Page 44 of Point of Mercy

“Tell me! Tell me!” Adam demanded, bouncing on the bed.

This was going from bad to worse and quickly. Heather tried to intervene, but Turner grabbed hold of her hand and stared up into her eyes. “It’s all right,” he said calmly, though his voice sounded deeper than she remembered. Her pulse jumped where his fingertips brushed her wrist. “The boy and I need to talk.”

Her heart tore a little. “But—”

“But nothing.” The fingers around her hand tightened ever so slightly and she was reminded of the power he had over her. Turner’s gaze slid back to his son. “How about if I told you about the wild horses I’ve ridden?”

Adam’s eyes rounded. “Wild ones? Really?”

“Broncos, mustangs, you name it!” Heather heard the ring of pride in his voice.

“No way,” Adam said, but his face was filled with silent adoration.

“Yes way.” Turner smiled at his boy and Heather’s insides shredded. When Turner glanced back at her, she received the unspoken message. “I remember one particularly wild bronco named Daredevil. Coal black. Eyes that were nearly red, he was so mean.”

“Turner, please!” she cut in, shaking her head. “Horses aren’t mean.”

“You’ve never tried to tame Gargoyle,” he replied with a lopsided grin, then shrugged. “Well, your mom’s right. Most horses aren’t mean, but old Daredevil, he had the worst reputation on the rodeo circuit. No one wanted to ride him. But I didn’t have a choice, when they drew my number in Pendleton that year, I ended up on Daredevil.”

“Tell me! Tell me!” Adam said, wiggling up to a sitting position, all thoughts of sleep driven from his mind.

Heather started to protest. “This wasn’t the idea—”

“Sure it was,” Turner replied, his face etched in stone. “This was all part of the bargain. Remember? I go through with the tests and you—”

“Scaring Adam wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I’m not scared!” Adam protested, his brow furrowing in disgust.

“Leave us alone, Heather. The boy wants a bedtime story.”

The small of her back turned to ice at the warning hovering in the air. With a few simple words he could destroy her entire life. All he had to do was tell Adam he was his father. Everything she’d worked so hard for would crumble and she would be the bad guy—the creator of the big lie.

“Just remember, he’s only five!” Her heart heavy, she walked out of the room with leaden footsteps.A thousand emotions knifed through her. This was only fair, one part of her screamed. Turner deserved to know his boy and Adam had the right to know his father. There was also Turner’s sacrifice to consider. He’d agreed to leave his ranch, come to San Francisco and help her—perhaps save the life of a boy he’d never known existed.

And yet she was petrified. Afraid that Turner, with his ranch and horses and tales of wild West stories would seduce her son from her. Though Adam had been raised with anything money could buy, he wasn’t always happy and Heather knew she spoiled him rotten. Ever since Adam had been born and Dennis’s reaction to his “son” hadn’t been as enthusiastic as he’d promised, Heather had overcompensated, indulging the boy. And then the first signs of his illness and the horrid diagnosis. She’d been alone then. Dennis had lost his fascination with her.

“I’m sorry, Heather,” Dennis had apologized, looking weak, his dark eyes frightened. “I just didn’t figure on this…. I don’t know what to do.”

“He needs you now,” Heather had told him, and Dennis had nodded, but never once picked up the boy he’d claimed to be his son. Almost as if he were afraid he’d catch the disease, Dennis had become more and more absent. They were separated soon after the diagnosis, divorced not long after. Dennis hadn’t even fought her for custody. In fact, he’d given her the house, her car and the gallery just to end it quickly.

As anxious as he’d been to marry six years before, he’d been even more anxious to divorce. He’d found someone else,someone less complicated, someone without a sick child.

She heard the scrape of Turner’s boot as he entered the room, and when she turned to face him, she found a new determination in his gaze. “This can’t go on, you know.”

“What can’t?” she asked, hoping to sound naive, when she knew with a certain dread what was coming. Her hands trembled a little and she motioned him into the living room. Deciding that playing coy with Turner had never been a good idea, she admitted, “You don’t have to explain—I know.” She felt as cold as ice as she stared out the window to the winking lights of the city and the dark, reflective waters of the bay. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she told herself that it would be all right. That as long as Adam was healthy, nothing else mattered. That it was important for the boy to have a father—a man he could look up to, a man who would love him. But still she was frightened. “What do you want, Turner?” she asked again, in a voice that seemed detached from her body. A few cars passed on the street below the window, their headlights causing an uneven illumination in the room.

“After this is over, I want to be part of his life.”

“How big a part?” She reached for a lamp switch, but Turner’s hand stayed hers.

“I want to be his father.”

“You are—”

“I mean day-to-day, Heather. Every day.”

“But that’s impossible,” she said, her throat catching.

---