Page 11 of Point of Mercy

Heather was left standing in the darkening woods, wondering why he seemed to want her desperately one second, only to reject her the next. She was certain she hadn’t misread the signals. Turner wanted her; whether for just a night or a lifetime, she couldn’t begin to guess. But he wanted her.

Yet he wouldn’t break down and admit it.

She hoisted herself onto Sundown’s broad back and followed Sampson’s angry plume of dust. Turner was probably right, drat it all. Whatever there was between them was better left untouched.

* * *

The next morning,Heather and Sheryl were assigned to inventory the pantry. The room was close and hot and Heather counted while Sheryl wrote down the information.

“Sixteen quarts of beans…three tins of beets…five carrots—”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Turner,” Sheryl said suddenly, causing Heather to lose track of her tally of the corn.

“I—well, I’ve been taking riding lessons from him.”

Sheryl lifted an arched eyebrow. “And that’s all?”

“Yes—”

“Good,” she said, seeming relieved. “The man’s trouble, you know.”

Heather bristled a little. “His reputation doesn’t interest me.”

“Well, it should, because Turner Brooks is bad news. He doesn’t care about anyone. I’ve seen the girls come here, year after year, and without fail, one of them falls for him. They get all caught up in the romance of loving a cowboy, and he ends up breaking their hearts. Not that he really intends to, I suppose. But they all start seeing diamond rings and hearing church bells and the minute they start talking weddings and babies, Turner takes off. He’s out for a good time and that’s it,” Sheryl said, shaking her head. “And it’s not really his fault. His dad’s a drunk and his mother’s dead. Some people say that the old man killed her—either from neglect or booze, I’m not really sure. But she’s gone, and before she died, they had horrible fights. Turner never lets himself get too involved with any woman.”

“Is that so?” Heather responded, wanting to close her ears. Why should she believe this girl?

Sheryl’s eyes were suddenly clouded, as if with a private pain. She touched Heather lightly on the shoulder. “Look, for your own good, stay away from Turner Brooks. He’ll cause you nothing but heartache. You can’t expect a commitment from a man who’d rather sleep on a bedroll in the snow and cook venison over an open fire than enjoy the comforts of a feather bed and hot shower. You like the good life—I can tell. You want to be an artist and live in a big city and show your work in some fancy gallery, don’t you?”

Heather could barely breathe, but she managed to nod.

“And Turner? What do you think he’d do in the city? Take you to the theater? Do you see him standing around an art festival and listening to jazz music? Or do you see him dancing in a tuxedo in an expensive restaurant?”

“No,I don’t think—”

“He belongs to the open range, Heather, and to the mountains. His idea of a wild time is having a couple of beers after a rodeo in a small town in the middle of nowhere. He’d never be happy in the city.”

Heather’s heart nearly stopped. She wanted to say something, to defend herself, but her tongue was all tied in knots.

“There was a time when I thought I could change him,” Sheryl said softly. “I’ve been working here since my senior year in high school and I guess I had a crush on him.” She fingered her pencil nervously and avoided Heather’s eyes. “I thought…well, that given enough time…he’d grow up or away from ranch life. I was wrong. I’ve been here six summers. This spring I’ll have my master’s in architecture. I’ve already started looking for jobs in L.A. Two years ago, I gave up on Turner. I knew I couldn’t change him.” Tears filled her eyes. “God, he’s got a girl in just about every town from here to Alberta! I was crazy. I… I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.”

“I’m not—” Heather protested, but knew she was lying.

“You belong in the city, Heather. Don’t kid yourself.” Clearing her throat, Sheryl motioned toward the cans of corn stacked on one of the deep shelves. “How many tins have we got?” she asked, and Heather, shaking inside, her dreams shattered, started counting again.

* * *

In the nextcouple of days,Heather thought about Sheryl’s warning, but she couldn’t help herself where Turner was concerned. She knew she was beginning to care about him too much, looking forward to their time alone together, and she refused to let Sheryl’s confession change her. Besides, she couldn’t. She’d waded too far into emotional waters and there seemed to be no turning back.

Every evening, when the heat of the day fused with the coming night, Heather felt that she and Turner were alone beneath a canopy of ever-growing stars. They weren’t alone, of course. Laughter and the rattle of the coffeepot could be heard from the ranch house and every so often one of the hands would come outside to smoke or play harmonica or just gaze at the stars. But it trulyseemedas if nothing else existed but the horse, Turner and herself. Silly, really. Nonetheless she did feel a change in the atmosphere whenever she was with him, and she began to notice him not so much as an adversary or a teacher, but as a man.

The lone rider on the ridge.

Yet he never so much as touched her again.

“He’s such a hunk,” Jill said after work one evening as Heather changed for her lesson. “God, Heather, you’re so lucky! I’d give anything to spend a few hours alone with him.”

Heather fought down a spasm of jealousy. “I’m sure he’d like that,” she said, brushing her hair and noticing the little lines between her eyebrows. Those little grooves always seemed to appear when Jill was gushing about cowboys in general, and Turner in particular.

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