Page 55 of Point of Mercy

He walked to the next stall, and a tall buckskin nickered softly. Heather smiled as she recognized Sampson. Turner patted the big horse fondly on the shoulder.

“I didn’t think you still had him,” she said.

Turner’s eyes flashed. “He’s the best horse I ever owned. I’d never sell him.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t you know by now that I’m true-blue, Heather?”

A basket of butterflies seemed to erupt in her stomach, but he didn’t miss a beat and swung Adam up into the saddle.

“Hold on, honey,” Heather said automatically, her eyes riveted to her son’s precarious position.

“Oh, Mom!” Adam actually rolled his eyes.

“He’ll do fine.” Turner tugged gently on the reins and the horse’s hooves rang on the concrete as they headed back to the door. Outside, the daylight seemed bright, and Turner spent a few minutes explaining to Adam about the horse and how he could be controlled by simple tugs on the reins.

“Just don’t whistle,” Heather added, and was rewarded with a sharp look from her son’s father. They were both reminded of the first time they met and Heather’s misguided attempt to steal Turner’s horse from him.

With Adam propped in the saddle, Turner tied Sampson to a rail of the fence. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would we go?” she called after him as he dashed along a well-worn path to the back porch and disappeared around the corner.

“What’s he doin’?” Adam asked, frowning slightly as the screen door creaked and banged shut. His little fingers held on tight to the saddle horn and a perplexed look crossed his freckled features.“And why’d he say he was Daddy?”

Oh, Adam, what have I done to you?she wondered silently. “I don’t know,” she said, unable to tell her son the truth of his parentage while they sat astride two separate horses. When it came time for telling the truth, she wanted to be able to hold him and kiss him and tell Adam that he was the most loved child on this earth.

Damn Turner. Why did he think he had the right to blurt out that—

Because he’s Adam’s father.

Still that didn’t give him the right to go spouting off—not until the time was right.

And when would that be? When would the time ever be right?

Before she could answer her own question, Turner strode back with sacks he’d stuffed into the saddlebags that were strapped to his horse. He swung into the saddle behind Adam, and led the way, through the sprawling acres of the ranch.

Despite her worries, Heather felt herself relax. The day was warm, sunlight heated the crown of her head. Bees floated over the few wildflowers caught in the dry stubble of the fields, and a bothersome horsefly buzzed near Blitzen’s head, causing the little mare’s ears to flick in irritation.

The ranch, in its rustic way, was beautiful. The buildings were time-worn and sun-bleached, but sturdy and practical. Rimming the dry fields, thin stands of oak and pine offered shade while the sun sent rippling images across the dry acres. Turner stopped often, pointing out a corral where he trained rodeo horses, a field that was occupied by brood mares and their spindly legged colts, and a pasture that held a few head of cattle. Adam’s eyes fairly glowed as he watched the foals frolic and play or the calves hide behind their mothers’ red flanks. His small hands twisted in Sampson’s black mane and he chattered, nearly nonstop, asking questions of Turner or laughing in delight when a flock of pheasants rose before the horse, their wings flapping wildly as they flew upward.

“Like in the park!” he exclaimed, obviously delighted.

“Yeah, but those are doves. These are pheasants. Ring-necked Chinese,” Turner told him.

When Turner released the reins and kneed Sampson into a slow lope, Heather panicked, sure that Adam would fall. She started to cry out, but held her tongue when she saw the strong grip of Turner’s arm around his son’s chest. If she was sure of nothing else in this world, she was certain Turner wouldn’t let Adam fall. The thought was comforting and unsettling alike. Things were going to change. Her life with Adam would never be the same.

She urged her mare into an easy lope and the wind tugged at her hair and brought tears to her eyes. She felt eighteen again and couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “Come on, girl, you can keep up with them,” she told her little mount, and the game little mare didn’t lose much ground.

Turner pulled up at the crest of a small hill. A crop of trees shaded the grass, and a creek, dry now, wound jaggedly along the rise. From the hilltop, they could see most of the ranch.As he tethered the horses, Turner glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful and guarded as he looked at Heather. “My mom and dad rented this place for years,” he said, frowning slightly as he revealed more of himself than he ever had. “From Thomas Fitzpatrick. Dad bought it from him with the proceeds of the life insurance he had on Mom. Now Fitzpatrick wants it back.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you know?”

Heather lifted a shoulder. “How would I?”

“The man who’s going to be your brother-in-law is Fitzpatrick’s son.”

“A trick of fate,” Heather replied, surprised at the train of Turner’s thoughts. He seemed to be asking deeper questions, questions she didn’t understand. “Jackson and Thomas Fitzpatrick are related by blood only. There’s no love lost between those two.”

Turner opened the saddlebags and pulled out brown sacks filled with sandwiches, fruit and sodas. Adam wandered through the tall, dry grass, trying to catch grasshoppers before they flew away from his eager fingers.

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