two

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

Jessie closed the blind and turned the “Closed” sign toward the outside. Then she opened the door and whistled for Ben. The shaggy white dog rose lazily, shook himself, then followed her out. He didn’t need a leash; he wasn’t going to get more than a foot away from her. After being a stray, he wasn’t going to risk losing his home.

A blast of heat hit her as she left the store. It was eight o’clock but still light, and the air was stagnant and heavy.

It had been a long day, with customers coming in just before closing and lingering. She usually enjoyed them. They were mostly professors and students from Emory University, who loved to browse through the history section. They always stopped to chat, and she would hear historical tidbits about this time or another. These were the hours she liked most, but it had been three days since the burglary, and she had still felt a compelling urgency each day to get home and make sure that no one else had invaded it.

She locked the door and then turned to see a well-dressed man approaching. She expected him to go on to the pizza restaurant next door, though he would look out of place there among the casual college and mussed professor crowd. His clothing, she noticed, was immaculate despite the heat, which meant his suit was very expensive indeed.

He stopped at her doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re closed.”

“I’m not looking for a book,” he explained, and she noticed that he had blue Paul Newman eyes that twinkled. “Are you Miss Clayton?”

Warning bells rang in her head. Odd things had happened during the past few days. “It depends on who’s asking,” she said.

He thrust out a hand. “I’m Alex Kelley.”

Anxiety knotted her stomach. “That doesn’t explain a lot,” she said with unusual waspishness.

“Are you Miss Clayton?” He persisted.

“I’m not sure …”

Ben seemed to sense her disquiet. Uncharacteristically, he growled.

The stranger leaned down. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he explained patiently to the dog.

Ben the optimist stopped growling.

Then the stranger straightened and grinned. “Are you not sure you’re Miss Clayton, or not sure you want to admit it?”

She narrowed her eyes, then studied him from his tawny head down to the briefcase he carried. He oozed charm, and she was suspicious of people who oozed charm. But he did not look like a serial killer either.

“A business call?” she said. “We don’t buy new books.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m worse. I’m an attorney.”

She looked down at Ben. “Bite,” she ordered.

Instead, Ben pushed against the stranger’s legs in a blatant plea for attention.

“Some protection,” he observed.

“The police noted the same thing,” she replied wryly.

“Police?” His voice was suddenly sharp.

“They were investigating a burglary several days ago.”

“Here?”

Jessie was suddenly aware that she was divulging far more information than she intended. She decided to turn businesslike. “What is it exactly that you want? You don’t look like a book collector, and I know all our bills are paid.”

“Ouch,” he said with that easy grin of his. “Although I take it you don’t consider lawyers much of a step up from bill collectors.”

“Not much. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I bring you good tidings.”

Now she was really suspicious. “A condo in Iceland? An igloo in Chile?”

He laughed. “You really are suspicious.”

“Cautious,” she corrected. “And I really do want to get home.”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

“I would sooner sup with a viper than an attorney.” Jessie didn’t know why she was being so viperous herself. It was the week. And Alex Kelley’s manner. She had a grudge against good-looking men who acted as if they owned the world.

He looked taken aback. She easily imagined that he was rarely refused. He was one of the best-looking men she’d ever met, as well as being an attorney. Which made her doubly wary.

“You really don’t like lawyers.”

“I have good reason.”

“All the same, hear me out. Just a few moments. Please. I really do have good news.”

“Then why didn’t you call and make an appointment?”

“I wasn’t sure when I could get to Atlanta, then when I could get in from the airport. I have to leave in the morning.”

“Leave to where?”

“Sedona, Arizona.”

“Are there igloos in Sedona?”

He grinned again. “Some developers might try to sell you one. They are selling everything else.”

“I’ve heard.”

His grin disappeared. His eyes seemed to pierce through her. “What do you know about Arizona?”

She shrugged. “I read a lot.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.” Damn it, he was doing it again. Milking information as if she were a cow, and providing none in return.

She looked at the store. Did she really want to be alone with him? Then she scolded herself. She had never been a coward, except perhaps in relationships. She looked back up at him, and he seemed to read her mind. It was disconcerting.

“I’ll tell you what,” he finally said. “I’m starving. Why don’t I go next door and order a pizza and bring it over? Then Buster can have a piece.”

“His name isn’t Buster.”

“He looks like a Buster to me.”

“He doesn’t eat from the table,” she said sternly. She didn’t want the intimacy of sharing a meal in her store.

The lawyer raised an eyebrow. He knew she was lying. Bus … Ben’s girth was testament to that.

She surrendered. He would probably follow her home if she didn’t, and she didn’t think she wanted him anywhere around her cottage.

“Pepperoni,” she said, unlocking the door into the bookstore.

“And anchovies?” he said hopefully.

“Not on my side.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“At what price?” she muttered as she went inside the door. Ben hesitated for a moment, then followed, obviously reluctant to leave Alex Kelley.

She heard the man’s laugh. Drat it. He’d heard her. But who cared? She didn’t. She would eat the pizza, then get rid of him and whatever scam he intended.

She wouldn’t lock the door. She felt safer that way. She was often alone with browsers, salesmen, and the rest, and it had never bothered her.

Why did this man?

But if he meant any harm, he certainly hadn’t needed to purchase a pizza first. She tried to busy herself with some paperwork as she tried not to think about what he wanted. But curiosity had always been one of her greatest vices, and now it nagged at her. Good tidings? She didn’t believe in fairy tales or genies or dollars from heaven. So what on earth did he want?

All too quickly, it seemed, the door opened, the little bell tinkling.

The lawyer stood in the doorway. “They said it would take twenty minutes.”

“I thought you would wait,” she said ungraciously.

He shook his head. “You really don’t like attorneys.”

“How nice of you to notice.”

“I, Miss Clayton, am going to change your mind.”

She was wrong about Alex Kelley trying to sell her a condo in Iceland. Instead, he wanted to sell her a family.

Jessie just stared at him as he sat, then took a folder from his briefcase and passed it over her cluttered desk. “We think your father’s real name was Clements.”

“We?” Jessie replied incredulously. “Who is we? And that’s absurd. My father’s name was Clayton. Jon Clayton.”

His expression didn’t change at her denial. “Did you ever meet any members of his family?”

“No.”

He obviously expected the answer, and that bothered her. More than a little. She didn’t like the idea of someone investigating her father, or her. It was obvious that someone had. She let the silence speak her displeasure.

He appeared unfazed by it. “Did you never think that strange?”

“Why should I? He was an orphan.”

“Do you have any proof of that?”

“Why should I need it?” Her anger was building now. So was a growing dread inside. She remembered the times she had asked about her father’s past, and he’d changed the subject or grown morose.

“You don’t, of course,” he said in a soothing tone. “But my clients believe that your father is a man who’s been missing since nineteen-fifty. And there is no record of your father prior to nineteen-fifty. No driver’s licenses, no credit reports, no school records, no anything.”

She was stunned. She’d found few records when she was trying to clear his affairs, but he’d never been a pack rat like she was. He’d never seen the need to keep things of no use. The memory made her suddenly defensive. “And why is that anyone’s business?”

“His sister has been looking for him all these years. It wasn’t until recently that computers made it far easier to find people.”

“Why would … this sister want to find someone who obviously didn’t want to be found?”

He looked at her with something like respect dawning in his eyes.

“It’s a complicated story,” he said. “One the family would like to tell themselves.”

“The family?”

“The Clementses. They live near Sedona, Arizona.”

The invitation. Jessie felt as if she’d just been struck in the stomach by a two-by-four. She eyed him warily, trying to judge the kind of man he was, but she couldn’t get behind the surface charm. His eyes said little, and his smile came far too easily. She wished he weren’t so attractive, but she had a built-in protection system against attractive men. One had charmed her, then violated her in the worst way possible.

She chewed on her lip. In just a few moments, the light had faded into dusk. In a few more moments, it would be totally dark outside. “Why do they care about someone missing nearly fifty years?”

“It’s a close-knit family. His sister, Sarah, has been trying to find him all these years.”

“How can you be certain my father is the man she’s trying to find?”

“We are as sure as we can be without a DNA test. We were hoping you might consent to one.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You want me to give you blood?”

“You make it sound much more ominous than it is,” he said. “I’m really not Dracula, and neither is the family. In fact, they are all anxious to meet you.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did you receive an invitation to a family reunion?”

She hesitated, then said slowly, “Yes. It had no phone number. No address. I assumed it was a mistake.”

“The person who sent it—Sarah Macleod—thought I had already contacted you,” he said apologetically. “I was delayed.”

“Macleod?”

“She’s Harding Clements’s sister.”

Jessie still didn’t understand. “I still don’t understand why they would care. Even if it is true—and I doubt it—I’m a stranger to them.”

“They think you are related by blood. And that is important to them.”

“Why?” she asked again.

He blinked for a moment, and she was pleased she had disconcerted him for even a moment. He had disconcerted her considerably.

She took a deep breath. “Things like this do not happen any longer,” she said. She felt unsettled, confused, and she didn’t care for those feelings. She had finally found her place, had dealt with the uncertainty and loneliness of her childhood. Something inside felt threatened now. The barriers she’d erected to protect herself were far too fragile to confront what this man was saying. A family meant her father had lied to her his entire life. “They went out with gothic novels. Long-lost families just do not materialize out of nowhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are the suspicious sort.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“I suppose I would. So let me tell you a story. Harding Clements disappeared without a trace in nineteen-fifty from the Sedona, Arizona, area. No body was ever found, no note ever retrieved. He just disappeared. No one has heard from him since. We think he changed his name to Jonathan Clayton.”

“Why?”

“Harding Clements was a well-known horseman. He had magic with animals. When the Clements family started looking for him, they started with racing stables, hunting through employment records.”

“That would be impossible.”

“Not to those skilled at searching.”

“Why would anyone think Harding … Clements would change his name, Mr. Kelley?”

He gave her that easy grin that she surmised had broken far too many hearts. “Alex,” he said.

She ignored the invitation for familiarity. “Why?” she insisted.

He hesitated, and she knew intuitively that he probably didn’t do that very much. He looked as if he were weighing her, trying to decide what to say. That sent a frisson of apprehension up and down her spine. Still, she also felt the stirrings of unrest, even unexpected anticipation. Could any of what he said be true?

After several seconds of silence, he appeared to make a decision. “Did your father ever mention Arizona?”

She shook her head. “He said he liked the East. I wanted him to take me west, but he never wanted to go.”

“And I’m told he was very good with horses.”

“I imagine you were also told he was very good at drinking.”

He had the grace to nod. “Did he ever say anything about his childhood? His family?”

“Why should I tell you anything, Mr. Kelley, when you have told me so little?”

He looked nonplussed at her use of “Mr. Kelley,” but he didn’t repeat his invitation. “All right, Miss Clayton. Your father disappeared the same day his wife and brother were apparently caught in a forest fire. They were both killed. We think he heard about it and … just wanted to get away.”

For a moment, Alex Kelley faded away, replaced in her mind by her father, by the grim look in his eyes when she had questioned him about his past, his family. A dozen questions came to her mind, all of them ominous. She choked them back. She was trying to absorb too much information too quickly.

He stood. “I know that I’ve thrown a great deal at you. And I think it’s time to see whether the pizza is ready.” He hesitated. “You will be all right here? Alone?”

“I am here alone a great deal of the time, Mr. Kelley,” she said. Even she heard the strain in her voice, and she regretted it. For some reason, she did not want to show uncertainty in front of this man.

He glanced around the room, at the numbers of books shelved neatly. He looked at one shelf. “Among friends,” he observed with more insight than she would have credited him.

“And with Ben,” she added. At the sound of his name, the dog raised his head and thumped his tail against the desk. She leaned down and petted him, taking comfort in the familiar thick fur.

She was aware of the door closing behind the attorney and was thankful for the silence that followed, for the reassuring presence of her dog. Harding Clements had disappeared the same time his wife and brother had died.

Jessie felt sick. If her father was indeed Harding Clements, it would explain so many things. His reticence about family, the grief she’d seen in his eyes too many times. She had always thought it was because of her mother, the woman who had abandoned her as a baby. Now she wondered whether it went so much deeper. Another wife. Killed in a fire. She closed her eyes. “Daddy,” she whispered. “I hope it wasn’t you.”

Mistaken identity. He was very good with horses. That, apparently, was the connection between Harding Clements and Jon Clayton. Not much linkage. Unless there was more.

Just days ago, she was wishing to be a member of a large family. Now she wasn’t sure.

Ben got up, stretched and put his head on her lap. “Ah, you don’t care who I am, do you?” she said. And suddenly she felt tears in the back of her eyes. Not for herself, but for her father. The man she might never have really known.

The little bell on the door jingled, and Alex Kelley entered with a big flat box and two Cokes. She wondered whether she’d made a mistake talking to him, particularly here. Particularly tonight. He filled the room with his presence, with his energy. And, dammit, with his charm.

He didn’t say anything as he set the box down on the desk, offered her some napkins, then a soda. He opened the box, took a long sniff, then sighed with pleasure. “You have no idea how hungry I am,” he said.

Strangely enough, or maybe not strangely at all, her hunger had disappeared.

He bit into a slice, then grinned at her with delight. She was grateful that he was no longer pushing her, no longer dropping disturbing pieces of information.

She’d tried not to think of herself as a coward. Not a physical coward, nor even a mental one. She’d confronted too many crises as a child, had been a parent more than a child. But now she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on with this, to probe further into a man named Harding Clements.

So they ate in silence, Alex Kelley obviously sensing her need for time, even for distance.

Ben sat, begrudging them both every bite, and she gave him several pieces of crust, then turned her attention back to Alex. You can’t run again, she told herself. “Tell me why you think this Harding Clements was my father.”

“Sarah Macleod, Harding’s sister, hired an agency that specializes in finding people. I don’t know everything they did, but they started researching horse farms and racing stables, looking for someone of Harding’s age and general characteristics. Owners remember good trainers, even if they don’t stay long. Using computers, they were able to narrow the list by age and physical features, then started checking out each of the remaining names. Your father had no history before nineteen-fifty. He seemed the most likely prospect.”

“Is that it?” she asked. It seemed rather thin to her.

“They found a photo in a magazine. It was rare. He seemed to avoid photographs, but this was an informal shot of Jon Clayton at the stall of one of his horses, a shot he probably didn’t realize was being taken. Sarah recognized him.”

She bit her lip. Her father had avoided cameras, often finding excuses not to go into the winning circle when one of his horses won. “Tell me about them … about the Clementses.”

“It’s a rather large family … and powerful. Mary Louise and Hall Clements—Harding’s parents—had five boys and one girl. Two of them are still alive: the oldest son, Halden, and the daughter, Sarah.” He hesitated, then added, “All the boys had names starting with an H. Makes things confusing at times.”

Jessie knew she was certainly confused. And angry. What remained of her pizza grew cold. Her stomach turned into knots. She’d so longed for a large family, had queried her father so many times. What could have happened to make someone abandon his family? Usually when people lost someone they loved, they turned to their family, instead of running from it.

If he was her father. She still couldn’t accept that he would have kept something like that from her.

It was a betrayal. A betrayal beyond anything she could imagine. A feeling deep and bitter that quarreled with the occasional flashes of hope. Could it be true? A family. A family that must have spent tens of thousands of dollars looking for her.

She continued listening, even as her mind was elsewhere, recalling different conversations with her father, looking for hints. There were none.

Alex Kelley’s pleasant Texas drawl lapsed into a silence louder than any scream, a silence she felt in her bones.

She felt schizophrenic. She didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t want to accept that her father had lied to her his entire life, that her life had been a lie. That her name wasn’t really hers. And yet another part of her wanted it to be true. She wanted a family. A family like other people had. A home place. Roots.

“Sarah is convinced that you are her niece.” He had started talking again. “She wants you to come to the family reunion in two weeks. She wants to meet you and let you meet your cousins. We will pay all your expenses, of course.”

Alex Kelley waited. It was as if he knew that any pressure would affect her negatively.

She looked up at him, up from the cold pizza. “I don’t know whether I can get away. I have the shop. And Ben.”

“You have a partner, don’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m afraid the search firm did some investigating of you, too,” he admitted easily.

“How much?”

“Investigating?”

“Yes.”

“Enough. We know your father left an inheritance that allowed you to attend Emory University with enough left over to buy part of this business. We know you are single and that you own this store with your partner.”

She felt invaded again, just as she had after the burglary. Someone was looking into her life without her knowledge. She suspected that he also knew much more than he was admitting.

“Sedona is a marvelous place,” he said, obviously trying to change the subject. “If you have never been there, you owe it to yourself to visit. The Clementses own a large ranch twelve miles north, and one of the family owns the Quest Resort. You can stay at either place. I think Sarah would like it if you stayed at the ranch.”

Jessie tried to take it all in. “A ranch?”

“The Clements family as a whole owns the Red Rock Ranch, better known as the Sunset. They run cattle, though most of the grazing land is leased from the government. Ross, the manager, also raises cutting horses.”

Images danced in Jessie’s head of all the western movies she’d seen and adored. She’d not been able to budge her father past the Mississippi, or even as far as Kentucky until the end when he could no longer find a job in New York or Maryland or Virginia.

Now that reluctance took on new significance.

Still, she couldn’t quite believe. She wasn’t sure she wanted to believe. It was one thing to dream. It was another to have dreams come true. They never came true like the dreamer envisioned. Be careful what you wish for.

Ben wriggled next to her. She knew he had to go outside to attend to business. He’d had a long day inside.

Jessie stood. “It’s time for me to go home,” she said.

He looked rueful. “I haven’t convinced you.”

“Is that rare?”

He grinned. “Not as rare as I would hope.”

That damnable charm continued to flow. He was the kind of man, she thought, that usually had a slim, blond beauty on his arm, but at the moment he made her feel like the most important person in the world. And she found herself recoiling from that. This was business for him, and it was his job to persuade her to travel to Arizona.

Mills had exuded charm just as this man had. And Mills had been the worst thing that had ever happened to her. A chill ran through her as she tried to banish him from her thoughts.

Alex Kelley seemed to realize he was losing her. “Any other questions?”

“A million,” she said, “but first I have to … let this sink in.”

“Perhaps you will meet me for breakfast. My plane leaves at noon.”

She hesitated.

“Bright sunshine,” he tempted. “No Draculas.”

“But you still want my blood.”

He looked chagrined. “I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

“Only if I accept the possibility that … this family could be my father’s.”

“And yours.”

She wanted to retort. She wanted to say that accepting that fact would mean admitting that her father might have lied to her all her life.

She finally nodded. She’d made her point. The shop didn’t open until ten. And tomorrow Sol would return from his latest pilgrimage to Andersonville. He was writing his own book on the former Confederate prison, but she suspected he would never finish. It was the research he loved. He’d spent the last ten years hunting for diaries from men imprisoned there and the guards charged with holding them.

Perhaps he could keep Ben for her … if she decided to go to Sedona. He and Ben had a fine relationship.

Deep in her heart she already knew she was going. How could she not? She had been curious all her life. She found it difficult to let a question go unanswered. And yet she had left important ones unanswered. She knew that now. She’d never pried deeply into her father’s past. Because she feared the answers?

And yet for some reason, she was reluctant to let Alex Kelley know she’d already made a decision. She didn’t want to make it easy for him. She’d worked too hard to be strong, to be wise, to protect herself.

“Any suggestions for breakfast?” His question jolted her back to the present and she suspected he’d read her mind.

“Where are you staying?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a place yet. I came here right from the airport. Apparently there was an accident on the freeway and it took me longer than I thought.”

Ah, she knew about that. One accident on an Atlanta freeway and everyone was stalled for hours. “There’s a hotel around the corner,” she suggested.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly.

She nodded. “You have a car?”

“Yes.”

“Go to the intersection, turn right. It’s two blocks on the left.”

“And breakfast?”

“There’s a restaurant next door. I’ll meet you at eight.”

“Thank you, Miss Clayton.”

She smiled for the first time. “Jessie,” she said.

Jessie searched the web for information on Sedona. Beside the computer were several books she’d located at the store before leaving. One was a travel guide of Arizona. The others came from the American West history section. There was an advantage of being part owner of a bookstore.

There was very little about the Sedona area in the history books. It had been settled fairly late in the 1800s by white settlers, though it had a long and rich history with early Indians and then later with Apaches and Yavapai.

Ben whined for attention, something he seldom did. Usually, he was content with just her company. It was as if he knew something was puzzling her, that all was not normal with their usually complacent life.

“I’m becoming obsessed,” she told him.

He licked her, telling her that obsession was just fine as long as it didn’t interfere with him.

She turned the computer off and stood, going over to the fireplace and the mantel. She touched one of the carousel horses, the first of her collection. As a child, she’d saved for the longest time to buy it, though it was an inexpensive imitation. But that hadn’t mattered to her.

“But Daddy, I want to ride the merry-go-round.”

Her father sighed. “We don’t have time, Jessica. Now stop whining.”

But she wanted it badly enough to pull on his hand. “Please.”

“Dammit, I have to look at the horses for Mr. Daley. Don’t be a baby.”

“But Daddy …”

He turned then, fury on his face. He bent down and slapped her bottom so hard she could barely keep from yelling.

He pulled her along then as she looked back at the children being put on horses by their daddies and wanted … oh how she wanted …

She’d never had that ride, but the dream stayed in her mind, and when she’d seen a carousel horse in a store, she’d very carefully saved every penny she had, the nickels and dimes that people around the track gave her. And she’d bought her own horse. Later, as an adult, she started collecting originals. She wondered once what a psychologist would think. Was she subconsciously reliving painful memories or triumphing over them?

Later, of course, she’d learned to ride. Her father hadn’t taught her. An exercise boy had. It was the one time she remembered pleasing her father, the first time he had watched her ride around the track at twelve. He said she had a natural seat and good hands, and eventually she’d become an exercise girl herself.

Jessie replaced the horse on the mantel, and the memories in the attic of her mind. Too much had been dredged up today. Too many emotions. Too many memories.

She thought about Alex Kelley. She sensed there was much he had not told her, that he had picked carefully through information for what he wanted to say.

Sedona. She tried the sound on her tongue. Should it ring bells? Had her father ever let the name slip from his lips?

One of five brothers. And one brother died the day Harding Clements disappeared from Sedona. Had he witnessed his brother’s death and that of his wife? And finally, the question that plagued her most. Had he had something to do with their deaths? She tried not to even entertain the thought, but it resounded in her mind. And in her heart.

She couldn’t avoid the idea that going to Sedona might open a Pandora’s box. That it would open one.

How many times, she wondered, had flies flown voluntarily into a spider’s web?

Alex Kelley knew he had succeeded. He knew it when she consented to having breakfast with him.

He had wondered whether he should mention the possible inheritance. But he had wanted to take a measure of her first. And it was more difficult than he had thought.

Jessica Clayton had given away very little. And she seemed impervious to the charm that he’d cultivated. That had surprised and intrigued him.

Most people would have jumped at what he had offered. The fact that she’d not done so gave him pause.

Did she know more than she pretended?

Or had she just learned to keep her own counsel?

Her life must have been hell, according to the reports from the detective agency. A father who drank to excess, who hadn’t been able to keep a job. The wonder was that he had left her anything at all, much less enough to send her through Emory. It was rumored he gambled heavily. On his own horses? Or on those running against his own horses? Harding was supposed to have been the brother with integrity. Until he disappeared, that is, leaving a number of suspicions behind.

Alex had been convinced by both the agency and Sarah that Jonathan Clayton was indeed Harding Clements. It was the others who demanded a DNA test. They were the ones who stood to lose millions of dollars.

He looked around his room. It was pleasant enough, and he was too tired to do anything but go to bed. The last month had been pure hell, and he was weary of twenty-hour workdays, but one of the companies he represented had been sued, and the case had come to court a week ago.

And Sarah had not been willing to wait. Not a week. Not a day. Too much depended on Jessica.

Perhaps he should have warned Miss Clayton. She would be walking right into the middle of a family feud.

He tossed his small bag on the bed, then took a quick shower. He couldn’t get Jessica Clayton out of his mind. She was attractive but not a beauty by any means. Her eyes were by far her best feature: an intriguing hazel with golden flecks. They were wide with rich dark lashes framing them. Her short auburn hair was prettily tousled, and yet it was the haircut of someone who didn’t overly fuss with it.

He liked her. No nonsense. No games. And she’d evidently been singularly unimpressed with him. He’d noted she’d not replenished her makeup while he went out for the pizza. It had been a bit demoralizing. He usually did very well with the opposite sex—mainly, he’d always thought, because he genuinely liked women. He came into contact with some very smart ones, and he’d known instantly that Jessica Clayton was one of those.

She had a steady gaze that probed, as well as a patience that waited for someone else to make a mistake before she did. It was a rare trait.

Sarah, he thought, would be pleased.

But would Jessica Clayton? Particularly when he introduced her to the volatile mix that was the current Clements family.