Page 16 of Point of Mercy

“We’re not the same, you and I. Men don’t think like women. So if you want me just because you want to experiment with sex, or you don’t really give a damn and just want to get laid, then we’re okay. But if you think that what’s happening here has anything to do with love or romance, then you’d better get on that damned horse and hightail it out of here.”

A small cry escaped her lips.

“I mean it, Heather,” he said, squeezing her arms so hard that they hurt. Pain swept through his eyes, but he didn’t back down.

“I… I… I just wanted to help you,” she whispered, tears drizzling down her face.

“Don’t sacrifice yourself. I’m not worth it,” he said bluntly as he dropped her arms. “No one is. Save yourself for your boyfriend back in Gold Creek.”

“I don’t—” she said, but bit off the rest. Somehow he’d heard about Dennis. “We broke up.”

“Then don’tuseme to get even with him.”

Without thinking, she raised her hand and slapped him so hard the smack echoed through the canyon. “I’m not using you.”

“You’re right about that, darlin’,” he drawled, rubbing the side of his face.

Emotions all tangled, her vision blurred, she ran and stumbled blindly. The horse was where she’d left him, and she threw herself across his back, swung one leg over and kicked with all her might. Holding back sobs of humiliation, she headed back to the ranch house.

* * *

Turner watched her go, with a mixture of anger and relief. He’d almost lost himself in her. It wouldn’t have taken much more to forget about his father, forget about his problems and make love to Heather Tremont.

It had taken all of his worthless upbringing to be able to say the cruel things—the lies—that had forced her away. He kicked at a stone and swore under his breath, not sure that he’d made the right decision. His face still stung where she’d hit him. He may have hurt her, but he kept telling himself he’d done the right thing. She was a small-town girl with dreams of the good life, a cute little thing who was bored to tears on the ranch. He’d become her distraction, and though she might have had the best intentions in the world, he didn’t trust her. No more than she trusted him. And he wasn’t going to treat her like a whore, not even if she wanted it. Because, deep down, when all was said and done, he did believe she was a lady.

Chapter Three

Heather, her pridewounded beyond repair, managed to avoid Turner for the rest of the week. She heard the gossip surrounding him, knew his father had been hurt in a barroom brawl and tossed in the local jail. Turner had been absent several days, without explanation, but the gossip was that he was trying to help his old man dry out and avoid another jail sentence.

Only Sheryl didn’t buy into it. Peeling apples at the sink, the water running slowly, Sheryl shook her head. Her lips compressed and she attacked the apples with a vengeance. The Rome Beauties were on the soft side—having wintered over in the fruit cellar. While Sheryl worked to remove the Romes of their skins, Heather was at the next sink, slicing the apples into thin slivers for the pie filling.

“If you ask me,” Sheryl said, “Turner took off because of woman trouble.”

Heather’s stomach knotted, and Jill, mixing sugar and cinnamon, shot her a knowing glance.

Sheryl went on. “Oh, his father might have got into some trouble, Lord knows that’s possible, but I’ll bet there’s a woman involved— Oh! Damn.” She dropped the apple peeler and sucked in her breath. “Cut myself.”Snatching a kitchen towel, she blinked back sudden tears, then dashed up the stairs toward the bathroom.

Mazie sighed. “If you ask me, she never got over him.” Clucking her tongue, she picked up the dropped peeler and started stripping the apples of their tough skins. “Turner and Sheryl were…well, I don’t think you’d say they were in love. Leastwise he wasn’t, but Sheryl, I’m afraid she fell for him.” Mazie smiled sadly. “Just like half the other girls around here.”

Jill, suddenly red-faced, handed Mazie the bowl of sugar and cinnamon, then set about wiping down the wood stove, which was only used when the power went out.

Heather bit her lip and kept working, afraid that if she said anything, she’d look as foolish as the other girls who’d thought themselves in love with Turner Brooks.

With her tongue still clucking, Mazie dried her hands quickly and left the rest of the apples to Heather. “Yep, that Turner…he’s somethin’. I don’t know how many girls fall for him.” She grabbed her old wooden rolling pin and a bowl of pie dough from the refrigerator. Measuring by handfuls, she dropped several lumps of dough onto a flour-covered board, then started stretching and flattening the dough. “Well, speak of the devil,” she said, glancing up as Turner’s pickup wheeled into the yard.

Heather’s stomach dropped to the floor as she watched the headlights of the pickup dim and Turner step down from the cab. Averting her eyes, she continued working on the remaining small mound of apples while Jill turned her attention to filling the salt-and-pepper shakers for the next day.

Mazie frowned as Turner started for the house. “He’s got his share of troubles, that one.”

“I heard his dad will spend a year in jail,” Jill said, eager for gossip.

Mazie frowned. “I doubt it. Seems old John’s always slippery enough to get off.” She worked the dough to her satisfaction and folded the flattened crust in half.

“So Turner’s father is an outlaw,” Jill whispered with a deep sigh.

“Nothing so romantic. John Brooks is a drunk and a crook who depends upon his son to get him out of one jam after another.” Scowling, Mazie draped several pie plates with the unbaked crusts. “If he were my brother-in-law—”

“Mazie…” Zeke Kilkenny’s voice was soft but filled with quiet reproof. Heather’s head snapped around and Mazie’s spine stiffened.

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