Perfect Family (22 page)

Somehow, the words didn't sound as light as they were intended. There was a bite in them.

But Sarah didn't give her a chance to digest that observation. “Come,” she said, “Let's get a cool drink while we wait for them.”

Wait for them
. Jessie wasn't at all sure that she wanted to wait for them, that she could keep her feelings as contained as Ross did, that she wouldn't look flushed and flustered. It was immensely disturbing that he was the first man to do that to her in years. It was even more disturbing that he was the type of man who was so difficult to read. He hoarded his feelings like a miser held on to his last penny.

She had some of the same tendencies—which she supposed came from their backgrounds, a lack of any real security as children. Which wasn't promising for any relationship. Not that it mattered. Ross Macleod obviously had little interest in her as a woman. He'd taken her to supper as a favor to his adopted mother, the only person he really seemed to like.

And yet she knew she couldn't leave Sarah alone. Worry had furrowed her forehead and her lips were pinched in a tight line. Those shots had obviously disturbed her more than she'd said. So she followed Sarah to the house and into the living area.

She tried to hide her own worry. But it nibbled at her. No, gnawed. She didn't know if she could bear it if anything had happened to Ross. In just a few short days, he'd become important to her. And she knew how much he meant to Sarah. “Should we call the sheriff?” she asked.

“I'll wait a bit longer,” Sarah replied, her two hands fussing nervously with each other.

“I'll get you that drink. What would you like?”

“Just a cola,” Sarah said. “You?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jessie said. She went into the kitchen and returned with two cans of cola. “Where's Samantha?”

“Probably at one of the galleries,” Sarah said. “She does a little painting and likes to see what others are doing. She likes Sedona far more than Marc, who loves the excitement of cities, of Washington.”

For some reason, that surprised Jessie. It shouldn't, she knew. But Samantha had struck her as someone who enjoyed social activities and being a politician's wife. That's what you get, she told herself, when you make assumptions about people. “I'd like to see some of her paintings.”

Sarah turned and pointed to a painting in the living room. It was a scene of one of the towering red rocks with the sun hitting against it. The red rock was reflected in a body of water beneath. The use of color was breathtaking.

“She's very good.”

“I think she could have had a very fine career had she kept at it,” Sarah said. “Being a politician's wife is very demanding, and they move between Arizona and Washington frequently.”

“Does she approve of Marc's running for the Senate?”

Sarah sighed. “I think she's given up being anything other than being Marc's perfect wife. Just as April and Hall try to be perfect children.”

Just as Jessie had tried to be the perfect daughter. She knew that was a road to disaster. “Is that what Marc wants?” The thought disappointed her. She'd liked the congressman.

Sarah shook her head. “I don't know. Samantha certainly has never faulted Marc or expressed any resentment.”

Just then, she heard a shout. Both of them ran to the door.

Marc was riding in. He was slumped in the saddle, obviously barely hanging on.

His checked shirt was red with blood. When the horse came to a stop, he slipped from the saddle and fell on the ground. Dan'l ran to him, followed by Sarah. Jessie was immediately behind them.

Dan'l bent over him, pulling aside his shirt. “What happened, sir?”

“I … was shot.”

“Who?”

“I didn't see anyone.”

“I'll call an ambulance,” Jessie said.

Sarah shook her head. “I'll drive him to the hospital. It will be faster. You stay here with him, see if you can stop the bleeding. I'll bring a car around.”

Jessie didn't have a chance to answer. Sarah was already heading into the house, probably for the keys. Dan'l had taken off his shirt and was pressing it against the wound in the shoulder.

She felt useless, helpless. She stooped next to him. “Can I help at all?”

“Find Samantha.”

Sweat had beaded on his forehead and a muscle moved in his cheek. She saw the pain in his eyes, in the set of his mouth.

“I will,” she promised, reaching down and taking his hand, giving him something to squeeze, to control.

He tried to smile. “A hunter, I suppose. A stray bullet.”

“We heard several shots.”

“So did I. I rode that way to see whether I could find out who was doing the shooting. Damn fool thing to do.”

She was startled at the sound of another rider returning. She turned.
Ross
. Timber was running behind him. Ross was off before his mount had stopped, taking quick steps over to Marc, kneeling beside him. “What in the hell …?”

She was surprised to see the sudden enmity in Marc's eyes. “Were
you
out?”

Ross's dark eyes curtained. He nodded.

“Someone shot me,” Marc said, his gaze intent on Ross.

Ross's lips firmed into a tight line.

Jessie felt the tension between the two men. She realized that Marc was blaming Ross, even accusing him. Her gaze went to the scabbard on Ross's saddle, then to his face. A chill ran through her. She'd caught some of the currents between Ross and the others, but nothing indicated they were strong enough that one might think the other meant intentional harm.

“No!” The exclamation left her mouth before she could stop it.

A car jerked to a stop next to them and Sarah jumped out. When she saw Ross, she nodded slightly. “You can help me get him into the car.”

Without a word, Ross nodded. “I'll drive him into town.” He looked down at the dog. “Stay here,” he said. Timber sat obediently.

“I'll go with you,” Jessie said.

She immediately wished she hadn't. Ross tossed her a cynical look, as if accusing her of actually believing he had something to do with Marc's injury and suggesting he might do something else on the way. But he only shrugged. “If you wish. You can keep the cloth tight against the wound.”

He leaned down and clasped Marc under his arms. Marc rose awkwardly, a moan slipping from his throat as he stood, swaying slightly. Then he shook himself away from Ross and took several steps toward the car. Jessie hurried in front of him and opened the door, offering her own arm to help him get into the seat. Then she went around to the other side and got in beside him.

“Where did it happen?” Ross asked from the driver's seat. Sarah was climbing into the front seat next to him.

Marc's lips clenched. “Near the three soldiers,” he said raggedly, and Jessie knew he was referring to a formation with three peaks. “Where were you?”

“I thought Sarah might take Jessica up to the Saddle. I was halfway there when I heard the shots.”

Why then, Jessie thought, had they not met him on the way back? Unless he'd veered off to see where the shots came from.
That's it. That's the explanation
.

But she saw the doubt in Marc's face.
Why? Surely he couldn't think
…

The questions pommeled her as Ross drove rapidly toward town. He was far exceeding the speed limit, and yet she sensed his control as she maintained the pressure on Marc's shoulder.

Marc leaned back on the seat, his eyes closed, his hands rigid against the seat. “Jessica, will you call my daughter in … Phoenix?” He rattled off a number that she tried to memorize. “Tell her to get here as fast as possible. The news media …”

Sarah broke in. “I'll call Alex. He can pressure the hospital not to make any announcements.”

“Good.”

They were all silent then. Ross reached the main highway and darted in and out of traffic, blowing the horn when he felt trapped. They reached the hospital where Jessie had been taken only two nights earlier.

Ross helped Marc inside, although it was obvious Marc was accepting his assistance only because there was no one else. Inside, a staffer at the emergency desk took one look at the bloodied shirt and rang a bell. In seconds, a white-jacketed physician's assistant had Marc in a wheelchair and had hurried him into a small room. A doctor and nurse soon followed.

Sarah made several phone calls from the public telephone, trying to locate Samantha. Jessie tried to reach April in Phoenix. No one was at the number Marc had given her. She left a message for April to return to Sedona as soon as possible.

Then Jessie sat with Sarah. She watched as Ross wandered over to the other side of the room and leaned against a window. He always looked alone, isolated. His jaw was set, his lips grim. She couldn't see his eyes, but she would wager her last cent that they gave nothing away. Marc had as much as accused him of the shooting, and he'd not raised one word in defense.

Well, she wouldn't have either. It was so obviously wrong.

She looked at the clock and wondered why hospital clocks were always slower than other clocks. Thirty minutes seemed like an hour, even two. Time crawled by.

She rose and went over to Ross. She didn't say anything, just tried to tell him by her presence that she didn't believe Marc's accusation.

He gave her a crooked smile, and her heart jumped. She wanted badly to reach out and touch him, and yet, despite the electricity that crackled between them, there was something about him that warned her off. A sign saying, “Keep away.”

Because of Marc's silent accusations?

She saw a doctor come out. Sarah went to ask the questions. Marc was Sarah's nephew. Maybe Jessie's cousin. But she found that her concern was more for Ross than Marc, and that made her feel guilty. Shouldn't she care for them all equally?

Sarah finished the conversation and approached them as the doctor left the room. The older woman's gaze caught Ross's. “They called the police because it's a gunshot wound,” she said.

“It
was
an accident,” Jessie said.

“Of course it was,” Sarah replied, “but the law requires that all gunshot injuries be reported, accidental or not.”

“How is Marc?” Jessie asked, realizing that no one had asked that question.

“The bullet just grazed his shoulder. It didn't hit anything major and it's a clean wound. He'll hurt for a while, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage. They'll fill him with antibiotics and release him.” Then she added wryly, “I imagine that he'll find some way to use it to his advantage.”

Jessie was at a loss for words. She still didn't understand all the twists of the relationships or the history behind them.

More moments passed. Then two men in uniform came in, went to the desk, then disappeared into the small room where Marc was still being tended. Jessie saw fear flit across Sarah's face, felt tension radiate from Ross's body. Her heart clenched. She wondered how—and when—she had come to care so intensely about Ross. And Sarah.

The two uniformed men came out. Jessie realized from the insignia that they were sheriff's deputies. County officers.

They went straight to Ross. “Mr. Macleod?”

Ross nodded.

“We would like to ask you some questions.”

Ross shrugged, but Jessie knew him well enough now to sense the anger in him, even the tautness of strain. “Where?”

“At our office.”

He nodded.

“I'll go with you,” Jessie said.

“No.” His voice was low, firm, absolute. “You drive Marc back.”

“Sarah can do that.”

“Sarah is the world's worst driver. I don't want anything else to happen to Marc.”

She hesitated.

“Please, Jessie.”

It was the “Jessie” that did it. Until now, he had called her Jessica despite her invitation to call her Jessie. Jessica was formal, a name used to keep her at a distance. Jessie was a friend. She wanted to be more, but for the moment it would do. “All right,” she said. “Should I ask Alex to meet you?”

“Sarah called him earlier. I'm surprised he's not here yet. But I don't need a lawyer. I'll probably be back before you are.”

“What about a car?”

“They can take me back to the Sunset.”

Jessie noted that he did not refer to the Sunset as home.

She wanted to protest again, but he didn't give her a chance. He led the way out the doors, the deputies following in his wake.

“Don't worry about Ross,” Sarah said, touching her arm. “He'll be all right.”

“But why would Marc …?”

Sarah sighed. “They've never cared for each other. There's a history there. It doesn't help that April has been aggravating the situation by chasing after Ross.”

“What kind of history?”

Sarah's mouth clamped down, and Jessie knew she wasn't going to get an answer. Not to that question. “Surely, Marc doesn't really think …”

“I don't know what he thinks,” Sarah said. “I just know Ross isn't responsible.”

More questions than answers. The main one was why Ross still managed the Sunset if Marc disliked him so much. But before she could ask it, Marc emerged from the small room in a wheelchair, his shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling. His face was pale, but he managed his charismatic grin.

“I'll live,” he said.

“I never doubted it,” Sarah said acidly. “You set them on Ross.”

“I just told them what happened. I was riding alone. I didn't see who was shooting. I said I thought it was a stray bullet from some hunter.”

“Then why did they want to question him?”

“So that's where he's gone. I simply mentioned that he was out riding today, too. They probably want to know if he saw anything.”

Sarah looked at him for a long moment, then turned away. “Let's go home.”