Page 7 of Point of Mercy

“No—”

“Your horse came back alone. Zeke’s none too happy about that and he was worried sick about you. He was just about to send out a search party. You’d better talk to him.”

“I will,” Heather promised. She wanted to drop through the floor. Mortified already, she didn’t need to be reminded of her carelessness with Nutmeg. “Where is he?”

“In his office,” Mazie replied, staring for a second at Heather’s state of dress and tangled hair before turning back to her books and chewing on the end of her pen.

Heather ran up the back steps and slid into her room. Jill was on her bed, reading some teen-idol magazine. She glanced up when Heather shut the door behind her.

“What happened to you?” she asked, eyeing Heather with a curious gleam.

“I went swimming.”

“In your clothes?”

“No,” Heather said managing a smile. “I just didn’t have a towel to dry off.”

“Heard you lost your horse.”

“That’s the abbreviated story.” In the mirror, her reflection stared back at her. Without makeup, her hair wet and limp, she looked about twelve years old. Turner Brooks probably thought she was just a kid.Except he’s seen all of you—breasts, the triangle of hair…

“Great,” she muttered, swiping a towel from the vanity and rubbing it hard against her long blond hair.

Jill tossed her magazine aside. “So what happened? And I don’t want theReader’s Digestcondensed version.”

“It’s boring,” Heather replied, lying a little.

“I doubt it.”

Heather stripped out of her dirty clothes and stepped into clean underwear, a denim skirt and pale blue shirt. She clipped a silver belt around her waist, combed her hair into a quick ponytail and contented herself with fresh lipstick.

“Does this have anything to do with Turner Brooks?” Jill asked. She drew her knees beneath her chin and smiled knowingly up at her roommate. “I saw Turner ride out that way.”

“Did you?” Heather turned her attention back to the mirror in order to hide the tide of embarrassment she felt climbing up the back of her neck.

“Isn’t he something?” Jill sighed contentedly.

In the reflection, Heather saw the girl close her eyes and smile dreamily.

“He’s just the kind of man I’d like to marry.”

“Turner Brooks?” Heather was aghast. The same slow-talking, sarcastic man she’d met? What kind of a husband would he make?

“God, he’s beautiful.”

“But there are rumors…about his past.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t care.” Jill grinned wickedly. “Besides, a man with a past is a little more interesting, don’t you think?”

“What I think is that Turner Brooks is a conceited, self-centered jerk who—”

“So you did run into him!” Jill’s eyes flew open. “Oh, I wish I’d been there with you.”

“Me, too,” Heather replied under her breath. Before Jill could say anything else, she hurried out of the room and clambered down the stairs. She had to face Zeke and explain that she hadn’t meant to lose Nutmeg, and hope that he wasn’t too angry with her.

Zeke’s office was in the front of the house and with each step Heather felt a mounting sense of dread. She couldn’t lose this job. She just couldn’t! All her dreams of art school and escaping Gold Creek would turn to dust if she didn’t save enough money to move away from her mother’s little cottage.

Steeling herself, Heather tapped lightly on the door.

---