Page 56 of Point of Mercy

Stretching out in the shade of an oak tree, Turner patted the ground beside him, and Heather, feeling the need for a truce between them, sat next to him, her back propped by the rough bark of the tree.

“Fitzpatrick says he’s interested in the mining rights to the place, thinks there might be oil. My guess is he already knows as much, though how he goofed and sold the place back to my old man beats me. Either John Brooks was sharper than we all thought, or Fitzpatrick made a mistake that’s been eating at him for years. Old Tom never likes to lose, especially when money’s involved. He made a bad decision years ago—concentrating on timber. Now he realizes with all the environmental concerns and restrictions, he’d better find new means to keep that Fitzpatrick wealth.” He plucked a piece of grass from the ground and twirled the bleached blade between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.” She drew her knees up and stared after Adam, though she was all too aware of Turner and that he was watching her reaction, as if he expected her to start telling him everything she knew about Thomas Fitzpatrick. Which she had. What she knew of the man was common knowledge to the citizens of Gold Creek. “Ever think about selling?”

“Nope.” He leaned back against the tree, his arm brushing hers as he squinted into the lowering sun. Smiling slightly, watching Adam squeal and run, he seemed more content and relaxed than she’d ever known him.

“What about joining the circuit again? Ever consider it?”

He shook his head. “Busted my knee too many times already. And my shoulder’s not in the best of shape.”

“So you’re going to live out the rest of your days here?” It all seemed too pastoral, too quiet for the Turner she knew.

“That’s the plan.”

It didn’t seem so horrible, she thought, staring at the rolling hills and fields. The sounds of birds in the trees and the relaxing view of horses and cattle grazing brought a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years. Deep down, she knew she could lose a little bit of the frenetic pace of the city and enjoy the leisure that she’d somehow lost.

But to live in Gold Creek? Seeing Turner day in and day out and knowing that their relationship would go nowhere?

“This place is special to you.”

“It’s all I’ve got,” he said simply, then frowned. “Or it was. Now there’s Adam.”

Heather’s heart twisted. “Yes, now there’s Adam.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I’ve thought a lot about this, Heather. Ever since you showed up here. I told myself it would be best to leave it all alone. To see the boy occasionally. To pretend to be like a…well, a favorite uncle or something. But that won’t work. And I told myself to stay away. Let you and Adam live your lives without me interfering.” He glanced to the distant hills, and the breeze teased at the golden-brown strands of his hair, lifting them from his forehead. “But it won’t work. It can’t. I can’t let it. It’s not the way I’m made. Even if I’d convinced myself that staying away from him would be best, I couldn’t do it once I’d laid eyes on him. It’s…well, it’s like nothing else in the world. I never planned on having kids—hell, I didn’t think I’d be much of a father—but now that he’s here and he’s mine, I’m going to be the best damn dad this side of Texas.”

Heather’s throat closed in on itself. “That’s what I’ve said about being a mother.”

Turner’s eyes narrowed on the horizon, as if he were wrestling with an inner decision. “I grew up without a mom,leastwise for the last half of my growing-up years. I wouldn’t do that to a kid. And my old man…” He shook his head, his eyes troubled. “That son of a bitch was a piece of work. But he was my dad, and like it or not that’s the way it was.” He leaned back again, resting on an elbow and staring up at her, his gray eyes frank and serious. “You may as well know it right now. Nadine was just a start. From this point on, I’m claiming my boy to everyone I meet. And you can rant and rave and raise holy Cain, but I’m not backing down on this one.” He stared at her for a long minute. “In fact, I think we’d better straighten out this whole mess with the person it means the most to.”

“Turner, don’t—”

But he didn’t listen. “Hey, Adam, come on over and have some supper. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Turner, I’m warning you,” she said, her motherly defenses springing into position.

“Warn to your heart’s content, darlin’. This little man is gonna find out he’s got a real pa!” Waving, he flagged his boy over, and Adam raced back to him, face red, legs flying wildly. The look of pure joy on the boy’s face almost broke Heather’s heart. She wanted to think that this visit to the ranch was just a lark, a diversion no more interesting than their trips to Candlestick Park or Fisherman’s Wharf, but she had the deep, unsettling fear that what Adam was feeling was more—a deeper bond to the land that ran through his veins as naturally as his father’s blood.

And in her heart, she knew that some of Turner’s arguments were valid. She did spoil Adam. She did overprotect him. Because of Dennis’s ambivalence toward the boy and then the horrid fear brought on by his disease, she had overreacted and coddled her sick son, praying that a mother’s love could conquer all.

But maybe her love had overshadowed the fact that what he needed was freedom to explore, a chance to see the world away from the high rises of the city. Maybe what he needed was his father.

Adam, dust smearing his face and the brown “tobacco juice” of grasshoppers staining his fingers, landed under the tree with a loud thump. Automatically, Heather wiped his hands, but the brown dye didn’t come off easily.

“Won’t hurt him,” Turner said. He’d unwrapped a sandwich and handed half to Adam, who promptly turned his nose up at it. “Don’t like lettuce,” he said.

“Adam…” Heather tried to step in, but Turner waved off her arguments, stripped the lettuce from the sandwich and tossed the green leaf over his shoulder.

“That’s littering.”

“Not out here,” he said, stretching out in the shade of the tree. “Some rabbit or cow or crow or field mouse will find it.” He handed Adam a can of soda and the boy grinned widely. “Now look, there’s something your mom and I want to tell you.”

While her guts wrenched, Heather shot Turner a look that spoke volumes.

Adam sat cross-legged and held his sandwich in two hands. “What?”

“From now on you can call me Dad.”

---