Page 21 of Point of Mercy

“I don’t underst—”

“What do you see?”

“You,” she said, her throat tight.

“And what am I?”

“A…”

“A cowboy, right? The kind of man you wouldn’t really want to be caught dead with, not to mention spend the rest of your life following around. I have nothing, Heather. Nothing except a drunk for a father and part of a ranch with a mortgage against it that rivals the national debt. I own a broken-down pickup, a saddle, a damned good horse and the shirt on my back. That’s it. Is that what you want?”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t speak past the dam of tears that filled her throat.

“Well, is it?”

“Yes,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, lady,” he whispered, and suddenly she was deep in his arms again. They were warm and tender and loving, and the kisses he placed in her hair and on her cheeks eased the pain in her heart. She tasted the salt of her own tears when his lips found hers again and she didn’t think about the future as she kissed him back and made love to him again. Tomorrow didn’t matter. As long as she could have him this one night, she’d live with her memories forever locked in her heart.

Chapter Four

Turner gave himselfa mental kick. Astride Sampson, he threw out his arm and sent the lasso whizzing through the dusty air. The rope loop landed with a thud on the ground, inches away from his target, a bawling Hereford calf. It was the second time he’d missed, and several of the guests as well as some ranch hands were watching.

“Hey, Brooks, he’s gittin’ away,” Hank hooted from the other side of the fence.

“Yeah, maybe you should stick to tying something you can handle—like your shoes!”

Color washed up the back of Turner’s neck. He gritted his teeth and hauled the rope back. With lightning-quick speed, he spun the rope again, urging Sampson forward with his knees as they chased the calf and, just at the right moment, he let loose. The lasso snaked through the air, landing squarely over the surprised calf’s neck.

Sampson started stepping backward instinctively, tightening the loop as Turner vaulted from the saddle, ran through the dust, and over the cheers and jeers of the onlookers tied the Hereford neatly.

Damn, what a job! He stepped back from the struggling calf and yanked his hat from his head. His life seemed to be turned upside down.Ever since making love to Heather, he hadn’t been himself. He’d been gruff and surly with some of the hands, his duties at the Lazy K had suffered and the skills in which he’d prided himself for years seemed to have escaped him. All because of some female!

But not just any female. No, Heather Tremont was different from all the women Turner had known. A small-town girl who had dreams of fame and fortune and the glitter of the city life. A woman who wanted to be anartistfor God’s sake. A female who believed in romance and love. Hell, what a mess! What he needed was a drink and maybe a good hard kick in the head to make him wake up.

“’Bout time you roped him,” Bud yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Turner ignored the gibe. He deserved it. A few days ago he could’ve lassoed that calf with his eyes blindfolded. But not now. Not since Heather had wormed her way into his heart.

He knocked his hat against his leg, sending dust up in a cloud, then jammed the Stetson back onto his head and walked back to untie the calf. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Heather. Had no idea. He didn’t believe in love or marriage, and even if he did, he realized she’d never be satisfied with him. So that left him with the obvious option of continuing the affair he’d so reluctantly started. But his reluctance was now long gone. Even now, just thinking of her, he ached. Never,neverhad he experienced such intense passion with a woman, never had he felt so sated. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking and plotting how he was going to get her alone again.

“Miserable bastard,” he muttered at himself.Everyone who heard him probably thought he was talking to the calf. With a flip of his wrist the rope fell away and the Hereford was free. Bawling and scrambling to his feet, the whiteface ran to the far end of the corral.

“Y’all done?” Bud hollered. “We were hopin’ for another demonstration. These here guests paid good money to see you miss that calf.”

Turner grinned lazily. “Maybe I should practice a little more.”

“Ah, hell. Ya got a lot on yer mind,” Hank said as he opened the gate and Turner, leading his buckskin, walked through.

“That I do,” Turner agreed, letting Hank and Bud and the others think that his problems all stemmed from his father. Not that John Brooks wasn’t on his mind. The old man had given him nothing but grief over the years, but right now his problem was Heather.

He’d never planned on marrying or even settling down with one woman. But Heather turned his thoughts around. He suddenly was questioning everything he’d ever believed in.

After turning Sampson out to pasture, he brushed the dust from his jeans and started for the kitchen. But he stopped short when he saw the black Porsche roar into the yard. The car looked like liquid ebony under the sun’s hot rays. It rolled to a stop, and the engine, along with a hard-rock song that had been thrumming from the sports car’s speakers, died.

Turner stopped short and he felt the ghost of dread crawl up his spine as a tall man about his own age rolled out of the plush leather seats.Mirrored glasses, a smooth leather jacket, polo shirt, slacks and expensive shoes covered the man from head to foot. A gold watch strapped to the man’s wrist glinted in the sun’s rays.

Turner had never seen the guy before in his life, but he wasn’t surprised to watch as Heather, wiping her hands on her skirt, ran out of the house to greet him.

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