twelve

Ross was not there when Jessie and Sarah returned. Dan’l told them that he had gone out looking for them.

Concern crossed the teenager’s face when Sarah told him they’d heard shots.

“Both Mr. Marc and Ross had their rifles with them,” he said.

“Did they leave together?”

Dan’l shook his head.

Sarah looked ready to go back and search. But for all her earlier energy, she suddenly looked tired.

“They’ll be back soon,” Jessie said. “They must have heard the shots.”

“Danged hunters,” Sarah said. “I’m going to call the sheriff, have a deputy sent over. We don’t usually have problems like that. People around here respect posted property. It’s considered worse than rustling to hunt on someone’s property.”

“Rustling?”

“There’s still some going on,” Sarah said. “Though mostly it’s done with trucks now rather than horses.”

Jessie slipped off from the horse, grateful to be on solid ground. Her muscles were all complaining again. She barely suppressed a groan.

Sarah followed, hopping down with ease. But she didn’t start toward the house. Instead, she put the side of her hand to her forehead, shading her eyes as she looked out toward the direction where they came. “I don’t like it,” she mumbled.

Her voice was so low Jessie barely caught the words.

“Sarah?” she asked.

“Oh, never mind an old woman,” Sarah replied.

“You are anything but an old woman,” Jessie replied honestly. Sarah had as much energy as someone twenty years younger. She probably felt better than Jessie did at the moment.

Sarah seemed to revive at the words. A slight smile replaced a frown. “You have the Clements blarney,” she said.

“There’s a Clements blarney?”

“You mean you haven’t been treated to it? Marc’s probably the best at it.”

Somehow, the words didn’t sound as light as they were intended. There was a bite in them.

But Sarah didn’t give her a chance to digest that observation. “Come,” she said, “Let’s get a cool drink while we wait for them.”

Wait for them. Jessie wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to wait for them, that she could keep her feelings as contained as Ross did, that she wouldn’t look flushed and flustered. It was immensely disturbing that he was the first man to do that to her in years. It was even more disturbing that he was the type of man who was so difficult to read. He hoarded his feelings like a miser held on to his last penny.

She had some of the same tendencies—which she supposed came from their backgrounds, a lack of any real security as children. Which wasn’t promising for any relationship. Not that it mattered. Ross Macleod obviously had little interest in her as a woman. He’d taken her to supper as a favor to his adopted mother, the only person he really seemed to like.

And yet she knew she couldn’t leave Sarah alone. Worry had furrowed her forehead and her lips were pinched in a tight line. Those shots had obviously disturbed her more than she’d said. So she followed Sarah to the house and into the living area.

She tried to hide her own worry. But it nibbled at her. No, gnawed. She didn’t know if she could bear it if anything had happened to Ross. In just a few short days, he’d become important to her. And she knew how much he meant to Sarah. “Should we call the sheriff?” she asked.

“I’ll wait a bit longer,” Sarah replied, her two hands fussing nervously with each other.

“I’ll get you that drink. What would you like?”

“Just a cola,” Sarah said. “You?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jessie said. She went into the kitchen and returned with two cans of cola. “Where’s Samantha?”

“Probably at one of the galleries,” Sarah said. “She does a little painting and likes to see what others are doing. She likes Sedona far more than Marc, who loves the excitement of cities, of Washington.”

For some reason, that surprised Jessie. It shouldn’t, she knew. But Samantha had struck her as someone who enjoyed social activities and being a politician’s wife. That’s what you get, she told herself, when you make assumptions about people. “I’d like to see some of her paintings.”

Sarah turned and pointed to a painting in the living room. It was a scene of one of the towering red rocks with the sun hitting against it. The red rock was reflected in a body of water beneath. The use of color was breathtaking.

“She’s very good.”

“I think she could have had a very fine career had she kept at it,” Sarah said. “Being a politician’s wife is very demanding, and they move between Arizona and Washington frequently.”

“Does she approve of Marc’s running for the Senate?”

Sarah sighed. “I think she’s given up being anything other than being Marc’s perfect wife. Just as April and Hall try to be perfect children.”

Just as Jessie had tried to be the perfect daughter. She knew that was a road to disaster. “Is that what Marc wants?” The thought disappointed her. She’d liked the congressman.

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know. Samantha certainly has never faulted Marc or expressed any resentment.”

Just then, she heard a shout. Both of them ran to the door.

Marc was riding in. He was slumped in the saddle, obviously barely hanging on.

His checked shirt was red with blood. When the horse came to a stop, he slipped from the saddle and fell on the ground. Dan’l ran to him, followed by Sarah. Jessie was immediately behind them.

Dan’l bent over him, pulling aside his shirt. “What happened, sir?”

“I … was shot.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Jessie said.

Sarah shook her head. “I’ll drive him to the hospital. It will be faster. You stay here with him, see if you can stop the bleeding. I’ll bring a car around.”

Jessie didn’t have a chance to answer. Sarah was already heading into the house, probably for the keys. Dan’l had taken off his shirt and was pressing it against the wound in the shoulder.

She felt useless, helpless. She stooped next to him. “Can I help at all?”

“Find Samantha.”

Sweat had beaded on his forehead and a muscle moved in his cheek. She saw the pain in his eyes, in the set of his mouth.

“I will,” she promised, reaching down and taking his hand, giving him something to squeeze, to control.

He tried to smile. “A hunter, I suppose. A stray bullet.”

“We heard several shots.”

“So did I. I rode that way to see whether I could find out who was doing the shooting. Damn fool thing to do.”

She was startled at the sound of another rider returning. She turned. Ross. Timber was running behind him. Ross was off before his mount had stopped, taking quick steps over to Marc, kneeling beside him. “What in the hell …?”

She was surprised to see the sudden enmity in Marc’s eyes. “Were you out?”

Ross’s dark eyes curtained. He nodded.

“Someone shot me,” Marc said, his gaze intent on Ross.

Ross’s lips firmed into a tight line.

Jessie felt the tension between the two men. She realized that Marc was blaming Ross, even accusing him. Her gaze went to the scabbard on Ross’s saddle, then to his face. A chill ran through her. She’d caught some of the currents between Ross and the others, but nothing indicated they were strong enough that one might think the other meant intentional harm.

“No!” The exclamation left her mouth before she could stop it.

A car jerked to a stop next to them and Sarah jumped out. When she saw Ross, she nodded slightly. “You can help me get him into the car.”

Without a word, Ross nodded. “I’ll drive him into town.” He looked down at the dog. “Stay here,” he said. Timber sat obediently.

“I’ll go with you,” Jessie said.

She immediately wished she hadn’t. Ross tossed her a cynical look, as if accusing her of actually believing he had something to do with Marc’s injury and suggesting he might do something else on the way. But he only shrugged. “If you wish. You can keep the cloth tight against the wound.”

He leaned down and clasped Marc under his arms. Marc rose awkwardly, a moan slipping from his throat as he stood, swaying slightly. Then he shook himself away from Ross and took several steps toward the car. Jessie hurried in front of him and opened the door, offering her own arm to help him get into the seat. Then she went around to the other side and got in beside him.

“Where did it happen?” Ross asked from the driver’s seat. Sarah was climbing into the front seat next to him.

Marc’s lips clenched. “Near the three soldiers,” he said raggedly, and Jessie knew he was referring to a formation with three peaks. “Where were you?”

“I thought Sarah might take Jessica up to the Saddle. I was halfway there when I heard the shots.”

Why then, Jessie thought, had they not met him on the way back? Unless he’d veered off to see where the shots came from. That’s it. That’s the explanation.

But she saw the doubt in Marc’s face. Why? Surely he couldn’t think …

The questions pommeled her as Ross drove rapidly toward town. He was far exceeding the speed limit, and yet she sensed his control as she maintained the pressure on Marc’s shoulder.

Marc leaned back on the seat, his eyes closed, his hands rigid against the seat. “Jessica, will you call my daughter in … Phoenix?” He rattled off a number that she tried to memorize. “Tell her to get here as fast as possible. The news media …”

Sarah broke in. “I’ll call Alex. He can pressure the hospital not to make any announcements.”

“Good.”

They were all silent then. Ross reached the main highway and darted in and out of traffic, blowing the horn when he felt trapped. They reached the hospital where Jessie had been taken only two nights earlier.

Ross helped Marc inside, although it was obvious Marc was accepting his assistance only because there was no one else. Inside, a staffer at the emergency desk took one look at the bloodied shirt and rang a bell. In seconds, a white-jacketed physician’s assistant had Marc in a wheelchair and had hurried him into a small room. A doctor and nurse soon followed.

Sarah made several phone calls from the public telephone, trying to locate Samantha. Jessie tried to reach April in Phoenix. No one was at the number Marc had given her. She left a message for April to return to Sedona as soon as possible.

Then Jessie sat with Sarah. She watched as Ross wandered over to the other side of the room and leaned against a window. He always looked alone, isolated. His jaw was set, his lips grim. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she would wager her last cent that they gave nothing away. Marc had as much as accused him of the shooting, and he’d not raised one word in defense.

Well, she wouldn’t have either. It was so obviously wrong.

She looked at the clock and wondered why hospital clocks were always slower than other clocks. Thirty minutes seemed like an hour, even two. Time crawled by.

She rose and went over to Ross. She didn’t say anything, just tried to tell him by her presence that she didn’t believe Marc’s accusation.

He gave her a crooked smile, and her heart jumped. She wanted badly to reach out and touch him, and yet, despite the electricity that crackled between them, there was something about him that warned her off. A sign saying, “Keep away.”

Because of Marc’s silent accusations?

She saw a doctor come out. Sarah went to ask the questions. Marc was Sarah’s nephew. Maybe Jessie’s cousin. But she found that her concern was more for Ross than Marc, and that made her feel guilty. Shouldn’t she care for them all equally?

Sarah finished the conversation and approached them as the doctor left the room. The older woman’s gaze caught Ross’s. “They called the police because it’s a gunshot wound,” she said.

“It was an accident,” Jessie said.

“Of course it was,” Sarah replied, “but the law requires that all gunshot injuries be reported, accidental or not.”

“How is Marc?” Jessie asked, realizing that no one had asked that question.

“The bullet just grazed his shoulder. It didn’t hit anything major and it’s a clean wound. He’ll hurt for a while, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. They’ll fill him with antibiotics and release him.” Then she added wryly, “I imagine that he’ll find some way to use it to his advantage.”

Jessie was at a loss for words. She still didn’t understand all the twists of the relationships or the history behind them.

More moments passed. Then two men in uniform came in, went to the desk, then disappeared into the small room where Marc was still being tended. Jessie saw fear flit across Sarah’s face, felt tension radiate from Ross’s body. Her heart clenched. She wondered how—and when—she had come to care so intensely about Ross. And Sarah.

The two uniformed men came out. Jessie realized from the insignia that they were sheriff’s deputies. County officers.

They went straight to Ross. “Mr. Macleod?”

Ross nodded.

“We would like to ask you some questions.”

Ross shrugged, but Jessie knew him well enough now to sense the anger in him, even the tautness of strain. “Where?”

“At our office.”

He nodded.

“I’ll go with you,” Jessie said.

“No.” His voice was low, firm, absolute. “You drive Marc back.”

“Sarah can do that.”

“Sarah is the world’s worst driver. I don’t want anything else to happen to Marc.”

She hesitated.

“Please, Jessie.”

It was the “Jessie” that did it. Until now, he had called her Jessica despite her invitation to call her Jessie. Jessica was formal, a name used to keep her at a distance. Jessie was a friend. She wanted to be more, but for the moment it would do. “All right,” she said. “Should I ask Alex to meet you?”

“Sarah called him earlier. I’m surprised he’s not here yet. But I don’t need a lawyer. I’ll probably be back before you are.”

“What about a car?”

“They can take me back to the Sunset.”

Jessie noted that he did not refer to the Sunset as home.

She wanted to protest again, but he didn’t give her a chance. He led the way out the doors, the deputies following in his wake.

“Don’t worry about Ross,” Sarah said, touching her arm. “He’ll be all right.”

“But why would Marc …?”

Sarah sighed. “They’ve never cared for each other. There’s a history there. It doesn’t help that April has been aggravating the situation by chasing after Ross.”

“What kind of history?”

Sarah’s mouth clamped down, and Jessie knew she wasn’t going to get an answer. Not to that question. “Surely, Marc doesn’t really think …”

“I don’t know what he thinks,” Sarah said. “I just know Ross isn’t responsible.”

More questions than answers. The main one was why Ross still managed the Sunset if Marc disliked him so much. But before she could ask it, Marc emerged from the small room in a wheelchair, his shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling. His face was pale, but he managed his charismatic grin.

“I’ll live,” he said.

“I never doubted it,” Sarah said acidly. “You set them on Ross.”

“I just told them what happened. I was riding alone. I didn’t see who was shooting. I said I thought it was a stray bullet from some hunter.”

“Then why did they want to question him?”

“So that’s where he’s gone. I simply mentioned that he was out riding today, too. They probably want to know if he saw anything.”

Sarah looked at him for a long moment, then turned away. “Let’s go home.”

The tension was as thick as smoke from a forest fire. Marc turned to Jessie. “Did you contact my daughter?”

“I couldn’t find her, but I left a message for her to drive back.”

“Good. There will be a lot of press inquiries. We’ll have to decide how to handle them.”

“Tell the truth?” she asked with some cynicism.

His smile faded slightly, then returned. “Of course, Jessie.”

He followed Sarah. Jessie kept pace with him. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“You’ve been wonderful,” he replied warmly. “There is a prescription …”

She looked over to him again. She felt guilty. He must be in pain, and he would be in more pain later. “I’m sorry,” she said. She wanted to add that she’d been angry for Ross, but how could she judge, or even question, the merits of Marc’s suspicions. She was a stranger to the family, and she was discovering that this family, at least, had their share of secrets.

She shivered, and his good hand took hers. He’d noticed her unease, of course. That was another thing. She apparently was as readable as a first-grade primer while everyone else seemed firmly masked.

First-grade primer. Jessie had given little thought to that part of her father’s legacy. But now she recalled all those questions about her father, whether he had left her anything. She thought then they meant something that would confirm her identity. Now she wondered.

She immediately called herself a fool. Yet for some reason the idea nagged at her as Sarah drove down the main road toward the ranch. So did the idea of Ross at some office, defending himself against an accusation that he might have tried to kill his cousin. Her stomach knotted at the very thought.

She would wait at the ranch until he returned. And where was Alex? He always seemed to be around. But not apparently when he was needed. And whose side would he take in this? Would he also suspect Ross?

After a short stop at a pharmacy, Jessie drove them back to the ranch. Marc was silent and so was she. Until now, she’d liked him. Now she felt like an adversary.

Samantha was waiting on the porch. She’d obviously been informed about the accident. She swept down the stairs and into Marc’s embrace. His good arm went around her, and Samantha saw him wince. It was a nice gesture, comforting her despite the fact that her embrace obviously pained him. She also saw another side of the aloof Samantha. Warm. Worried.

Had she been wrong to blame Marc? Perhaps he did have reason to …

Timber was also waiting. He had watched steadily as people left the car. When Ross did not, his head drooped. Jessie went over and stooped beside him. “He’ll be home soon,” she said. The animal’s tail wagged halfheartedly.

“He won’t let anyone else do that,” Sarah said. She looked tired, even a little defeated.

“I’ve always been good with dogs,” Jessie said. “I like them and they seem to know it.” She put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “You need a cup of coffee.”

“I need a whiskey,” Sarah corrected. “And so do you.”

Marc thanked Sarah, then disappeared with Samantha into the bedroom they used. Jessie poured a glass of whiskey for Sarah and a glass of red wine for herself.

Sarah slumped into a chair. “You don’t have to stay, Jessie.”

“I want to,” she replied. “Why would Marc even suggest Ross could be involved?” She’d asked the question to no avail earlier. Now she wanted to know. She was tired of mysteries.

Sarah hesitated. “They’ve had heated battles about the ranch. Marc believes that if Ross leaves, I’ll agree to sell the ranch. And Marc hunts on this land. Ross doesn’t like it. The truth is they’ve never liked—or trusted—each other, and now they both are a danger to what the other wants.”

Another reason to like Ross. Jessie loathed hunting. “How has Ross managed to keep his position here?”

“Now that’s complicated,” Sarah said with a smile. “For one thing, the others realized they couldn’t do any better than Ross. He’s superb at what he does. He made a fine profit before the cattle market went to hell, and Halden was only too happy to let someone else be responsible for the ranch. In fact, that’s one of the problems between Ross and Marc. Halden always liked Ross, admired his skill with horses. Said he had the Clements touch even if he wasn’t one. Marc always craved his father’s approval and he resented Ross. Marc felt he never measured up no matter how high he climbed in politics. I think he’s jealous that his father puts so much faith in Ross.”

Sarah took a sip of the whiskey and continued. “Halden and I had the votes to give Ross a long-term contract—which, considering the family rivalries, he demanded. Marc was not happy about it. It wasn’t until the last few months that my brother started to bend on selling the ranch and that’s because he doesn’t have the strength to fight both his sons.”

Jessie thought about everything that had been said. “Do you think Marc was hunting today?”

“I doubt it. It’s out of season and he’s been careful about his image in the past few years.”

“Then why would he take a rifle?”

“Target practice. Protection against snakes.” She shrugged. “Ross usually takes a rifle himself for that reason.”

“Why would he possibly think Ross could be responsible for that shot?”

“Jessie, there’s nothing Marc would like better than to get Ross fired. He believes Ross is the only chance the Sunset has to survive as a working ranch, that I’ll vote to sell if Ross goes.”

Jessie absorbed that. “Wishful thinking on his part?”

“Could be. He might really believe it. Marc has a tendency to believe what he wants to believe.”

“Not a good trait for a senator.”

“Oh, Marc would probably make a good senator. He pays attention to polls, and he has an instinct for what people want.”

Jessie raised an eyebrow. “Damning with faint praise?”

Sarah chuckled. “I really didn’t mean to be uncharitable. He does have some principles.”

Jessie shook her head. “I’m confused.”

“We’re a confusing family. But I suppose all families are.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jessie said.

Sarah sighed. “I know. We must all seem a bit strange. But we do all care about you. We want to make it up to you … everything your father lost.”

Jessie was wondering whether she wanted anything made up. Since she’d been “found,” she’d been burglarized, lost in the mountains, her store vandalized. Her privacy had been invaded, and she’d felt that someone had been watching her.

Perfect family indeed.

And yet … she was beginning to feel just a tiny part of it. And that part felt natural. Right.

She walked over to the window. The land called to her in a way nothing had before. Because it was a part of her, part of her heritage?

Timber was still waiting. Head alert. Looking out toward the drive. She suspected he would sit there until Ross arrived.

And so would she.