Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance)

by Roz Denny Fox

  Starr’s head pounded furiously. She wanted to get up. She needed to get up. But she couldn’t. It was so cold. Maybe those sheep froze. Smiling, Starr reached for a rainbow that hovered above her. It glittered in the wind, but kept evading her grasp. Starr gave up chasing it. She was thirsty. Strange. She’d had that nice drink from the stream....

  Oh, God! She had to get back to the ranch. If she didn’t, who would learn the truth? Would some other chemist know to test the water?

  A worse thought hit her. If she didn’t find the pinto soon, what would become of SeLi? Wanda Manning would win, after all.

  “Oh, please no! Clay,” she cried softly. His image floated. He didn’t want her out in a storm. He would come. “Clay!” This time she screamed his name and heard it bounce away on the wind. Then she pitched forward, and her head struck a jagged rock.

  The wind was cold, but the snow was soft. So soft....

  * * *

  CLAY HEARD her call. At least he thought he heard a shriek on the wind that sounded like his name. He listened closely for a repeat and heard nothing but the fury of an escalating blizzard.

  Gripped by fear from the moment he’d hauled in the riderless pinto right after the storm broke, Clay worried that maybe he’d taken the wrong turn at the fork. Only a fool would navigate Tahquitz Pass in the face of this storm.

  But he’d seen a dead ewe and footprints. Starr had come this way, he was sure. Had she gone back and turned at the fork and gotten lost?

  Dear Lord, he couldn’t see a foot in front of him. He forged grimly on, leading the pinto mare.

  His horse stumbled—over something lying on the trail. The gelding reared, nearly unseating Clay. With all his strength, he subdued the animal. It took him longer to fight the spooked pinto into submission.

  What was that on the trail? A jacket? My God! It was Starr!

  Clay’s heart slammed against his ribs, and the battering wind drove Starr’s name deep into his throat, choking off his breath as he dismounted.

  Near as he could tell, she wasn’t breathing. Driven by panic, he lifted her and covered her blue lips with his own. It was faint, but he felt a tiny thread of warm breath. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  He had neither blanket nor slicker with him. Clay cursed his lack of foresight. Knowing she was close to hypothermia, he slipped out of his fleece-lined jacket and carefully wrapped her in it. He ignored the wet snow that seeped through his own flannel shirt and cooled his skin.

  It wasn’t easy, but he held her and mounted the gelding, urging the horse down a trail he could no longer see. He’d tied the pinto’s lead to his saddle horn, and her nervousness was affecting his own horse. Bad weather hampered their descent. Time was suddenly his enemy. Lord, but they could both freeze up here on this peak. What if he never got to tell her that he’d been wrong about her association with his brother?

  “You’ve been a real fool, McLeod,” he muttered. The wind hurled his words back in his face. The bay stumbled and the pinto whinnied in fright. All at once, off to Clay’s right, loomed a welcome sight. The ranger’s cabin. It looked like a solid fortress against the opaque backdrop.

  He tethered the horses to a lean-to that held firewood and stumbled to the cabin with his precious burden.

  The cabin door was firmly hasped. Swearing, Clay splintered the wood with one well-aimed kick of his boot. Wilderness cabins should be left unlocked for emergencies. He would deal with the damage later.

  Carefully he placed Starr on one of the daybeds angled near an old stone fireplace. A quick glance revealed that the two-room structure, built to house two rangers for several months’ duration, boasted many comforts of home.

  Clay dismissed the galley kitchen. Food was not a priority. His gaze settled on a shelf of radio equipment. He felt Starr’s weak pulse and decided to build a fire first. After that, he’d call the ranch.

  When the fire had taken on life and the room was starting to warm, he hurried back to her side. She moaned once and shifted beneath the heavy load of blankets he’d heaped on her. Heartened by that one small sound, he softly stroked her cheek. There was a fairly large bump on her forehead. She must have been thrown, as he’d originally feared.

  A short while later he felt it was safe to leave her long enough to make that call.

  “Hank, Hank—it’s Clay,” he yelled into the microphone and strained to hear over the static. “Yes, I found her. We’re out of the storm,” he assured the old foreman. “Weather’s making one hell of a mess out there. I think Patches threw Starr. She’s mostly out, but slowly coming around.” He listened again, holding the headset close to his ear.

  “No. Don’t even consider rescue in this storm. Ask Vanessa to look out for the little girl, will you? And Hank...for the moment, her mother’s condition is between you and me.” Clay threw a worried glance toward Starr’s still form. “If she doesn’t come to soon, I’ll check her over and buzz you back so we can figure out what to do.”

  At Hank’s affirmative response, Clay clicked off, sighing heavily. What if she had internal injuries? He knew it was futile to attempt an airlift in this weather. He felt powerless, and he hated the feeling.

  Bending over her, he searched her pale face for signs of consciousness. Her cheeks were translucent. Clay didn’t like the bluish tinge around her mouth, or the way her dark lashes lay against her cheeks without so much as a flicker.

  In spite of the heat now spewing from the mound of crackling logs and the warmth of five wool blankets, her skin still felt icy to his touch.

  Maybe the angry bruise on her forehead was to blame, but she seemed to be sleeping like Rip van Winkle. Several times he called her name sharply. No response.

  Reluctantly Clay decided it was getting warm enough for a more detailed examination. With great care, he removed the blankets one by one. Next he slid her from her jacket. Following that, he peeled away the pink cardigan. When he wormed her out of the white turtleneck, the tight neck of the fabric brushed the goose egg near her hairline and made her moan.

  Damn, he hated the thought of hurting her, but a broken rib might mean a punctured lung. Holding his breath, he felt carefully along her ribs. “No marks. No unusual indentations.” He let out his breath. “Thank God.”

  Then, he loosened her belt. After a moment’s hesitation, he unsnapped and unzipped her worn jeans. Lord, he hadn’t realized they were soaking wet from the snow. Ripping off her boots, he quickly shucked her out of the clinging, cold denim. Her feet were like cubes of ice. He rubbed them but to no avail. As he went to wrap her securely in a blanket, his breath caught. A large, discolored bruise spread across her thigh and disappeared under the left leg of lace-edged underpants.

  It bothered him to think she’d been thrown from one of his horses, but the bruise was consistent with that type of fall. Still, the injuries he could see didn’t explain her total lack of response. Puzzled, Clay covered her once again with the pile of blankets. Tucking each one beneath the daybed’s mattress. Forced to be content with the knowledge that her breathing remained steady, he dragged over a chair and began a silent vigil.

  Minutes ticked into hours. Deep rumblings in his stomach told him it was past time to eat. Not interested for himself, he did leave briefly to take care of the animals’ needs. There was no letup in the weather, so he broke the lock on an old equipment shed and moved the horses in out of the driving snow. After fighting his way back to the cabin, the only concession Clay made to his own needs was to remove his wet boots at the door.

  Starr’s pale features claimed his full attention. So intense was his absorption, he nearly missed her broken request for water. Several times she mumbled, “Water,” before he understood and ran to fill a glass.

  His hands shook as he lifted her head. He knew her asking for water was a good sign. A great weight dropped from his shoulders.

  Her lashes fluttered open as he held the glass to her lips. The smoky centers of her eyes were huge black orbs that crowded out the color. She said nothin
g and didn’t appear to know him. Although, after draining the glass, she seemed less agitated.

  He buzzed the ranch, reported the minute change and returned to his anxious watch at her bedside. Soon, feeling the effects of the long day, Clay’s head slid to the wing of the rocker. He let his thoughts drift. His scraped knuckles still stung from his fight with Harrison, but it was nothing compared to the agony of finding Starr’s riderless pinto. It was sheer luck that he’d found Starr. Sheer, dumb luck.

  Clay awoke with a start. He was disoriented and unable to comprehend the sharp pain shooting up his neck. Memory flooded back, and he bolted upright. The fire burned low. The cabin creaked and shook. Wind. Heavy gusts. The storm had not abated. If anything, it’d grown worse.

  Starr’s condition had obviously changed. Where before she lay passive, now she thrashed. He reached to straighten her blankets. Several layers had slipped, leaving her limbs exposed. Clay covered her and cursed whatever weakness had made him fall asleep.

  “Brrr.” It was chilly. Rising, he added kindling and a log to the dying embers. On his way back, Clay yawned and eyed the second daybed. Though every muscle in his body begged for deliverance, he refused to lie down. He wanted to keep an eye on Starr.

  It was a good thing too. Her restlessness increased. By midnight, Clay was unable to keep blankets on her. When his fingers made accidental contact with her leg, he was shocked by the iciness of her skin. Ever so gently, he buttoned the cardigan around her shoulders.

  Unfortunately her jeans were stiff in some places and still too damp in others for her to wear them.

  For untold moments Clay watched her shiver. Then, with a muffled oath, he shed his own shirt and jeans and climbed under the blankets to warm her with his body. Uncaring that she might damn him in the morning, Clay hooked an arm over her breasts and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Ranchers learned early that if body heat slipped away, progress was all downhill.

  God, she felt cold. His skin recoiled from contact with her floundering legs. Gritting his teeth, he curled around her. Icy or not, it felt right to hold her in his arms.

  She settled instantly. After a bit his arms relaxed and he snuggled down, savoring her sweet womanly scent. Swamped by feelings of tenderness, Clay rubbed his day’s growth of beard against her soft curls. It would be wonderful to curl up like this with her every night and awaken beside her every morning. All he asked was an opportunity to tell her.

  Little by little he felt her skin grow warm. And he smiled.

  He thought of all the time they’d wasted on mutual suspicion when he could have been learning more about her. He wanted to know everything. She seemed dedicated to her work, and she took motherhood seriously. That much he knew. He’d been wrong about his brother being her lover, but now Clay wondered—did she have another?

  A swift stab of jealousy struck without warning. He didn’t want any more mistrust between them; as if he could ensure that by holding her close, he wrapped her even tighter in his arms.

  Then he slept.

  Starr awakened once in the middle of the night. Not a complete waking, but the twilight kind where the body shifts, then burrows deep into the warmth of the bedding again. Something nagged at her.

  She opened one eye. Her head felt fuzzy, but her ears picked up the steady howl of the wind. She muttered thanks for a toasty bed.

  Even then her chemist’s brain registered something amiss. It was more than the persistent dull throb at the base of her skull. Her lips were uncommonly dry and her tongue shied away from an unpleasant sweetness.

  Starr freed a hand to rub her forehead. At that very moment, her backside struck a warm, immovable object. Experimentally she reached behind to explore.

  Her fingers brushed and identified a hair-roughened leg. She whipped over so fast it made her head spin.

  On seeing a sleepy-eyed Barclay McLeod hogging the blankets, she covered her mouth with the flat of her hand and stifled a scream.

  “Hey, quit stealing the covers,” he grumbled, wrapping strong fingers around the top blanket to tug it back.

  His soft breath warmed Starr’s neck as the muscled arm that lay across her midriff tightened. Quite naturally, it seemed, his eyes closed and his tousled head drifted back to his pillow.

  Stifling a second panicked scream, Starr studied the long, dark lashes that lay against his stubbled cheek. Was she crazy? Or dreaming?

  Suddenly he shot straight out of bed and flung covers to the four winds. “Oh, my God, Starr! You’re awake!”

  Though she clearly heard every word, Starr wasn’t at all sure it was true. Careful not to move, she darted a gaze about the unfamiliar room. Following that, she deliberately pinched her arm. The pain convinced her there had to be another explanation for her unlikely bedmate. She really was awake.

  “I trust you can explain, McLeod.” Considering that her mouth felt like cotton, Starr was grateful her voice didn’t crack.

  “The storm,” he said, not knowing where to start. “Patches threw you. Don’t you remember hitting your head?”

  Starr’s fingers flew unerringly to the bump on her forehead. “Vaguely,” she muttered. But that didn’t explain her waking in her underwear beside a man who quite possibly wore less.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I let the fire die.” He looked sorry, too, as he gazed at the dead ashes in the grate.

  Why was he being so nice? Had something else happened that she didn’t remember? She felt headachy. Drugged. Not the way she should have felt after lovemaking. More like the flu.

  Closing her eyes, Starr asked, “Is this your bedroom? If so, where’s SeLi sleeping tonight, might I ask?”

  Damn her. All this time he’d paced the floor over her—and all she could do was act as if he’d assaulted her. Disgusted, Clay climbed out over her and went to rebuild the fire. She was relieved to notice he still wore his briefs.

  “Call me vain,” he growled, “but when I take a woman to bed, she doesn’t usually confuse the experience with being thrown from a horse and nearly freezing to death in the worst blizzard of the year.”

  “Well, excuse me all to heck. The way I ache, I thought maybe you...that we, uh... Oh, never mind.”

  “You weren’t in any condition to make love—or do anything else. In fact, you were unconscious half the time and raving out of your head the rest.” He stalked back and glared at her before he sank down on the edge of the bed.

  “Let’s not fight, Starr.” His voice softened. “I was on my way to find you—to apologize. Harrison flew in yesterday.” Clay brushed at the dried blood on his knuckles. “We cleared up a lot of misunderstandings. Stuff we should’ve cleared up sooner. That dumb plan of his to make Vanessa jealous, among others. Oh—don’t worry about SeLi. They’ll take care of her until we get back down the mountain.”

  Clay traced the bump on her head and moved his finger gently down her cheek and along the underside of her jaw. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  She could only stare at him. An apology from Barclay McLeod? Why were there so many gaps in her memory? Starr closed her eyes and felt her heart beat faster. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To have everything set straight between them?

  Slowly opening her eyes, she raised her trembling fingers to his lips.

  Heat shot like lightning through Clay’s limbs. Without saying a word, he drew her into a kiss.

  Starr melted into his arms. She reveled in the tickle of his mustache and the scrape of his unshaven jaw. When his tongue parted her lips and explored her sensitive mouth, whatever vague concerns she’d had all disappeared. How many nights had she dreamed of doing exactly this? Now, every one of those dreams was coming true.

  Clay’s lean contours welcomed the subtle softness of Starr’s curves as he slipped beneath the blankets and let their bodies entwine. He didn’t rush. Instead, he savored the taste of her lips—and other parts of her silken skin.

  Every nerve in her body answered Clay’s tender explorations with a message of its own. His kisses,
her kisses, left them both weak from wanting.

  His skin was warm in spots. Hot in others. On fire where her hands circled the waistband of his briefs. When she grew hesitant a scant heartbeat away from his arousal, Clay quickly skimmed away the last barriers of clothing that separated them.

  Her soft skin tasted sweet—so sweet. Clay feasted from her lips to the tips of her toes. More than once, and it still wasn’t enough.

  She pleasured him, as well, a scant heartbeat behind his lead. Though she was ready when he entered her, his first thrust brought such intense excitement she felt as if a hail of stars had descended on them. Smiling, she thought about the brilliant star she’d seen up on the mountain. The Christmas star. SeLi’s star. Pale compared to what she and Clay had just experienced together. She sighed in contentment.

  He kissed the undersides of her breasts and made lazy circles with his tongue. Clay had known from the first moment he set eyes on this woman that making love with her would be like this. Just as he’d known that once wouldn’t be enough. Nor twice. Nor ten thousand times. He needed a lifetime of loving her. For the very first time Barclay McLeod wanted to say, and hear in return, the words that went with the incredible experience they’d just shared.

  Starr’s satisfied smile told him the feeling was mutual—for now. But did she—would she—want him around for the long haul?

  He found it a sobering thought.

  “Starr.” Clay leaned up on one elbow and crooked a finger beneath her chin. “We have to talk.”

  Before he’d shattered the moment by speaking, Starr had been content to drift along on the outgoing tide of passion. The whys and hows of the two of them ending up in this bed making glorious love had somehow faded into insignificance. His suddenly serious tone catapulted her back to reality.

  Shocked at how easily she’d fallen into his bed after a simple I’m sorry, Starr sat up and began grabbing articles of clothing that had been abandoned where they fell. “No, we don’t,” she said coolly.

  Clay didn’t like what he glimpsed in her eyes. Yet how could he not be solicitous considering her accident? Considering everything that had happened? “Are you all right? I mean, I didn’t hurt you or anything?”