thirteen

Ross had felt this way before. Rebellious. Angry. But now he’d learned to control his temper.

Or at least he thought he had.

“Do you have a rifle?” the cop asked.

“Of course I do,” he shot back. “Name me someone over sixteen in the state who doesn’t.”

“Can we see it?”

“If you want to know whether it’s been fired recently, yes it has.”

A raised eyebrow met his declaration.

“Not at the congressman. You’ll find a headless rattler near the Saddle. And a shell.”

“That’s real convenient.”

“If I’d meant to shoot Marc Clements, he would be dead,” Ross said.

“We can’t be perfect all the time,” one of the deputies said acidly.

“I didn’t say I was perfect. I said I’m a good shot.”

“Yeah, we know that,” the other deputy said. “We also know you were a real hellion as a kid.”

“Juvenile is the key word,” Ross said. “I’m sure you checked and know damned well I haven’t picked up as much as a traffic ticket since.”

“Let’s see if I remember right. Car theft. Assault, including one on the congressman.”

“He wasn’t a congressman then.”

“Oh yeah, and a rape. You were a busy boy.”

Ross had known that would be revisited. “The charges were dropped.”

“They often are when the victim is threatened.”

Ross didn’t reply. They wanted to think he was guilty. He wondered what Marc had told them.

“Nothing to say?”

“Nothing you want to hear.”

“Maybe a night in jail will make you more talkative.”

“Are you going to charge me with something? Otherwise, I’m walking out of here. Now.”

The cop frowned. “Don’t clean that rifle. We’ll be out later to look at it.”

“Bring a search warrant.” Ross knew his temper was ready to explode. Damn Marc anyway.

“We’ll do it.”

Ross rose. He needed to get the hell out of there.

He also knew he’d become a prime suspect.

Walking out of the office, he recalled Jessie’s startled look when Marc as much as accused him of the shooting, remembered the exclamation she’d made. For an instant, she’d believed it.

But then why shouldn’t she? He was part Apache, wasn’t he? The son of an alcoholic ne’er-do-well? Bad blood. Marc had been saying that for years. Ross had wanted to do real damage to Marc years ago when he’d called Ross a rapist. Only Sarah’s intervention with both the law and family had saved him then, but not until he’d spent several weeks in jail. Sarah had believed him and convinced everyone else. Everyone except Marc.

He owed Sarah.

And now the old story of the rape had surfaced again. And probably so would the rumors. It was all he needed now.

Jessie was looking through a window when an unfamiliar, run-down truck pulled up in front of Ross’s house. Ross stepped out and with his own unique grace took the few steps to the porch. Timber, who had been waiting patiently, made a dash to his side, but Ross paid no attention. Neither did he look toward the larger ranch house. He seemed only intent to get inside his own.

She turned toward Sarah. “He’s back.”

“Of course, he’s back,” Sarah said. “The police had no reason to keep him.”

But despite her words, Jessie saw tension ease in her shoulders. “I’ll go, then,” Jessie said. “I think I have a dinner date with Alex.”

“Rosa said his office called. He’s in court in Flagstaff. He’s coming by here as soon as he’s finished. Why don’t you wait here for him?”

“I’m not dressed for dinner,” she said. At least not with Alex. She would be just fine for Ross. The realization did not endear Alex to her. Even after Marc’s insinuations, she wanted to be with Ross. She wanted it very much.

Marc was in the bedroom he shared with his wife. Samantha hadn’t appeared since they’d climbed the stairs to their wing of the house, and neither had Halden.

Jessie tried to think of something other than the earlier ugly scene. She turned her attention to the kitchen. Rosa was cooking something that smelled wonderful.

Jessie couldn’t care less about Alex or about cooking. She wanted to go over and talk to Ross, to let him know she didn’t believe a word of Marc’s garbage. But why would he care?

The unfamiliar truck that had brought him disappeared down the road. Some friend, she supposed. Friends like those she’d met last night. Friends she wished she knew more about. Because then perhaps she would learn more about him.

“Will you ask Ross to come over for supper?” Sarah said.

Jessie looked at her suspiciously. “Why don’t you?”

“Somehow I don’t think I would have the same influence. I’m his mother. And you …” Her voice trailed off.

“And me?” Jessie asked dubiously.

“He likes you.”

“How can you tell?”

Sarah finally smiled. “It’s difficult at times, but I can tell.”

Jessie hesitated. Although his face had been turned away when he’d arrived, she could sense his glowering mood even from a distance. Resentment had been clear in the taut set of his shoulders. She didn’t blame him. What had happened was unfair. It had not been right. Indignation on his behalf flooded her.

The only problem was that she didn’t think he would appreciate her indignation.

She looked at her watch. They had gone riding at noon, returned about two. It was after seven now. So much had happened in a few hours. So many … feelings unveiled. More secrets. “I’ll tell him about supper. And that Alex is on his way,” she said, finally deciding to err on the side of action rather than caution.

Sarah sank down in a chair. “Thank you,” she said. “He will probably tell you to leave, but … he needs someone who believes in him.”

The statement surprised her. Ross Macleod didn’t seem to need anyone. Much less someone who believed in him. He didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. Which was, she supposed, why he had put in so few appearances at the family reunion.

Reluctantly, she opened the door and took the path. She’d never been inside Ross’s house and she wondered now how he lived.

She knocked at the screen door. The other door was open, and she heard the rush of Timber’s feet and his ferocious bark. As the dog lunged against the door, she thought Ben could certainly take lessons from him. Her burglar would have been in a different county instead of rummaging among her belongings.

“Timber!” Ross’s voice was sharp. The dog stopped immediately and sat.

But his master didn’t appear at the door. Only his voice emerged from the interior. “Go away, Sarah.”

“It’s not Sarah.”

There was a silence, then footsteps. Ross stood at the door. “Only Sarah isn’t afraid of Timber.”

“Is that why you have him?”

He weighed that question for a moment, then the side of his mouth crooked upward. “No, but it’s a fringe benefit.”

He stood there in jeans and bare feet and nothing more. His cheeks were darkened with just a hint of a shadow. His jaw was set, emphasizing the hard angles of his face. And his eyes seemed to burn with anger. He was all masculine energy. Simmering, masculine energy. He looked dangerous and predatory.

Her heart beat frantically against her ribs.

He was splendid. His chest was bronze as if he’d spent time working without a shirt. His shoulders were broad, his muscles well-defined, and his body obviously whipcord strong. His jeans, worn to a soft gray, fit like a second skin.

The heat of late afternoon grew hotter. Sizzling.

“But he doesn’t frighten you?” Ross’s question startled her. She wondered if he’d caught her staring.

“Nothing with four feet and a tail frightens me.”

“Then you should be afraid of me.”

“Why?”

“Marc hasn’t told you?”

“No one has told me anything,” she said. “Except Sarah, who wanted me to invite you for supper. She also said Alex was on the way.”

“I don’t need Alex. And as for supper, she knows better than that. Marc and I in the same house? Not a good idea.”

The door still stood between them. His gaze raked her as if he were trying to make a decision. She shifted on her feet, wondering whether she should leave.

Ross hesitated a moment longer, then opened the door. Timber stayed at his side.

“He missed you,” Jessie ventured. “He wouldn’t move from the porch.”

“He senses when something is wrong,” Ross said.

She entered the room. It was unlike any other bachelor’s home she’d visited. Decorated with Indian rugs and artifacts, the room exuded warmth and character. Shelves filled with books, except for one shelf lined with kachina dolls, stretched across the one entire wall. She went over to the dolls and admired them. “These are wonderful,” she said sincerely. She’d seen a private collection of kachina dolls at Emory University and knew they had to represent a great deal of money. “That’s a valuable collection.”

“To me,” he said simply.

“To many people.”

“I don’t care about ‘many people,’ especially those who just collect.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“Only temporarily. I want to keep them from going into private collections. They’re a heritage that’s being lost to the people who created them,” he said, passion creeping into his voice. “One day these will go back to them, once I know they’ll be safe.”

The answer astounded her. As did the sheer complexity of this man. Would she ever really know him? Understand him? She swallowed hard, then asked, “How did you get them?”

“I’ve found them one at a time. Usually when an old one dies. Their children sell anything they think is of value. They often don’t know its true worth.” He looked at her. “They don’t care about the heritage, their meaning. Someday, they will.”

Heritage. Belonging. Jessie realized that the dolls had everything to do with that, and nothing to do with the accumulation of wealth. He would never sell those dolls, just as she wouldn’t sell her carousel horses.

Her gaze met his, and his eyes changed, softened. “You understand, don’t you?”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Yes.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t tell him about her horses, her magical steeds that could take her away to wonderful worlds where there was no loneliness.

There was none now. Not with Ross beside her.

Instead, her heart beat a steady tattoo in her chest as she looked up at him. His eyes weren’t masked now, nor was his face. She saw a yearning in him, a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. He’d been wounded today in some way she really couldn’t understand. She also knew it was a new tear across old scar tissue.

That understanding struck like a knife through her.

She lifted her hand and her fingers touched his cheek. She did it without plan, even without intent. The touch was all impulse. Instinct.

Necessity.

She wanted him to know she didn’t believe Marc’s insinuations. She wanted him to know she believed in him.

She raised her eyes to him. His eyes were smoldering.

Or was it she who was smoldering? Her legs felt boneless, as his hands touched her shoulders, the fingers splaying against her skin. The thin cloth of her blouse might not even exist as heat from his touch ignited flames beneath his hands, then spread deeper. She felt as if she’d moved into an energy field.

He bent his head and his lips touched hers. They moved hesitantly at first, then with increasing intensity. She found herself rising on tiptoes, her body instinctively moving closer to his. Her hands went to his face, feeling the roughness of his cheeks, her fingers exploring the crevices that so intrigued her. Then they moved to his neck, those same fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair.

Her heart thundered now. As if he could hear every accelerated beat, he pressed the kiss, his mouth opening to hers and his tongue seducing its way into her mouth. Her body was suddenly alive with sensations. Tremors shook her body. Desire. Want. Yearning. They all welled up inside the core of her, building to a hurricane of need. She was swept up in it, her blood rushing, her emotions racing.

His tongue explored the tender, sensitive parts of her mouth. Shivers of pleasure ran through her, leaving residues of a glowing warmth. Her body snuggled deeper into his, and she felt his body respond, grow hard and taut.

One of his hands slipped to the nape of her neck, playing with her hair, his fingers massaging the sensitive areas of the back of her neck. His tongue moved deep, exploring, teasing softly. Inviting her to join him. She did. She remembered the feel of him, the incredible sensations he’d aroused before, but this kiss had a desperation that touched her as nothing else had. She’d never known a kiss could be so intimate, so arousing, so soul-searing.

His hand moved from the back of her neck and touched her cheek, exploring it even as his tongue explored her mouth.

Suddenly he removed his lips and looked at her. “Dammit, Jessie, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“A number of reasons.”

“There’s only one that would mean anything.”

His face was close, his breath like a warm breeze against her face. “What would that be?”

“That you don’t want me here.” She felt naked with her answer. She had never been confident with a man. Mills had seen to that. And now she was less sure than ever. Ross was so much more than she’d ever thought she would have. Even for a moment in time. He was everything she’d ever thought she wanted when she’d daydreamed. A hero straight out of the pages of a book.

Just like a perfect family had been.

A sharp-edged lump formed in her throat at the sudden silence.

His fingers touched her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “I want you too much, Jessica.”

“How could that be?”

He made a noise deep in his throat. She would have thought it a chuckle if his mouth wasn’t so grim. “I’ve just been accused of attempted murder. That should give you some pause.”

“Marc didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, he meant it all right.” He chuckled but there was no mirth in him. “But he’s a politician above all. On reflection, I think he decided not to pursue it because it wouldn’t look good on his résumé. A bad seed in his family trying to do him in. Wouldn’t do at all in a presidential campaign.”

“Presidential?”

“He has aspirations. I doubt that he has a big enough hunger in his belly, but he likes the sound of it. At the moment, he has all he can handle running for Senate.”

She was bewildered. A moment ago they had been caught in a whirlwind. But just as quickly, he’d called a halt to it. Aching inside, she sought to sound as normal as he did. “Will he win?” She hoped it wasn’t as much a croak as it sounded to her.

Ross shrugged carelessly. And that hurt. More than he would ever know. How could he sound so normal after her universe had been turned upside down?

“Who knows?” His voice remained matter of fact. As if they’d just shared a cup of coffee. “If he had the money, he might well have a good chance. He tells people what they want to hear.” He shrugged. “And people like him. You like him, don’t you?”

She met his gaze. Nodded. Tried to sound as normal as he. “Sarah told me he felt you were standing in the way of selling the ranch.”

He shrugged. “He’s wrong. Sarah’s standing in the way. She won’t let go of it. Not as long as she breathes.” He hesitated, then added, “He also thinks I’ve been a bad influence on Hall and April.”

Jessie wondered whether Marc’s concern was more April than Hall. So she asked. “April doesn’t seem to agree.”

A small humorless smile finally lit his face. “Marc’s afraid she might want the forbidden fruit. It’s a pattern with her. She loves her father. Sometimes, I think too much. When she feels her brother is getting too much attention, she pulls some stunt to bring it back to her.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. April used him. Or did she just want him? Jessie felt a chill creep up her back. Had he wanted April too? He hadn’t indicated as much, but then he revealed very little.

“There’s so many currents,” she said.

“All families have conflicts,” he said objectively. Stepping back as she’d seen him do before.

“Not the family I used to dream about.”

“Didn’t anyone ever warn you about dreams?” His voice took on a note of cynicism. She wondered what dreams he’d had.

“Oh yes,” she replied dryly. She hesitated, then asked, “But why are you forbidden fruit? You’re not a blood cousin.”

“You keep asking questions. Are you sure you want answers?”

“Yes,” she said. “Along with why you said you wanted me too much.”

“I’m trying to be honorable, Jessie,” he said. “I’m not very good at it.”

Frustration made her knot her fists. “I’m tired of riddles.”

“You have only to ask the police.” His voice was suddenly bitter. She could sense he was withdrawing into some dark place.

“I don’t understand.”

“They just reminded me of my juvenile record. It should have been closed years ago, but the cops have long memories. Every time something happens, they come to me.”

“Sarah told me you were … unruly as a boy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Unruly?”

“She didn’t exactly put it that way.”

“I don’t imagine she did. Nor, I suppose, did she say anything about the rape.”

Jessie stilled. She had never forgotten the night of the prom. She took a step back. She knew her eyes must be disbelieving.

He didn’t say anything. His hooded eyes only watched.

“No,” she said.

“You would have heard about it sooner or later,” he continued, his voice cool. Contained. Even as she felt something inside her dying.

How could it? She hadn’t known him that long. Hadn’t really believed that someone like him could … be attracted to her.

She could barely breathe. She thought she would suffocate. Panic struck her as it had that night years ago, as it had in so many nightmares since.

He just stood there. So blasted tall. So overwhelming.

Rape!

The ugliest word in the English language. She felt as if she’d just been shredded by a cannon. She found herself backing away. Just as she had impulsively reached for him moments earlier, now she instinctively retreated.

He didn’t say anything. A muscle in his neck moved. His eyes were curtained, his mouth grim.

She couldn’t believe it. Surely, she would have heard something, been warned. Something. He wouldn’t be manager of this ranch. He wouldn’t be standing here watching her so intently.

“Go away, Jessie,” he said wearily, as if he’d seen everything in her face he’d expected to see. “Remember what happens when you play with fire.”

He turned away and went into another room.

She was still rooted to the floor, her emotions in turmoil. Even the familiar panic. Images flashed through her mind. The barn. The odor of alcohol. The cruel words. Then …

Jessie closed her eyes for a moment, just as her stomach heaved.

She ran out the door, out to her car. She started it, then, nearly blinded by unshed tears, pressed down the gas pedal and roared out the driveway, raising dirt and dust behind her.