Page 43 of Point of Mercy

“You and me both.” For the first time, Turner grinned. “They stuck a needle in me this long,” he said, spreading his hands wide.

“Turner!”

“They did?” Adam was suitably impressed.

“Mr. Brooks tends to exaggerate,” she said, though Adam’s eyes gleamed.

“Only a little bit,” Turner said. He sat on the edge of the bed and the mattress creaked a little. “When you get the okay from the doctor, your mama promised that you can come visit me at my ranch. Would you like that?”

“A ranch? You got a ranch? With horses and tractors and cows and buffalo and—”

“No buffalo,” Turner said. “The rest comes with the place.”

Adam’s eyebrows drew together and he looked at his mother. “We goin’ on a vacation?”

“Something like that.”

“Is Daddy coming?”

Heather’s heart nearly stopped. She noticed Turner stiffen and a muscle suddenly came to life, working reflexively in his jaw. “No, honey. This time it’ll just be you and me.”

Adam glanced warily at Turner, as if for the first time suspecting a threat to his mother’s affection. “When?”

Heather stole a quick look at Turner. “As soon as Dr. Thurmon says it’s okay.”

“Ihatethe doctor.”

Turner ruffled the boy’s fine hair. “The doctor’s a good guy. He’s gonna help us all.”

Adam yawned.

“You’d better go to sleep,” Heather suggested. She didn’t know just how much of this tender scene she could take. Turner wasn’t her husband, he’d never met Adam before in his life, and she was beginning to feel maudlin, as if this were some great reunion.

“I’m not tired,” Adam argued, though he tried vainly to swallow another yawn and his eyelids drooped. “Read me a story.”

“Honey, it’s late and—”

“Oh, pleeease!”

“I’ll tell you a story,” Turner offered, and Heather’s throat turned to cotton. Turner’s campaign to win his son was starting already.

“It’s late. I don’t think—”

“It’ll be all right,” Turner said with a quiet authority that caused fear to settle in her heart. He sat on the edge of the bed looking too tall, too ranch-tough, too damned cynical to be thinking of bedtime stories.

“Tell me about the buffalo!”

“I already told you there aren’t any buffalo at the ranch, but there might be some ghosts around the lake—”

“Turner!” Heather cut in again.

“Just joking.”

“He’s only five, for crying out loud!”

Turner clucked his tongue and smiled at Adam. “What’s wrong with your mom? No sense of humor?”

“I have—”

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