Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance)

by Roz Denny Fox

  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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BLEVINS 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.”