Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad BoyHe's Just a Cowboy

by Lisa Jackson

  She thought about confiding in him, but decided to wait until she was more certain. He had enough on his mind and shouldn’t have to worry about another baby until Heather was positive of her condition, until she’d checked with a gynecologist or done a home pregnancy test.

  While Turner was working with the cattle, she and Adam drove into town, and after a frantic meeting with Rachelle, who was dead certain the florist and band were going to foul up everything, Heather stopped by the pharmacy. She bought Adam a butterscotch soda, and while he was slurping up the gooey concoction, she purchased a few supplies—tissues, candles, wrapping paper and a pregnancy test. A young girl she didn’t recognize helped her, and all her items were packed carefully in a brown sack before she returned to the soda fountain.

  Glancing nervously over her shoulder to the pharmaceutical counter where Scott McDonald worked, she saw him at his elevated station, busy filling prescriptions. Though he had a bird’s-eye view of the counters, fountain and shelves, she doubted he had paid much attention to her purchase.

  As Adam finished his soda, she sipped a diet soda and chatted with Thelma about Carlie’s arrival, which was scheduled for the very next day. Thelma and her husband, Weldon, could hardly wait to see their daughter again.

  Hours later, when she returned home, Heather kept the pregnancy test in her large shoulder bag. She had to wait until morning to administer the test, so she planned to pick a morning when Turner got up early to feed the stock. A deceptive whisper touched her heart, but she told herself she was doing the right thing. No need to worry him without cause.

  So why did she feel like a criminal?

  * * *

  POSITIVE.

  The test results were boldly positive.

  Heather, hand trembling, touched her abdomen where, deep within, Turner’s child was growing. She leaned against the wall for support and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A new baby! Ever since Adam had turned one year old, she’d hoped to conceive another child. But Turner’s child? A full-blooded sister or brother to Adam—who would’ve ever thought? Certainly not Heather Tremont Leonetti.

  Tears of happiness formed in her eyes. This unborn baby, this miracle baby, was a dream come true.

  “Oh, God, thank you,” she whispered. She’d bought the test three days before but had to wait until this morning. Turner hadn’t woken her when he’d gotten up, and though she’d been awake, she’d feigned sleep until she’d heard the kitchen door close shut behind him.

  He hadn’t come back in yet, and Heather had enough time to perform the simple test and wait for the results. Without a doubt, the test told her she was pregnant, and with that knowledge came a contentment. Having her children growing up here on the ranch, where the air was fresh, the water clear, the work hard but satisfying, wasn’t such a bad idea. They weren’t that far from the city and could take weekend excursions to San Francisco or anywhere else they wanted to.

  She could paint and sculpt and more importantly be a mother to her children and a wife to Turner Brooks.

  Yes, life was going to change, but only for the better. Humming to herself, she threw on her robe and walked to the kitchen. Through the back window, past the heavily blossomed clematis that sprawled over the back porch and across a yard parched from the dry summer, she spied Turner deep in conversation with Fred McDonald. Fred had his own spread to run, but he spent his extra time here, with Turner, helping out and making a few extra bucks. Turner’s ranch wasn’t as large or as busy as the Lazy K, but it was paid for and, along with her own income, could provide well enough for a small family.

  Smiling to herself with the knowledge of her secret, she plugged in the coffeemaker and added coffee and water. After checking on Adam, who was still sleeping soundly, she quickly showered and slipped into a sundress and planned what she would say to Turner and when. Maybe tonight. After Adam was asleep. She’d make a dinner, light candles, and in the warm candle glow, reach across the table for Turner’s hand and tell him of the child…

  Pregnant! The word whirled through her mind. She thought of her maternity clothes, sophisticated expensive outfits tucked away in her house in San Francisco. The silks, wool blends and velours would hardly do on the ranch. She didn’t even own a pair of maternity jeans. That would have to change.

  She combed her wet hair and decided to let it dry in the sun. With only a quick touch of lipstick and blush, she padded back to the kitchen, set out three empty cups and arranged the sugar and creamer and three spoons beside a vase she’d filled with roses the day before.

  Feeling unusually domestic, she decided to bake biscuits. She was busy with her work, her mind already moving ahead to planning a nursery here on the ranch, as she rolled out the dough on an old breadboard.

  She heard the grind of a pickup’s engine. Looking out the window, she spied Fred’s old truck lumbering out of the drive, which was strange, considering he’d just arrived. But maybe he was running into town for parts or supplies… . Turner’s tractor was acting up again and he’d ordered a part from the farm machine store in Gold Creek. She’d convinced herself that she’d figured out the reasons for Fred’s abrupt departure when she spied Turner walking toward the back porch. Smiling, she lifted her hand to wave to him when she noticed his expression—hard and grim, his skin stretched tight across his nose and the blades of his cheekbones. His mouth was a thin white line and his nostrils were flared in rage, not unlike those of an angry stallion.

  Heather’s heart plummeted. She barely noticed the dog romping at his heels, a half-grown puppy, part German shepherd from the looks of him, bounding playfully in the dust that Turner’s furious strides stirred. Every once in a while the pup would stop, snap at the air to capture a fly, then romp forward again.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, as Turner shoved open the door and the dog followed him into the kitchen.

  “You tell me.”

  “Fred left…and this dog…?”

  “For Adam.” He glared at her then, and her throat closed in upon itself, for the hatred that glittered in his gunmetal eyes was unmistakable. “Every kid needs a dog.”

  “Something’s wrong…” The temperature in the cozy kitchen had seemed to plummet and Heather’s stomach turned sour. She dropped her rolling pin and wiped her flour-dusted hands on a towel. “What is it, Turner?” she asked, her mind racing before landing upon the answer. There could only be one reason for the anger seething from him.

  He knew. Somehow he knew about the baby. And rather than the happiness she’d expected he would feel, his emotions had turned the other direction until he was in a black rage.

  “What, Heather?” he said, striding over to her and glaring down at her with condemning eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…I…”

  “Spit it out, woman. You’re pregnant.”

  She felt like a Judas. All the happiness she’d felt just moments before melted away. “Yes, but I just found out—”

  “Like hell! How come half the town already knows?”

  “It couldn’t…I mean I just took the test this morning…” she said, as her words faded, for she understood what had happened. This town. This bloody small town! When she’d bought the pregnancy detection kit, someone at the drugstore had put two and two together, and though most clerks weren’t supposed to discuss their customer’s purchases, someone had. The clerk at the drugstore, or Scott McDonald, or even Thelma Surrett, must have seen her and started speculating.

  Heather’s insides churned. Her hands shook.

  “The whole damned town knows I’m gonna be a father before I do,” he spat out, kicking the wall. The puppy, nervous already, slithered to a hiding spot beneath the table and cowered against the wall, whining pitifully. “Hell, Heather, didn’t you think I might want to know?”

  “I was going to tell you—”

  He grabbed her then, his grip on her arms punishing, the fierce fire in his eyes reminding her of the very devil himself. “When?”

  “As soon as
I—”

  “When we were married? Or before? You know, I’ve heard of a lot of low-down, despicable things to do, but to get pregnant, plan it all out, just to make sure you had a donor—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His voice was as cold as a bottomless well. “Don’t pretend, Heather. It belittles us both.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?” she demanded, but back in the darkest corner of her mind, she knew, and, God help her, some of those very thoughts had been with her. Hadn’t she once considered making love to him just to create a child so like Adam that the baby might be able to eventually become a bone-marrow donor? But that would never have been the sole reason. No. She’d wanted another child for years. Her thoughts must’ve reflected in her eyes, because he let go of her then and his lips curled in disgust. “I don’t like being used, Heather. Not for any reason.”

  “I didn’t use you,” she protested.

  “Like hell! I was a stud. Nothing more.”

  She felt as if he’d hit her hard in the stomach. “Oh, Turner, you can’t believe—”

  “Do you deny that you thought about this? That you hoped we could start a new child? A sibling for Adam? A damned donor?”

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, as the color drained from her body and she had to hold on to the counter for support.

  “I just find it hard to believe that I fell for it.”

  “You didn’t fall for anything—”

  “Don’t lie to me, woman!”

  Something inside her snapped, and her temper exploded. “I’m not lying, Turner, and I shouldn’t have to remind you that this baby wasn’t created by me alone! You were there and, I might add, enjoyed doing your part!”

  His breath came out in a hiss. “I don’t object to a child! What’s the difference between one or two? But it’s the reasons for creating this child I hate. Cold and calculating. You didn’t even consult me—”

  “Why would I do it?” she nearly screamed. “Your bone marrow is a match!”

  “Maybe you didn’t want to be saddled with me. Maybe you didn’t trust me.”

  “No, Turner, it’s you who never trusted me,” she said, wretchedness whirling deep in her soul. “You never loved me. And that was my mistake, because I loved you, Turner. For six years I didn’t do right by Dennis, because it was you I loved, you I’d always loved. But you never have believed me.” She was visibly shaking by this time, and she blinked hard against tears that burned her eyes. “With Adam or without, with this baby or without, I loved you. Stupidly, blindly, with no reason behind it, I loved you.”

  She noticed the muscle ticking near his eye, saw the contempt in his expression and knew all her plans for happiness had been shattered. She glanced away from him, unable to stare him down, and noticed the biscuit dough beginning to rise, smelled the warm scent of coffee she’d never drink, noticed the pathetic grouping of cups and spoons near a vase of freshly cut flowers that she would no longer enjoy. She felt more miserable than she had in her entire life.

  “Mommy?” Adam’s sleepy voice stopped her short, and she quickly cleared the lump of self-pity from her throat. She couldn’t break down in front of her child. He needed to know that everything was all right, that he was secure. He’d already lost Dennis as a father; it wasn’t going to happen again! Her fingers curled into fists of determination and she blinked back any remnants of her tears.

  Turning, she managed a thin smile and thought her heart would break. He was getting well. Heather noticed the color in his cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes had disappeared. Living here, with Turner, had helped Adam. “Good morning, pumpkin,” she whispered over a clogged throat.

  “You sad?” He looked from Turner to Heather with worry etched in his small features, and Heather swept him into her arms.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. Look what Turner got for you—”

  Adam’s eyes rounded as he spied the puppy, still cowering under the table. Slowly the gawky pup inched forward one big paw at a time. Adam pushed his way back to the floor. “He’s mine?” Adam whispered, his adoring gaze flying to Turner’s hard face. For just a second, Turner’s harsh visage cracked and he offered his son a smile as warm as a Western sunset. Heather’s heart shredded.

  “All yours.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “You get to name him.”

  “Can I really?” Adam looked to his mother as if he expected her to refuse.

  “Of course you can.”

  Adam’s freckled face squinched into a thoughtful frown. “Then I’ll call him Daytona—that’s where they have car races!” He reached out to pet the dog’s broad head and was rewarded with a long tongue that swiped his skin. Adam shrieked in happiness and within minutes he and the dog were outside, running along the fence line, kicking up dust and trampling dry grass and wildflowers.

  “I won’t let him go, you know,” Turner said in a low voice edged in steel.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying. “I know.”

  Turner stormed out of the house and she didn’t think twice, just turned on her heel, marched to the bedroom she’d shared with him and stripped her clothes from the closet and bureau drawers. He didn’t love her, never had, never would—and she’d be damned if she’d spend the rest of her life with a man who couldn’t return her feelings.

  Call her a hopeless romantic, call her a fool, but call her a woman who knew her own mind. She packed her things quickly and did the same with Adam’s. In short order she was ready to leave. She’d take Adam, she’d take her unborn child, she’d even take the dog, but she knew she’d be leaving behind a part of her heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “YOU COULD DO WORSE.” Thomas Fitzpatrick tented his hands beneath his chin and waited as Turner read through the offer. “That’s two and a half times what the place is worth—four times what your dad paid for it when he bought it from me. Quite a profit.”

  Turner clicked his pen a few times. The papers looked straightforward enough, and he wanted to sell. Hell, ever since the fight with Heather three days ago, he’d thought of nothing but running.

  But he hadn’t. Because things weren’t settled. Not only was there Heather and Adam, but now a new baby to consider. He and Heather hadn’t talked; she’d packed up the boy and said something about visiting her mother until the wedding, and Turner, because of his stubborn streak, hadn’t bothered to call. But he hadn’t slept a wink, either.

  Then, out of the blue, Thomas Fitzpatrick showed up on his front porch offering money, bigger money than before. His ticket out. Almost like destiny. Trouble was, Turner didn’t believe in destiny.

  “I thought I told you I wasn’t interested,” Turner said, slapping the contracts and deeds and all the rest of the legal mumbo jumbo onto the table.

  “But that was before.”

  “Before? Before what?”

  Thomas pulled at his silk tie. His silver hair, as always, was cut just above his collar. He smoothed one side of his trim white moustache, then spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Gold Creek is a small town. There are no secrets in small towns.”

  “Meaning what?” Turner didn’t like the feel of a noose around his neck, and he definitely was feeling that he was about to be strung up—by one of the best.

  “I’ve heard about you and the Tremont girl.”

  “What have you heard?” Turner demanded, the noose tightening and his rage turning black.

  “Just that she left you. With your boy. Well, I know the cost of lawyers and I figure if you’re planning a lawsuit—for custody, you could use some quick cash. And if you do end up with the kid, you’ll have medical bills—more bills than you can imagine—”

  Turner was on his feet in an instant. He kicked back his chair and grabbed Fitzpatrick by his fancy silk tie. It was his turn to pull the rope and he’d strangle the old man if he had to. “Where’d you hear all this—”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Like h
ell it doesn’t! Now, if you don’t want to tangle with me any further, you’d better spill it, Fitzpatrick.”

  Beads of sweat dotted Thomas’s brow and trickled down his temples. “You can’t—”

  “Tell me!”

  “You have no right—”

  Turner’s cold smile moved from one side of his face to the other. “You’re on my property, now, Fitzpatrick. Leastwise it’s still mine until I sign your damned papers. So, while you’re here, you’re going to play by my rules. Who told you?” To add emphasis to his question, he jerked on the tie. Thomas came forward, falling onto the scarred table, sending documents scattering to the floor.

  “Ellen Little,” he finally said. “Ellen Tremont Little.”

  Deceit seemed to run in the family. Turner dropped the tie and Fitzpatrick fell back into his chair. “Heather’s mother,” he snarled. So Heather had run to Mama and told her everything and Ellen had seen fit to give Thomas the information he wanted. Turner’s guts twisted into hard little knots and he could barely see beyond his fury.

  Recovering somewhat, Thomas offered Turner a grin as icy as his own. “Ellen works for me now. Seems to think she owes me something for giving her a pathetic little job.”

  “You bastard!” Turner lunged for the man, but Fitzpatrick was out of his chair in an instant. He moved as quick as a sidewinder to the back door.

  “Think about the offer. Believe me, it’s the best one you’re gonna get.” He was gone as quickly as he’d come, and Turner looked at the scattered papers on the floor. Unfortunately some of what Fitzpatrick had said made sense. Heather had plenty of money from her divorce from Leonetti and she would use every dime she had to keep her child—his child—their child. His lungs felt tight and he could barely breathe. There was the chance that Adam would need more extremely expensive medical care—Turner’s insurance company wouldn’t touch a child already diagnosed with leukemia.

  All he had was this ranch, and Fitzpatrick was offering him a fortune for it.

  Bile rising in his throat, he grabbed up all the papers and without thinking too hard, started signing the documents wherever they were marked. With Fitzpatrick’s dirty money, he could fight for custody of his boy and his unborn child; then he’d figure out how he’d spend the rest of his life.