Page 24 of Point of Mercy

She turned and looked across the rolling acres of night-darkened grassland. Her throat felt thick and tight. “You tell me,” she finally whispered, swallowing hard and afraid that he would tell her that he didn’t want her again, that it would be best if they stopped seeing each other. Her heart was knocking against her ribs, her hands sweating.

“I think the less we talk about it, the better.” His arms suddenly surrounded her. He pulled her backward a bit, so that her buttocks pressed against his thighs, and he bent his head and kissed the crook of her neck. She went liquid inside, her knees giving way as his hands slipped beneath her robe, wrapping possessively around her abdomen. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, she felt his fingertips, the hot pinpoints stretching from beneath her breasts to the top of her legs.

“I’ve missed you, Heather,” he murmured, his lips hot and hungry.

“I… I’ve missed you, too.”

His hands moved, stroking the skin over her belly, the thumb of one hand grazing the underside of her breasts, the fingers of his other swiping the apex of her legs.

Her blood began to pulse as he shifted, his hardness firm against her buttocks.

Closing her eyes, she knew she couldn’t resist, that as long as Turner and she were together, she would surrender to him, even seduce him, time and time again. As they tumbled into the dry grass, she realized that loving him was her destiny as well as her curse.

For the first time in her life, Heather felt weak. She knew she should avoid Turner, for he would certainly leave and leave soon.

* * *

“You’re making abig mistake,” Sheryl told Heather as they basted chicken with tangy barbecue sauce. Over fifty fryer quarters sizzled over the huge barbecue pit in the backyard. Tonight was the last evening at the ranch for many of the guests. Balloons and torches lined the back porch and a huge barbecue and dance were planned.

“What kind of a mistake?” Heather asked innocently as the sweat ran between her shoulder blades. She picked up the tongs and began turning each quarter. The sun was blindingly hot. Grease spattered loudly and smoke billowed into the blue sky.

“You know what I mean. About Turner. You should avoid him. He’ll only cause you heartache.”

Jill, balancing a tub of sauce on her hip, heard the last of the discussion. “I don’t know,” she said, sending a wistful glance in the direction of the corral where some of the cowboys were branding calves. “I’d take his kind of heartache any day of the week.”

“That’s crazy,” Sheryl muttered, as she brushed more sauce onto the chicken.

“Crazy like a fox,” Jill replied, tossing her head and lowering her voice. “But I tell you, if I wanted to tie Turner down, I’d trick him.”

“I don’t want to tie anyone down,” Heather snapped,hating the conversation. “I don’t think we should be talking about—”

“Trick him?” Sheryl repeated. “How?”

“By telling him I was pregnant.”

Heather dropped the tongs.

“Oh, God,” Sheryl whispered. “That’s insane.”

“Not if you really want a man. You know what they say, ‘all’s fair in love and war.’”

“But he’d find out—” Sheryl said.

“By then it’d be too late, or I would be pregnant,” Jill replied with a smile.

Sheryl and Heather stared at each other as Jill flounced up the stairs. “She’d do just about anything to leave home, I guess,” Sheryl said, biting her lip. “Even trap a man.”

Heather felt sick. She finished basting the chicken, then helped bake corn bread as Mazie stood over a massive tub of chili. Even with the windows thrown wide, the kitchen seemed well over a hundred degrees. Heather tried to keep her concentration on her job, but her eyes kept wandering to the window and beyond where calves bawled and sweaty men tended a small fire and pressed the hot brand of the Lazy K into living rawhide.

Turner was there. She could see him leaning over a frightened calf, talking softly, untying quick, flying hooves and stepping back swiftly as the calf scrambled to its feet.

“If you don’t watch out, that bread’ll rise three feet,” Mazie admonished. “Just how much baking powder you figure on adding?”

Heather jumped, nearly dumping the contents of the baking powder can into her mixture of cornmeal,flour, milk, sugar and egg. “Sorry,” she said, recovering.

“Just keep your mind on what you’re doing.”

That wasn’t easy advice to follow. For the next few hours, her eyes worked as if they had a mind of their own, searching the corrals, always seeking out Turner. Just as some of the guests were leaving tonight, Heather had a horrible premonition that Turner, too, would try to say goodbye. He’d been hinting at it for the past two days. It was only a matter of time.

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