Page 40 of Point of Mercy

“You think so?”

“I know it.”

“Then why am I happy with the way things are?”

“’Cause you’re a bullheaded fool, Turner Brooks, and if you think you’re happy, I strongly suggest you take a good long look in the mirror.” She grabbed her bucket and supplies and swung out the door.

Turner watched her leave. He should’ve told her the truth, explained about Heather and the boy. But how could he,when he barely understood it himself? It was his problem, keeping things bottled up, never sharing with anyone, but he didn’t figure now was the time to tell Nadine his life story.

Right now, all he could worry about was the son he’d never met. And there was other, unfinished business he had to deal with. As he watched Nadine’s dusty Chevy pull out of the yard, he picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Lazy K.

Mazie answered on the third ring. After a short discussion on the fact that she hadn’t seen Turner for too long a period, she told him that Zeke was still in Montana, scouting up livestock, where he’d been for the past week and a half. If Turner would like, Mazie would give him a message.

“I’ll call back,” Turner replied, as he had the other two times he’d called. He didn’t want Mazie or anyone else from the Lazy K involved. If Zeke had lied way back when, if he hadn’t bothered to tell Turner that Heather had been looking for him six years ago, Turner wanted to hear it from the older man himself.

Heather wasn’t lying about Adam. Turner had determined that she loved the boy and would never have sought Turner out unless she was desperate, which she was. No—he was certain now that the boy was his, but he still didn’t trust her—not completely.

But if she only wanted Turner for his bloody bone marrow, then why make love to him—nearly seduce him? It didn’t fit. He wanted to believe that she still cared for him, but he’d been fooled once before. No. Heather wanted something from him, something more.

He glanced at the acres of ranch land he owned free and clear.Thomas Fitzpatrick was more than interested in the land—the old man had called him just yesterday with another ridiculous offer, but Turner had held firm. A strange, uncomfortable thought crossed his mind and drew his brows into a knot of concentration. Jackson Moore, the man Heather’s sister was planning to marry, was Thomas’s son, his firstborn, the only decent male descendent left since Roy had been killed and Brian had bilked his father out of part of his fortune. Was it possible that Heather was trying to get close to Turner to get him to sell his land to Fitzpatrick? Maybe the old man had offered her a cut of the profits. Turner wouldn’t be surprised. Fitzpatrick would stoop as low as a snake’s belly to get what he wanted, and Heather—well, her track record proved how she felt about money and what it could buy. If Fitzpatrick had gotten to her… But that was too farfetched. Or was it?

Bile rose in the back of Turner’s throat as he climbed into his pickup. First things first. He’d do what he had to do for his boy, and then he’d deal with Heather, find out just exactly what made her tick.

* * *

“He won’t sell.”Brian Fitzpatrick pulled at the knot of his tie as he flopped into one of the plush chairs near his father’s desk on the third floor of the old hotel that now housed Fitzpatrick, Incorporated. “For some reason, Turner Brooks has decided to keep hold of that miserable scrap of land for the rest of his damned life.”

Thomas studied his son carefully. Brian had never been his favorite; in fact he’d once, years ago, referred to the boy as a “backup” for his firstborn, golden boy, Roy. Although Roy hadn’t really been his eldest. Thomas’s firstborn had been a bastard, born out of wedlock to a woman Thomas had never been able to forget. Oh, he’d stopped his affair with Sandra Moore thirty years before, but he couldn’t kid himself. Never once in all his years of marriage to June did he feel that same exquisite passion he’d had with Sandra.

And June had never let him forget it.

Oh, well, it was all water under the bridge, but it seemed ironic that of his only two living sons, one hated his guts, and the other was a weakling, a boy who’d never grown up, a man who had skimmed money from the logging company. Thomas was torn. By greed and the need to pull his family—all of his family—together. As much as he wanted the Brooks ranch, he wished he could make things right with Jackson. But what he’d put the boy through was unthinkable. He didn’t blame Jackson for despising him.

It seemed as if his life had turned upside down ever since that Tremont girl—the reporter—had come back to town, wagging her cute little tail and luring Jackson back here.

Jackson.His insides shredded. Now there was a son of whom a man could be proud. But he couldn’t think of pride right now. His mind was boggled with more important matters. Though few people knew it, Fitzpatrick, Incorporated was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Thomas had spent a lot of money greasing some palms in a senatorial bid that hadn’t gotten off the ground. Now, with the truth about Roy’s death, any political chances he’d had were gone. Besides which, logging was off and Brian had skimmed enough off the top to break a weaker company and the rest of his businesses were recession-weary. June was talking about an expensive divorce, and the cost of defending his son and daughter-in-law for their part in Roy’s death was crippling.

And he’d made a decision about the house at the lake. He and his wife had never gone there, not since Roy was killed over twelve years before. It belonged to Jackson—if he’d take it—for all the pain he’d suffered at his father’s hand. It wasn’t much and Jackson would probably laugh in his face, but in Thomas’s mind the land and house were the boy’s.

But that didn’t stop his need for dollars. Though the house and grounds at the lake cost him money in taxes and upkeep every year, they were valuable and June would hit the roof when she found out. Too bad. She was to blame as much as he.

And there were ways to make money. If Thomas knew nothing else, he knew how to turn a buck. He knew there was oil on Badlands Ranch. The geological tests he’d done on the surrounding acreage that he already owned had proved him out. If only he could find a way to make Turner Brooks budge. Money didn’t seem to matter to Brooks—the damned cowboy was as stubborn as some of those sorry animals he tried to tame.

“So what have we got on Turner Brooks?” Thomas asked as Brian, restless, had shoved himself to his feet and walked to the bar. Brian poured them each a shot of Scotch.

“Not much. His old man was a drunk—killed his mother in that pickup wreck years ago.”

“I remember,” Thomas clipped out, irked that he’d sold the ranch for the pitiful amount of insurance money John had inherited at his wife’s death.Brooks had mortgaged the rest of the debt and Thomas had been sure that John would drink himself into oblivion and default on the note. At which point Thomas had planned to step in and buy the place back for a song. That way, the Fitzpatricks would have collected the insurance money as well as ended up with the ranch. But Turner—damn that cowpoke—had always scraped together enough cash to keep the place afloat. How he’d done it, Thomas couldn’t figure out.

“Well, when Turner sets his mind to do something, it would take an act of God to change it,” Brian observed, handing his father the drink. “Brooks spent a lot of time taking care of his old man, getting him out of jams. Then John’s liver gave up the ghost a few years back. I don’t think there’s more to his life than that.”

“Everybody’s got a past,” Thomas said. He sipped the Scotch and enjoyed the burn that followed the liquor down his throat. “My guess is that there’s something more important to Brooks than the ranch. All we have to do is figure out what it is.”

Brian shrugged. “I’ll look into it.”

Not good enough. Brian was a bumbler. He’d cut corners. “Hire a detective.”

“Do you really think—”

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