Page 42 of Point of Mercy

Rachelle glanced over her shoulder to Heather, still standing near the stairs. “You spoil him, you know.”

“I know.” Heather felt that infinite fear again, that she was tumbling through dark space to a cold, black hole where she would never see her son again. “But it won’t hurt him.”

“Don’t worry, Heath. We’ll work this out,” Rachelle said firmly,as if she could read Heather’s mind. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“With a shot of brandy?”

“Whatever you want,” Rachelle agreed, walking quickly into the kitchen. Heather followed behind, her own steps seeming to drag on the shiny mahogany floors. This house, once her pride and joy, seemed lifeless, as if it, too, had lost its vitality. The antiques and objets d’art were meaningless; even her own work, paintings created with love and patience, seemed frivolous. All that mattered was Adam.

Rachelle was already pouring black coffee into heavy mugs as Adam careened into the room. “Hot chocolate for me,” he ordered. “With marshmallows.”

“You got it, kid.” Rachelle winked at her nephew.

Heather slid into a chair and Adam crawled into her lap. He suddenly wrapped his arms around her neck. “Mommy, you sad?” he asked, wide eyes searching hers.

“No,” she lied, her heart wrenching.

“Good. I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Rachelle turned to the cupboard, ostensibly to find the marshmallows, but not before Heather noticed the tears shining in her older sister’s eyes. Even Rachelle, stalwart and sane in any crisis, was shaken this time.

Heather hugged her boy closer.Just let him live,she silently prayed,and I’ll be the best mother in the world.

Chapter Nine

The doorbell chimedfor the second time as Heather raced down the stairs. She checked the window and felt her heart take flight as she saw Turner, his arms crossed over his chest, his face shadowed by the brim of his Stetson. He was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a blue cambric shirt, open at the throat. His eyes were dark and guarded but he didn’t seem as threatening as he had when they’d first met in his barn. Neither were they glazed with passion as they’d been when she’d last seen him.

He’d had time to pull himself together, she realized, and they’d talked several times on the phone—short, one-sided conversations where she’d explained what he would have to do once he came to the city. He’d accepted her instructions with only quick questions and no arguments.

She opened the door. “Turner,” she said, and hated the breathless quality in her voice. “Come in. Are you finished at the hospital?”

“For now. There was some sort of delay, then it took longer than they thought. The doctor will call us both when the results are in.” He glanced at the exterior of the house. “Had a little trouble finding this place.”

“Well, you made it.” His gaze touched hers and her lungs seemed tight.She held the door open for him and he crossed the threshold slowly, his gaze moving up the polished walnut banister, over the gleaming wainscoting and wallpaper, resting for a second on one piece of art or another, before traveling to the Oriental carpets that covered the hardwood floors.

She’d never been self-conscious of her house before, but under his silent, seemingly condemning stare, the baskets filled with cut flowers and live plants seemed frivolous, the matching overstuffed furniture appeared impractical, the shining brass fixtures ostentatious.

“Adam’s in his room.”

“Asleep?”

“Not yet. I just put him down. I knew you were coming, but it was so late…” Her words trailed off and she licked her lips nervously. Lord, this was awkward. “Come on up.” She led him up another flight of stairs and pushed open the door to Adam’s room. The bedside lamp was still lit. Adam lay under a down comforter, his light brown hair sticking at odd angles. He was breathing loudly, nearly snoring, and Heather guessed he was pretending to be asleep. His red bedspread matched the curtains surrounding his bay window and contrasted to the border of wallpaper that rimmed the top of his walls. A built-in desk and bookcase housed toys, books, blocks and an ant farm. “Adam? Honey, are you awake?” He snored loudly as she crossed the room and touched his shoulder.

Two bright eyes flew open and he giggled. “I tricked you!”

“You sure did.” As Heather sat on the edge of the bed, she caught a glimpse of Turner from the corner of her eye.Her heart felt as if it would break. Here they were, a family, at least in biological terms, together for the first time. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Adam shoved himself up from his covers and cocked his head up to see the big man standing behind his mother. “Who’re you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

For once Turner didn’t have a quick comment. He glanced at Heather, who shook her head ever so slightly, and he extended his hand to Adam’s. “Turner Brooks. I… I knew your mother a long time ago.” Slowly he released his son’s hand.

Heather’s throat swelled shut. She had to blink back unnecessary tears. “There’s a chance Mr. Brooks—”

“Turner, for now,” he cut in.

Heather stiffened. “There’s a chance Turner might be able to help us when you go to the hospital.”

“Ihatethe hospital!” Adam said firmly.

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