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Chapter Twelve

Heather almost laughed. Except for the dead-serious glint in his eyes, she would’ve thought he was joking. But marriage? She bit her lip. How long had she waited for a proposal from this lonesome cowboy? She would’ve done anything to hear him beg her to marry him six years ago. Now, however, she understood his reasons, the motives for making a commitment he would otherwise have avoided. “You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, as she picked a flower from the dried grass and twirled it between her fingers. “I won’t keep Adam from you.”

His expression tensed. “You mean he can stay with me?” Unleashed anger sparked in his eyes.

“Part of the time, yes. When he’s not in school.” She swallowed back the impulsive urge to throw caution to the wind and tell him she’d gladly become his wife. However, she wouldn’t allow his nobility, if that’s what it was, or his love for his child, to interfere with his happiness.

“All summer long?”

“I—I can’t promise—”

“Every weekend?”

“Well, no, but—”

Turner’s expression turned as thunderous as a summer storm. “But nothing! The only way I’m going to see him as much as I want is for you to live with me.”

“Here?”

“Is it so bad, Heather?” His voice was deeper than usual, and she saw the pride in his eyes when he looked over the acres that he’d sweated and bled for.

Hot tears filled her eyes. “No, Turner, it’s good here. It’s good for you. Maybe even good for Adam. I can feel it. But I don’t know if I can fit in. I’d die if I had to spend my days making jam, or tending garden, or…or cleaning out stalls.” She stared up at the sky, watching as a hawk circled near the mountains. “It’s not a matter of not liking to make jam,” she added. “Or even tending the garden. I… I’d enjoy it, some of the time. Even mucking out the stables. But… I need more. I’d go crazy if I couldn’t paint, if I couldn’t ever sculpt again, if I didn’t have time to sit down with a sketch pad and draw.” If only he could understand. “It’s the same feeling you’d have if you knew you’d never climb on the back of a horse again.”

He tipped back his hat and studied the horizon, his eyes narrowed against the sun. “Can’t you do those things here?”

“I…yes.”

“But you don’t want to.”

Close to tears, she offered him a tender smile. She’d never loved him more in her life, but she didn’t want him to throw away his own lifestyle. His own needs. “This is no time to sacrifice yourself, Turner. You never wanted to marry. You as much as told me so.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Then maybe you’ll change it again,” she said, her throat closing upon itself as she stared into the intensity of his gaze. “And I’d hate to be the woman you were married to when you realized you wanted out.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, Turner—”

“Think about it,” he suggested, bristling. He dusted his hands on his jeans as he stood.

She doubted she’d think of little else.

* * *

That evening, Turner drove them into town. Heather’s fingers tightened over the edge of the pickup seat as they passed familiar landmarks, the park with the gazebo built in memory of Roy Fitzpatrick’s death, the yellow-brick building that had once been the Gold Creek Hotel and now housed Fitzpatrick, Incorporated, the post office on Main Street and the old Rexall Drugstore still standing on the corner of Main and Pine.

“I thought Adam would like one of the best burgers this side of the Rocky Mountains!” Turner said as he eased his pickup close to the curb.

They walked into the drugstore and a bell tinkled. The ceilings were high, with lights and fans, never renovated in the seventy years that the building had stood in the center of town. Shelves were neatly stacked; row upon row of cosmetics, medications, jewelry, paper items and toys stood just as they had most of the decade. The items had changed, turned over for new and improved stock, following the trends of small-town tastes, but the shelves were the same metal inlays that Heather remembered from high school.

The soda fountain in the back hadn’t changed much, either, and Thelma Surrett, Carlie’s mother, her hair grayer, her waist a bit thicker, was still making milk shakes. She glanced over her shoulder and offered Heather a surprised grin. “Well, well, well…look who’s back in town,” she said, turning on the milk shake mixer and snapping up her notepad as the blender whirred as loudly as a dentist’s drill. “First Rachelle and now you. Don’t tell me this town has changed its name to Mecca.”

Heather grinned. “Rachelle said Carlie will be back for the wedding.”

Thelma’s eyes shifted a little, and her mouth tightened slightly but she nodded. “In a couple of weeks. Guess she got tired of those long nights up in Alaska. Uh-oh. Who’s this?” she asked as Adam climbed up on a stool.

“This is my son, Adam,” Heather said, unable to keep the pride from her voice.

“Well, howdy, partner,” Thelma replied. She tapped the brim of Adam’s hat. “Should I rustle you up some grub?”

“Three burgers, onion, fries, the works,” Turner ordered, as Thelma turned off the blender and poured a thick strawberry milk shake into a tall glass.

“I want one of those!” Adam demanded, and Thelma, handing the drink to another customer, winked at the boy.

“You got it.”

“Take off your hat while you eat, Adam.”

“No!”

“Your ma’s right,” Turner added. “It’s just plain good manners.” He lifted the hat from his son’s head.

Adam clapped his hands over hair that raised with static electricity. “I hate manners.”

“Me, too,” Turner said with a chuckle.

Heather felt as if she’d been transported back to high school and the days she’d walked to the pharmacy after school, tagging along with Rachelle and Carlie. Eventually Laura Chandler had joined the group and Laura had flagrantly ignored Rachelle’s younger sister. “She’s such a drag,” she’d told Rachelle. “Can’t we ditch her?”

Rachelle, none-too-thrilled to be stuck with Heather, had, nonetheless stood up for her. “It’s okay,” she’d argued, and Laura had pouted, though Carlie had never minded. Well, things had changed—turned around in the past twelve years. Laura had ended up married to Brian Fitzpatrick. Years later she’d been accused of killing Roy, the boy who, had he lived, would have become her brother-in-law.

Thelma started burgers sizzling on the grill, and soon they were eating again, laughing and talking, listening to Thelma go on and on about Rachelle’s upcoming wedding and how she hoped Carlie would find a nice boy to settle down with and marry.

After finishing their meal, they wandered through the drugstore for a while, and as they were leaving, nearly ran into Scott McDonald. Turner’s face stretched into a grin, but Heather had trouble finding a smile. Scott had been one of Roy Fitzpatrick’s friends who had been with Rachelle the night Roy had been killed. After Roy’s death, Scott had been vocal in pointing out Jackson’s guilt, and had given Rachelle a rough time thereafter.

“I want you to meet someone, Scott,” Turner said, and Heather thought she might drop through the yellowed linoleum of the drugstore’s floor.

Turner introduced Scott to his son, and Heather managed a thin smile. Scott’s eyes flickered with interest, but he congratulated Turner on such a “fine-looking boy.” He and his wife, Karen, were expecting their first in February.

“I don’t know if that was such a good idea,” Heather said, as they wandered along the streets, window shopping at the bakery, jeweler’s and travel agency.

“He would’ve found out anyway. He’s Fred’s brother and Fred works for me.” Turner slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Sooner or later it’s all gonna come out.”

“I vote for later.”

“But it’s easier now. Less to explain.”

Her chest felt tight and worry crowded her brow as they strolled down the sidewalks. Adam found a pair of cowboy boots in the window of the shoe store, and Turner eyed a stove on display at the local Sears catalog store.

The town had a lazy summer feel. A few birds twittered and traffic rolled by at a snail’s pace. The city lamps began to glow as dusk crept over the land and they walked unhurried to the park and past the gazebo erected in Roy’s memory.

While Adam scrambled all over the playground equipment, Turner chased him, and Heather sat alone on a park bench. In the evening, with the wind soughing through the trees, Gold Creek didn’t seem so horrible. She had fond memories of the town where as a child she’d drawn hopscotch on the cracked sidewalks, jumped rope and ridden her bike along the flat tree-lined streets. Her family hadn’t had much money, but they’d made up for it in love.

And then her father had started drinking and his wandering eye had ripped apart that cozy blanket of security. Their mother had been devastated, the girls stunned. Tears and anger, pity and anguish had been followed by deep embarrassment. Gossiping tongues had wagged. Her father had filed for divorce and married a younger woman. The rumors had exploded. Later, Roy Fitzpatrick had been killed and Rachelle, alone, had stood up for Jackson Moore, the bad boy, telling the world that she’d spent the night with him, ruining her reputation.

Scandal had swept like a tornado through Gold Creek and the Tremonts were at its vortex. The friends and neighbors Heather had known all her life seemed to look at her differently, some with compassion, some with worry, others with out-and-out disgust. Life had never been the same. Heather had learned what it felt like to be an object of speculation while her sister became an object of ridicule. And Heather had begun to hate the small town she’d once felt was the center of the universe.

But now…if she faced the past, stood proudly with Turner by her side, maybe she could learn to feel comfortable in Gold Creek again. Not all the citizens were gossips. Not all were cruel. Not all had long memories. Not all cared. The people, and the town, had grown up, and Rachelle had been vindicated.

However, when the truth about Adam’s parentage came out, she feared her innocent little boy would become grist for a long-dry gossip mill. But now she was stronger. She and Turner would protect their son.

For Heather, what people thought was no longer as important as it once had been. She’d survive, with her head held high. As for changing her lifestyle, there were drawbacks to living in the city where oftentimes she’d felt isolated. In San Francisco there were so many people, but so few good friends. Knowing people from the time they were children created a bond that was like no other in life.

Rachelle, though she hadn’t seen Carlie in years, would never find a friend she understood better.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Heather watched as Turner pushed Adam on a swing. Adam shrieked in delight and Turner laughed, a deep, rumbling sound of pure happiness. In her heart, Heather knew she could never separate father and son. Now that they’d come to know each other, she wouldn’t stand between them.

Stars winked in the heavens and other children played a game of tag on the baseball diamond near the equipment. Mothers and fathers pushed strollers down the cement walkways. Teenagers cruised by in cars, searching for their friends.

There was a charm to this town, and whether she liked it or not, it was, and always would be, home. Tears touched the back of her eyes. She could return. Her mother was here. Her father was in a town nearby. Jackson had told Rachelle he thought they should buy some property here eventually, though that might have been a joke. But if he was serious, there was a chance he and Rachelle would visit occasionally.

And Turner, bless and curse him, Turner belonged here.

The course of the rest of her life depended upon Turner. As it had since the first time she’d made love to him six years before.

* * *

It was after nine by the time they returned to the ranch. Nadine had made the spare room up for Adam, and after a quick bath, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Turner and Heather were alone. They sat on the porch swing, hearing the chorus of crickets and watching thousands of diamondlike stars glitter in the dark heavens. The old swing rocked slowly back and forth, creaking on rusty hinges. Roses, gone to seed, scented the air. Turner placed his arm over the back of the swing, gently holding Heather closer. “I wasn’t kidding this afternoon,” he said, his voice surprisingly rough. “I want you to consider marrying me.”

She was touched, and her heart screamed “yes.” “You wouldn’t be happy,” she said, her head resting against his shoulder.

“ You wouldn’t be happy.”

Right now she was more content than she’d ever been. She couldn’t imagine spending another day alone, without Turner. “I could be happy, Turner,” she heard herself say, “with you. With Adam.”

“But…?”

“But I’m not sure if I could live in the town.”

“We’re miles from the town, and there’s a fairly substantial lake between the ranch and Gold Creek. It wouldn’t be like before, when you were smack-dab in the middle of the city limits. And if you want to paint and draw, we’ll find you a place. You could still keep the gallery in the city and go there anytime you got the urge.”

Was it worth it? She gazed into Turner’s steel-gray eyes and her heart swelled with love. She knew there was only one answer. “Of course I’ll marry you, Turner,” she said, as his strong arms surrounded her. His lips touched hers, gently at first, softly exploring, until he brazenly covered her mouth with his own.

* * *