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“It’s gonna be all right,” he told her, but she saw the doubts in his eyes.

“What if you don’t match? What then?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Turner’s eyes darkened. He folded her into his arms and his breath whispered across her hair. “Let’s not borrow trouble. Not just yet.”

They were still embracing, still holding each other, when the front door unlatched and Rachelle, hauling her briefcase, dashed up the stairs. “Hey, I’m here. Sorry I’m late—the crosstown traffic was murder—” She looked up at the last step, and her eyes landed on Turner, who by this time had released Heather, but looked guilty as sin.

Heather sent up a silent prayer as she felt heat climb steadily up the back of her neck. Rachelle wasn’t known for her tact or her ability to hold her tongue. Outspoken since she’d been a kid, she wasn’t one to mince words, and the look she gave Turner in his faded jeans, worn suede jacket,cream-colored rough-spun shirt and Stetson was harsh enough to send a rattlesnake scurrying back under a rock.

Heather started introductions. “This is—”

“Turner Brooks,” Rachelle guessed, her eyes flashing. “Adam’s father. The cowboy.”

Turner’s jaw tightened just a fraction.

“Turner, my sister, Rachelle. She’s going to watch Adam while we’re at the hospital.”

Immediately Rachelle’s expression changed to concern and she crossed her fingers. “I’m praying that this will work.”

“So am I.”

“Mom’s been lighting candles all week.”

“She’s not even Catholic—” Never had Heather heard of candlelighting in the Methodist church they’d attended in Gold Creek.

“I know, but some of her friends are and she figured it wouldn’t hurt.” Rachelle glanced around. “Where’s Adam?”

“Napping—”

“Auntie Rachelle!” Adam squealed from the upper landing. Legs pounding, he flew down the stairs, arms outstretched so that Rachelle could scoop him up and fling him high in the air before catching him again and holding him close.

“Howdy, kiddo,” she said, kissing his mussed hair. “How about a date with your favorite aunt? We could go to McDonald’s and the video arcade and then get ice cream—”

“All the culture of the city,” Turner drawled.

Rachelle cast him a superior glance. “Who needs culture? We’re just gonna have fun, aren’t we, sport?”

“Can we go to the toy store?”

“You bet. I’m gonna spoil you rotten today.”

Turner’s look darkened, but Heather touched his arm. “Don’t blame the city. You could do everything Rachelle’s talking about right in good old Gold Creek.”

At the mention of their hometown, Rachelle’s expression turned sober. “Gold Creek? What’s this?”

Heather couldn’t help herself. “Turner thinks Adam and I should move back.”

“Heather, no!” Protectively, Rachelle clutched her nephew closer to her breast. “Not after…well, now that you know, with Dennis not being Adam’s…and…” Her gaze flew to Turner. “Oh, Lord! The gossips in Gold Creek would have a field day!”

“So what?” Turner glanced at his watch, then tipped the brim of his hat slightly. “Nice meeting you,” he said with more than a trace of sarcasm.

“My pleasure.” Rachelle mimicked him without flinching. Then, as if deciding she’d been a little too harsh, she blew a strand of auburn hair from her eyes and balanced Adam on her hip. “Look, Turner, whatever’s happened between you two—” she motioned toward Heather “—it’s really none of my business. I’m just glad you’re here and I want to thank you for helping Heather and Adam.”

“No need for thanks.”

“Yes, there is.” Her intelligent hazel eyes held his for a second. Biting her lip, she shot out a hand and glanced at her sister. “Please, I didn’t mean to come on so strong and I know…well, that this mess isn’t all your fault.”

Heather watched as Turner’s big fingers surrounded her sister’s tiny hand. “Thanks.”