Perfect Family (41 page)

She had hoped Sarah would come, but no one should be driving on a night like this, particularly a woman who might be ill.
Might be
. Now she was questioning everything about the family and everyone in it.

Including Ross? If she didn't, perhaps she should. Black was white, and white was black. She could no long decipher the signals
.

Her heart clenched at the thought as she'd waited in the waiting area. She'd planned to call a taxi, but someone at the hospital told her she might be waiting for hours on a night like this. She feared that worry might harm Sarah more than her knowing what had happened. The doctor also didn't want to release her until a friend or relative came for her. A recent concussion. Now bruised ribs and other cuts.

She hadn't wanted to talk to Alex. Or Cullen. Suspicions swam around her head. Alex was the only one who knew where she was. No, the last person she wanted to see was the attorney.

Jessie had thought about calling Ross herself but had hesitated. They hadn't parted on easy terms. She also knew what happened to her senses when she was with him. Chaos. They became complete chaos.

So she'd called Sarah.

But as she watched Ross stride up to her, his brows furrowed, his mouth grim, relief filled her. Her resistence melted. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to feel the warmth of his body and the protection of his arms. She didn't care if her body betrayed her, or that her heart fluttered like that of a small bird.

He came right to her and stood in front of where she was sitting. “You need a bodyguard.”

“Yes.”

He offered a hand, and she took it and stood, a groan escaping as she did.

“Did the doctors say you could go?”

“Yes. I've already taken care of the insurance. That's always their main concern anyway.” She heard the wryness in her voice. A defense. A defense against her need for him.

His expression didn't change as his eyes studied her. She couldn't even imagine what she looked like. Her slacks coated with mud, her blouse ruined by rain, her hair probably standing straight up. She'd been too sore, too dispirited, to even run a comb through her hair or check for lipstick.

An angry glint frosted his eyes. “What happened?”

“Someone ran me off the road. A few miles from the ranch road.”

“On purpose?”

“Yes,” she said. She was tired of looking for other explanations, tired of making excuses for accidents that were not accidents.

He reached down and touched her, then offered her his hand. When she stood, he drew her close to him. “I want to hold you,” he said, “but I'm afraid I would hurt you.”

The confession stunned her. Not that he was afraid he would hurt her, but that he admitted wanting to hold her.

Ignoring the pain lingering in her chest, she moved even closer to him. She wanted the warmth and comfort of his body.

His arms went around her so gently, so tenderly, that she barely felt them. She just leaned into them, feeling safe for the first time that evening.

Then and only then did he ask, “Do you know who tried to force you off the road?”

She shook her head. “It was raining too hard. I only know it was a dark car.”

He swore softly. “What do you want to do?”

“Go back to the ranch,” she said. “I'll have to contact the car rental agency in the morning. I have a flight tomorrow, but …”

“I'll take care of everything,” he said curtly. But she knew the anger wasn't aimed toward her.

Which meant he wanted her to leave. But remembering the burglaries, she wondered whether she would be any safer in Atlanta. But why? If something happened to her, her share of the ranch would go to Sarah and there would be no question of a sale. And it couldn't be the darn book. No one knew anything about it but Sol. He was the only person she completely trusted at the moment.

Still, she
wanted
to trust Ross. And did. Instinctively.

She kept telling herself, though, that he too had a motive to harm her. If she died, Sarah would have her share and there would be no question of a sale. But how would he know about her new will? For that matter, why would anyone try to run her off the road at this point? Had Alex called someone about the will? Or had someone been following them, someone who didn't know she'd left her share to Sarah?

Her head hurt with all the possibilities.

She needed to back away from all of them. She should go to the police. But then what would she say? What proof did she have? A box falling on her? Someone in too big a hurry on the road? Becoming lost? A “feeling” that her room had been searched? The burglaries back home were in a different jurisdiction.

And her suspects: a congressman, a banker, a respected rancher.

The police would laugh her out of the room. Or go after Ross.

He tipped her chin and looked into her eyes. “I can drive you and Ben to Phoenix tonight.”

She was too tired and too sore to go anywhere. She shook her head. “I don't think so, but thanks.”

He put an arm around her and headed her toward the door. “I think you need a hot bath. And something to help you sleep.”

“I already have that,” she said with wry humor. “A prescription left over from my last visit here.”

He didn't say anything until they got out to his pickup, then he helped her inside. “Why don't you and Ben stay with me tonight?” he said. “I have an extra room, and I'll be nearby.”

It sounded like a very good idea. A marvelous idea, in fact. After her adventure in the attic, she no longer felt that safe in the main house. Why then did she feel she would be safe with him?

The simple fact was, she did.

When Ross settled his long body into the seat, he looked back at her. “Can you even take a guess as to who it might have been in the car?” he asked again.

She shook her head. She clutched her handbag closer to her. She'd tucked copies of the will inside. She wanted to tell him about it, but …

Her life was full of
but
s and
if
s. She hated it. For a moment, she even hated the Sunset.

“Could it have been Alex?”

“No, it wasn't that large a car,” she said.

He was quiet then for a while, until they started along the curve where the bumping had started. “Where did it happen?”

“Probably about five miles from here. There's a dirt road to the left, leading to a house. I tried to turn in there, looking for help, but my car went into a spin and hit the fence. The air bag exploded, and then I don't know what happened. A couple came along in a truck like yours. That might have scared off whoever it was.”

They rode in silence until they reached the spot. “There,” she said, pointing to where part of a fence had been torn down. Rain had filled in the tread marks, and the dark rain-slicked road hid any skid marks. Her car was gone, apparently pulled out by a wrecker. She didn't even know where they would have taken it.

Suddenly, everything crowded in on her. So much to do. Accident reports. Car retrieval, no doubt a battle with the car agency and insurance company. And the feeling that she wouldn't feel comfortable driving alone again.

She felt something wet rolling down her cheek, and it wasn't rain. She moved over to the far side of the seat and looked blindly outside. She didn't want him to see the tears, to sense her fear, her bewilderment. Her sense of loss.

She was grateful for his silence.

Then he turned into the road to the Sunset. When they finally drove up to the house, he parked, then turned to her. “The Sunset's not worth it,” he said harshly. “It's not worth your life.”

“I made out my will at Alex's today,” she said. “I left my share to Sarah. So it wouldn't benefit anyone if … something happened to me. It would go back to the status quo.”

“Did anyone know what you planned to do?”

“No. I didn't even think about it until Alex suggested it.”

His face was cloaked by the darkness. “There are copies?”

“He has one. I have two. I was going to keep one and mail the other to my partner in Atlanta. I left my share of the bookstore to him.”

He moved closer to her and took her hand in his. “I don't know who would have tried to run you off the road. Or be responsible for the burglaries in Atlanta. I've had my problems with some members of this family, but I wouldn't have thought any of them capable of something like this.”

“I considered going to the police, but there's no evidence of anything. I thought they might have stopped by the hospital to take a report.”

“Not necessarily. Not if there wasn't evidence of another car involved. We'll report it in the morning.”

“Would they believe me?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Did anyone else see what happened?”

“I don't think so. I told you a couple stopped to help. They saw a car pass, but they didn't see it hit my car. And the car was pretty badly damaged when it went into the fence.”

“Still, I think we need to notify them.”

“They might blame you.”

He chuckled mirthlessly at that. “I don't own a dark car.”

“If I were to report it, I would merely be throwing suspicion on every member of the family. I couldn't do that, and then leave.”

“What about the insurance?”

“I went into a skid.”

He was silent.

“You don't agree.”

“I don't know, Jess. I don't particularly care for the police. But I also don't like what's been happening.”

“Damn,” she said.

“Good. Now you're angry.”

She wondered what prompted that remark. Had she looked cowed before? She tried to wipe away a tear before he saw it. “Rain,” she tried to explain.

He merely nodded, accepting what she wanted him to accept. He got out of his side of the truck and went over to hers. She waited this time, in no rush to descend, to move, to revive that sharp pain in her chest. Then the door opened and he reached out with two strong hands, helping her down. The rain was cold and she shivered, even though it was midsummer.

“I'm going to take you to my house and put you in a bathtub,” he said. “Then I'll get your dog and some clothes.”

“Tell Sarah I'm all right.”

“You damn well are not,” he growled. “And someone's going to pay for it.”

She tried to straighten, to walk alone, but she almost slipped in the grass. He put an arm around her and picked her up.

She'd read about a man picking up a woman as easily as a bag of groceries. She'd never quite believed it. She certainly never thought it would happen to her.

But neither had she ever thought that someone might intentionally try to kill her.

Her weight seem to have no effect on him and too soon they were inside his house. She felt instantly comfortable. Safe. She only hoped it wasn't an illusion.

Ross set her down carefully. Timber had been at the door and now he sniffed the mud on her clothes, then backed away.

“Oh, darn, I repulse a dog.”

Ross chuckled. “Haven't lost your spunk, have you? That's what I like best about you.”

She raised an eyebrow dubiously. “Because I don't run screaming when rejected by a dog?”

“No, because you don't let anything get to you.”

She wasn't quite sure how much a compliment that was. It didn't say much about her femininity. She was shivering again, not quite sure whether it was because of a chill or the recent events.

He led her into a bathroom. It was larger than she would have expected in a ranch house, and she was even more surprised to discover it had a spa bath. She lowered her eyes to hide her surprise.

“After a long day in the saddle, it feels good,” he explained, and she knew he didn't do that often.

He gave her a huge towel, turned on the water, then leaned down and grazed her cheek with his lips. Much to her chagrin, the tears started again, and he brushed them away. “Everything will be all right,” he said. “I swear it.”

Then he turned toward the door. “I'll get your clothes and Ben. Timber will stay here with you.”

Guard her, he meant. She relaxed slightly. She would pit Timber against anyone.

The door closed behind her. She slipped out of her ruined clothes, then looked at herself in the mirror. A specter looked back at her. Her face was streaked with tears. Her hair had splatters of mud in it. Her midriff was already turning blue and purple from the blow of the safety bag. She looked dreadful. She closed her eyes and leaned against the sink.

After a moment, she straightened and sank into the bath.

Ross had never been so angry in his life, and he'd fought to keep it contained. He didn't want her to see it. He didn't want to frighten her more than she already was.

Those tears had nearly undone him. She'd not shed them when she was lost, nor when she told him about the rape. She'd been so damn determined and strong about everything that he had come to think of her as tough to the bone.

The vulnerability in those tears told him that she wasn't as strong as she wanted everyone to believe. He'd realized they hadn't come from fear as much as they had from the realization that someone she knew had tried to do major harm to her. It had been disillusionment, a crash from high expectations. He'd wanted to grieve with her, to share that personal agony.

His expectations had never been high. His disillusionment with life had been firmly instilled when he was little more that a toddler. But her illusions had apparently survived all her past had done to her. He didn't want them destroyed now.

He wanted to kill someone himself.

The lights were on inside the house, which meant Sarah was waiting up. He was surprised, in fact, that she hadn't already made it over to his place. The door was unlocked, as it usually was. He made a note that perhaps that should change. But then everyone in the family had a key.