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.”

She hesitated, then continued. “We all saw Lori teasing Heath, baiting Harding. She made it clear she thought she married the wrong brother.”

Brothers in love with the same woman. Pain struck Jessie like a knife. All her life, she had wanted family. Now she was learning that having family could be as painful as having none. Maybe even more so. How had this betrayal affected her father?

“What happened?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“No one really knows. Harding might have suspected something. Perhaps he followed his wife. Perhaps he heard that both were lost in a fire and assumed the worst. No one will ever know now. All we know is that all three disappeared on the same day, and the bodies of Heath and Lori were found in a burned-out cabin that belonged to the family. There was no indication of foul play. That’s what the court ruled.”

But her voice sounded like a recording of something that had been repeated so many times it was almost rote. There seemed no substance, no truth, no conviction in it.

Jessie knew, though, she was being told that further investigation would tell her no more. She was being discouraged from going to Flagstaff. Would it be a wild-goose chase? Or was there another reason?

The other questions clouding her mind were more painful. Could her father have been at the cabin? Had he been a witness? More than a witness?

Her blood chilled at the thought. In any event, what would those events so many years ago have to do with today?

“So you see,” Sarah was saying, “there is no reason to spend time in musty files. As for those burglaries, what possibly could they have to do with us?”

Jessie’s instincts were tingling again. She hoped it was merely the accumulation of recent events. She could not believe Sarah was lying, not about something that concerned her safety. She merely nodded. But she knew she was driving to Flagstaff in the morning.

They finished their luncheon in silence. They both put their dishes in the sink, then Sarah started for the door. Jessie followed her and together they walked to the barn.

The boy Jessie had seen Saturday night had two horses saddled.

“Dan’l.” Jessie acknowledged him.

The boy gave her a grin. “Miss Sarah said to give you Rose.”

Jessie looked at the mare. She was afraid she would be given a child’s horse after Saturday’s fiasco, but Rose, a gray, looked fit and pleased at the prospect of an outing.

Sarah winked at her. “Ross said you were a good rider.”

Jessie couldn’t stop the jolt of pleasure that ran through her. Still, she raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“His bark is far worse than his bite,” Sarah said. “He tries to scare everyone off. He respects those who refuse to be intimidated.”

“I don’t think the latter includes me,” Jessie said wryly.

“Where did he take you last night?”

“A Mexican restaurant.”

“El Cantina?”

Jessie nodded.

“He likes you then,” Sarah said with satisfaction.

For a moment, Jessie wondered why Sarah cared whether Ross liked her or not, particularly in a romantic way. He could be a cousin. But not by blood.

She decided not to explore that particular thought any longer. He had more than indicated his disinterest in her. Because her left wrist was still sore, she let Dan’l help her mount. The mare took a couple of steps, and she enjoyed the feel of the animal beneath her. She was still sore from her earlier ride, stiff in places she’d forgotten existed, but it was a small enough price for the exhilaration she felt at being in a saddle again. She looked over at Sarah. The older woman swung into the saddle without help. Her back was straight, her hands relaxed. She was as at home in the saddle as Ross.

Sarah smiled over at her, sharing the same spontaneous pleasure as Jessie. It was written all over her face. The mask was gone. “Come on, Jessie. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost again.”

That sounded like a fine idea to Jessie. She guided Rose to Sarah’s mare, then kept apace of the older woman as the horses broke into a trot, then a canter.

The sun’s rays looked like darting flames across the red towers of rock. The wind blew gently. For a moment, all was right with the world. The blue sedan disappeared from her mind. The image of her burglarized apartment faded.

She felt free. She was finally doing what she’d always been meant to do.

Ross finished inspecting the water tank as Timber watched carefully. The tank would be vital to the cattle when they were brought down from higher ground. It had been leaking, and it was one of the jobs he didn’t like leaving to someone else. These watering places were too important.

It could have waited until tomorrow. He knew it. But Sarah had told him this morning that Jessica was expected for lunch and a ride. He knew it was a measure of her pride that she was going to ride again after her mishap. It took guts to do that, especially with an injured wrist. He’d always believed in getting back up after a fall.

All morning, he’d fought an urge to return to the ranch and ride out with them. But she would be safe with Sarah. He had no doubt of that. He was dismayed, though, that he wanted to see her again. He kept remembering her light scent, the softness of her face, the passion that had roiled in her eyes. Even worse, he recalled how much he’d enjoyed her company. She was bright and inquisitive. She’d enjoyed the cantina as much as he always did, and he’d liked her immediate responsiveness to his friend Ramon.

Dammit.

He found the leak and realized he would need help to repair it. Well, he had weeks before they would be bringing the cattle back down. He climbed into his pickup and found himself driving back to the ranch. Maybe he would take a ride. He knew exactly where Sarah would take Jessica.

He returned only to find Dan’l frowning.

“What is it, Dan’l?”

“Mr. Marc took Hellfire out.”

Ross swore. Hellfire was his best sire; no one rode him except Ross—except for the few times Marc had commandeered the big stallion. Ross had told him repeatedly that he didn’t want the horse ridden by other members of the family. Marc ignored him, just as he had when Ross was a kid. Ross was still the poor relation as far as Marc was concerned. Someone to be used, but most definitely not someone to obey.

Marc was an adequate rider, but not a good one. He did not ride enough to be expert at it. Like many riders, he thought he was better than he was.

If Ross had been there, he could have stopped Marc. Hell, he would have used his fists if he’d had to. But Dan’l was defenseless against him. Ross would bet his last cent that Marc had waited until he knew Ross was gone.

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No, but he took his rifle.”

That was nothing extraordinary. Marc usually took one with him. So did Ross. This was rattlesnake season.

Ross went into the barn and took out one of the horses, a quick and smart young stallion named, quite simply, Ginger. He saddled the animal himself, then mounted. He too took a rifle. He often did when he was riding, particularly in the summer because of rattlesnakes and other occasional varmints. In another minute, Ginger was trotting toward the rock tower, Timber running joyously behind him.

Jessie had thought she’d gotten a sense of place in the past few days. But as she followed Sarah up through steep trails and along rock cliffs, she knew she had not. Not until now. It was in the sweet smell of wildflowers, the plants with exotic names like Spanish bayonet and catsclaw, the cypress trees sculpted by lightning. It was in air so fresh and pure and sweet that it hurt. It was the views of the vermilion cliffs and red rock vistas, in the brief glimpse of a pronghorn elk, the sight of a soaring bald eagle.

And even rattlesnakes. Sarah had warned her to keep a sharp watch.

Nothing, not even rattlesnakes, could dim the exultation she felt, the pure joy she felt. They had not seen any other human beings since they left the ranch. There had been rustles in the grass, some shy creature scurrying out of the way. Some birds startled from their perches in trees. But Jessie felt she was a million miles from civilization.

Sarah didn’t say much. Neither of them did. Jessie was in awe of everything. Sarah just seemed comfortable with it. It seemed almost a part of her. She needed no words. Neither did Jessie. It was enough to share.

They finally stopped. Sarah dismounted. Jessie slid down. It was easier on her still-sore thighs. They tied the horses to a pine and walked over to the edge of the cliff.

Sarah pointed. “We call this the Saddle,” she said. “It’s a ridge between two peaks. Down there is the Sunset.”

Jessie could barely see the ranch house and barn nestled at the base of another jutting tower of rock. She saw the road leading to it. A dark-colored car was inching toward the buildings.

“They want to develop that land,” Sarah said softly. “A goddamn golf course and lots of little look-alike houses.”

Jessie started. She had never heard Sarah swear before. But it wasn’t even the words as much as the emotion behind it.

“Did I tell you I was born there? In one of the bedrooms? All of Hall and Mary Louise’s children were, except the twins.” Sarah appeared lost in the past now. Jessie looked down again, and she saw what she knew Sarah was seeing. Not just buildings. Not even just land. A homestead. There was something about the word that was fraught with meaning. It sent a shiver through her.

Sarah didn’t say anything else. They both stayed there another moment, then started for the horses.

Jessie found a rock to help her mount, and they started down, the two horses carefully picking their way over the rough path. Sarah went first, and Jessie followed. She continued to think of the ranch below, what Sarah had said. There’d been so much feeling in the words, so much pain. Well, she would feel pain too, if she was forced to leave the house where she’d been born and where she’d lived all her life.

A golf course? What an obscene idea.

They reached the bottom of the path. Sarah started talking again. “The land looked different fifty years ago, before developments dropped the water table.” Tears were in Sarah’s eyes. Jessie suspected such emotion was rare.

As if to disclaim it, Sarah pressed her mount into a trot, then an easy canter.

Hoping she would have Sarah’s energy and strength at seventy-odd years, Jessica followed. She felt more of a bonding with the land, a connection with all around her. The wind blew through her hair and kissed her cheeks, and her mount stretched in strong powerful strides that ate up distance. Her mind cleared to all but pleasure.

Then Sarah slowed, and Jessie slowed her own horse. She caught up with Sarah, and saw her own pleasure reflected on her aunt’s face. Her aunt. How easily she accepted that now. They walked their horses, comfortable with silence, content with the raw, jagged beauty of the country.

The sound of a rifle shot shattered the quiet companionship. It echoed in the warm air.

Jessie’s horse pranced nervously for a moment, then quieted under her soothing hands. She looked at Sarah, who pulled up on her horse. They both listened.

“Hunters probably,” Sarah said. “Poachers. The season hasn’t started yet.”

Another shot rang out. This one closer.

“Some fool with more gall than sense,” Sarah remarked.

The last shot sounded too darn close to Jessie. But it was difficult to tell out here. It could be a mile away.

Another rang out, and this time she saw dust shoot up not far from where the horses had stopped.

“Hey,” yelled Sarah. “There’s people here.”

They both looked around. No one was visible. But then the rough terrain made it possible to hide an army. A new volley of three shots ripped through the valley. Rose made a quick, darting nervous movement, but this time Jessie was prepared.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sarah said. She pressed her mount into a fast walk, a trot, then a gallop.

With another quick look around, Jessie followed.