Perfect Family (25 page)

So why had he reverted to form? Why had he chased her away?

For all the reasons he'd given her. For once he'd tried to be noble. She was a match to the tinderbox that was this family. Sarah didn't realize the danger she was courting. Jessica was asking too many questions, insisting on too many answers. She wasn't going to quit.

Except perhaps now.

Perhaps he
had
scared her away now. He just wished that he felt better about it, that he didn't feel he'd just lost something very good. He'd never been so attracted to a woman, not in so many ways.

The passion that had erupted between them had … stunned him. Hell, it had terrified him. The sexual stirring was explainable. The emotional one was not.

He'd never believed in love at first sight. He'd never believed in lifetime commitment. He was the imperfect result of an imperfect marriage. His father had cheated on Sarah over and over again, and she'd continually forgiven him. His birth mother had been more than a little careless with her body, and his grandmother had watched her daughter die of alcoholism. Not much of a background to offer someone.

He didn't see much good in other marriages, either. Samantha lived only as Marc's wife. She'd given up every part of herself to be his shadow. Cullen's wife was perennially dissatisfied; she'd always wanted more than he could give her, which had guided him into overly risky ventures.

Ross had often counted himself lucky not to be infected by the emotion people called love. He'd always been able to put any woman from his mind.

Until now.

He wanted to be with Jessica, spend time with her. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted a lot more than that. She'd awakened something in him, had made him yearn for more than he had.

But Jessica could topple Sarah's house of cards. He couldn't let that happen, no matter what
he
wanted. He only wished Sarah understood that, too.

Timber whined.

He reached down and rubbed the animal behind the ears. “It looks like it'll be just the two of us,” he said, then wondered why he'd ever thought anything else.

It was more than time to go home. She wanted to fold her arms around Ben, to receive his unconditional love. She wanted Sol's equally unconditional friendship.

Why did she ever think she could fit into a family? Especially a family like the Clementses.

No wonder Harding had run like a scalded cat.

She buried her head in her hands. She'd barely, just barely, managed to keep tears from streaking down her cheeks. She kept hearing Ross's words over and over again.
Rape
. Seeing Marc's eyes as he accused his cousin of attempted murder. Feeling Sarah's tension. Sarah had known far more than she'd ever divulged, even as she'd pushed Jessie into Ross's arms.

She hadn't had to push very hard.

The phone rang.

Jessie debated a moment on whether to answer it. She just wanted to pack, bury herself in the bed, and leave early in the morning. She would get the first available flight home, whatever it was.

She could be home tomorrow afternoon. She didn't really ever want to hear the Clements name again. She no longer wanted to know their secrets.

The phone continued to ring.

She finally reached for it.

“Jessica?” Alex's voice was concerned.

“Yes,” she said.

“I'm at the ranch. Sarah said you tore off like the hounds of hell were after you.”

They had been
. She wasn't going to admit that to Alex, however. “I wasn't feeling well,” she said instead. It was partly true, anyway,

“What about supper?”

She remembered that she had agreed to it. One last meeting. She would make it clear she didn't want anything from the Clements family, that she just wanted to go home and retrieve her quiet but safe life. “All right,” she said.

There was a pause. He obviously heard her lack of enthusiasm. “I'll be there in thirty minutes,” he said.

“I'll be ready.” She tried to force a more positive note in her voice, yet she doubted she could eat a bite. She was still sick to her stomach.

After she replaced the phone in the cradle, she sat on the bed several moments. So much had happened today.

She recalled how Ross had looked. How grim his mouth had been. How shuttered his eyes as he had admitted to rape.

Or had he?

She tried to remember everything he'd said, and how he'd said it.
Police record. You would have heard about it sooner or later
.

Don't
, she told herself.
Don't analyze everything. Don't hope. Don't expect
.

How many times had she told herself those things in the past?

You have a good life. A safe life. A comfortable life. You have Ben and Sol and friends and peace
.

But is that enough now?

It would have to be
.

She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red, her hair mussed, her cheeks without color. She looked terrible. Muttering to herself, she splashed cold water over a thick washcloth and washed her face. A start. Not much of one, but a start.

She leaned against the door. The image of Ross's face wouldn't leave her mind. If only she could separate him from the flashbacks of her own rape so many years ago. She'd been too afraid to say anything, even when her father was fired, even when he died. Who would believe her over the heir apparent of a prominent family? Who would believe that her father, known for his drinking, was fired because that young scion of her father's employer was afraid of what she might say?

She'd lived with both shames all these years, the shame of violation and the shame of saying nothing.

Jessie closed her eyes. She didn't want to think of it. She'd shut it away in a closet for so many years. The nightmares had faded. The panic attacks had grown fewer and then disappeared. Until this afternoon.

She opened her eyes again, then saw to her face. Lipstick. A little blush. A touch of mascara. She seldom used more. But she still looked pale.

Pale would have to do.

She ran a brush through her short hair, then went to her closet. She'd used most of her wardrobe. But tonight was not a date. Tonight was a good-bye.

Jessie selected the pale-blue silk blouse she'd worn before and a pair of slacks. She looked at her watch. She still had fifteen minutes before Alex was due to arrive.

She opened the door and went outside. A thin coral ring separated a dusk-blue sky from the earth. She shivered, though the evening air was warm. Her brief journey in Wonderland was over.

She remembered the last words of the tale: “Ever drifting down the stream—/Lingering in the golden gleam—”

Sedona was a golden place. But like Alice, she didn't belong.

She walked to the back, to the creek that bubbled merrily along. She sat on a big rock, knowing that Alex would check back here if she didn't answer his knock.

It was more than thirty minutes before she heard footfalls. She turned and looked up at him. One of the hotel lights framed his figure.

“Hi,” he said.

There was something very simple about his greeting that made the tears come back to her eyes. It denoted friendship. Acceptance for who and what she was.

“Hi,” she replied.

He gave her his hand and helped her to his feet. The touch didn't scorch her as Ross's did. He didn't arouse her emotions, either. Her nerves didn't tingle at his nearness, nor did her belly grow hot with yearning. But she was suddenly grateful for his presence.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly.

“Should I ask why?”

“Not now.”

“All right,” he said. “What would you like to eat?”

“Something informal,” she said.

“Will Italian do?”

She nodded. In truth, she didn't care. She would get through this night, then leave.

His hand still around hers, he led her to his car. He knew when to be silent, and she appreciated it. She also appreciated the fact that the silence wasn't awkward.

She peered out the window, taking her last looks at a place that was part magic. They went by the New Age stores, the trading posts, then past several new housing developments. She was reminded of what Sarah had said earlier. “What do you think?” she said.

“About what?”

“About all the development? Weren't you born here?”

He nodded. “I'm one of the few natives, along with the Clementses.”

“Do you approve?”

“I don't approve or disapprove,” he said. “I don't think anyone could have stopped it.”

She didn't answer. There
was
a way. People could stop selling land. But he already knew that.

He stopped at a Mediterranean-styled building that looked sleek and expensive. It wouldn't be Ross's idea of informal.
Dammit. Stop thinking of him
.

This time she waited for him to come around and open the door. She needed that small courtesy, that touch of grace. He gave her a cocky grin, just as if he knew what she was thinking.

He touched her elbow lightly as they walked to the door and were seated immediately by a maître d' who obviously knew Alex.

Alex ordered a bottle of wine, then they both ordered their entrées. After the waiter had poured a glass of wine, she played with the glass. “What happened at the ranch?” she asked.

“Ross, you mean?” he replied with his own question.

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Nothing. I doubt if this will go any further. Marc doesn't want the publicity and I doubt whether he really believes Ross was responsible.”

“Do you believe he could be?”

“No,” he said, to her surprise.

“He told me he had a record.”

Alex shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

She wanted to ask about the rape, but something held her back. An invasion of Ross's life? Her own? Or didn't she want to know? She changed the subject. “He also told me about the will,” she said. “Why didn't you?”

There it was. The question. She'd asked it. She hadn't known until this moment that she would.

His gaze met hers. “I'm the family's attorney. They wanted it that way. And I agreed. We didn't know if you were actually the heir or not. And personally—” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “I thought it better you get to know them without the will clouding your judgment.”

“You thought it would?”

“I didn't know.”

An honest answer. One of the few she had received.

“I don't want anything,” she said. “And I certainly don't want to be part of a family fight.”

His glass of wine was halfway to his lips. He very slowly lowered it. His gaze studied her. After a moment, he asked, “Don't you think you should wait until you get the results of the DNA test to make that decision?”

“No,” she replied sharply. “I want everyone to know up front. I don't want to be involved with all the … games going on.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Games?”

“The secrets, the accusations, the one-upmanship.”

He was silent for a moment. “Because of what happened today?”

“Oh that's just one of several things,” she said. “In addition to a congressman almost getting killed and accusations that Ross did it, there's silences when I come into a room, history that no one wants me to know about, getting lost at night when my companion disappears, a few burglaries in Atlanta and an intruder here.” It all came out in a rush of words.

“Burglaries? Intruder?” His surprise, and dismay, was evident.

She hadn't meant to mention them. But now … perhaps it was time. “The day I received the invitation to the reunion, my cottage was burglarized. A few days ago, the bookstore was.”

“And the intruder?”

“I believe someone was in my room,” she said. “Some … of my things were not as I left them.”

“Could you be mistaken? About your room, I mean?” His lips were grim. So was the expression in her eyes.

“Yes. That's why I didn't say anything. But I don't think I'm wrong.” She continued to watch him carefully. He could well have been in Atlanta during the burglary at her home. But not the second one at the shop.

“It could be coincidence,” he said after a moment.

She regarded him steadily. “It could,” she agreed cautiously.

“But you don't believe it?”

“I don't believe in cheap bridges, either,” she said. “But I can't understand what anyone would want of mine.” She waited a moment, then fired. “Do
you?
”

Something flickered in his eyes. “No,” he said. But she knew he was lying. Well, he'd lied before. At least by omission.

“I'm leaving in the morning,” she said.

“I'll let you know when the DNA test results are in.” She noted he didn't try to dissuade her.

“I'm not sure I want to know now,” she said.

He smiled, the old easy grin. “Well, the machinery has started. If it matches, and I'm sure now it will, you will have to take some action about the inheritance, even if you do decide to decline it.”

“I wish that firm had never found me.”

“No, you don't, Jessica. You're too smart not to want to know. You're too curious. I know it's all overwhelming. But there's a lot of good things about the Clements family.”

“And what side are you on?”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“To sell or not to sell?”

“I don't have a side,” Alex replied.

“You're just an objective onlooker? Why don't I believe that?”

“It's my job to be objective, to represent the collective will.”

“And no personal opinion at all?”

“A good attorney doesn't have those.”

“Isn't that what a good attorney does? Advise?”