed off when she snapped at him. It was like someone else had taken over her body and basically went berserk on the people around her.

  She’d been so upset that she hadn’t actually run the errands she set out to do earlier. The page of listed musicians lay open in front of Shelby, but all the names blurred together. There had to be a way to find a live band that was available and not expensive. She scrubbed her hands over her face and wished, not for the first time, that Beau was there to talk to.

  He wasn’t, but Stan was. She needed to apologize for her behavior. It wasn’t his fault she was having a rotten day. She closed the binder and, feeling a hundred years old, pulled on her coat. She hated apologies. Giving more than receiving them, anyway.

  Shelby stepped outside and followed the sounds of banging on metal and a few words that made her ears burn. The door to the barn was open, and she could see George and Stan staring at a tractor. She could also see someone’s boots peeking out from underneath. Since neither of the men acted concerned, she determined the man was supposed to be down there.

  She cleared her throat and only got George’s attention. His eyes widened, and he elbowed Stan, who just waved him off with annoyance. George leaned over and furiously whispered at Stan, who finally glanced over in her direction.

  He took one look at the tractor, kicked the boots peeking out from under it, and hurried toward her. “Miss Shelby, what are you doing here?” He didn’t touch her but blocked her view of the tractor, which was a feat in and of itself since they were the same height.

  “I wanted to apologize,” said Shelby, looking him straight in the eye, and clasped her hands to her chest. “I had no right to treat you the way I did, and I’m sorry for it. I’d like to ask your forgiveness.”

  Stan scratched his chin. “Well, I suppose so. I mean I’d done forgot it already.” He looked back over his shoulder and quickly turned around, eyes wide. “If that’s all, Miss Shelby, I need ta get back ta work.”

  Shelby squinted at Stan and then tried to look over his shoulder. He shifted to the left and blocked her view. She scowled at him. “What are you hiding, Stan? Is it going to get Beau in trouble?”

  “Now I doubt that very much,” said a voice from behind Stan. A tall man with gray hair came up behind Stan and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, friend, but I think the jig is up.”

  Stan frowned at the other man, the ends of his mustache dipping perilously low. “I guess so. At least I get my bunkhouse back.”

  Shelby stared at the stranger and realized with a start that he looked just like Beau. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Beau, by chance, would you?”

  His grin lit up his blue eyes. “I would, lovely lady.” He took her hand and bowed over it. Kissing it once, he enfolded her hand between his two larger ones. “I am Beau’s father, Oliver.” He gave her a wink. “You can call me Ollie, though, if you’d like.”

  Shelby tried very hard not to be charmed by him. She tugged her hand from his and gave him a smile she hoped was appropriately welcoming. “It’s nice to meet you. Please, won’t you come to the house? You can wait for Beau there.” She turned and began walking to the ranch house. His long legs kept up with her shorter ones with no issues. Something he also had in common with his son.

  “Now I thought I knew everyone on the ranch,” said Ollie, spreading his arms wide as he walked beside her. “But you’re new. Now, why is it, do you think, that my son didn’t tell me he’d gone and gotten hitched to the prettiest, pansy-haired girl I ever did lay eyes on?”

  Shelby came to a screeching halt. “Whoa there, Ollie.” She held a hand up to stop him, which he did coming within a hairsbreadth of her fingers. “We’re not married. Emphasis on the not. He’s hired me to help while Elizabeth is on her honeymoon. That’s it.”

  “Your lips are sayin’ one thing, darlin’, but your eyes are sayin’ somethin’ else.” Ollie winked at her, ratcheting her frustration level up a notch. Not that it needed help today. “If that’s what you kids are calling it these days.”

  “No, that’s not it. I mean, it’s still marriage, but it’s not something we’re doing together.” The corners of his eyes crinkled up. She threw her hands up in the air and muttered “Men!” before stomping her way back to the house to make lunch. Her world might be turned upside down, but she wasn’t going to let that keep her from being a decent hostess.

  Ollie sauntered in as she finished setting out the basic components of sandwiches. “Lunch is on you. And I don’t clean up.”

  “My wife never did, either.” Ollie perused the offerings and finally chose a thick slice of ham. “Said that’s what kids were for. Have to say this is a nice spread, Pansy.”

  “My name is Shelby,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I heard you the first time.” Ollie didn’t look up as he laid the ham on a piece of white bread. “But Pansy suits you better.”

  Shelby bit her tongue to keep from saying something else that would come back to haunt her. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Shelby backed out of the room.

  She padded down the hall to the office, slipped inside, and shut the door with a soft thump. She leaned against the shut door and looked heavenward. “Beau takes after his mom, right?” She didn’t receive a reply but made a note of it to ask Beau about his mother when he got back.

  Shelby massaged her temples for a minute before sitting down. Beau had placed the small desk in the corner of his office for her use. She flipped the binder open to the party section. Since music was out of the question, the only thing left to work on was what to feed the crowd.

  There was a menu from a local caterer that Elizabeth hired before she
left. Shelby started going through it, figuring out what wouldn’t break the bank. An hour later, a car door slammed and broke her concentration. Shelby stretched and realized that Ollie could be anywhere in the house. Eyes widening, Shelby rushed out the door to meet Beau on the front porch.

  “Shelby?” Beau’s excited voice echoed through the house. “I’m back. You’ll never guess what happened.” She found him in the foyer, putting his coat on a hook. He saw her and broke into a smile. “You’re prettier each time I see you.”

  Her heart stumbled in her chest. “Listen there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “In a minute.” Beau stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. His chin rested on the top of her head, and she smiled into his chest, glad he was home.

  “Well isn’t this a domestic scene?” Ollie smirked at them from the hallway.

  Beau let Shelby go and stepped in front of her. “What are you doing here, Dad? Last I heard, you were on an oil rig somewhere in the middle of the ocean.”

  Ollie shoved his hands into his pockets and gave them a one-shouldered shrug. “I was. Elizabeth called and said I needed to come home.” He raised his eyebrows in a mock surprise expression. “So, I did.”

  “And that’s it?” Beau’s shoulders tensed, and Shelby watched as he clenched his hands.

  “That’s it.” Ollie looked up at the ceiling. “My room still in one piece?”

  A slow nod formed as Beau added, “Elizabeth didn’t get to the second floor yet.”

  “Then I’ll bid you adieu for now.” He leaned to the side to look Shelby in the eye. “And good afternoon to you, Pansy.” He winked at her and turned back down the hallway.

  Shelby pressed her lips together until he was gone. The tension had not left Beau’s shoulders. When Ollie was completely out of sight, she touched Beau’s shoulder. He whipped around, thunderclouds forming in his eyes.

  “I know she invited him for Christmas, but I thought he’d show up on Christmas Eve and leave the day after Christmas.” Beau roughed up his newly cut hair. It didn’t quite have the same effect as it normally did. He stopped his pacing for a moment and turned all his attention on her. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here? Don’t you think I needed to know when my dad shows up?”

  Shelby’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

  “You have to tell me these things, Shelby. How am I going to trust you with the big things if I can’t trust you in the small things, like sending me a text to inform me that my roughneck father wandered home?”

  Shelby felt her temperature rise and the anger she’d almost gotten under control surged full steam ahead. She took a step in his path, making him stop pacing, and poked him in the shoulder. “You know I would have had I not been dealing with problems of my own. You never once asked me about how my day was.” She threw her hands in the air. “Oh no, you just started making accusations.” She stepped into his personal space and glared up at him. “And you know what? I’ve just about had it to here,” she held her hand up higher than her head, “of being accused of things that I did not do.”

  She twirled on her heel and stomped back into the office. She tried to slam the door shut, but Beau was right behind her and caught it with one hand. He lowered his eyebrows at her.

  “What did you get accused of?”

  “Oh, now you want to know.” She balled her hands into fists and rested them on her hips. “Well, if you absolutely must know, I was accused of stealing my own artwork by Verity d’Neal.”

  “What?” Beau looked taken aback. “How is that even possible?”

  “Well, good ol’ Dana Pavey decided to pass off some of my paintings as her own. And now my artwork is hanging in Verity’s gallery with Dana’s name plastered all over it.” She glared at Beau. The anger she felt toward Verity, and the horrible situation found a new target. Beau. And Shelby couldn’t have stopped the avalanche of hurt even if she tried. “And then you walk in accusing me of forgetting a phone call. How dare you!”

  “Shelby, I’m sorry.” Beau ran a hand over his face. “It was just a surprise seeing Dad again. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

  “Sorry? Sorry!” Her chest was heaving, and it hurt to breathe. “Do you even have an inkling of what it’s like to have to be told one minute how great you are and the next, have everything you are stomped on?”

  Beau’s face went blank. He’d been reaching for her, but his arms fell slack by his sides. “I think you know I do, Shelby.” His voice was no longer vibrant but monotone. Then he did something she never thought he’d do. He walked away from her without another word.

  All the anger and frustration drained from her in that moment. It was then she realized the gigantic error she’d made.

  “What have I done?” she whispered and balled her fist against her mouth to keep from crying out to him. She ran after him, but he wasn’t in the house. When she looked outside, his truck was no longer parked out front. She hung her head in shame.

  Not wanting to be in the big house with just Ollie for company, she packed up her things and headed back to the cottage. Inside ten minutes, Shelby pulled into the drive and had a moment of panic when she saw smoke coming out of the chimney. That changed when the door opened, and Anne stood awkwardly in the doorway. Relief spread through her and tears formed again in her eyes. She opened the door and tripped only once on her sprint to hug Anne.

  “Oh, dear,” said Anne, holding her close. “What’s wrong? I haven’t seen that many tears from you in a very long time.”

  Shelby sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “It’s a long story.” As Anne placed a hand along her cheek, Shelby closed her eyes. It was good to be home.

  “Come inside.” Anne brushed the tears away with a thumb. “Let’s have some tea, and you can tell me all about it.” She hopped awkwardly back but kept her balance.

  “You’re getting pretty good getting around with that cast.” Shelby past by Anne, who was using a cane to move her way slowly to the kitchen. “Tell me you got the cane with the sword in it.”

  Anne snorted. “No, they didn’t have one. So, I had to settle for this one instead.” She maneuvered herself to the kitchen table and plopped down onto the closest chair. She lifted her leg onto an empty chair and hissed a sigh of relief.

  Shelby poured hot water into two mugs and plopped tea bags into each. She sat one in front of Anne and took the other for herself to the far side of the table.

  “Tell me what happened, dear.” Anne peered over the top of the cup. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  So, that’s what Shelby did, including all the ugly details. She answered Anne’s questions as honestly as possible. By the time she was done explaining what happened, she was emotionally drained and had to prop her head up on one hand.

  Anne held the china cup in both hands, elbows resting on the table. Her eyes were closed and, every once in a while, her head would bob forward. Shelby reached over the table and pulled the cup from the precarious grip Anne had on it. Anne’s eyes snapped open as soon as the cup left her fingers.

  “What are you doing? That’s my cup.” She plucked it from Shelby’s grip and set it before her on the table. “I wasn’t finished drinking my tea.”

  “Sorry,” said Shelby, slumping back into her chair. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. I was praying for guidance in this situation.” She peered down into her cup. “Of course, I did that for so long my tea’s gone cold.”

  “Here, give that to me.” Shelby made another cup of tea and handed it to Anne. “I don’t know what to do, Anne. I’ve made such a muck of it.”

  “It’s certainly a doozy, I’ll give you that much.” Anne contemplated Shelby over the rim of the teacup. “First things first. Did you pray about all of it?”

  “Oh yes, did I ever.”

  “Good. You’re on the right track. Now, did you ask Beau to forgive you?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well start with that then,”
quipped Anne, raising one elegant eyebrow. “And see what happens.”

  “Okay.” Shelby nodded. It was an easy first step. She could do this. “But I still have to figure out what to do about Dana. I can’t believe she did that to me.”

  “She did get you fired, dear.” Anne’s eyes crinkled at the corners although she wasn’t quite smiling. “The first thing you need to do is ask her for your paintings back. If she refuses? We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

  Shelby soaked up Anne’s calm and let it focus her on the tasks before her. Having to apologize to Beau was going to be hard, but the alternative was something she did not want to contemplate. She felt something unwind inside her now that there was a plan and she even managed to smile at Anne. “I can do this.”

  “Yes, dear, you can.”

  “I can’t do this.” Shelby stared at her reflection in the driver side vanity mirror. “I know I said I could yesterday. But I can’t. What if he refuses to talk to me?” She closed her eyes, and the worst-case scenario played through in her head. It made her want to crawl into a hole and never come back out. Her eyes popped open and, to her chagrin, her eyelashes were not only wet but had left a smudge beneath each eye.

  Shelby forced out a quick, disgusted snort. “Of course, my mascara smudged.” After adjusting her mascara—and vowing never to wear that particular brand again—she took a deep breath and headed into the ranch house. The halls echoed with her shouted “Good morning,” but a response never came.

  “And this is how my day is going to go.” She struggled out of her jacket and hung it on the only hook open on the coat rack then shoved her purse into the bottom drawer of her desk. “That’s okay though. I’ll just leave him a note or something.” It was the perfect solution, and Shelby congratulated herself on such clever thinking. She walked over to his desk, wrinkled her nose at the mess he’d left, and found a blank sticky note.