Page 10

Chapter Six

Beneath his tan, Turner’s face drained of color. “A son,” he repeated, when he finally found his tongue. Disbelief clouded his eyes and his voice was deadly. “I have a son?”

“Yes and—”

“And you haven’t told me about him for six years and now, all of a sudden, out of the clear damned blue, I have a son.” He looked at her long and hard, his face harsh and flushed with fury. “Come on, Heather, you can do better than that. Just try.”

“I’m telling the truth!” She didn’t panic. Not yet. She’d known he wouldn’t believe her, not at first.

“Sure. Well, for your information we have three daughters, too. I just never got around to tellin’ you ’bout ’em.” He offered a cold smile, and it was all Heather could do not to grab him by his filthy collar and shake some sense into him.

“It isn’t impossible, you know.”

His cruel grin faded, and she knew he, too, was remembering all the times they’d made love that summer.

“Why would I lie?”

“You tell me.” Yanking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the sweat and grime from his face. His hands shook a little and she knew she was finally reaching him.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be, Turner. You know that.”

Time seemed to spin backward six long, lonely years. The air was thick with old, tangled emotions that seemed to creep into the barn and bring sweat to Heather’s brow. Turner’s expression turned from wary to a thundering rage that knotted his features as the truth finally hit home. “Are you trying to tell me that I’ve had a kid for five years and you’ve kept it a secret?”

Heather’s heart ripped.

“That you married a rich banker so that my kid wouldn’t have to be raised by a poor cowboy? Is that it?”

She choked, her throat swollen, her heart shredding.

“Are you trying to convince me that you’re so callous—so friggin’ manipulative that you would pass off another man’s son as his?”

She couldn’t help herself. With a smack that resounded to the dusty rafters, she slapped him hard across his dirty face. He caught her wrist, and the ugly horse in the stall snorted and stamped impatiently. “It wouldn’t be wise to get physical with me, lady,” he warned, the tension in the barn snapping as with the current of an electric storm.

But Heather barely heard his warning. She yanked back her hand and glared at him. “You weren’t interested in commitments, Turner, remember? You didn’t want a family. No strings to tie you down. You were too busy chasing cows and riding bucking horses and being a loner to think about…about…”

“About the fact that I had a kid? How the hell would I know?”

“You didn’t stick around long enough to find out, did you?” she accused. Her fury suddenly grew to a living, breathing beast that roared within her. All her pent-up rage exploded. “You don’t think I wanted to tell you? I tried, Turner. But you were gone.”

“Seems to me you found yourself a patsy.”

“A patsy? All I wanted was a father for my child! A man who would care for him, a man who wanted him—”

“All you wanted was a rich man, Heather. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. I knew it then and I know it now. But I’m warning you, if you’re lyin’ to me—”

“I’m not. Adam’s your son,” she said flatly. “And believe me, if I could change that, I would.”

For the first time, he actually seemed to see past his anger. A vein ticked in his forehead and sweat drizzled down his neck. “And why, after six years, do you want to see me now?”

Her stomach knotted with the pain of the truth. “Adam’s sick, Turner,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

His spine went rigid and his eyes turned black as night. “Sick?”

“He has leukemia,” she said, deciding that it was now or never. She saw the fear flare in his eyes. “The disease…it’s in remission. He’s been through hell fighting it, but the drugs have seemed to work. Now the doctor is talking about a possible bone-marrow transplant. But Adam has no siblings and…well, I don’t match. Even though it’s a slim chance, I was hoping… I thought that you might…” She threw her hands up toward the rafters and tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Turner,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she thought about losing Adam. “I wouldn’t have come, but you’re Adam’s best hope.”

“ If I’m his father,” he said coldly.

“You are, damn it! Do you honestly think I would’ve wasted my time driving up here, dredging up everything again?” Blinking rapidly, she fingered the clasp of her purse. “I’ve got a picture—”

“I’ll need more proof than that.”

“Anything,” she whispered, glad that at least they were making headway.

Turner’s gaze shifted around the barn quickly, as if he were sizing up his own operation. Nervously, he rubbed the top rail of the stall. “They have tests now—genetic tests that would prove without a doubt—”

“I know that, Turner. That’s why you should trust me. If I’m lying, I’ll be found out. But I’m not. Believe me, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

That stopped him. His fidgeting hands quit moving. “Does your husband know?”

“Of course my ex -husband knows. He knew I was pregnant when we got married. I told him about you.” She thought fleetingly of Dennis, of his reaction when she’d first told him she was pregnant with another man’s child. He’d been angry, even wounded, and he’d left her mother’s house with a screech of tires. But he had come back. Swearing that he loved her. Vowing to look after her and the baby. Promising to give the infant everything it could ever want. And she’d stupidly believed Dennis Leonetti, a man obsessed with her. It all seemed like such a long time ago. And now, staring at Turner, she wondered how she’d ever let the world think that Adam had been Dennis’s son.

Turner’s jaw tightened, and before he could say anything hateful, she said, “I didn’t really know that I was pregnant until you were gone. Then I tried to contact you…but it was impossible. I called the Lazy K. Zeke wouldn’t say where you were and for once Mazie kept her mouth shut. Even the other ranch hands played dumb.”

“So you married Leonetti,” he said, his voice cold as stone.

Why bother explaining? He’d set himself up as judge and jury, tried her and found her guilty. But she couldn’t expect much more, she supposed. She dug into her purse, found the picture of Adam and held it out to him. “This…this is our son,” she said.

Turner swept the snapshot out of her fingers, and in the half-light within the barn, he squinted at it. His eyebrows knotted in concentration.

Can’t you see it, Turner? Doesn’t the resemblance leap out at you? He has the same straight, light brown hair, the same gray eyes, the same little cleft in his chin? Oh, God, Turner, he’s yours!

A dozen emotions flickered in Turner’s eyes. Emotions that were dark and dangerous. His voice, when he spoke, was thick. “How do you know?” he asked, and though she’d been prepared for the question, it startled her.

“I was a virgin, remember? You were the first. The only.”

His mouth tightened. He remembered all right. Everything about her. Loving any other woman had never felt so right. Even now, in her expensive clothes and soft leather shoes, she was as attractive to him as she had been as a girl in cutoff jeans and halter tops. “There could have been others.”

Her steady blue eyes held his. “There weren’t.”

“How do I know—”

“You don’t. You have to trust me on this one, Turner. I never made love to anyone but you until I married Dennis—two weeks after the doctor confirmed my pregnancy. You can think what you want of me, but that’s the God’s honest truth. Adam’s yours.”

His heart was pounding so hard he could hear the blood pumping at his temples. She leaned closer to him, and he could see the golden crown of her head, could smell the provocative fragrance of her perfume. Just as before, he found her impossible to resist.

“I wouldn’t have come here unless you were my only hope, Turner. It’s just that I’m out of options and I would risk anything, even facing you again, to help my boy. I was hoping you’d feel the same way.”

Turner’s guts twisted. Leukemia! Wasn’t that fatal? His mouth turned to sand as he thought about a boy he’d never had the chance to know, a son that he could lose before he’d ever really found him. Damn Heather and her lies! She should have told him. She’d owed him that much. His fingers curled possessively over the slick snapshot. “What if he hadn’t gotten sick? Would you have ever told him about me—or let me know I had a kid?” he asked, rage beginning to swell inside him.

“Yes.”

“When?”

She hesitated just a second. “When he was eighteen.”

“Eighteen!” She had it all planned out. And she’d intended to rob him of ever seeing his boy as a kid. So that they’d never play catch, never ride trails and camp out on the river, never even meet. “Eight-friggin’-teen?” he said in a voice so low he saw the fear register in her eyes.

“He’d need to know someday.”

“And me? Did I need to know?”

She shook her head, and there was a trace of sadness in her cold blue eyes. “You gave up that right when you walked away from me and acted as if what we’d shared never existed,” she said as icily as if she meant every word.

He started to argue with her. To ask why she’d never returned his calls, why she’d never answered her mail, but he already knew the reasons. By the time he’d returned and started looking for her, she’d already married the son of one of the richest men in the bay area.

Pregnant or not, she’d realized even then what she’d wanted and it had come with a price tag. A price tag he could never afford. He handed her back the picture of Adam and watched as the disappointment registered on her face. “I want to see him,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Face-to-face. I want to meet my son.”

“You will.”

“You’ll bring him here?”

She was startled. Again, fear registered across her beautiful features. Nervously, she licked her lips, and Turner’s diaphragm slammed up to his ribs. “I thought in the city, in the hospital…”

“Does that have to happen immediately?”

“No, right now he’s better, but—”

“Then I want to meet him, but not in some sterile hospital room with a bunch of doctors and nurses stickin’ tubes and needles in him.”

To keep his hands busy, he grabbed a pitchfork and tossed hay into Gargoyle’s empty manger. He felt trapped, felt as if he had to move on, and yet he wouldn’t have it any other way. If the kid was his, and he was starting to believe Heather, then Turner planned to include the boy in his life.

He shoved the pitchfork in a split bale and leaned upon it. Heather was waiting, her elegant features tense. “Look, no matter what happened between us, I’ll do what you want,” he said, his heart twisting as the tension left her pretty face. “I’ll go to the city, have the tests done. No reason to hold this thing up. If the kid needs a donor and I’m a match, I’ll do whatever I have to. No problem.”

Relief brought a tremulous smile to her lips, and he anticipated the words of gratitude that were forming on her tongue. She misunderstood and he had to set her straight.

“But that’s not the end of it, Heather. As soon as he’s well enough and the tests have proven that he’s mine, then I want you to bring him back here…and not for an afternoon.”

The color in her face turned pasty and her fingers curled into tight little fists. “That might take a while. I don’t know when he’ll be well enough. The doctors might decide to do the transplant—if it’s possible—and he’ll need a long recovery.”

“Then I’ll meet him at your place, but not the hospital. Afterward, when it’s all done, and he’s well enough to come to the ranch, I want to spend some time with him. Two, maybe three weeks—enough time to get to know the boy.”

“That’s impossible—”

He picked up the pitchfork and hung it on a nail on the wall. “The way I figure it, you’ve had him for five years. Now it’s my turn.”

Panic registered in her eyes. “But he’s sick—”

“I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his health, Heather, but I have a right to know my own boy.”

She swallowed hard and sweat collected on her forehead. His reasoning was sound, but a deep fear started to grow deep within her, a fear that if she didn’t lose her son to this horrid disease, she might very well lose him to his father. But it was a chance she had to take. She was all out of options. “I… I…suppose if the doctor will approve.”

“He will.”

She licked her lips and glanced anxiously around the run-down old barn. “But he can’t stay here alone.”

“I’ll be here.”

“I know, but he’d be frightened. He doesn’t even know you!”

“Whose fault is that?”

“We’re not talking about laying blame, Turner. We’re talking about my son’s well-being!”

“You’re not going to bring up some damned nanny to this ranch,” he warned, and watched as she squared her shoulders.

“No, Turner, I’m not. But if Adam stays here, so do I.”

He started to argue. Hell, the last thing he wanted here was Heather Tremont Leonetti. She’d be in the way. She’d be a distraction. She’d interfere with him getting to know the boy, always overplaying the part of the mother. But he could see by the set of her small jaw that it was all or nothing, and he wasn’t enough of a bastard to barter with the boy’s health. No way could he say that he’d only agree to the tests if the kid would be allowed to come here alone. A son! He had a son. The very thought knocked the breath out of his lungs. He noticed her watching him and rubbed a hand over his chin.

“All right, lady, you’ve got yourself a bargain,” he said, letting a slow, lazy grin drift across his face. Deliberately, he let his gaze rest for a long moment on the hollow of her throat. “But it’s not going to be easy.”

“With you, nothing is,” she said, not backing down an inch. He approached her and she didn’t move; in fact her eyes widened and she parted her lips ever so slightly. If he didn’t know better, if he didn’t still feel the sting of her hand against his cheek, he’d swear she was coming on to him. But that was crazy, or was it?

The look she sent him fairly sizzled. “I’ll call and set up an appointment with the doctor and the hospital,” she said, and impulsively he touched her arm.

“I think we should talk some more.”

She paused just a second, as if deliberating. “I don’t see what good that would do.”

“Give me a break, Heather. It’s been six years. I think we have a lot to discuss.”

“I—I don’t know—”

“We’ll call a truce. Temporarily at least. There’s a lot I want to know.” The fingers curling over her fore arm tightened and she stared deep into his eyes. “You owe me this much.”

Quickly, she yanked her arm away. “Let’s get something straight, Turner. I don’t owe you anything. But I know that you have a lot of questions. I—I’ll be back later. Right now, I’ve got to go into town and talk to my mom. Good enough?”

“I guess it’ll have to be.”

“What time?”

“I’ll be through with my chores around seven.”

“I’ll be back at seven-thirty.” With that, she was gone. In a cloud of tantalizing perfume, she stormed away, never even looking down at her blouse where the dirt from his fingertips still stained the silken fabric.

She’d gotten tougher over the years as well as more sophisticated. To Turner’s mind, she was more deadly than before, because now, unless she was lying through her beautiful teeth, she had his son!

* * *

Heather squinted through the dust that collected on the windshield. Badlands Ranch was located to the northwest of Gold Creek, and the main road leading back to the town was a narrow ribbon of asphalt that wound around the western shore of Whitefire Lake. Through the trees, Heather caught glimpses of the water, now blue and pristine, unlike the white misty lake from which she’d taken a long sip this morning. It had been a foolish ritual, and now, if she hadn’t felt so desperate, she would have laughed at herself. But she could barely concentrate on anything except Turner and the fact that he wanted to make love to her again. She’d seen it in his eyes—the passion rising to the surface. And he’d even tried in a crude way to suggest that they could make it happen again. He’d been bluffing at that point, trying to force her out of his life by proving he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted.

But he hadn’t known how desperate she was. And he hadn’t known that this would have been the perfect time to make love to him. And he hadn’t known that should she make love to him and become pregnant with his child, she would be giving their only child another chance for survival. But she hadn’t been able to do it. She couldn’t deceive him so coldly, nor could she plan to conceive one child just to save the life of another.

Or could she?

She’d always wanted another baby. The fact that Dennis had been unable to father children had been a big disappointment for them both. And the thought of giving birth to another son or daughter with Turner as the father touched her in a romantic way that bordered on lunacy. Just because Adam had turned out so well was no reason to think that another child would fit into the life she’d carved out with her son.

But a sibling could save his life. Every doctor she’d talked to had stressed that donors for bone marrow are usually a brother or sister of the recipient. The more siblings a recipient had, the better the chance for a match. Already she knew that she couldn’t help her son; there was a strong chance Turner couldn’t, either. But a sibling…

The thought turned her stomach. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, even think about another pregnancy, another child.

But if it means Adam’s life? And why not have another baby to love? Adam needs a sister or brother and you need another child.

“ Another child without a husband. No way,” she told herself as she approached Gold Creek. She followed the road past the dip beneath the old railroad trestle and through the sprawling suburbs that were growing eastward into the foothills of the mountains. Several homes were for sale, white-and-red signs for Fitzpatrick Realty posted on the front lawns. She drove past the park where children played in the playground and concrete paths crossed the green, converging in the center where a white gazebo had become a shrine to Roy Fitzpatrick, eldest legitimate son of Thomas Fitzpatrick and the boy Jackson Moore had once been accused of killing.

But that was a long time ago, and now Heather’s sister, Rachelle, was planning to marry Jackson. His name had been cleared and some of the scandal of the past had been erased.

She slowed for a stoplight, then turned onto Main Street, past the Rexall Drugstore where, sometimes after school, she and Rachelle and Rachelle’s friend, Carlie, had bought sodas at the fountain in the back. Rachelle hadn’t much liked Heather tagging along, but Carlie, whose mother had worked at the fountain for years, hadn’t seemed to mind that Rachelle’s younger sister was always hanging around.

A few blocks farther and she passed the Buckeye Restaurant and Lounge. Her stomach tightened as she heard the country music filtering through the open doors. More than once she’d had to wait at the back door while a busboy or kitchen helper had searched out her father, who, smelling of cigarette smoke and liquor, had stumbled into the parking lot and walked the few blocks back to their house with her.

She pulled up in front of the little cottage where she’d grown up. One story, two bedrooms, cozy but in need of repair, the bungalow had been home, but Heather had only wanted out. Away from a mother and father who bickered continually, and later, away from the scandal that had tainted her family.

Her mother didn’t live here now. In fact, Heather owned half the cottage, so all that running hadn’t done anything. This still could be her home. She shuddered at the thought. Could she bring Adam here, to grow up riding his bike along the same cracked pavement where she’d cruised along on her old hand-me-down ten-speed?

She didn’t stop to think about it for too long. There was a lot to do. Her insides were still in knots because of her having seen Turner again and presenting him with the truth; now she had to do the same with her mother.

“God help me,” she whispered as she turned around in the driveway and drove the two miles to her mother’s small house on the other side of town. Recently separated from her second husband, Ellen Tremont Little would be in no mood to hear about her youngest daughter’s problems.

* * *

“I don’t believe you !” Heather’s mother reached into the drawer where she kept a carton of cigarettes. “This…this story you’ve concocted is some crazy fantasy.” She clicked her lighter over the end of her cigarette and took a long drag.

“It’s the truth, Mom.”

Ellen wrapped one arm around her thickening middle and squinted through the smoke. “But Dennis—”

“Dennis isn’t Adam’s father.”

“He knew about this?”

“Yes. From the beginning. Remember the night he left here so angry with me. It was right after I got home from working at the Lazy K. I told him about Turner—”

“Turner?” Ellen’s head snapped up. “Not—”

“Turner Brooks.”

“Oh, God.” She sank into a chair at the table and cradled her head, her cigarette burning neglected in her fingers. “John Brooks’s son.”

“Yes.”

Her mother let out a long, weary sigh, then drew on her cigarette. Smoke drifted from her nostrils. “How will I ever hold my head up in church?” she asked, staring out the window to the bird feeder swinging from the branch of a locust tree. Several yellow-breasted birds were perched on the feeder. “Cora Nelson will have a field day with this. And Raydene McDonald… Dear Lord, it will probably be printed in the Clarion! ”

“I don’t think so,” Heather said, and saw her mother attempt a trembling smile.

“Why would you ever want a boy like Turner Brooks when you had Dennis?”

“Don’t start with me, Mom,” Heather said with a smile, though she meant every word.

“He’s never done anything but ride horses and get himself busted up.”

“He took care of his father.”

Ellen stubbed out her cigarette. “I suppose he did.”

“He’s not a bad man, Mom.”

“So where was he when you were pregnant? He didn’t marry you, did he? No… Dennis did.” Shoving herself upright, she turned to the dishwasher and started taking out the clean dishes. “We Tremont women have a great track record with men, don’t we?” she said, her words laced with sarcasm. “Well, without us, what would the gossips in town do?”

“I’m not ashamed that Turner is Adam’s father.”

“No, I suppose you’re not. But what were you thinking, Heather? Why fall for a rodeo rider when you could have had any boy in town including…” Her voice drifted off. “I guess I’m beginning to sound like a broken record, aren’t I? Well…we’ll just have to change that. After all, nothing matters but Adam’s health, and if Turner’s willing to do what he can to save my grandson, then I’ll just have to quit bad-mouthing him.”

Heather chuckled. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve accepted Jackson. I never thought that would happen.”

“Neither did I.”

“And he and Rachelle are getting married.” She stacked two glasses in the cupboard and wiped her hands. “You know, I was wrong about Jackson—the whole town was wrong about him. Maybe I’ll be wrong about Turner, too.”

“You are, Mom,” Heather said with more conviction than she felt.

“I hope so. For everyone’s sake. I hope so.” She hung her dish towel on a rack. “Now tell me, what happens if Turner’s tissue doesn’t match Adam’s?”

“Don’t even think that way.”

“But it’s a possibility.”

A good one, Heather thought to herself. What Adam needs is a sister or brother… Oh, God, not this again!

“He’s not in any immediate danger,” Heather heard herself say as she repeated the pediatrician’s prognosis. “His remission could last for years. If so, he won’t need a transplant.”

“But if he does?” Ellen persisted.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Heather replied, while she tried to tamp down thoughts of a sibling for her son.

Ellen’s brow was drawn into a worried frown. “We’ll have to talk to your father and anyone else in the family—any blood relation—who might be able to help the boy.”

“Turner will be the most likely donor,” Heather said, and tried to still the beating of her heart. She thought of facing him again and her insides went cold. There was still the attraction; she’d felt it in the barn. Now she had to decide how she would deal with him. Would she keep him at arm’s length or try to seduce him?