Starlight is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
2013 Ballantine eBook Edition
Copyright © 1983 by Debbie Macomber
Excerpt from Starting Now © 2013 by Debbie Macomber
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in paperback in the United States by Silhouette Books, New York, in 1983.
eISBN: 978-0-345-54523-7
Cover design : Lynn Andreozzi
Cover image © Lee Avison / GAP Photos / Getty Images
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.1
Dear Friends,
Thirty years ago I was a young housewife and mother with a big dream, and when I say big, I mean REALLY BIG. I wanted to be a novelist. I’d held this dream close to my heart from the time I was old enough to hold a book. Even as a kid I went to sleep making up stories in my head. And when I’d think about being a writer, my entire being would pulsate with a profound sense of joy.
The problem—and there were many—came from the fact that I didn’t have a good experience in school. It wasn’t commonly recognized when I was young, but I’m dyslexic and didn’t understand the concept of reading until I was ten. I’m fortunate to have graduated from high school, and then I married young. But that dream, that REALLY BIG dream, simply wouldn’t go away.
So with my husband’s encouragement, I rented a manual typewriter and set it on the kitchen table and removed it at mealtimes. Our youngest was three and the oldest was eight (yes, we had four children in five years!). The two oldest would head off for school, and Supermom became that struggling young writer.
The road to that first sale wasn’t easy. I tell people, and it’s true, that my manuscripts got rejected so quickly they hit me in the back of the head on the way home from the post office. I didn’t know another writer in the entire world. My grammar was dreadful, and I’m a creative speller—still am. But I kept my eye on the prize, and I refused to let go of that REALLY BIG dream.
Then “the call” came, and while the kids didn’t really understand what had happened to make their mother jump up and down and call everyone she knew in the entire world, they knew it was REALLY BIG because I ordered pizza for dinner that night.
Now an unbelievable thirty years have passed, and that first book I sold is about to be released in an eBook format. I showed a lot of promise, I realize, and I will always be grateful to the editor and publisher who were willing to give me a chance.
So, my friends, enjoy this classic story. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?
With warmest regards,
Debbie Macomber
P.S. I want to give out a shout of appreciation to Random House for facilitating the release of this eBook. I encourage you to check out my most recent Random House titles, The Inn at Rose Harbor and Angels at the Table.
To my daughters, Jody and Jenny,
who have always wanted me to name
characters after them
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
A Note from the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Excerpt from Starting Now
One
Karen had dreaded the party for weeks. Her father was sure to use it as another opportunity to find her a husband. She almost cringed at the thought of what lay before her—a succession of eligible men, abrupt introductions, and pointed questions. Yet she loved her godparents and wouldn’t offend them by not attending their annual Christmas party.
“Are you ready, lass?” Matthew McAlister let himself into her apartment without the courtesy of knocking.
“Honestly, Dad, one of these days you’re going to walk in here and find me stark naked,” Karen admonished with a sigh.
Matthew chuckled.
Karen laughed, too, for it was difficult to maintain an injured air when her father was in this mood.
Stepping back to survey Karen, Matthew’s eyes lit up in appreciation. “My heart swells with pride at the sight of you, lass,” he said in a strong Scottish brogue.
Karen forced herself to smile. His speech always began the same way. After admiring her beauty, he would recount the days he’d courted her mother and their marriage when Madeline was nineteen. From there he’d reiterate his growing desire for grandchildren, most particularly a granddaughter. It was always the same, to the point that Karen could have mouthed the words along with him.
“Dad,” she interrupted, “we’d better go. Snoqualmie Falls is a forty-five-minute drive.”
Surprisingly, Matthew insisted Karen drive. She did so willingly, but glanced apprehensively at her father. He looked tired and a bit ashen.
“Are you feeling okay, Dad?” she asked, hiding the concern in her voice.
“Of course I am.” He rallied somewhat. “I’m just saving myself for the grand affair. Certain demands are made of a widower these days, and the ladies are expecting a good time.”
They were greeted at the large rented hall with soft Christmas music. The room was lavishly decorated with hundreds of large, glittering snowflakes suspended from the ceiling. The reflective glow of the turning flakes cast the dimly lit room into a winter wonderland.
The hall was already crowded. Several others had arrived and were milling around, chatting in small groups and sipping champagne.
Evan Forsyth raised a welcoming hand when he saw Matthew and Karen enter, and walked purposefully toward them. The two men clasped hands with the enthusiasm of many years of devoted friendship.
Her father and Evan had been friends since their school days, and although they held separate stations in life, their friendship had never wavered. Evan Forsyth was the president of the University of Washington at Tacoma, an honored and respected man, while Matthew McAlister was a small-businessman dealing in plumbing supplies. For as long as Karen could remember, her father and godfather had played chess every Thursday night.
The annual party had begun many years before, when Karen and her sister, Judy, were small. Evan and Milly Forsyth invited a few intimate friends into their home to share the joy of the holiday season. Over the years, as Evan’s position became prominent, the size of the affair had grown to include business friends and faculty members. This year, the party was so large the Forsyths had rented a hall, their spacious home no longer large enough to hold the growing number of guests.
“Welcome, welcome,” Evan said and smiled warmly. His wife, Milly, followed close behind and embraced Karen fondly.
“I’m so pleased you could make it, my dear.”
Evan leisurely surveyed Karen, noting how the red velvet gown molded to the slender curves of her womanly figure.
“I swear you get prettier every year, Karen,” he said with a hug.
“And I swear your tongue grows smoother every year.”
Evan chuckled with delight while Milly tucked an arm around Karen’s waist to give her a slight hug. “He’s right, dear. You look radiant. And your gown suits you beautifully.”
Karen returned the hug and smiled. “It shou
ld, considering what I paid for it.”
Karen had gasped when the salesclerk had told her the price, and disregarded the woman’s complimentary words as an effective sales pitch. But now she willingly conceded that the effect of the simple but elegant style had been worth the price.
The four chatted until social obligations demanded the Forsyths’ attention. After sampling several of the hors d’oeuvres and speaking with acquaintances, Karen and her father watched as the floor was cleared to make room for dancing.
Matthew surveyed the crowd while gently directing Karen as they danced the first waltz. His eyes glowed with amusement as he remarked, “There are several available men here. Take advantage of the opportunity to snare yourself a husband.”
Karen stiffened and pulled away from her father.
Almost angrily, Matthew continued, “I can’t understand what’s the matter with men today. You’re lovely, Karen.”
“Dad, please …” A note of helplessness entered her voice. Karen was so weary of this argument. A thousand times she’d explained that the problem wasn’t with men; it was with her. So many of the men she’d dated over the years were self-centered and egotistical, seeking easy conquests and one-night stands. It was almost to the point that she’d rather not date at all. Her natural good looks and vivacious personality invited the attention. But Karen had yet to discover what it was about herself that attracted the least-desirable males.
“I’m perfectly content with my life as it is.” Karen sighed with impatience, tilting her chin defiantly.
“But I want grandchildren …”
“You have grandchildren,” Karen reminded him coolly. “What do you call James and Carter?”
“I want a granddaughter.” Matthew flashed her a disputatious look.
“Dad,” Karen pleaded, “let’s not argue tonight. You have grandchildren, and more than likely you’ll have your precious granddaughter.” Karen didn’t know how much more she could endure. Matthew had applied constant pressure on her to marry for the past six months. The argument had nearly ruined their close relationship. Unable to endure his interference with her life, Karen had moved into her own apartment. It was a move long overdue. It’d been convenient to live at home and easy to rationalize her father’s need for her after her mother’s death. Much to her chagrin, Matthew sold their home and moved into an apartment in the same building as Karen. If anything, matters had gotten worse.
As they continued to waltz across the room, Karen caught sight of Mabel Jackson, an aging widow who’d made no effort to disguise her attraction to Matthew. Turnabout is fair play, she mused, and giggled devilishly.
“Do you find something amusing, lass?” Matthew asked curiously.
“No. Excuse me, Dad. I see someone I’d like to talk to.” Cleverly, she weaved her way through the thick couples toward the widow.
“Mrs. Jackson, you look lovely tonight,” Karen greeted sweetly.
Mabel Jackson ignored the greeting and craned her long neck to stare into the dancing figures.
“Is your father here?” she asked with obvious interest.
“He sure is. In fact, it was my father who commented on how radiant you look. Dad said he’d never seen anyone more lovely.”
“He did?” The woman beamed and smoothed the hairs of her lopsided wig.
“You know, Mrs. Jackson, my father is a lonely man. He’d never admit it, of course, but Dad needs a woman. A real woman.” Karen stared into the crowd, unable to meet the widow’s triumphant gaze.
Mabel Jackson positively glowed. “My dear child, I’m so glad we’ve had this little talk. Leave your father to me.”
Karen smiled broadly and felt that even if she ended up disinherited, the taste of revenge was indeed sweet.
In a matter of minutes, several men were vying for Karen’s attention. She danced with a number of partners, young and old, her infectious laughter ringing through the hall as she surrendered to a swelling tide of triumph. Not once was she interrupted by her father’s forcing what he considered eligible men on her. An hour later, she managed to catch Matthew’s eye and winked wickedly as he waltzed by in the arms of Mabel Jackson. Matthew cast her a look that threatened bodily harm, and Karen burst into helpless giggles.
A moment later, she caught sight of her father’s angry stride as he wove through the crowd toward her. Wishing to avoid the taste of his Scottish temper, she hastily sought an escape. A curtained glass door leading to a balcony caught her attention. Unnoticed, she quietly slipped into the dark, leaving her father perplexed by her sudden disappearance.
Peering through the sheer curtain, Karen waited impatiently for Matthew to abandon his search.
“I beg your pardon,” came a deep voice from behind her as she backed into a solid form.
“Oh! Excuse me.” She fumbled and quickly straightened. “I didn’t realize there was anyone out here.”
“Obviously,” came the clipped reply as he stared into the dark. Karen watched him for a few minutes, but he made no effort to meet her gaze.
“Would you mind sharing your hideaway for a minute?” she asked sweetly, and deliberately blinked her long, curling lashes at his impassive expression. Men were usually quick to respond to her expressive brown eyes.
“Suit yourself,” he retorted unenthusiastically, and continued to stare into the night.
Undaunted by his lack of welcome, Karen joined him at the railing and searched the sky to discover what was so fascinating. The night was cold, crisp, and clear; the stars shone with a brilliant intensity.
“Leave it to my godfather to order a star display for the night of his party,” Karen murmured. Her gaze returned to the stranger’s face and swept his appearance. He wore a trim-fitting, dark wool suit that hugged his slim hips and long legs. The harsh contours of his face remained blank under her examination.
“Look!” Karen exclaimed, pointing her finger to the sky and counting the stars. “It’s Perseus. I can’t remember when I’ve seen the constellation stand out so clearly. You do see it, don’t you?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” he remarked dryly.
“Sure you do. Just look a little to your left,” she persisted.
“Listen,” he snapped impatiently, “whatever your name may be—”
“Karen McAlister,” she interrupted, “and you’re …?”
“Randall Prescott,” he replied in a voice that spoke plainly of trepidation.
“Well, look again. It’s up there plain as day.” She pointed to it again for his benefit. “Really, it’s very clear, if you’ll just look …”
“Mrs. McAlister …”
“Miss,” Karen informed him cheerfully.
“Miss McAlister …” he tried again.
“Please call me Karen.”
Drawing in a breath as if to hold on to his limited patience, he began again. “Karen … Miss McAlister … whatever it is you wish to be called, I cannot view your precious Perseus, and I shall never view it. I’m blind!”
Karen felt the full impact of shock. After a moment of startled silence, she blurted out, “Oh, dear, Mr. Prescott, I do apologize.”
“Randall,” he interrupted.
“I had no idea, Randall. I …”
“Please call me Rand,” he taunted softly.
“All right, Rand,” she replied, a smile evident in her voice, “but please accept my apology.”
“An apology is unnecessary; my blindness cannot be attributed to your faults,” he countered stiffly.
“No, of course not, but I was being obtuse.”
He turned toward her then, allowing for the first time a clear view of his rugged features. He certainly didn’t fit her image of what a blind man might look like. His face was boldly defined, almost ruthless. There was a magnetic quality about his dark brown eyes that captured her gaze.
“I don’t suppose you came out here without your coat to view the stars?” he asked roughly, as if aware of her eyes studying him.
“How do you
know I’m not wearing a coat?” she asked. Was this unnerving man playing her for a fool?
A sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I don’t. But I suspect the slight quiver in your voice is from a chill.”
Karen suddenly realized she was cold. Snoqualmie Falls was only a few minutes from the summit of Snoqualmie Pass, over the Cascades. The bitter December wind bit into her.
“Why are you hiding?” he asked, more gently. “Is someone bothering you?”
“Oh, heavens, no!” she quickly assured him, but paused. “Well, yes and no. I routed a persistent widow toward my father and was sure to taste his anger had I remained inside.”
Rand smiled at her predicament, his roguish features relaxing his expression. “I’m sure the whole incident has been forgiven. You can’t stay here. You’ll freeze.”
It was clearly a dismissal, and Karen felt strangely disappointed. She wanted to stay and learn more about this enigmatic stranger. He was the first man to really interest her in a long while. She hovered in the doorway, hoping to find an excuse to remain, but found none.
“Are you coming, too?”
“Later,” he replied indifferently, and appeared bored with her company.
Karen could only leave. “Then perhaps we’ll meet again,” she said softly.
“It’s unlikely,” he mumbled, as if he hadn’t intended her to hear. She watched as he returned to the railing.
Karen didn’t immediately see her father once she’d entered the warmth of the large reception hall. Mrs. Jackson was standing near the orchestra, waving her hand impatiently in an attempt to gain the conductor’s attention.
“Here you are.”
The voice startled Karen, and she jerked around to see her godfather. “Uncle Evan.” She placed a trembling hand over her heart to dramatize her fright. “You’re worse than a thief in the night.”
Evan Forsyth’s eyes twinkled. “Your father’s looking for you.”
Karen lowered her gaze, a little ashamed of her ploy. As much as Matthew irritated her, she loved him and realized he had only her best interests at heart.
“I suppose he’s still angry?” she asked.