Page 14 of Point of Mercy

Turner’s pickup was still parked in the yard, but she didn’t think he’d gone to the bunkhouse. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath. Why she felt so compelled to talk to him, she didn’t understand, and yet compelled she was. She hurried to the stables, flipping on the lights and disturbing more than one anxious mare.

A sliver of light showed beneath the tack room door, and Heather hurried past the stalls and through the short hallway. Her boots rang on the concrete floor and she ripped the door open. Billy Adams, a boy of about nineteen, and one of the younger ranch hands who worked at the Lazy K, was seated on an old barrel and furiously polishing a bridle.He looked up and his freckled face split with a smile at the sight of her.

“Have you seen Turner?” she asked, and tried not to notice that Billy’s boyish grin wavered a bit.

“He just took off.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know. He just saddled his horse and headed into the hills.”

“North?” Heather asked, her mind racing.

Billy lifted one scrawny shoulder. “Guess so.”

“Thanks!” She didn’t pause to hear if he responded, just headed back to the stables. Sundown was a range horse and wasn’t put in each night and Nutmeg was sadly missing, as well. But Heather wasn’t to be thwarted. Bridle in one hand, she ran back to the kitchen, slunk into the pantry and stole several sugar packets. Feeling like a thief, she raced back to the paddocks and spied Sundown lazily plucking grass in the pasture.

“Come on, you old mule,” she said with an affectionate smile. “Look what I’ve got for you.”

Sundown nickered softly and his ears cocked forward. His eyes were still wary, but he couldn’t resist the sweet temptation she offered, and soon Heather snapped the bridle over his head. “Your sweet tooth’s going to be your downfall,” she chided.

She didn’t bother with a saddle, just led the big sorrel out of the pasture, and closed the gate. Swinging onto his broad back, she gave a soft command, and Sundown, bless him, took off. She didn’t know where Turner had gone, but she crossed her fingers, hoping that he’d returned to the bend in the river where they’d first met.

Her heart was racing in tandem to the thud of Sundown’s hoofbeats as he tore through the forest, along the trail, guided by the fading light of a dying sun. She didn’t think about what she would say when she caught up with Turner, didn’t dwell on the disappointment of not finding him at the swimming hole. She knew only that she had to see him.

The smell of the river was close, and the hint of honeysuckle and pine floated on the air. Heather pulled hard on the reins as the trail widened and the trees gave way to the rocky bank where Sampson was tethered.

Heather’s gaze swept the river and she spotted Turner as he broke the surface near the rocky ledge that jutted over the water. His eyes met hers for a brief instant before he placed both hands on the shelf and hauled himself out of the water. Naked except for a pair of ragged cutoff jeans, he tossed the water from his hair and wiped a hand across his face.

Heather’s throat went dry at the sight of his wet, slick muscles moving effortlessly as he shifted to a spot where he could sit comfortably. She noticed for the first time a purple scar that sliced a jagged path across his tanned abdomen.

“You lookin’ for me?” he asked, his gaze piercing and wary, every lean muscle taut.

She would have liked to lie, but couldn’t very well deny the obvious. “We, uh, we haven’t had a lesson for a few days.” Dismounting quickly, she tied the reins of Sundown’s bridle to a spindly oak and wondered how she was going to reach Turner and why she bothered to try. He wasn’t happy that she’d shown up; in fact, he seemed to be trying to tame a raging fury that started a muscle leaping in his jaw.

“Thought you hated the lessons,” he observed.

“Thought you did, too.”

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I’ve been busy.”

“I heard.”

He froze, and his eyes drilled into hers. “You heard what?” he said, his voice so low, she could barely hear it over the rush of the river.

She wanted to squirm away from his stare, and yet she stood, stuffing her hands into her pockets for lack of anything better to do, trying to keep her chin at a defiant angle. “I heard you had some trouble.”

“That damned Mazie,” he growled. “Doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

“Seems as if it’s common knowledge.”

“Or common gossip. Christ, I hate that.” He picked up a smooth stone and flung it so hard that it flew across the river and landed with a thunk against a tree trunk on the opposite shore. Throwing his arms around his knees, he glowered mutinously across the rushing water. “What is it you want, lady?” he said without so much as tossing her a glance.

“I just thought you might want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“But—”

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