Page 13 of Point of Mercy

“I’m gonna win,” she told him, and again the horse took off in the opposite direction.

By the time she finally cornered the horse and threw the reins over his neck, the big sorrel was soaked with lather and she, too, felt sweat clinging to her skin and beading on her forehead. “You useless piece of horseflesh,” she muttered, but gave him a fond pat. Despite his temperament, or maybe because of it, she felt a kinship with this hard-headed animal.

She adjusted the chin strap of the bridle and led a somewhat mollified Sundown back to the side of the corral where Turner was waiting.

“’Bout time,” Turner had the gall to remark as Heather tossed the blanket and saddle over Sundown’s glistening back. She tightened the cinch, making sure the horse let out his breath before buckling the strap. Thrilled at her small victory, she climbed into the saddle and picked up the reins. This was the part she loved, when she was astride the horse and she and Turner rode the night-darkened trails. “Now what?” she asked, her hopes soaring a bit.

“Now take his gear off and groom him.”

“But—”

Turner looked pointedly at his watch and swore under his breath.“I can’t hang around any longer.” Without another word, he put two hands on the top rail of the fence and vaulted out of the corral. Once in the yard, he strode straight to a dusty blue pickup and hauled himself into the cab. There were a few silent seconds while Heather, still astride Sundown, sat stunned, disbelieving; then the pickup’s old engine turned over a few times and finally caught with a sputter and a roar of blue smoke. Turner threw the rig into gear and, spraying gravel, he drove off.

“Terrific,” Heather muttered, patting the sorrel’s shoulder as the pickup rounded a bend in the lane and disappeared from sight. The rumble of the truck’s engine faded through the trees. “Just terrific!”

Turner had been different tonight and Heather wondered if she’d pushed him too far in their last lesson, but she couldn’t think of anything she’d said or done that would provoke this kind of treatment. True, they had nearly kissed—she was certain of it—but nothing had happened. She kicked Sundown gently in the sides and rode him the short distance to the stables. Why did she even care what was going on with Turner?

She spent the next half hour grooming the gelding and stewing over the cowboy who had touched her heart. Her emotions seemed to change with the wind that blew off the mountains. One minute she was angry with him, the next perplexed and the next she fantasized about loving such an unpredictable man.

Telling herself to forget him, she walked back to the ranch house and swatted at a bothersome mosquito that was buzzing near her face. Muttso, a scraggly shepherd with one blue eye and one brown, was curled up on a rug on the porch near the screen door.He yawned lazily as she passed. Inside the kitchen, Mazie was washing a huge kettle she’d used to cook jam. The fruits of Mazie’s labor, twelve shining jars of raspberry preserves, were labeled and ready to be stored in the pantry.

“How’d the lesson go?” Mazie asked as she twisted off the taps. The old pipes creaked and the faucet continued to drip. “Damned thing.” Mazie swiped her hands on her apron, then mopped her sweaty brow with a handkerchief. Her face was the color of her preserves and she was breathing hard.

“The lesson? It was fine,” Heather hedged.

“Turner take off?” Mazie asked. Without waiting for a reply, she shoved aside the muslin curtains and looked out the window to the parking lot and the empty spot where Turner usually parked his truck. Absently, she reached into a drawer for her cigarettes. “That boy’s got a lot to carry around,” she said as she lit up and snapped her lighter closed. Letting out a stream of smoke, she said, “His pa’s got himself in trouble again.” Mazie untied her apron and hung it on a peg near the pantry door, then turned toward Heather.

“Booze. Old John can’t leave it alone, and when he goes on a bender, look out!” Mazie pressed her lips together firmly and looked as if she was about to say something else, but whatever secret she was about to reveal, she kept to herself. “It’s a wonder that boy turned out to a hill of beans. You can thank Zeke Kilkenny for that. Never had a son of his own—took his sister’s boy in when he needed it.”

“So Turner went to meet his father tonight?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Long as I can remember, Turner’s been bailing John out of jail. Looks like nothin’s changed.” Mazie, as if suddenly realizing she’d said too much, waved toward the preserves. “Now, you put those jars where they belong in the pantry. I don’t have all night to sit around gossipin’.”

Heather did as she was told, but she couldn’t help wondering where Turner was and when he’d be back.

Later, she climbed into her bunk bed and picked up her sketch pad. Gazing through the window, she began to draw idly, her fingers moving of their own accord. Soon, Turner’s face, scowling and dark, was staring back at her.

Sheryl, face scrubbed, walked into the room. She glanced up at Heather, her gaze slipping quickly to the sketch pad propped by Heather’s knees. Sadness darkened her eyes. “I heard that Turner left,” she said, flopping onto her bed. The old mattress creaked.

“That’s right,” Heather replied.

“Is he gone for good?”

Heather’s heart froze. “For good?”

“For the season. His shoulder’s healed up and I thought he’d entered a few more rodeos—that he’d be leaving soon.”

“I—I don’t know,” Heather admitted, her insides suddenly cold.

“Well, even if he comes back, he’ll be leaving soon. Believe me. He always does.”

There was no riding lesson the next day, nor the following evening, either. Turner hadn’t returned, and Heather silently called herself a fool for missing him. Was Sheryl right? Had he just taken off without saying goodbye? Her heart ached as if it had been bruised.She hadn’t realized how much she’d looked forward to their time together.

“You must really be bored,” she told herself on the third evening when Turner’s pickup rolled into the yard. Her heart did a stupid little leap as she watched through the dining-hall window and saw him stretch his long frame out of the cab. He looked hot and tired and dusty, and the scowl beneath three days’ growth of beard didn’t add to his charm.

He spent the next hour with his uncle in the office and when he emerged, Heather, from the kitchen window, saw him head straight for the corral. Though she still was supposed to wipe down the tables, she tore off her apron and ran upstairs. Within minutes she’d changed into jeans and a blouse and was racing down the back staircase. She practically flew out the back door, nearly tripping over Muttso. The old dog growled and she muttered an apology as she flew by.

But the corral was empty and her heart dropped.

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