Perfect Family Page 3

  No one had thought she would succeed. It had, after all, been nearly fifty years.

  Ross knew the terms of the trust better than anyone. The founder—old Hall Clements—had left the ranch in trust for his five surviving children, or their progeny. The ranch could be sold only if four of the five agreed to it. At the moment, three wanted to sell; Sarah did not. The fifth vote remained in trust for the missing heir, Harding Clements.

  But it was nearly fifty years since he’d disappeared, and the others were ready to go to court to have that share divided among all the heirs. A majority could rule that share.

  There had been past attempts to locate Harding, but they had all failed. Sarah had hoped that with all the new technology, they might have more success. And so, it appeared, they had. After a four-month search, investigators with the search firm believed they’d located Harding’s daughter.

  And no one had any idea what she would do.

  “The hell with this,” Ross muttered to himself. He had far better things to do than speculate on the possible actions of some strange woman. He’d had a hard enough time figuring out what the familiar ones would do.

  And there was work. There was always work. He pushed his hands into his pockets and strode out to the stables. Let the others stew. There was nothing he could do except pray, and he’d given up on that a long time ago.

  two

  ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  Jessie closed the blind and turned the “Closed” sign toward the outside. Then she opened the door and whistled for Ben. The shaggy white dog rose lazily, shook himself, then followed her out. He didn’t need a leash; he wasn’t going to get more than a foot away from her. After being a stray, he wasn’t going to risk losing his home.

  A blast of heat hit her as she left the store. It was eight o’clock but still light, and the air was stagnant and heavy.

  It had been a long day, with customers coming in just before closing and lingering. She usually enjoyed them. They were mostly professors and students from Emory University, who loved to browse through the history section. They always stopped to chat, and she would hear historical tidbits about this time or another. These were the hours she liked most, but it had been three days since the burglary, and she had still felt a compelling urgency each day to get home and make sure that no one else had invaded it.

  She locked the door and then turned to see a well-dressed man approaching. She expected him to go on to the pizza restaurant next door, though he would look out of place there among the casual college and mussed professor crowd. His clothing, she noticed, was immaculate despite the heat, which meant his suit was very expensive indeed.

  He stopped at her doorway.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re closed.”

  “I’m not looking for a book,” he explained, and she noticed that he had blue Paul Newman eyes that twinkled. “Are you Miss Clayton?”

  Warning bells rang in her head. Odd things had happened during the past few days. “It depends on who’s asking,” she said.

  He thrust out a hand. “I’m Alex Kelley.”

  Anxiety knotted her stomach. “That doesn’t explain a lot,” she said with unusual waspishness.

  “Are you Miss Clayton?” He persisted.

  “I’m not sure …”

  Ben seemed to sense her disquiet. Uncharacteristically, he growled.

  The stranger leaned down. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he explained patiently to the dog.

  Ben the optimist stopped growling.

  Then the stranger straightened and grinned. “Are you not sure you’re Miss Clayton, or not sure you want to admit it?”

  She narrowed her eyes, then studied him from his tawny head down to the briefcase he carried. He oozed charm, and she was suspicious of people who oozed charm. But he did not look like a serial killer either.

  “A business call?” she said. “We don’t buy new books.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I’m worse. I’m an attorney.”

  She looked down at Ben. “Bite,” she ordered.

  Instead, Ben pushed against the stranger’s legs in a blatant plea for attention.

  “Some protection,” he observed.

  “The police noted the same thing,” she replied wryly.

  “Police?” His voice was suddenly sharp.

  “They were investigating a burglary several days ago.”

  “Here?”

  Jessie was suddenly aware that she was divulging far more information than she intended. She decided to turn businesslike. “What is it exactly that you want? You don’t look like a book collector, and I know all our bills are paid.”

  “Ouch,” he said with that easy grin of his. “Although I take it you don’t consider lawyers much of a step up from bill collectors.”

  “Not much. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I bring you good tidings.”

  Now she was really suspicious. “A condo in Iceland? An igloo in Chile?”

  He laughed. “You really are suspicious.”

  “Cautious,” she corrected. “And I really do want to get home.”

  “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “I would sooner sup with a viper than an attorney.” Jessie didn’t know why she was being so viperous herself. It was the week. And Alex Kelley’s manner. She had a grudge against good-looking men who acted as if they owned the world.

  He looked taken aback. She easily imagined that he was rarely refused. He was one of the best-looking men she’d ever met, as well as being an attorney. Which made her doubly wary.

  “You really don’t like lawyers.”

  “I have good reason.”

  “All the same, hear me out. Just a few moments. Please. I really do have good news.”

  “Then why didn’t you call and make an appointment?”

  “I wasn’t sure when I could get to Atlanta, then when I could get in from the airport. I have to leave in the morning.”

  “Leave to where?”

  “Sedona, Arizona.”

  “Are there igloos in Sedona?”

  He grinned again. “Some developers might try to sell you one. They are selling everything else.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  His grin disappeared. His eyes seemed to pierce through her. “What do you know about Arizona?”

  She shrugged. “I read a lot.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “No.” Damn it, he was doing it again. Milking information as if she were a cow, and providing none in return.

  She looked at the store. Did she really want to be alone with him? Then she scolded herself. She had never been a coward, except perhaps in relationships. She looked back up at him, and he seemed to read her mind. It was disconcerting.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he finally said. “I’m starving. Why don’t I go next door and order a pizza and bring it over? Then Buster can have a piece.”

  “His name isn’t Buster.”

  “He looks like a Buster to me.”

  “He doesn’t eat from the table,” she said sternly. She didn’t want the intimacy of sharing a meal in her store.

  The lawyer raised an eyebrow. He knew she was lying. Bus … Ben’s girth was testament to that.

  She surrendered. He would probably follow her home if she didn’t, and she didn’t think she wanted him anywhere around her cottage.

  “Pepperoni,” she said, unlocking the door into the bookstore.

  “And anchovies?” he said hopefully.

  “Not on my side.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “At what price?” she muttered as she went inside the door. Ben hesitated for a moment, then followed, obviously reluctant to leave Alex Kelley.

  She heard the man’s laugh. Drat it. He’d heard her. But who cared? She didn’t. She would eat the pizza, then get rid of him and whatever scam he intended.

  She wouldn’t lock the door. She felt safer that way. She was often alone with browsers, salesmen, and the
rest, and it had never bothered her.

  Why did this man?

  But if he meant any harm, he certainly hadn’t needed to purchase a pizza first. She tried to busy herself with some paperwork as she tried not to think about what he wanted. But curiosity had always been one of her greatest vices, and now it nagged at her. Good tidings? She didn’t believe in fairy tales or genies or dollars from heaven. So what on earth did he want?

  All too quickly, it seemed, the door opened, the little bell tinkling.

  The lawyer stood in the doorway. “They said it would take twenty minutes.”

  “I thought you would wait,” she said ungraciously.

  He shook his head. “You really don’t like attorneys.”

  “How nice of you to notice.”

  “I, Miss Clayton, am going to change your mind.”

  She was wrong about Alex Kelley trying to sell her a condo in Iceland. Instead, he wanted to sell her a family.

  Jessie just stared at him as he sat, then took a folder from his briefcase and passed it over her cluttered desk. “We think your father’s real name was Clements.”

  “We?” Jessie replied incredulously. “Who is we? And that’s absurd. My father’s name was Clayton. Jon Clayton.”

  His expression didn’t change at her denial. “Did you ever meet any members of his family?”

  “No.”

  He obviously expected the answer, and that bothered her. More than a little. She didn’t like the idea of someone investigating her father, or her. It was obvious that someone had. She let the silence speak her displeasure.

  He appeared unfazed by it. “Did you never think that strange?”

  “Why should I? He was an orphan.”

  “Do you have any proof of that?”

  “Why should I need it?” Her anger was building now. So was a growing dread inside. She remembered the times she had asked about her father’s past, and he’d changed the subject or grown morose.

  “You don’t, of course,” he said in a soothing tone. “But my clients believe that your father is a man who’s been missing since nineteen-fifty. And there is no record of your father prior to nineteen-fifty. No driver’s licenses, no credit reports, no school records, no anything.”

  She was stunned. She’d found few records when she was trying to clear his affairs, but he’d never been a pack rat like she was. He’d never seen the need to keep things of no use. The memory made her suddenly defensive. “And why is that anyone’s business?”

  “His sister has been looking for him all these years. It wasn’t until recently that computers made it far easier to find people.”

  “Why would … this sister want to find someone who obviously didn’t want to be found?”

  He looked at her with something like respect dawning in his eyes.

  “It’s a complicated story,” he said. “One the family would like to tell themselves.”

  “The family?”

  “The Clementses. They live near Sedona, Arizona.”

  The invitation. Jessie felt as if she’d just been struck in the stomach by a two-by-four. She eyed him warily, trying to judge the kind of man he was, but she couldn’t get behind the surface charm. His eyes said little, and his smile came far too easily. She wished he weren’t so attractive, but she had a built-in protection system against attractive men. One had charmed her, then violated her in the worst way possible.

  She chewed on her lip. In just a few moments, the light had faded into dusk. In a few more moments, it would be totally dark outside. “Why do they care about someone missing nearly fifty years?”

  “It’s a close-knit family. His sister, Sarah, has been trying to find him all these years.”

  “How can you be certain my father is the man she’s trying to find?”

  “We are as sure as we can be without a DNA test. We were hoping you might consent to one.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You want me to give you blood?”

  “You make it sound much more ominous than it is,” he said. “I’m really not Dracula, and neither is the family. In fact, they are all anxious to meet you.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did you receive an invitation to a family reunion?”

  She hesitated, then said slowly, “Yes. It had no phone number. No address. I assumed it was a mistake.”

  “The person who sent it—Sarah Macleod—thought I had already contacted you,” he said apologetically. “I was delayed.”

  “Macleod?”

  “She’s Harding Clements’s sister.”

  Jessie still didn’t understand. “I still don’t understand why they would care. Even if it is true—and I doubt it—I’m a stranger to them.”

  “They think you are related by blood. And that is important to them.”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  He blinked for a moment, and she was pleased she had disconcerted him for even a moment. He had disconcerted her considerably.

  She took a deep breath. “Things like this do not happen any longer,” she said. She felt unsettled, confused, and she didn’t care for those feelings. She had finally found her place, had dealt with the uncertainty and loneliness of her childhood. Something inside felt threatened now. The barriers she’d erected to protect herself were far too fragile to confront what this man was saying. A family meant her father had lied to her his entire life. “They went out with gothic novels. Long-lost families just do not materialize out of nowhere.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You are the suspicious sort.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “I suppose I would. So let me tell you a story. Harding Clements disappeared without a trace in nineteen-fifty from the Sedona, Arizona, area. No body was ever found, no note ever retrieved. He just disappeared. No one has heard from him since. We think he changed his name to Jonathan Clayton.”

  “Why?”

  “Harding Clements was a well-known horseman. He had magic with animals. When the Clements family started looking for him, they started with racing stables, hunting through employment records.”

  “That would be impossible.”

  “Not to those skilled at searching.”

  “Why would anyone think Harding … Clements would change his name, Mr. Kelley?”

  He gave her that easy grin that she surmised had broken far too many hearts. “Alex,” he said.

  She ignored the invitation for familiarity. “Why?” she insisted.

  He hesitated, and she knew intuitively that he probably didn’t do that very much. He looked as if he were weighing her, trying to decide what to say. That sent a frisson of apprehension up and down her spine. Still, she also felt the stirrings of unrest, even unexpected anticipation. Could any of what he said be true?

  After several seconds of silence, he appeared to make a decision. “Did your father ever mention Arizona?”

  She shook her head. “He said he liked the East. I wanted him to take me west, but he never wanted to go.”

  “And I’m told he was very good with horses.”

  “I imagine you were also told he was very good at drinking.”

  He had the grace to nod. “Did he ever say anything about his childhood? His family?”

  “Why should I tell you anything, Mr. Kelley, when you have told me so little?”

  He looked nonplussed at her use of “Mr. Kelley,” but he didn’t repeat his invitation. “All right, Miss Clayton. Your father disappeared the same day his 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.”

  For a moment, Alex Kelley faded away, replaced in her mind by her father, by the grim look in his eyes when she had questioned him about his past, his family. A dozen questions came to her mind, all of them ominous. She choked them back. She was trying to absorb too much information too quickly.

  He stood. “I know that I’ve thrown a great deal at you. And I think it’s time to see whether the pizza is ready.” He hesitated. “You will be all right
here? Alone?”

  “I am here alone a great deal of the time, Mr. Kelley,” she said. Even she heard the strain in her voice, and she regretted it. For some reason, she did not want to show uncertainty in front of this man.

  He glanced around the room, at the numbers of books shelved neatly. He looked at one shelf. “Among friends,” he observed with more insight than she would have credited him.

  “And with Ben,” she added. At the sound of his name, the dog raised his head and thumped his tail against the desk. She leaned down and petted him, taking comfort in the familiar thick fur.

  She was aware of the door closing behind the attorney and was thankful for the silence that followed, for the reassuring presence of her dog. Harding Clements had disappeared the same time his wife and brother had died.

  Jessie felt sick. If her father was indeed Harding Clements, it would explain so many things. His reticence about family, the grief she’d seen in his eyes too many times. She had always thought it was because of her mother, the woman who had abandoned her as a baby. Now she wondered whether it went so much deeper. Another wife. Killed in a fire. She closed her eyes. “Daddy,” she whispered. “I hope it wasn’t you.”

  Mistaken identity. He was very good with horses. That, apparently, was the connection between Harding Clements and Jon Clayton. Not much linkage. Unless there was more.

  Just days ago, she was wishing to be a member of a large family. Now she wasn’t sure.

  Ben got up, stretched and put his head on her lap. “Ah, you don’t care who I am, do you?” she said. And suddenly she felt tears in the back of her eyes. Not for herself, but for her father. The man she might never have really known.

  The little bell on the door jingled, and Alex Kelley entered with a big flat box and two Cokes. She wondered whether she’d made a mistake talking to him, particularly here. Particularly tonight. He filled the room with his presence, with his energy. And, dammit, with his charm.

  He didn’t say anything as he set the box down on the desk, offered her some napkins, then a soda. He opened the box, took a long sniff, then sighed with pleasure. “You have no idea how hungry I am,” he said.