by Lisa Jackson
“Oh—God—I… Oh, Turner…I knocked but no one answered.” She flushed at the sight of his naked torso and legs. “I didn’t mean to—”
He grinned. “Sure you did, Nadine,” he teased, and saw her face turn several shades of red.
“Believe me, Turner, I’m not that hard up,” she threw back, her chin angling defiantly, though her eyes caught his mischief. “I haven’t reduced myself to bein’ a Peeping Tom, and even if I had, you certainly wouldn’t be on the top of my list.” Her eyes shifted away from his, though, and he felt that same uncertainty he had in the past. He guessed that she was half in love with him. The poor woman. Beautiful and bright, she could do better than Sam Warne or himself.
Through the window, he saw Heather’s Mercedes roll to a stop. “Look, Nadine, I’ve got to change.” Without another word, he half ran into the bedroom, slammed the door, let the towel drop and changed into clean jeans and a work shirt. He ran his fingers through his hair and was opening the bedroom door as the rap of a small fist banged against the screen door.
“Turner?” Adam’s voice rang through the ranch house as he pushed the door open. Quick little steps hesitated in the entry hall.
Turner felt a strange tightness in his chest as he turned the corner and saw his son standing in the hallway of his house, looking confused and worried. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Any child of his should feel at home on the ranch, know every rock and crevice in the land, spend hours in the barn or astride a horse or exploring the wooded hillsides. Any child of his should live here, no matter what the sacrifice. Turner could barely find his voice, and when he finally spoke, his words sounded hushed, choked by emotions he’d never experienced before. “I wondered when you were gonna git here, cowboy,” he said.
Adam’s freckled nose crinkled and he giggled. “I’m not a cowboy!”
“You are now.” Turner reached onto the scarred wooden coatrack, where on the highest spindle a small brown-and-white Stetson had been placed. “All you need is this hat—” he plopped it on Adam’s head “—and a pair of boots.”
“I got high-tops!” Adam proclaimed, proudly displaying white basketball shoes with a famous insignia.
“We’ll fix that.” With a grin that seemed to light his very soul, Turner picked the boy up and hugged him close. It felt right holding his boy—like nothing he’d ever experienced—and Turner knew that with each passing minute he’d want more until he had it all. There was no turning back, no way he could pretend Adam didn’t exist.
But he wouldn’t rip a son from his mother. He’d lost his own mom when he wasn’t all that old and he’d missed her every day of his life since. No, somehow Turner would have to work out a compromise with Heather, find a way that they each could spend as much time with Adam as possible.
For a second, he thought of marrying her. There were certainly worse twists his life could take, but he didn’t believe for a minute that she would agree. She’d be bored to death here on the farm, and he’d curl up and die in the city. And she would want love—not companionship, not sex, not even friendship. She wanted to be loved. And she deserved that much. Hell, what a mess! For a second he was furious with her again. If only she’d been honest with him way back when, bridging this abyss wouldn’t be necessary.
He spied Heather walking across the porch, and again his heart leapt to his throat. God, she was beautiful—too beautiful. A graceful, intriguing creature who should have been modeling for some highbrow agency in New York. Without makeup, with the layers of sophistication peeled away, she was still the most sensual woman he’d ever met. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and held by a leather thong. She was wearing an outfit befitting a country singer. Stylized cowgirl. Earthy with a touch of glitz.
The kind of woman that stayed with you long after she’d said goodbye. The kind of woman a man could get used to. The kind of woman he would marry. The idea sent a jolt through his brain. He’d never considered marriage—not seriously, though once before, when he’d found out that Heather had left the Lazy K, he’d contemplated tracking her down and proposing. The urge had passed when he’d realized that she’d married Leonetti.
But now…marriage didn’t seem so unlikely, though he doubted she would give up her fast-paced lifestyle in the city to become a rancher’s wife. He kicked the idea of marriage around and found it wasn’t as distasteful as he’d originally thought.
“Momma’s a cowboy, too!” Adam chirped as Turner held the door open for Heather.
“I’ll get the rest of your things,” he said.
Heather’s blue gaze touched his for a second, before shifting to a point beyond him. Her smile faded, and the color seeped from her face. “Heather?” he asked, before glancing over his shoulder and spying Nadine, dust rag in one hand, mop in the other as she stood in the archway to the kitchen.
“Company?” Nadine asked, her smile frozen, her eyes dark with quiet emotions.
Turner couldn’t stand the deception a second longer. He hated lies and wasn’t about to let Heather’s web of deceit tie him into knots—especially not where Nadine was concerned. He should have used his hard head and told her earlier. “Nadine, I’d like you to meet Heather Leonetti.” Nadine’s arched brows inched up a bit. “And this is Adam. My son.”
Heather gasped.
Nadine’s mouth dropped open and she quickly snapped it shut. “Excuse me?”
“Turner!” Heather cried, glancing in horror at her boy. Adam’s little face was puckered a bit, but he didn’t seem all that concerned about the fact that every grown-up in the room was nearly apoplectic.
“And this is Nadine Warne, my housekeeper.”
Heather’s throat closed in on itself. She wanted to strangle Turner right then and there. What right did he have to break the news to Adam this way? And Nadine, who from the knowing glance she cast Turner, cared more for him than she did for mopping his floors…what did she think?
After a second’s hesitation, Nadine left her mop in the kitchen and stuffed her dust rag into a pocket. She managed what appeared to be a genuine smile as she walked toward Adam with her hand extended. “Well, how are you?”
“He’s confused, that’s what he is,” Heather cut in, though she wasn’t angry with Nadine. Obviously the woman was shocked and making the best out of a bad situation. But Turner…he was another matter. She’d love to pummel him with her fists, and the look she shot him told him just that.
“Maybe I’d better come back another time,” Nadine said, her sad gaze landing on Adam.
“It’s all right,” Turner replied. His strong tanned arms surrounded his son with such possession that Heather didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Adam needed a father, a man to care for him, but Heather couldn’t find it in her heart to let go of her boy even a little. “I’ll bring in Heather’s things and we’ll be out of your hair. Adam wants a tour of the ranch, don’t you, kid?”
“I want to break a bronco!”
Turner smiled and winked. “Slow down, son. We have to save something for tomorrow.”
“I won’t let him—”
“Enough,” Turner said sharply, then at Heather’s gasp, added in a gentler tone to his son, “Come on, let’s bring the rest of the bags inside.” Hand in hand, father and son walked through the door, leaving Heather standing in the entry hall, trying to think of some kind of conversation she could drum up with Nadine.
“I would’ve known anyway,” Nadine admitted to Heather. Through the window, she watched Turner as he stepped out of the shadow of the house, into the dry dust of the yard. He set Adam on his feet and the boy took off, pell-mell to the fence nearest the barn. “Adam’s the spitting image of his pa.”
“I think so, too.”
Nadine nodded. “I grew up with Turner, you know. Seeing Adam…well, it takes me back about twenty-five years.” She wiped her hands on the rag in her pocket. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me.”
“He didn’t know,” Heather said, deciding it was time for the
truth to be told. There was no reason to lie any longer. Even if Nadine didn’t turn out to be the biggest gossip in Gold Creek, the news was bound to get out. Turner would see to it. “It…it’s complicated,” she added.
“With Turner, it always is,” Nadine replied. Then, as if shaking herself out of a great melancholy, she cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Come on inside. Look around. I don’t know if he’s got anything in the refrigerator but beer and milk two weeks beyond the pull date, but there might be a soda.”
Heather followed Nadine into the kitchen, where a bucket, mop and basket of cleaning supplies had been set. She envied Nadine’s familiarity with the house, with the routine, with Turner, and yet she knew that she had no one to blame for the distance between herself and the father of her child but herself. She could have told him the truth anytime in the past few years, but she hadn’t. Coward! Now, look at the mess you’re in!
“I met your sister when she was back in Gold Creek,” Nadine said, opening the refrigerator and searching at the meager contents. “How about that? He knew you were coming. Pepsi all right?”
“Fine. You know Rachelle?”
“Mmm.” Nadine popped the tabs on two cans of soda and handed one to Heather. “I have a lot of respect for her. Stood up for what she believed in and came back to prove it. I was there, you know, the night Roy was killed. God, it was awful.” She shook her head and sighed. “And now things are really jumbled up. Who would’ve believed that Jackson was Thomas Fitzpatrick’s son? Believe me, that little bit of news set the town on its ear. Those Gold Creek gossips couldn’t talk of much else for three or four weeks.” She managed an amused smile. “Not that Gold Creek didn’t need to be set on its ear, mind you. But for years the Fitzpatricks and the Monroes have owned and run everything in this town. Aside from your husband’s family—”
“My ex-husband,” Heather clarified.
“Well, aside from the Leonettis, the Fitzpatricks and Monroes own Gold Creek lock, stock, and barrel. I just find it hard to believe that old Thomas Fitzpatrick let Jackson, his own son, take the rap for Roy’s death.”
“I think Thomas believed it because of June,” Heather said, a little uncomfortable with the subject. Mention of the Fitzpatricks always made her skin crawl.
Nadine shrugged and took a long swallow of her drink. “Well, I’d better get to work so I’m not late for my own boys.” She reached for her mop and smiled wistfully. “I’ve always thought that Turner could be the best father in the county. He just didn’t know it. Now, maybe, he’ll really settle down.”
“Hey, Mom! Come on!” Adam yelled from the back porch. He was waving furiously. “We’re gonna go see the life stock.”
“Livestock,” Turner corrected, holding the door open for Heather. Adam was already leading the way, running through the dappled sunlight, dust kicking up behind his new shoes. Turner and Heather fell into step together.
“She’s in love with you, you know,” Heather finally said, worried that Nadine had a place in Turner’s heart and sensing that down-to-earth Nadine, the woman who spent a lot of her time here, would be a perfect mate for him.
“Who? Nadine?” He swatted at a wasp that flew near his head.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”
Brackets tightened around the corners of his mouth. “She deserves better.”
“Maybe she doesn’t think so.”
Turner stopped and stared down at Heather. “Don’t be playing matchmaker,” he said, his voice steely with determination. “And don’t try to get me interested in another woman or her kids. It’s Adam I want.”
She felt her face drain of color. What did he think? “I was only saying—”
“I know what you were doing, damn it, and it won’t work. Now that I know about Adam, I’m not going to fill in with some substitute.”
“I didn’t…” But her words faded when he opened the barn door and the scents of dust and hay, horses and leather assailed her. She walked past the very stall where they’d made love and her throat caught at the vivid memory. Adam dashed deeper into the interior, sending dust motes into the air and mice scurrying. “I didn’t suggest that you should be a father to just any child,” she said indignantly. Several horses snorted, and Heather caught Turner staring at her, his eyes dark and serious.
“Good,” he drawled in a low, emotion-packed voice, “because Nadine Warne isn’t the woman for me.”
The walls of the barn seemed to close in on them. Heather’s breath was lost in her lungs at the words he hadn’t spoken, the insinuation that hung, like a thin diaphanous cloud, between them.
Heather fought the thrill of hope in her heart that she might just be that woman. Angry with that thought, she shoved it out of her mind. Would she be happy here, in a run-down ranch house, living less than five miles from Gold Creek, with a lifestyle made up of horses, leather, bacon grease and P.T.A. meetings? Where would she paint? She’d have to have a studio… . She glanced back, through the still-open barn door to the weathered sheds and barns and rambling ranch house. Where would the best natural light filter in? She’d need water and light and privacy and… She caught herself up short.
What was she thinking? That Turner would ask her to marry him? Gritting her teeth, she changed the course of her thoughts and watched Adam scamper along the stalls, petting one velvet-soft nose of a horse before hurrying on to the next. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes alight with anticipation. He looked happier and healthier than he had in weeks, and Heather’s heart twisted.
As she walked to the first stall, she noticed the horse within, a stocky sorrel mare, was saddled. The mare shook her head and the bridle jangled. “What’s going on?”
“Seems to me the last time you came here, you wanted to ride.”
She flushed at the memory.
“Least I could do is accommodate you.”
“Adam doesn’t know how to stay astride a horse,” she protested.
“He’ll be with me.” Turner didn’t wait for another argument. He opened the stall gate, grabbed the reins of the mare’s bridle and stuffed them into a surprised Heather’s fingers. “This is Blitzen.” His lips twitched a bit. “I didn’t name her. She came that way.”
“But—”
He walked to the next stall, and a tall buckskin nickered softly. Heather smiled as she recognized Sampson. Turner patted the big horse fondly on the shoulder.
“I didn’t think you still had him,” she said.
Turner’s eyes flashed. “He’s the best horse I ever owned. I’d never sell him.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t you know by now that I’m true-blue, Heather?”
A basket of butterflies seemed to erupt in her stomach, but he didn’t miss a beat and swung Adam up into the saddle.
“Hold on, honey,” Heather said automatically, her eyes riveted to her son’s precarious position.
“Oh, Mom!” Adam actually rolled his eyes.
“He’ll do fine.” Turner tugged gently on the reins and the horse’s hooves rang on the concrete as they headed back to the door. Outside, the daylight seemed bright, and Turner spent a few minutes explaining to Adam about the horse and how he could be controlled by simple tugs on the reins.
“Just don’t whistle,” Heather added, and was rewarded with a sharp look from her son’s father. They were both reminded of the first time they met and Heather’s misguided attempt to steal Turner’s horse from him.
With Adam propped in the saddle, Turner tied Sampson to a rail of the fence. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Where would we go?” she called after him as he dashed along a well-worn path to the back porch and disappeared around the corner.
“What’s he doin’?” Adam asked, frowning slightly as the screen door creaked and banged shut. His little fingers held on tight to the saddle horn and a perplexed look crossed his freckled features. “And why’d he say he was Daddy?”
Oh, Adam, what have I done to you? she wondered silently. “
I don’t know,” she said, unable to tell her son the truth of his parentage while they sat astride two separate horses. When it came time for telling the truth, she wanted to be able to hold him and kiss him and tell Adam that he was the most loved child on this earth.
Damn Turner. Why did he think he had the right to blurt out that—
Because he’s Adam’s father.
Still that didn’t give him the right to go spouting off—not until the time was right.
And when would that be? When would the time ever be right?
Before she could answer her own question, Turner strode back with sacks he’d stuffed into the saddlebags that were strapped to his horse. He swung into the saddle behind Adam, and led the way, through the sprawling acres of the ranch.
Despite her worries, Heather felt herself relax. The day was warm, sunlight heated the crown of her head. Bees floated over the few wildflowers caught in the dry stubble of the fields, and a bothersome horsefly buzzed near Blitzen’s head, causing the little mare’s ears to flick in irritation.
The ranch, in its rustic way, was beautiful. The buildings were time-worn and sun-bleached, but sturdy and practical. Rimming the dry fields, thin stands of oak and pine offered shade while the sun sent rippling images across the dry acres. Turner stopped often, pointing out a corral where he trained rodeo horses, a field that was occupied by brood mares and their spindly legged colts, and a pasture that held a few head of cattle. Adam’s eyes fairly glowed as he watched the foals frolic and play or the calves hide behind their mothers’ red flanks. His small hands twisted in Sampson’s black mane and he chattered, nearly nonstop, asking questions of Turner or laughing in delight when a flock of pheasants rose before the horse, their wings flapping wildly as they flew upward.
“Like in the park!” he exclaimed, obviously delighted.
“Yeah, but those are doves. These are pheasants. Ring-necked Chinese,” Turner told him.