Perfect Family (39 page)

“Thank you for being kind to Sarah,” he said, releasing her hand.

Her world chilled.

“It's easy to do. I like her.”

“You will come back again?” A muscle struggled in his cheek, and she sensed he wanted to say more.

“Now that I own a piece. You betcha.”

His lips curled into a smile, a wider one now. It was more glorious for its rarity. The spare face and all its angles softened.

“I'll look forward to it,” he said.

“Will you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why unfortunately?” She was tired of his evasions.

He shrugged. “A lot of reasons.”

“Name just one.”

“Okay.” His eyes darkened. “I have Apache blood.”

“Who cares about that?”

“A lot of people in Arizona.”

“I'm not one of them.”

He turned away from her. “What did Sarah tell you about me?”

“Very little. Just that you came to live with them when you were twelve. That both your mother and grandmother had died. And that you were wild.”

“An understatement. My mother slept with any man who would buy her a drink. You can't possibly know how many ‘uncles' I had, nor how many times I heard ‘Indian whore' or worse when my mother would try to rob them. In the end, I stole to keep her alive. But it didn't do any good. She didn't have a liver left.”

Jessie hurt for him, ached for a boy who'd seen too much and never had a childhood.

“I was ten when she died, and I was shipped off to my grandmother, who was Indian. She was a full-blooded Apache who'd married a white man and was shunned by both races. He left her before my mother was born. Didn't want an Indian brat. I lived with her on a reservation for two years. She was forty-eight when she died, and she looked eighty. I was sent to a foster home, then another. No one kept me long, but then I didn't want to be kept. I knew that if I formed an attachment to anyone, they would die or go away or send
me
away. So I made all the trouble I could, just daring them to send me back to Social Services.” He smiled, but this time it was a tight grimace.

“How did you happen to end up with Sarah?” she said.

“A social worker was at her wit's end. She finally went back and reviewed all my records, looking for a relative. She saw David's name and hunted him down. I think she went through a hundred Macleods. Then she discovered he was dead. But Sarah was interested, and they decided to give it a try.

“It wasn't easy. I hated my father. He'd left me and he'd left my mother. He'd never sent one cent. I couldn't imagine that Sarah would want her dead husband's bastard. I still don't know why she did it. Nor why she kept me. I did everything I could to discourage her.”

“She loves you as if you were her own.”

“It took me a long time to figure that out. Years, in fact.”

“But you still call her Sarah?”

“In my experience, that was a far better word than
mother
.”

She was silent. She'd learned long ago that silence was often the best prompter.

His lips curved upward again. Not exactly a smile. “You're an easy woman to be with. Has anyone told you that?”

She didn't know how to reply to that. The answer was, of course, no. But that was because she'd not been with many men.

Still, she understood what he'd just said, and the scars his childhood had left on him. She'd felt the taint of being abandoned by her mother. She knew what it felt like to be used by someone she thought she loved. But his blows had all been more powerful than hers. He'd not been able to trust anyone, not his mother, not the foster homes, not his first love. He'd built barriers to protect himself, and Sarah apparently had been the only person ever to breach them. Jessie knew how high those walls could be. She had constructed a few of her own.

She also knew what he was telling her. His barriers were still in place.

The knowledge was bitter. She'd had a fleeting glimpse of magic, and she wanted it to last. But she had seen too many women who thought they could change the man they wanted. It rarely, if ever, happened.

He was obviously still guarding his heart, and she didn't know if he would ever open it. She was right in leaving while
her
heart was still intact. Or was it?

He was watching her with those dark eyes. Speculating? Desiring? Regretting? She didn't know. She didn't know if she would ever be able to decipher them. But the air was still charged between them, and she knew if she didn't leave now, she might never leave. “I have to get back,” she said in a voice that seemed uncertain even to her.

“Yes,” he said simply.

She hated that simple acquiescence. She wanted him to take her in his arms and stroke her with the gentleness she remembered. No more confidences today. Certainly no request for her to stay. That blurted-out “Then don't go” earlier didn't qualify.

But he'd turned his attention to scanning the area. He called for his dog. In seconds, Timber came in a long-legged lope and stopped beside Ross.

Jessie settled into the saddle and watched as he mounted his own horse. His face was set in hard, implacable lines as he started back down the trail. It didn't change when they met Sarah below.

The moment of magic was gone.

twenty-three

Silence met Jessie and Sarah as they entered the house—the kind of intense, expectant silence that indicated it had stopped just for the newcomers. Or because of them.

Marc wore his politician's face. Bland and friendly. Cullen, however, was obviously unhappy. She watched emotions pass over his face. Disappointment. Even resentment. Then it faded. No, she corrected herself silently. It didn't fade. It was managed away. She had the impression of a play-dough face forced by determined hands to transform from one expression to another. It fascinated her. He was furious, but he was doing his damnedest to hide it.

Sarah must have felt the tension, but she simply smiled at each one of them, and found a seat.

Marc frowned. “Dan'l said you went for a ride. Should you be doing that, Sarah?” There was just a touch of censure for Jessie, as if accusing her of hauling off his aunt. Was that why the tension radiated in the room? They were worried about Sarah?

That's what they wanted her to believe. But she wasn't going to apologize, not for doing what Sarah wanted. Nor for her earlier decision.

Cullen stood, his usual courtly manner back in place. “Jessie? Sarah? Would you like a drink?”

Jessie considered the offer, then declined. “I'd better not. I have to drive into Sedona and see Alex.”

Marc rose. He paced the floor. “You know we will respect any decision you make,” he said. “But I wonder whether you should make it after your injury.”

A new tact. “I'm in my right mind if that's what you mean,” Jessie said evenly.

Marc had the grace to look embarrassed. “That's not what I meant. It's just that everything must be a little … overwhelming and …”

“It is,” she interrupted before he could continue. “But I know what I want, and I want to save the Sunset. I can't miss what I haven't had, nor what I hadn't expected. I have a job and a business in Atlanta. I have everything I need.”

“And want?”

“Does anyone have everything they want?”

Marc looked abashed. “I suppose not.”

“The Sunset is too beautiful to destroy.”

“I just want you to be sure. Once the offer is off the table …”

“I'm sure,” she said. “In fact, I'm seeing Alex this afternoon.”

Cullen shrugged. “Of course, you can do anything you want. We are just asking that you consider what the majority wants.” His voice was friendly, but Jessie sensed tension within him.

She hesitated for a moment, then spoke slowly. “But I think that's why your grandfather put that provision in the will,” she said. “So that the majority wouldn't prevail against a minority. He wanted the ranch to survive.”

“She has you there,” Marc said.

“So she does,” Cullen said after only a brief hesitation. “Well, whatever you do, know that you are welcome here or at the Quest any time.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“We hope to see you often,” Marc added with the warm friendliness that must have brought numerous voters into his fold. “Samantha and I are leaving this afternoon for Phoenix.”

“I wish I could vote for you.”

“Move out here and you can.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I do approve of my new relative.”

She left the room and went to the kitchen where she phoned Alex's office to tell him she would be there shortly. Then she went up the stairs to wash and change, pausing only to greet Ben.

Then she headed for the shower. She was dusty and smelled very much like horse. She wondered then if she and Sarah had just wandered into a brotherly conversation or whether they had been lying in wait for her.

Jessie took a quick shower. But her thoughts were crowded. Her aunt had appeared just fine when she and Ross had rejoined her at the bottom of the mountain. There was even an air of satisfaction as she eyed them. Was she really ill?

And Ross. Her body still quaked when she thought of him.

Even a cold shower didn't help that.

She turned off the shower and dressed quickly, choosing a pair of dark blue slacks and white blouse. Then she looked outside.

The sky had changed from blue to gray. Ominous-looking clouds rushed across the heavens. They'd been building all afternoon, but now looked threatening. She'd heard about the sudden, violent storms that were so prevalent over this part of Arizona. The lightning, she'd been told, was particularly dangerous.

She only hoped a storm, if it came, would spend itself out tonight. She didn't relish the trip to the airport in Phoenix in driving rain. Sighing, she took Ben downstairs for a quick romp outside. Ben looked for Timber—or was he looking for Ross? But his truck was gone.

Just as she took Ben back inside, the first drops of rain started to fall.

The rain was steady when Jessie reached Alex's office. It was an elegant yet comfortable suite of offices in a two-story complex. His back window overlooked the rock formations and she was reminded that everything in Sedona was designed to take advantage of its glorious landscape.

He introduced her to Mary Stuart, his legal secretary “and right hand,” and Melissa, his receptionist. Much to her surprise, Mary was a middle-aged woman, her hair sprinkled with gray, and Melissa was probably well into her forties. For some reason, she'd expected sleek young women to inhabit his office. But then she had underestimated him before.

He guided her into a comfortable chair next to his desk. She took the opportunity to look over his office, which was quietly decorated in the browns and tans and beiges that so reflected Sedona. Very good Southwestern paintings decorated the walls. Quiet good taste prevailed, and she thought it a comfortable, nonthreatening setting.

He sat down behind a table covered with thick piles of paper. “So you've made up your mind.”

“Yes. I vote not to sell.”

“Marc so informed me.”

“I don't suppose he's pleased.”

Alex shrugged. “It doesn't matter what Marc thinks. It's your decision. You have the papers with you?”

She pulled them from her handbag and put them on his desk, then signed them.

He put both hands on his desk and looked unusually serious. “Jessie, as the attorney for the Clementses, I have to mention something else. Because the trust is so complex, I would suggest you make a will if you don't already have one. If you do, you might wish to change it.”

She didn't like the prickling she felt run up and down her spine, but he was right. She'd never made out a will, though she always meant to. Now it
was
important. She thought for a moment, then made a decision. She didn't want the ranch up for grabs. Not as long as Sarah lived.

“Then I would like to leave my share of the ranch to Sarah,” she said.

He looked at her curiously. “Are you sure you don't want to think about it?”

“No,” she said. “Can you do it now?”

“What about your other property?”

“The only thing I own of value is my share of the bookstore, and I want to leave that to Sol.” She hesitated, then asked, “Will you prepare it for me?”

“I'll have to check the laws in Georgia.”

“Can you do something that will serve temporarily?”

“Is there a reason?”

She shrugged. “I'm flying back to Atlanta. Anything can happen. I want to make sure that my wishes are observed.”

He picked up a phone. “Mary, can you come in here?”

He'd barely settled the phone in its cradle when Mary came in. “I want you to draw up a will. Miss Cle … Clayton will leave her share of the Sunset to Sarah Macleod. Her other property is to be left to Sol Whiteman. She'll give you the address.” He looked at his watch. “I know this will keep you late, but it's important. Will you ask Melissa to stay, too? I want her to witness the signatures.” He turned back to Jessie. “Mary is a notary public.”

Jessie gave Mary Sol's address and date of birth. She'd seen it on other documents, and it wasn't difficult to remember. January 1, 1935.

Mary disappeared again into an office next to Alex's.

Alex leaned back in his seat. “Sarah said you were planning to leave in the morning. Would you like to go to dinner tonight?”

She wouldn't. She wanted to go back to the ranch. She wanted to say good-bye to Ross.

But that would only be asking for trouble. “Yes,” she said. “Can I use your phone to make my plane reservations?”

He handed the phone to her. She had the reservation number in her handbag, and it took her just a few moments to make the reservation. She had an open return and found a flight that left Phoenix at noon. Perfect. She just wished she didn't feel so lost at the prospect of returning home.