Page 49 of Point of Mercy

Thomas’s voice was scratchy. Much as he wanted the Badlands Ranch, and the oil he suspected was pooled beneath the dried-out fields, a child complicated things. He’d always been a sucker for his own children, even Jackson, though he’d made too many mistakes where his firstborn, his bastard, had been concerned. He’d tried to atone, but Jackson hadn’t heard of it. He sipped his drink, didn’t taste the expensive blend. Hell, a kid. Brooks had a kid. A sick kid. This complicated things.

“You want me to keep digging?”

Thomas’s head snapped up and he felt beads of sweat on his brow. “Yes. Please. Let’s see if there’s anything else.” He folded the report neatly and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Sands grinned and plopped an ice cube into his broad mouth. “You’re the boss.”

* * *

Closed-in places madehim restless, and this doctor’s office, complete with diplomas on the wall and soft leather chairs, didn’t ease the knot of tension between Turner’s shoulder blades. He felt trapped and hot, barely able to breathe. His legs were too long to stretch between his chair and the desk, so he sat, ramrod straight, while the doctor shifted the papers in a file marked LEONETTI, ADAM.

That would have to change. Turner would rot in hell rather than have his son labeled with another man’s name—a man who really didn’t care one way or the other for the boy.As soon as possible, Adam’s name would be Brooks. Heather would have to change it. There were no two ways about it; Turner intended to lay claim to his son.

Dr. Thurmon was a portly man with thin silver hair and a face right out of a Norman Rockwell poster. Behind wire-rimmed glasses, Thurmon had gentle eyes and Turner trusted him immediately. He’d always had a gut instinct about people, and usually his first impressions were right on target.

Thurmon took off his glasses. “Good news,” he said, casting a smile at Heather, and Turner saw her shoulders slump in relief. “The marrow’s a match and I didn’t have a lot of hope that it would be. Siblings are the best source for transplants. But—” he lifted his hands and grinned “—we lucked out.”

“Thank God,” Heather whispered, tears filling her eyes. Without thinking, Turner wrapped a strong arm around her and they hugged. His own throat clogged, and he fought the urge to break down. His son was going to be well.

“While this is still very serious, Adam is in good shape,” the doctor went on as he polished the lenses of his glasses with a clean white handkerchief. “We have his own marrow, taken while he’s been in remission, and now Mr. Brooks will be a donor. And as well as Adam’s doing, there’s no reason to anticipate that a transplant is necessary, at least not in the near future. But Adam will have to stay on his medication for a while.”

Heather’s voice was shaky. “And if he relapses?”

Dr. Thurmon’s lips pressed together. “Then a transplant will be likely. We’ll reevaluate at that time.” He closed the file.“But let’s not worry about it just yet. Right now, Mrs. Leonetti, your son is as healthy as can be expected.”

“Thank you!” Heather cast a triumphant glance at Turner and smiled through the tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Does this mean that Adam can do anything he wants?” Turner asked.

The doctor nodded. “Within reason. I wouldn’t want to have him become overly tired. And I’d keep him away from anyone you know who has a contagious disease.”

Heather froze as Turner said, “Then there’s no reason—no medical reason—why Adam couldn’t visit me at my ranch.”

“Absolutely not,” the doctor replied, and Heather’s smile fell from her face as Turner and Dr. Thurmon shook hands.

She walked on wooden legs along the soft carpet of the clinic, past open doors with children sitting in their underwear on tables and mothers fussing over their kids as they waited. She turned by rote at the corner to the exit and found herself in the elevator before she let out her breath.

“That wasn’t necessary,” she said as the elevator descended.

“What?”

“I told you I’d let Adam visit.”

“Just making sure you didn’t find a reason to weasel out of it.”

“I wouldn’t—” She gasped and nearly stumbled as Turner slapped the elevator button and the car jerked to a stop.

“You kept him from me for five years.You admitted that you probably wouldn’t have told me about him until he was eighteen if he hadn’t gotten sick! You probably would have kept him from me if your bone marrow had matched. When I think about that—” He slammed a fist into the wall and Heather jumped. Turner’s face suffused with color. “Well, things have changed. He does know me and soon you’re going to tell him that I’m his father and—”

“I can’t just blurt it out! He’s only five!”

“Then he’ll have fewer questions.”

“But—”

“Don’t fight me on this, Heather,” he warned, leaning over her, his face set in granite. “I’ve lived up to my part of the bargain. Now I expect you to come through.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

---