Page 64 of Point of Mercy

His breath came out in a hiss. “I don’t object to a child! What’s the difference between one or two? But it’s the reasons for creating this child I hate. Cold and calculating. You didn’t even consult me—”

“Why would I do it?” she nearly screamed. “Your bone marrow is a match!”

“Maybe you didn’t want to be saddled with me. Maybe you didn’t trust me.”

“No, Turner, it’s you who never trusted me,” she said, wretchedness whirling deep in her soul. “You never loved me. And that was my mistake, because I loved you,Turner. For six years I didn’t do right by Dennis, because it was you I loved, you I’d always loved. But you never have believed me.” She was visibly shaking by this time, and she blinked hard against tears that burned her eyes. “With Adam or without, with this baby or without, I loved you. Stupidly, blindly, with no reason behind it, I loved you.”

She noticed the muscle ticking near his eye, saw the contempt in his expression and knew all her plans for happiness had been shattered. She glanced away from him, unable to stare him down, and noticed the biscuit dough beginning to rise, smelled the warm scent of coffee she’d never drink, noticed the pathetic grouping of cups and spoons near a vase of freshly cut flowers that she would no longer enjoy. She felt more miserable than she had in her entire life.

“Mommy?” Adam’s sleepy voice stopped her short, and she quickly cleared the lump of self-pity from her throat. She couldn’t break down in front of her child. He needed to know that everything was all right, that he was secure. He’d already lost Dennis as a father; it wasn’t going to happen again! Her fingers curled into fists of determination and she blinked back any remnants of her tears.

Turning, she managed a thin smile and thought her heart would break. He was getting well. Heather noticed the color in his cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes had disappeared. Living here, with Turner, had helped Adam. “Good morning, pumpkin,” she whispered over a clogged throat.

“You sad?” He looked from Turner to Heather with worry etched in his small features,and Heather swept him into her arms.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Look what Turner got for you—”

Adam’s eyes rounded as he spied the puppy, still cowering under the table. Slowly the gawky pup inched forward one big paw at a time. Adam pushed his way back to the floor. “He’s mine?” Adam whispered, his adoring gaze flying to Turner’s hard face. For just a second, Turner’s harsh visage cracked and he offered his son a smile as warm as a Western sunset. Heather’s heart shredded.

“All yours.”

“What’s his name?”

“You get to name him.”

“Can I really?” Adam looked to his mother as if he expected her to refuse.

“Of course you can.”

Adam’s freckled face squinched into a thoughtful frown. “Then I’ll call him Daytona—that’s where they have car races!” He reached out to pet the dog’s broad head and was rewarded with a long tongue that swiped his skin. Adam shrieked in happiness and within minutes he and the dog were outside, running along the fence line, kicking up dust and trampling dry grass and wildflowers.

“I won’t let him go, you know,” Turner said in a low voice edged in steel.

She bit her lip to keep from crying. “I know.”

Turner stormed out of the house and she didn’t think twice, just turned on her heel, marched to the bedroom she’d shared with him and stripped her clothes from the closet and bureau drawers.He didn’t love her, never had, never would—and she’d be damned if she’d spend the rest of her life with a man who couldn’t return her feelings.

Call her a hopeless romantic, call her a fool, but call her a woman who knew her own mind. She packed her things quickly and did the same with Adam’s. In short order she was ready to leave. She’d take Adam, she’d take her unborn child, she’d even take the dog, but she knew she’d be leaving behind a part of her heart.

Chapter Thirteen

“You could do worse.” Thomas Fitzpatrick tented his hands beneath his chin and waited as Turner read through the offer. “That’s two and a half times what the place is worth—four times what your dad paid for it when he bought it from me. Quite a profit.”

Turner clicked his pen a few times. The papers looked straightforward enough, and he wanted to sell. Hell, ever since the fight with Heather three days ago, he’d thought of nothing but running.

But he hadn’t. Because things weren’t settled. Not only was there Heather and Adam, but now a new baby to consider. He and Heather hadn’t talked; she’d packed up the boy and said something about visiting her mother until the wedding, and Turner, because of his stubborn streak, hadn’t bothered to call. But he hadn’t slept a wink, either.

Then, out of the blue, Thomas Fitzpatrick showed up on his front porch offering money, bigger money than before. His ticket out. Almost like destiny. Trouble was, Turner didn’t believe in destiny.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested,” Turner said, slapping the contracts and deeds and all the rest of the legal mumbo jumbo onto the table.

“But that was before.”

“Before? Before what?”

Thomas pulled at his silk tie. His silver hair, as always, was cut just above his collar. He smoothed one side of his trim white moustache, then spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Gold Creek is a small town. There are no secrets in small towns.”

“Meaning what?” Turner didn’t like the feel of a noose around his neck, and he definitely was feeling that he was about to be strung up—by one of the best.

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