Page 10 of Point of Mercy

“I don’t have anything against you,” she lied.

“Oh, yes, you do, lady, and I intend to find out just what it is.” His thumb stroked the edge of her jaw and she felt as if she might collapse, so weak went her knees. Instead, she knocked his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Afraid?”

“Of you? No way.”

“You’re a liar, Heather Tremont,” he said slowly, but didn’t touch her again. “And I don’t know what you’re more scared of. Me or yourself.” He whistled to Sundown and caught the gelding’s reins in the hand that had so recently touched her skin. “You’d better go into the house, Heather, and have Mazie look at your shoulder.” His lopsided grin was almost infectious. “Unless you need the paramedics, I’ll see you same time, same place tomorrow.”

“How long will these lessons last?” she asked, rubbing the pain from her upper arm.

His gaze focused on hers again—hot, flinty and male. With a sardonic twist of his lips, he said, “We’ll keep at it for as long as it takes.”

Heather’s heart dropped to her stomach and she knew she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

* * *

Luckily, her shoulderwasn’t sprained. Mazie clucked her tongue, Jill was absolutely jealous that Heather was spending so much time with Turner, Maggie didn’t much care, but Sheryl, the girl who’d been with the Lazy K longer than any of the others in the kitchen aside from Mazie, seemed to grow more quiet. Heather caught Sheryl staring at her several times, as if she wanted to say something, but the older girl would always quickly avert her eyes and hold her tongue. Heather didn’t pay much attention.

Even with her bruised upper arm, Heather was still able to do her kitchen duties, sketch without too much pain and meet with Turner every evening. Despite telling herself that being with him was a torture, a punishment she was forced to endure, she began looking forward to her time alone with him.

They rode through the forest on trails that had been ground to dust by the hooves of horses from the Lazy K.He showed her an eagle’s nest, perched high over the ridge where she’d first spotted him astride his horse all those days ago…. It seemed a lifetime now. He pointed out the spring that fed the river and let her wade in the icy shallows. They raced their horses across the dried pastureland, laughing as grasshoppers flew frantically out of their way; and they watched the sun go down, night after night, a fiery red ball that descended behind the westerly mountains and brought the purple gloaming of dusk.

Often he touched her—to show her how to hold the reins, or tighten the cinch, or guide the horse, but the impression of his fingers was always fleeting and he never showed any inclination to let his hands linger.

One night, when they were alone in the woods, standing at a bend in the trail, she felt the tension that was always between them—like a living, breathing animal that they both ignored.

He was on one knee, pointing to a fawn hidden in the undergrowth. Heather leaned forward for a better view and her breast touched his outstretched arm. He flinched a little, and the tiny deer, which had stood frozen for so many seconds, finally bolted, leaping high as if its legs were springs, and making only the slightest sound as it tore through the scrub oak and pine.

The wind died and the hot summer air stood still. Heather felt droplets of sweat between her shoulder blades, and she moved a step back as Turner stood. “I—uh, guess we scared him off,” she said, her throat as dusty as the trail.

“Looks that way.” He was so close, she could smell the scents of leather and horse that clung to his skin.

She moistened suddenly dry lips and wondered why she didn’t walk back to her gelding, why she didn’t put some distance between herself and this man she barely knew. There was something reckless about him, an aura that hinted at danger and yet was seductive. He touched her shoulder, and she nearly jumped at the heat in the pads of his fingertips. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the raw hunger in his stare.

She expected him to yank her close, to cover her yielding lips with his hard mouth, to feel the thrill of passion she’d read about in so many books. The naked hunger in his expression tightened her diaphragm about her lungs.

“We’d better get back,” he finally said, his hands dropping.

Disappointment ripped through her.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Still he didn’t move.

Heather’s throat constricted at the undercurrent of electricity in the air. She licked her lips and heard his breath whistle past his teeth.

“Come on!” Grabbing her arm roughly, he strode back to the horses. “We don’t want to be late.”

“No one’s waiting up for us,” she replied, surprised at her own boldness as she half ran to keep up with him.

“For the love of Pete,” he muttered. Stopping short, he pulled on her arm, whirling her so that she had to face him. The darkness of the forest seemed to close in on them and the night breathed a life all its own as the moon began to rise and the stars peeked through a canopy of fragrant boughs. “You’re playing with fire, here, darlin’,” he said, his voice tinged with anger.

“I’m not playing at all.”

He dropped her arm as if it were white-hot. “Then let’s go home, Heather, before I start something neither one of us wants.”

She wanted to argue, to protest, but he scooped up the reins of his horse, climbed into the saddle and kicked Sampson into a gallop.

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