Page 8 of Point of Mercy

“It’s open.”

Mentally crossing her fingers, she entered. The room was small and cozy. Filled with rodeo trophies and worn furniture, the office smelled of tobacco, lingering smoke and leather. Antlers of every shape and size were mounted on the plank walls,and sprawled in one of the cracked leather chairs in front of the desk was none other than Turner Brooks himself. He turned lazy eyes up at her, and Heather nearly stumbled on the edge of the braided rug.

“Come on in,” Zeke ordered, his voice softer. He was a man few people forgot. With snowy-white hair and thick muttonchop sideburns, he was a big man—over two hundred and twenty pounds and six foot one or two. Though he was huge in comparison to Turner, Heather barely noticed the older man. All her senses were keyed in to Turner—the slant of his knowing smile, the mockery in his gray eyes, the smell of him, a scent that seemed to cling to her nostrils. “You’ve already met my nephew.”

Turner nodded in recognition and Heather swallowed hard. “Yes. Earlier.” She forced her unwilling eyes back to her boss. “Look, Mr. Kilkenny, I need to talk to you.”

Zeke leaned back in his chair and the old springs creaked. “So talk.”

“I mean in private.”

Zeke smiled. “We got no secrets here, Heather. At the Lazy K, we’re all family.” He waved her into the chair near Turner’s. “Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

Balancing on the edge of a chair, Heather tried not to think about the fact that Turner was only bare inches from her, that at any moment his hand could brush hers. “I… I’m sorry about losing Nutmeg. I was careless. It won’t happen again.”

“No harm done,” Zeke said, rubbing his chin.“Nutmeg hightailed it back here for her supper. But it could’ve been worse.”

“I’ll be more careful,” Heather promised, surprised she was getting off so easy. The horses were the life and blood of the ranch, and Zeke Kilkenny had a reputation of caring more for his animals than he had for his wife of twenty-odd years.

“Well, I know you haven’t been around horses much—you livin’ in town and all—and you’re a good worker. Mazie says you’re one of the best helpers she’s had in the kitchen and she’s trained more’n her share, let me tell you.”

Heather could hardly believe the praise. From Mazie? The woman who single-handedly was trying to work her to an early grave?

“I could warn you off the horses, but, the way I see it, that’s unnatural. Horses and men—or women—they just go together.” Zeke leaned forward, and his smile was friendly. “Turner here came up with the perfect solution to our little problem.”

Heather’s blood ran cold. A suggestion from Turner? She tried to say something but for once her tongue tangled on itself.

“Why don’t you tell Heather your idea,” Zeke invited.

Turner leaned closer to her. “I thought that you might need some lessons handlin’ a horse.”

“I don’t—”

“And Turner here’s offered to teach you,” Zeke cut in, so pleased he beamed. “You couldn’t get a better teacher. Lord, Turner could ride before he could walk!” He chuckled at his old worn-out joke, and Heather felt as if her life were over.

She imagined the grueling lessons where Turner would take his vengeance and his pleasure in making her ride so long, she’d be sore for weeks, by having her groom every horse in the stables, by having her clean out every stall and shed on the ranch. The summer would never end. When she found her voice again, she held on to the arms of her chair in a death grip and said, “Surely Turner has more important work here—”

Zeke waved off her reasoning. “Always time to get someone in the saddle. So that’s it. Starting tomorrow, right after you work your shift, you’re Turner’s!” He slapped the desktop and the phone jangled.

The meeting was over. Heather stood on leaden feet as Zeke picked up the receiver. Riding lessons with Turner Brooks? She’d rather die! He’d be merciless. Life as she knew it would end. She’d spend too many grueling hours with Turner the Tormenter!

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked as he followed her to the door.

“You’ll regret this,” she warned.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawled with a sparkle of devilment lighting his eyes. “Matter of fact, lady, to tell you the truth—I’m lookin’ forward to it!”

Chapter Two

Turner slapped hishat against his thigh and dust swirled to the heavens. Why in God’s name had he told Zeke he’d like to show Heather how to handle a horse? She must’ve made him crazy last night, because this was the worst idea he’d come up with in years! It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Nope. All night long he’d thought of her, how her white skin had looked in the darkening water. He’d seen her nipples, hard little buds in the frigid depths, and he’d grown hard at the sight. She’d done her best to cover up, but he’d noticed the slim length of her legs as she’d tried to tread water and cover her breasts at the same time. The sight had been comical and seductive. Had she been a different kind of woman, he’d have spent the night with her.

But Heather Tremont had been like no woman he’d ever met before. She’d been indignant when she’d spied him and when he’d tried to tease her, she’d refused to laugh. But she’d challenged him. By taking his horse. And he’d never yet come up against a challenge he hadn’t taken and won.

Now, as he watched her try to keep her balance upon a high-strung gelding, he almost grinned. Served her right for keeping him up all night wondering what it would feel like to kiss her lips, to drown in her sky-blue gaze, to touch her man to woman in the most intimate of places.

He shifted, resting his back against the fence and forcing his thoughts away from his sudden arousal.

“Pull back on the reins,” he said. “Let him know who’s boss.”

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