Page 16 of A Star in the West

“It really was a remarkable evening, Stella,” Frank said as she turned to face him. “You should be very proud.”

She shook her head as she did up the buttons on her coat. “No. I’ve helped put on this production for several years, and we’ve never had the kind of reception we had tonight. This was different. Special. I feel as if . . .”

Frank searched her face. “As if what?”

Stella dipped her chin. “You’ll think me fanciful.”

His hand touched her face, and she nearly forgot to breathe. Her gaze flew to his, where she found nothing but curiosity and gentle encouragement. “I deal in abstractions all the time, Stella. Fanciful is one of my favorite frames of mind.”

His thumb rubbed the edge of her cheek, and she nearly lost the thought she’d been holding back. Yet his touch, his regard, made her feel completely safe in exposing the inner workings of her heart.

“I felt as if . . . as if God were present.” Her lashes lowered. “Which is quite obvious, I suppose. God is always present. Everywhere. It is his very nature.” She raised her lashes and met his eyes. “But tonight, it felt as if his presence was purposeful. As if he were not only present but at work.”

Frank nodded. “I felt it too. I think everyone did, at some level.”

Was it her imagination, or was he drawing her closer? Stella’s belly tightened as she stared into his eyes. Eyes filled with desire. And love.

“Frank?” Her mouth suddenly dry, she struggled to make herself heard over the pounding of her heart. “I don’t want you to leave tomorrow.”

“All right. I’ll stay.” He leaned close, his mouth mere inches from her own.

“Just like that?”

“Mm-hmm.” His hand slid around her waist. A good thing, since her knees seemed to be weakening by the second.

“But what about your family? Won’t they be expecting you?” Her gaze skipped down to his lips, and a delicious lightheadedness assailed her.

He tugged softly on her neck, bringing her so close to him, she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “I want you to be my family, Stella.”

“I want that too.” So much. Her entire being ached with it. “I love you, Frank.”

His blue eyes darkened as he lowered his mouth to hers. Slowly . . . gently . . . with infinite sweetness, he kissed her, and she was reborn. The unattractive spinster she believed herself to be metamorphosed into a woman unafraid to take flight in the arms of the man she loved. Her palms spread across his chest as he deepened their kiss. She could feel his heartbeat through her fingertips, and the evidence of his desire filled her with wonder and exultation.

Along with a surge of unexpected shyness. She pushed against his chest ever so slightly, and he responded at once, separating his lips from hers and loosening his hold on her waist.

Her eyes opened and met his. Neither of them spoke, for what words could possibly do justice to what they’d experienced? Two hearts had melded into one. She belonged to him, and wherever he decided to live his life, she would follow. Without an ounce of regret.

“Frank! Stella! Come quick!”

Goldstein’s shout tore through the church storage room like a cannonball. Stella and Frank jumped apart, then ran for the door.

Heart pumping for an entirely new reason, Stella raced outside, almost colliding with a visibly shaken Goldstein.

Eyes wide, he pointed in the direction of the crèche. “The manger. Hurry.” He began to run, but since he was already winded, Frank and Stella easily outpaced him.

Mr. Muir stood at the manger, shoulders hunched and hands hovering above the trough as if unsure what to do.

“Randolph,” Frank called as they approached. “What is it?”

But for once, the esteemed professor had no answer.

A few steps ahead of her, Frank skidded to a halt, his face taking on the same unbelieving expression as his colleague. A mewling cry penetrated Stella’s senses a heartbeat before her feet brought her to the manger.

There in the straw, swaddled in a strip of blanket, lay a very unhappy newborn babe.

Chapter 9

“Oh, you poor dear.” Stella brushed past Frank and scooped up the tiny human with the scrunched, red face.