Perfect Family

by Potter, Patricia;

  He heard the intake of her breath and smiled to himself. She wasn’t quite as indifferent as she tried to be.

  “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty,” he said again.

  She merely nodded as her gaze continued to roam around the room, resting on a table laden with gifts.

  A good time for him to disappear. She was already getting under his skin. Her spontaneous reaction to something he took for granted was surprisingly endearing.

  He placed the suitcase inside, closed the door behind him as he went outside, and walked back to the main building.

  He looked at his watch. A few hours before he would meet her again. He might as well return to his office. Maybe work would take his mind off her. Dammit, but he hoped so.

  four

  Jessie felt like an alien as Alex drove her toward her first meeting with her potential family. She thought of it like that. Potential. Not sure. Probably not even likely.

  The sun was beginning to set, its glow appearing to ignite the red rock, turning it to fire. The sky itself was ribboned with magnificent colors ranging from pure gold to scarlet. The sheer beauty of it made her ache.

  “I told you it was spectacular,” Alex said.

  “So you did,” she said, grateful for his matter-of-fact presence. He had driven her from the resort, which itself had been an experience. Her room was large and equipped with any number of luxuries, including a Jacuzzi bath, fully stocked bar, fluffy white robes, and a gloriously comfortable bed. Even more amazing had been the assortment of items awaiting her: a bottle of expensive champagne, a huge bowl of fruit, crackers and cheese, and two fresh bouquets of flowers. At least someone was certainly trying to make her feel welcome. Several someones, according to the cards attached to the gifts.

  She was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland. She only hoped she wouldn’t be meeting some of the book’s inhabitants. The Cheshire Cat, for instance. He’d lured poor unsuspecting Alice into a false security. Was Alex her Cheshire Cat, luring her into the same sense of security with his charming smile? She reminded herself that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. Little was ever as it seemed, and she’d be wise to keep that lesson in mind, unlike the headstrong Alice …

  She folded her legs, betraying a nervousness she’d tried to hide. She prayed she was dressed correctly: a pair of gray tailored slacks, a peach silk blouse, and a silver necklace of twenty fine strands. She had been careful with makeup, using just a touch of powder and mascara in addition to her lipstick. Then she’d stood in front of the mirror, regarding herself critically. Nothing special there. No heiress. No princess. No Cinderella. Just plain Jessie who lived in a small book-crowded cottage and barely made a living selling her tomes.

  She’d been unprepared for the appreciative look she saw in Alex’s eyes when he’d picked her up.

  “You look very pretty,” he said, and she felt a flush of pleasure. She was glad he hadn’t used grander words, because she wouldn’t have believed him then. But his quiet compliment gave her a flush of confidence.

  She’d made him go over the members of the family again, telling her about what each of them did. She remembered the congressman, of course, and after a few hours at the Quest felt she knew something of Cullen, the man who had built the hotel. She’d learned more about his children—twins. One apparently managed the resort. The other was a city councilman in a nearby town.

  She had tried to inventory the others, but the one that intrigued her was Ross, possibly because of the way Alex avoided talking about him. She wondered if he would be present tonight. Jitters intensified inside her.

  She asked questions as Alex drove from Sedona. He drove a luxurious sports vehicle, and she noticed that it was only one of many on the road. Nearly everyone, it seemed, drove either a sports vehicle, a Jeep, or a pickup truck. She turned her attention from the road to the land around them, searching for cattle but not finding any. The dry land appeared hostile to any type of life.

  “Are there no cattle?” she asked.

  “They’ve been taken up to higher pastures,” he said. “In the fall, Ross will bring them down.”

  She found herself speaking to keep her nervousness from roiling too violently. “It doesn’t look like it would feed very many.”

  “It doesn’t. It takes twenty acres to feed a unit.”

  “A unit?”

  “A cow and calf,” he said.

  Twenty acres for one cow and calf. She could barely imagine it. “But a ranch would require so much land.”

  “It does, but most of it is leased from the government. The Clementses have the original homestead claim of three hundred twenty acres, then bought out other ranchers. They own a total of nine hundred acres and lease thousands more from the government.”

  She mentally tried to total up the number of cattle that would support, but without success.

  They started climbing, the road twisting and changing, bordered on each side by strands of wire. She wondered how wise she’d been to come with him as the sun started to fall and she still saw no sign of human habitation.

  Alex turned off the main road onto a dirt road. After approximately five minutes, they rode over a rise and she saw a cluster of buildings sitting amid a clump of trees. A sprawling house of rock and wood was surrounded by several outbuildings, including a newly painted barn that was fronted by a riding ring. To its side was a smaller house. Then there were several sheds.

  Horses grazed in a pasture just beyond the barn; even from here she recognized quality. Her father had taught her that.

  Her gaze went back to what was obviously the main house. The building itself had little grace but looked as if it had been built in haphazard fashion, a new wing here, a new room there. Part of the structure was rock, part frame. A rocking-chair porch wrapped around the front and sides. Rosebushes brimming with coral and crimson blooms framed the house in well-tended beds.

  The Sunset didn’t have the grandeur of Southfork from Dallas, but it had a warm charm about it. She looked around. The sun was descending in an apricot sky and its rays hit the red rock cliff behind the house. She didn’t even try to stifle an exclamation of delight as shafts of light turned the rock into flaming gold.

  Jessie saw several figures around the corral and three more on the porch. They disappeared inside as the car drew up, perhaps to announce a new presence. Alex had already stopped the vehicle and gone around to her side. He gave her his hand, and she slipped out. He held on to it, as if he knew she needed this support.

  She tightened her fingers around his for a moment, then let them go. She said a brief prayer as they approached the door, and it opened.

  An older woman appeared at the doorway. Her hair was short and gray, and her skin was dark and weathered. She wore denim trousers, a tan shirt, and a suede vest decorated with what looked like turquoise. Lively hazel eyes, the same color as Jessie’s, searched her face, then the woman’s lips spread into a warm smile.

  “Jessica,” she said, reaching out with both hands. “Welcome to the Sunset. I’m Sarah Macleod,” she said, without giving Alex a chance to introduce them. The older woman took her hand. “You don’t mind, do you, Jessica?” she’d asked.

  Jessie realized immediately she did not. She instantly liked the older woman, who looked as if she were in her mid-seventies but moved like a much younger person. Warmth exuded from her, but Jessie saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes, and that made her clasp the woman’s hand. They had something in common, both of them. Neither was as assured as she’d wanted to be. That realization made her like Sarah Macleod far more than certainty would.

  The evening became a blur of names and faces.

  Sarah was memorable, as was Halden. He was obviously the patriarch of the family and sat in what looked like the most comfortable chair in the room. He looked to be in his eighties or so, and he had a thatch of white hair over a face inlaid with wrinkled trails. Calm hazel eyes, like those of Sarah and her own, peered at her with interest. “You
have the look of a Clements,” he said in a surprisingly strong voice, though he didn’t try to stand.

  She wasn’t sure whether the comment called for an answer or not, so she just stood straight under his searching gaze.

  “That’s a compliment, girl,” he added, a slight twinkle in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  “You have doubts?”

  “I’ve never believed in fairy tales,” she said honestly.

  “Good for you. I never did, either. A good, healthy doubt now and then won’t hurt anyone. Some in this family would be better off it they didn’t count their chickens before they hatched.” His gaze left her face to wander about the room, leaving her to puzzle over the remark.

  She turned to look at Sarah, and was surprised at the expression that flitted across her face. Fear? But it disappeared quickly. Sarah tugged slightly on her hand. “Let me show you some photos.”

  But before they had moved two feet, they were stopped by a tall, distinguished man. That he was related to Halden was obvious, except he had spectacular eyes as blue as a summer’s sky. Clear. Bright. Probing. “I’m Marc Clements,” he said easily, taking her free hand and holding it as if it were a treasure of some sort.

  The congressman. She would have known it instantly, even if he hadn’t mentioned his name.

  He’d given her a smile even more charming than Alex’s, and the room seemed to still with his magnetism. Jessie guessed his age at early fifties, but she couldn’t be sure. She only knew that he made her feel like the most important person in the room.

  “My cousin,” he said as the lines around his eyes creased with warmth. His smile widened.

  She was surprised at the depth of pleasure filling her. She’d felt at ease with Sarah and now with this man. It was odd because she generally was reserved, even shy, with strangers. Alex’s easy manner had torn down some of her wariness, and now she felt caught in a glow of belonging.

  “I’m … not sure,” she said, almost stuttering. She had tried so hard to stay objective, but she found herself melting under all the acceptance she felt. A family. A family that seemed absolutely perfect.

  “You look just like the pictures of Sarah when she was young,” Marc Clements said. “She pulled them out before you arrived.”

  “I was just going to show them to her,” Sarah said. Jessie thought she heard irritation in her voice. Or was it merely impatience?

  If it was there, Marc Clements ignored it. “We’ve been hoping you would stay longer than this weekend. Family is important to us all.” A very pretty blond woman came over to him, and the congressman put his arm around her. “This is Samantha, my wife and best political asset.”

  “Jessica,” Samantha acknowledged, but her eyes didn’t warm as her husband’s had. Jessie had the sudden, unpleasant impression of being under a microscope, and the viewer was looking for a particularly obnoxious bug. But then Samantha smiled, and Jessie could see why the congressman had said what he had about her being a political asset. She also wondered whether she had been mistaken, whether she’d read something into a moment’s hesitation that didn’t belong there.

  “Please call me Jessie,” she said. “Everyone does.”

  “But Jessica is such a pretty name,” Samantha said.

  “Only my father called me that,” she said in a voice tighter than she intended.

  The silence was deafening. It was the first time, she suddenly realized, that he had been mentioned. He was, however, like a ghost in the room. She hadn’t realized it until this moment.

  “Don’t you all monopolize her.” The booming voice belonged to a tall, commanding figure of a man standing next to a tiny woman. He had blue eyes like the congressman, but they were a paler shade, almost gray.

  Marc smiled wryly and turned to him. “Jessie, this is my brother, Cullen, and his wife, Sondra. Those identical images in the corner are his twin sons.”

  “She sure is as pretty as a Clements,” Cullen said. “She looks just like Sarah …”

  Marc had charisma, but this man was like a bounding Labrador retriever. He had an exuberance that made his brother look reticent and reserved.

  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, making her feel indeed like the long-lost prodigal daughter.

  Jessie felt almost inconsequential between the force of these two men, both of whom seemed determined to make her feel as if she belonged. She tried to reclaim part of herself. “You’re the one who built the Quest,” she said. “It’s wonderful. Thank you for letting me stay there.”

  “Delighted, cousin.” He looked at Marc. “I told you she would like it.”

  Marc glanced at Sarah, whose face tightened. Jessie felt a sudden chill as she noted the exchange. She was aware of a tension between the three, almost as if the brothers were claiming some kind of subtle triumph.

  She felt a tug on her arm. “I am going to steal her away,” Sarah said.

  Jessie allowed herself to be led from the room, grateful for a moment’s reprieve from that momentary discomfiture from the many faces, from the expectation she saw in them. Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed, caught in the eye of a storm she didn’t really understand.

  She was aware of eyes following her. Friendly eyes, mostly, she thought, but something else hovered in the air. She felt an edge, a watchfulness.

  Sarah led her down the hall to a large bedroom. The hardwood floor was covered by a colorful woven rug, the walls by western paintings. A fireplace was framed by two large windows that looked out over the mountain she’d seen on the approach.

  But she had little time to study the room. Sarah led her to a dresser and took from it a large framed photo of a man and woman seated in two chairs. Behind them were five young men and a girl.

  “This was taken in nineteen-forty. I was sixteen. Halden, whom you met tonight, was thirty-two, and this is Harding.” She pointed to a handsome young boy of around seventeen and handed the photo to Jessie, who looked at it wonderingly. “Is this your father?”

  Jessie couldn’t answer for a moment. Harding Clements had a wide grin on his face as if he’d just stolen cookies from a cookie jar or committed some other mischief. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her father smile like that.

  And yet she knew that her father and this man were the same. She’d recognized him immediately. The set of his eyes, the heavy brows, the tall, rangy form. She had never seen a photo of him as a young man, had never even been able to imagine him as one. He’d always been so much older than other fathers, so … severe, distant, forbidding. Her fingers went over the photo as if she were trying to capture his image. Maybe she was.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She could barely breathe. And her heart thumped faster. Her father! She knew. She knew.

  Then she looked at the girl standing next to Harding Clements. Her hair was caught in the wind, long and blond. A smile lit her face. The girl, frozen in time, did look much as Jessie had a few years ago.

  She stood, stunned. The picture mesmerized her. Six siblings.

  Why had the one brother left a group that looked so … pleased with each other?

  She felt Sarah’s arm go around her. “He was my favorite brother,” she said. “He was a year younger, and we always looked after each other.”

  “Why … would he leave?” Jessie finally asked the question that wouldn’t go away.

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said, but Jessie instantly sensed that she did indeed know. Or suspected.

  Jessie looked from her father’s photo to the two young men next to him. They were identical.

  “Hugh and Heath,” Sarah said. “They were identical twins, just like Cullen’s twins. Hugh was killed in Europe in World War II. They were together when … Hugh stepped on a mine.”

  “What happened to Heath?”

  “He died a few years later,” Sarah said shortly.

  Jessie tried to recall exactly what Alex had said about the man they believed was her father. Your father disappeared the same day hi
s 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.

  “Heath? Was he the one caught in the forest fire?”

  Sarah looked startled. “How did you know about that?”

  “Alex.”

  The startled look disappeared, but Jessie saw something unsettling in the woman’s eyes before she spoke again. “I didn’t know Alex had mentioned that, but yes, it was Heath.”

  “And Harding’s wife?” She could not let herself say father. Not yet.

  “Yes.” It was a flat answer,

  Sarah then reached over and pointed to the second man to the right. “This was Harry, another brother. He ran the ranch until he died and my husband took over. Now Ross is in charge.” It was obvious she was trying to change the subject.

  “I haven’t met Ross yet, have I?”

  A shadow crossed her face. “No, he isn’t here. I expect him later.”

  “He’s your son?” Jessie was still trying to get the relationships in their right place.

  “Yes,” Sarah replied softly.

  Jessie’s gaze turned back to the man that now on one level she was beginning to accept as her father. He had been forty-eight when she was born and was in his mid-sixties when he died. She couldn’t remember when he wasn’t gray, when deep lines hadn’t aged his face beyond his years. He had always been rangy, though. As lean as he was in the photo.

  But the deep-set, piercing eyes were the same, even if the smile wasn’t.

  “Do you have any other photos?” she asked.

  “Enough to exhaust you,” Sarah said. She went over to a desk and picked up one of several albums sitting there, then sat down on a loveseat in front of the fireplace. She patted the empty seat beside her. Jessie went over and sat down.

  Sarah opened one of the albums. The photos were mostly small, black-and-white, some of them turning brown with age. “I received a camera for Christmas when I was eight. I had wonderful dreams about being a photographer and roaming the world.”

  Jessie looked up at her. “What happened to that dream?”