Page 9 of Point of Mercy

“That’s the trouble,” she threw back at him. “He already knows! And it’s not me!”

Turner swallowed a smile. She had guts—he’d give her that. She’d blanched at the sight of Sundown, a burly sorrel with a kick that could break a man’s leg, but other than inquire about Nutmeg, her usual mount, she’d climbed into the saddle and gamely tried to command a horse who was as stubborn as he was strong.

“Uh-uh. No hands on the saddle horn,” he reminded her as Sundown gave a little buck of rebellion and her fingers searched frantically for any sort of purchase. “That goes for the mane, as well.”

“I know, I know!” she snapped.

She pressed her legs tighter around the gelding, and Turner’s eyes were drawn to the tight stretch of denim across her rump. Her waist was tiny, but her hips were round and firm, in perfect proportion to her breasts. He saw the stain of sweat striping her back and the resolute set of her mouth.

He wondered what she would taste like. Yesterday, riding so close to her, the scent of her skin had driven him mad and he’d thought long and often about pressing his lips to hers. But, so far, he hadn’t gotten close enough or been stupid enough to try to kiss her.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked, yanking hard on the reins and swearing under her breath when Sundown didn’t respond.

“As soon as I think you’re ready to take him out of the paddock.”

“Humph.” She set her tiny little jaw and a gleam of determination flared in her eyes.She worked the reins again and the gelding reared, but she hung on, refusing to be dismounted.

Turner forced his mouth to remain grim, though he wanted to smile. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled back against the fence to enjoy the show.

Heather decided the lesson was a disaster.

While he leaned his back against the rails of the fence and watched her put her mount through his paces, she tried to stay astride Sundown, who fought the bit and pranced this way and that.

“You know, I’d work a lot better with Nutmeg,” she grumbled when Sundown tried to buck her off for the third time. She managed to stay in the saddle, but only because she finally grabbed hold of the saddle horn.

“You’ll never make a rodeo queen,” Turner said. He shifted a piece of straw from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Oh, gee, all my dreams, down the drain,” she tossed back, but laughed a little. She was hot and dirty and tired. After spending most of the day in the kitchen, she’d changed into jeans and had been astride Sundown for two hours, and her legs ached.

“You know, Heather, you might like me if you let yourself.”

She nearly fell off the horse. The last thing she expected was any conversation from him about their relationship—or lack of one. “Me? Not like you? Whatever gave you that impression? Just because you invaded my privacy, forced me to ride with you and then came up with this harebrained idea of having you teach me, onmyfree time, mind you, all I wanted to know about horses but was afraid to ask, now, why would you think I didn’t like you?”

A bevy of quail suddenly took flight and Sundown leapt high. Heather scrabbled for the reins and the saddle horn, but the horse shifted quickly. She pitched forward. The ground rushed up at her and she hit the dirt with her shoulder, landing hard. Pain exploded through her arm, and she sucked in her breath.

Turner was there in a second. Concern darkened his eyes as he reached to help her to her feet. “Are you okay?”

“You’re the teacher,” she snapped. “You tell me.” But her arm throbbed and she held it against her body.

“Seriously, Heather.” With a gentle touch she thought he reserved only for horses, he poked and prodded her shoulder. Eyebrows knit, he watched her reaction. “Hold your arm up, if you can.”

Wincing, she forced her elbow high into the air. Like fire, pain shot through her bones. She gritted her teeth. Again his fingers touched her shoulder. “Ooh!”

“That hurt?” he asked.

“It all hurts.” Especially her pride. The last thing she wanted to do was fall off in front of him. She sent Sundown a scathing look. “Idiot.”

“Well, I see your sweet temper is restored,” he said, and relief relaxed the hard contours of his face. For a second she was lost in his silvery gaze and her silly heart skipped a beat.His hands were warm and tender, and beneath his rough cowboy exterior Heather spied a kinder, gentler man—a man with a sense of humor and a man who did seem to care.

“Good as new,” she said sarcastically, for she didn’t want to glimpse into Turner’s soul. It was easier to hate him than to have a current of conflicting emotions wired to her heart.

He tried to help her up, but she ignored his hand and found her feet herself. The less he touched her, the better.

“I think that’ll do it for tonight.”

“Oh? You’re not one who believes that you have to climb right back on a horse if you fall off?”

He eyed her speculatively, his gaze searching her face, and her breath was suddenly constricted in her throat. “You enjoy putting me down, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped closer and the twilight seemed to wrap around them. “What is it you’ve got against me, Heather?” he asked, and his hand reached upward, barely touching her chin.

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