Perfect Family (20 page)

Dear God, what was she doing? Thinking?

He groaned, a growl deep in his throat. She thought she heard the beat of his heart, a loud thunder in her ears. The sound was erotic and irresistible. He was feeling it too, this need, this want that was more intense than she'd thought possible. The power of it astounded her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked up. His eyes were like dark flames. Hot. Brilliant.

His lips captured hers again and moved lazily, sensually. Then he released them and stepped back. She felt him take a deep breath. “Good God, lady.”

This time she didn't question his sincerity. She knew he was fully aroused. So was she.

A muscle flexed in his cheek, and his face looked drawn. His lips were tight. One of his hands had clasped hers and held it tight. He looked down, apparently surprised, then let it go and touched her cheek again. “I didn't mean for this to happen.”

Her entire body ached. Her brain felt fogged. Her body didn't want to obey. She could only stare at him like a zombie, wondering what had happened. How it had started? And then ended so abruptly?

But it hadn't stopped. Her senses were burning, tingling. Her legs felt rubbery. She knew she had to go in before she made a total fool of herself.

“Good night.” She forced the words out of her mouth.

His fingers were still on her cheek, still burning a trail along her skin. Then he dropped his hand, moving away, moving toward the truck.

The door was open. But she couldn't move yet. She waited until the engine of his pickup started; then, like a sleepwalker, she took the steps inside. She closed the door and went to the window.

The pickup was still there. A moment passed, then another. Finally, it moved. She watched as it disappeared into the darkness.

eleven

Ross almost didn't leave. God knew he didn't want to leave.

But he saw the distrust—along with the passion—in her eyes. He knew he'd helped plant it there, but it hurt nonetheless. He wanted her, but he wanted her after she knew everything. Not now. Not when she was still swimming in confusion. Not when she was trying to find her way.

She was vulnerable, and he was damned if he was going to use that.

But he wanted to. Oh, how he'd wanted to ravish her then and there. He'd also wanted to kiss away the doubt in her eyes. The questions.

He knew it was all wrong. And he'd broken away, though it took every ounce of his strength, his willpower. So he sat in the cab of his pickup, thinking about how much he wanted to knock on her door and go inside.

Instead, he started the pickup and drove out of the resort parking lot. He hated the damned place. It was one of the causes of Cullen's sudden desire to sell the Sunset. Cullen had poured everything he had into the Quest. If rumors were true, he was near bankruptcy. So he'd joined forces with Marc, who needed funds to seed his Senate campaign. Both men had talked their father into supporting the proposal. At ninety-one, the older Halden was no match for their joint campaign. He just wanted peace in his family.

They had cajoled the others, children of Harry and Hugh and their offspring, into supporting their bid to sell the Sunset. Sarah was the only holdout.

Jessie's share would be more than a million dollars if she agreed to the sale. For a young woman who'd never had much, it would represent a fortune. Invested wisely, it would support her forever. Certainly, it would present opportunities she'd never had before.

Damn. Of all the women in the world, she was the one he least wanted to become involved with. Their interests were divergent. If it were only himself, it wouldn't matter so much. But Sarah
did
matter. The Sunset was her life.

If only Marc would change his mind. If only Ross could persuade him in some way …

Frustrated, he fought his way through tourist traffic. It was at its heaviest at this time of year. All Sedona needed was another development. More homes. More resorts. A golf course, for God's sake. Who cared if it reduced the water table another inch or so. Who cared as long as more money was to be made?

He was working himself up to a fine rage when he hit the road to the Sunset, driving far too fast. He caught himself. He did that crap as a kid. He slowed, trying to harness his anger before he got back. Sarah would probably come over to the house if he didn't report to her first. She would want to know all the details.

He cursed long and hard.

Jessie's car was in front of her casita when she woke. She didn't know who had brought it or when, but she was grateful.

Her wrist felt better, not as sore. It didn't matter, anyway. She had things to do today. She looked for the keys. They were under the floor mat. Easy enough for someone to steal, but apparently no one was overly concerned about that in Sedona.

She drove out and found a family-type restaurant where she ate breakfast. She was at the library when it opened its doors.

Her first stop was the computer to see if there was any book available about the Clements family. Finding none, she next went to the newspaper on microfiche. It was a biweekly paper, more about community doings and personalities than hard news. She went to the year 1950. The Clements name was mentioned frequently. One had been a city board member; another had received a civic award. The Clementses had hosted a barbecue to raise money for the community hospital.

Clementses, in fact, were everywhere. Then finally in June, she found what she sought: an obituary of war hero Sergeant Heath Clements. Note was made of his twin brother, Hugh, who'd died during the war.

No cause of death was named. No details listed. Just a notice that he had died on a Monday and that the funeral was on Wednesday. The only survivors mentioned were his father, his mother, Sarah, and the remaining brothers. Harding was among them.

She found nothing about Lori Clements, Harding's wife.

The article posed more questions then it answered. She'd noticed that there were few controversial items in the paper. Had the owner buried any questions about the death? Had he or she bowed to the wishes of the Clements family?

She wondered whether the Flagstaff paper would have any more information. She obtained microfiche for that date, too, and looked. Same type of item, but smaller.

Did the Clementses really have that kind of influence?
Hell's bells
. She sighed in frustration.

She finally gave up. She looked at her watch.
Eleven
. She had promised to have lunch with Sarah. Which meant she would probably see Ross. She closed her eyes. She didn't know how she would face him. She'd practically invited him to bed last night. And he hadn't wanted her. She flinched at the memory of his rejection.

Well, she would be leaving Wednesday. Early. She would have to find out what she wanted to know before that.

Tomorrow she would go to Flagstaff, the county seat, and see if she could find records of the deaths of Harding's wife and brother. There must be a death certificate or record of an inquest.

Harding
. Her probable father. She still couldn't quite believe it. She still couldn't quite call him that. Her father was Jonathan Clayton. Horse trainer.

And when Sarah asked her what she was doing today? The truth? Jessie wasn't sure.

She made a copy of the obituary of Heath Clements, tucked it into her pocketbook, and left. She walked quickly to the door, then across the parking lot. Her gaze moved around as it always did. She'd taken a self-protection course, and she always made a point of being aware of what was going on around her. She also always had her keys in her hand, grasped tightly in her fingers.

Her gaze lingered only a second on a blue sedan with a young man sitting inside. He must be waiting for someone. She really didn't think anyone was lurking outside the Sedona library with mayhem in mind.

Still, she kept her eyes on the door of the car as she unlocked her rental and climbed inside. As she turned into the road, then took a right on 89A, she noted that the sedan pulled out, too. But then she lost sight of it as she slipped into the right lane. The sedan passed on the left.

Her imagination. She was seeing ghosts where there were none. She was even beginning to wonder whether she'd overreacted about her room. Perhaps she hadn't put the necklace where she thought. Perhaps the whole situation had unnerved her more than she'd realized.

Glancing occasionally out the rearview mirror, she drove to the ranch. She thought she saw the blue sedan once on the highway. When she turned onto the road to the ranch, she slowed, even stopped. She looked behind her. No blue car on the highway.

Jessie breathed slowly, not realizing she'd been holding it. She felt her body slowly relax. Calling herself all sorts of a timid fool, she pressed her foot down on the gas pedal. The car jerked forward.

She found herself further loosening the tight ball of nerves. The ranch house would probably be mostly empty by now. Marc and his wife hadn't left, but she suspected he would be off campaigning somewhere. Ross would most likely be working. This would be her one chance to really talk to Sarah.

When Jessie arrived at the ranch house, it looked a little forlorn without cars parked in all directions. There was only a rather serviceable-looking Jeep she'd seen before. She looked toward's Ross's house. His pickup was gone. A flash of disappointment ran through her. But there was relief, too. She still felt pangs of rejection.

Before she reached the stone steps, the door opened and Sarah stood there, her weathered face wreathed in a smile. She was wearing Levi's today, and a checked shirt. A blue scarf was knotted around her neck. Jessie could barely believe she was in her seventies, despite the wrinkles around her eyes. She moved with a lighter step than Jessie.

“Jessie, I'm so pleased to see you. We'll eat, then go for a ride. I promise not to lose you.” Then the smile faded. “If your wrist is all right, that is.”

“I've been looking forward to a ride,” Jessie said.

“Good. Lunch is ready. I hope you like salad and cold chicken.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Jessie said. And it was true. She'd been eating enough for a horse lately.

“Come on into the kitchen,” Sarah said. “Everything's ready. Would you like tea or a soda?”

“Tea sounds good,” Jessie replied. Then she asked curiously, “There's a Jeep out there.”

“It's Cullen's. His wife's car is at the garage and she's using his so he's using the Jeep. He came over to see his father about some business. I asked him to join us for lunch but he said he's scheduled a late business lunch.”

It was just as well. Jessie had wanted to spend this time with Sarah.

Jessie followed Sarah into the kitchen and greeted Rosa, whom she'd met over the weekend. In minutes, Rosa served them both a salad topped with grilled chicken and a glass of iced tea, then disappeared.

Jessie was relieved. She wanted to talk to Sarah alone. “I went to the library today,” she said, feeling her way. “I wanted to see whether there was anything about the … deaths fifty years ago.”

Sarah stilled. “Why? That was so long ago. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn't it?” Jessie replied.

“It shouldn't,” Sarah insisted.

Jessie wanted to say something about the will, but the words disappeared somewhere in her throat. She should wait, listen. It might never affect her. She might not be Harding's child. Still, she thought it time to drop a few bombs and see what scattered.

“My home was burglarized just before I received the invitation to the reunion,” Jessie said. “Then my shop several days ago. And I think someone was in my room on Saturday while I was gone. Coincidence? Or is something going on I know nothing about?”

It was as frank as she knew how to be. Jessie usually didn't confront people. Oh, she could play word games, as she had with Alex, but she'd always had a problem with anything that might hurt or anger someone else. She would go a hundred miles out of her way to please people, a habit formed when she tried so hard to please her father. But now it was time for her to be an adult.

She waited for an answer. For a moment, she didn't think she would get one. Several emotions passed over Sarah's face. The first was disbelief. The second, anger. Jessie saw it in the flashing of her eyes. Then she covered both up. A mask settled over her face. But her hands betrayed her. Her fingers curved up into fists.

“Sarah?” she prompted. Then after a moment's silence, she added, “I plan to go to the county seat tomorrow. There must be death certificates, an inquest.”

“Can't you leave it alone?”

“No,” Jessie said. “You opened the past, you and your family. You should never have done that if you weren't willing to let me see everything. Not just what you select.”

“We don't even know yet if …” Sarah's feeble protest trailed off.

“Don't you?” Jessie asked softly.

Sarah shook her head, as if to remove cobwebs there. “I'm sorry. Of course I know.” She bit her lip, just as Jessie often did when nervous. “All right,” she said. “If you are so determined …”

“I am,” Jessie said. “Tell me about my … about Harding.”

“There's not that much to tell,” Sarah said. “No one really knows what happened.”

“Tell me what you
do
know.”

“Heath … well, Heath was never the same when he came back from Europe. I told you his twin brother was killed by a mine. I don't think I told you Heath saw it happen, was wounded by the same mine. He was a hero when he came home, and girls threw themselves at him. Including Harding's wife. I think he started believing the world owed him.”

Sarah sighed. “Lori and Heath had been sweethearts before he went off to war. Lori hadn't wanted to wait for him, though. She was furious that Heath wouldn't marry her before he shipped out. She came from nothing, and this family represented everything she wanted. Instead of waiting for Heath, she went after Harding. We tried to warn him, but he was crazy in love.”