Page 46 of Point of Mercy

“That I do,” she replied, and the room grew quiet except for the soft hiss of the fire.

She twirled her drink in her hands, watched the reflections of the flames against the amber liquor. “We aren’t here to discuss Dennis.” She took another sip of bourbon and felt the first tingle of warmth run through her blood.“I’ll tell you anything you want to know about Adam, but as far as my marriage is concerned, all you need to know is that it’s over and Dennis doesn’t have much interest in my son.”

“Our son,” he corrected quickly, and her throat tightened.

“Our son.”

“Which brings us back to square one. What’re we going to do aboutourson?”

“I guess that depends upon how he responds,” she said, the darkness in her soul growing at the thought of Adam’s illness. Turner’s bone marrow had to match, it just had to. If not…oh, Lord, she couldn’t think of the possibilities. Aching inside, she finished her drink in one swallow. “Until we know that he’s well, I can’t make any plans.”

“I won’t just walk out, Heather.” Turner left his empty glass on the hearth and strode to the window. Outside, the summer wind stirred the leaves in the trees and a few pedestrians walked briskly up the hilly streets. Cars moved slowly. Streetlamps pooled warm light on the sidewalk and cars parked along the curbs.

“And I can’t move to Gold Creek.”

“You’ll have to let him visit me.”

“He will—”

“Every other week.”

“No way.” Her head snapped up. “He can’t be uprooted half the time just so you can play father! He’ll be in school and—”

“I don’tplay,Heather.”

“But he’ll need the security of a home and—”

“He’s my kid, damn it.”

“A kid you didn’t want!” The words tumbled out of their own accord, and she saw him wince, as if he’d been stung by the bite of a whip.

His face flexed and he sucked in his breath. With fingers of steel he grabbed her arms and lifted her off the seat with such force she gasped.

“A kid I didn’t know about.”

“Let go of me, Turner. It’s easy for you. Just turn your back and walk away. You’ve done it before!”

“I’ve been trying to let go of you for years, Heather.” His voice was as rough as scarred leather, his eyes as hot as a branding iron, and when his lips found hers, there was a force behind them as primeval as the range he rode.

She didn’t want to kiss him, didn’t expect to find his arms wrapped around her with a passion that sang from his body to hers. She told herself that she wouldn’t kiss him, would fight him tooth and nail, but as she pushed against his shoulders, her body yielded, as if it had a mind of its own. Memories, like a warm western wind, blew through her mind, and the taste of Turner, as fresh as yesterday, triggered hotter thoughts of that long-ago summer.

She tried to protest, but couldn’t, and the smell and feel of him drove out all thoughts of denial. For she knew they would make love. Again. As if destiny were charting its own preordained course, she felt her knees give way, her mouth yield, her sigh of contentment as his tongue teased her lips open.

This can’t be happening,she thought wildly, yet her arms,rather than shove him away, wound enticingly around his neck, and her face lifted for more of his sweet caress. Her skin quivered where he touched her, and as he lowered both their bodies to the floor, she clung to him.

She wanted to blame the alcohol, or the desperate emotions that had ravaged her since she’d learned of Adam’s illness and had known that Turner would try to take the boy from her. She wanted to accuse fate for tricking her into wanting Turner again, and yet, deep inside, she knew that the seeds of love she’d buried so long ago had never died, were planted shallowly enough to sprout again.

She closed her mind to the doubts that crowded in her brain and let herself go, kissing this man who smelled of rawhide and soap and tasted of bourbon. As he stripped her of her blouse, her fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt and pushed the fabric over muscles as hard and lean as a Nevada winter.

His lips trailed across her skin, leaving a path prairie-fire hot and twice as deadly. She touched his abdomen and chest as he kissed her bare flesh. His fingers were callused and rough against her breasts as they traced the edge of her bra and quickly unfastened the clasp.

Unbound, nipples erect, her breasts spilled free and he kissed each mound with hungry lips that gave as much pleasure as they took. His arms surrounded her, his hands splayed upon the small of her back as he drew first one pink-tipped nipple into his mouth, then the other. She squirmed against him, her own hands tracing the line of corded muscles and a chest that was covered with downy brown hair that had turned dark and thick over the past six years.

One of his hands dipped beneath the band of her slacks and cupped her rump,pulling her hard against him. She felt his own desire against her abdomen and the bandage on his hip binding the wound where he’d given a part of himself for his child. As he gazed into her eyes, searching as if for the portal of her soul, she knew there was no turning back. He kissed her again, hard and long, and flung off their remaining clothes and there, on the thick handwoven carpet, with the crackle of flames and the hum of slow San Francisco traffic, Turner Brooks once again claimed the lady he’d never been able to forget.

Chapter Ten

Heather felt likea caged cat. All morning she glanced at the clock and paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again. Turner, too, was tense. His jaw was tight, his lips thinned. Today they would find out about the tests.

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