Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (50 page)

“Good! Keeps the people in Gold Creek on their toes.”

As Rachelle hung up the dress, Heather slipped on her jeans and cotton blouse, then slid her arms through a suede vest.

Rachelle arched an eyebrow at Heather’s getup. “Well, aren’t you the little cowgirl?”

“I figured I better look the part.” Together they edged along the hall, past the stacked boxes and packing crates. Jackson was on the floor near the bay window, black hair tumbling over his forehead, his sleeves rolled up as he wrestled with a red-faced Adam.

“I got you, I got you!” Adam chortled triumphantly as he straddled Jackson’s broad chest. “One, two, three, you lose!”

“You’re just too tough for me,” Jackson said with a laugh. His dark eyes gleamed as Rachelle approached. “I think we should have a dozen of these.”

“A dozen?” she said, grinning. “I don’t know. Sounds like a lot.”

“Well, maybe just a half dozen. When do we start?”

“When I’ve got a legal contract, Counselor. One that spells out how many times you change the diapers and get up in the middle of the night and—”

“Okay, okay, I’ve heard this all before.” With a quick movement, he lifted Adam off his chest and rolled quickly to his feet. Adam squealed with delight as he was tossed into the air and caught in Jackson’s strong arms.

“Legally binding, mind you,” Rachelle said. “And I plan to have a
real
attorney check all the fine print.”

A devilish grin slid across Jackson’s jaw and he motioned to his fiancée as he stage-whispered to Heather, “She just doesn’t trust me. That’s the reporter in her.”

“Give it up, Counselor,” she said, but he grabbed her, twirled her off her feet and left her suddenly breathless when she finally touched down again.

“Never,” he mouthed, his lips only inches from hers.

Heather felt her heart twist when she saw them exchange a sensual glance, the same kind of glance she shared with Turner. Yet, while Rachelle and Jackson were head over heels in love, she and Turner were worlds apart and had no chance of planning a future together. He’d never once said he loved her, and as far as she knew, he still didn’t believe that particular emotion existed. He’d told her as much six years before and Heather doubted he’d changed his mind. She cleared her throat, and the two lovers finally remembered there was someone else in the room. “Well, I guess we’d better get going. Adam can’t wait to see Turner’s ranch, can you?”

Adam let out a whoop. “I’m gonna learn how to break a…” He glanced to Heather for help.

“Break a bronco,” she replied. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

Adam’s eyes were shining. “You can come visit,” he told his aunt. “Turner will probably let you break one, too.”

“I’ll remember that,” Rachelle said with a chuckle. “And while I’m at it, I’ll rope me a steer, brand half a dozen calves and spit tobacco juice!”

“You’re lyin’!” Adam accused, but curious doubts crowded his eyes, and Heather imagined he was trying to picture his trim aunt wrestling with livestock and shooting a stream of brown juice from the corner of her mouth.

“You might be surprised, sport,” Rachelle teased, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, Heather, would you mind dropping these in the mailbox?” She rifled through the papers on the desk and came up with a stack of wedding invitations, already addressed and stamped.

“No problem.” Heather took the stack of cream-colored envelopes and headed down the stairs. A post office was on her way out of town and she was glad to do a favor for her sister. Rachelle and she had always been close, though Heather had kept more than her share of secrets from her sister. Not only had she hidden the fact that Turner was Adam’s father, but she’d also kept quiet about Adam’s illness for a long time, until the doctors had started talking about bone-marrow transplants.

Though Rachelle had known that Adam wasn’t well, Heather had kept the extent of the illness to herself, always telling herself that she couldn’t burden her sister or mother with her problems. They had both experienced enough of their own. Rachelle had been horrified, when six weeks ago Heather had told her the truth.

After strapping Adam into the passenger seat, she wove the Mercedes through the traffic until she reached the nearest post office and pulled into the lane near a series of mailboxes. As she stuffed the thick envelopes through the slot, she saw the names of people she’d known all her life, people who had lived in Gold Creek. Monroe and McDonald, Surrett, Nelson, Patton and…the last envelope surprised her. Addressed in Rachelle’s bold hand, the invitation was addressed to Thomas Fitzpatrick, Jackson’s father. The man who had never claimed him. The man who had almost let Jackson twist in the wind for the murder of his legitimate son, the man who all too late tried to make amends, the man Jackson still professed to despise.

Had he changed his mind? Heather doubted it. No, this had all the earmarks of Rachelle deciding it was time her husband-to-be put old skeletons to rest. And it spelled fireworks for the wedding.

“Oh, God, Rachelle, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Heather turned the invitation over in her hand and a sharp beep from the car in line behind her startled her. This wasn’t any of her business. Heather jammed the envelope into the slot and edged the car back into the flow of traffic. Certainly Rachelle wouldn’t have been so silly as to send the invitation behind Jackson’s back. Or would she?

Rachelle had a reputation for being stubborn and bull-headed. She’d stood on principle once before—for Jackson—and it had cost her the respect of her friends and family and soiled her reputation. But surely she’d learned her lesson… .

This was Rachelle’s wedding—if she wanted to make it her funeral, as well, it was her choice. Besides—Heather stole a glance at her son, his face eager, a small toy car clutched in his fingers—she had her own share of concerns.

* * *

“
I
ALREADY SAID
I
WASN’T
interested,” Turner said, irritated beyond words. He’d made the mistake of picking up the phone as he’d walked through the house and ended up in a conversation with God himself: Thomas Fitzpatrick. Now the guy wasn’t even working through his real-estate agent.

“I’m willing to pay you top dollar,” Fitzpatrick argued smoothly. “Why don’t you think it over?”

“No reason to think.” He could almost hear the gears grinding in Fitzpatrick’s shrewd mind.

“Everyone has a price.”

“Not everyone, Fitzpatrick,” Turner drawled.

There was an impatient snort on the other end of the line. “Just consider my offer. Counter if you like.”

“Look, Tom,” Turner replied, his voice edged in sarcasm. “With all due respect, I’m busy. I’ve got a ranch to run. If you wanted this place so badly, you should never have sold it in the first place.”

“I realize that now. At the time, I wasn’t interested in diversifying. I had timber. Now I’ve changed my mind. There might be oil on the land and I’m willing to gamble. I’m offering you twice what the land is worth, Mr. Brooks. You couldn’t get a better deal.”

“Good. ’Cause I don’t want one.”

“But—”

“Listen, Fitzpatrick, you and I both know you never cut anyone a deal in your life.”

“But—”

“The answer is ‘no.’ Well, maybe that doesn’t quite say it all. Let’s make it ‘No way in hell!’” With that, Turner slammed the receiver into the cradle, turned off the answering machine and strode to the bathroom. He didn’t want to think of Fitzpatrick with his starched white shirts, silk ties and thousand-dollar suits. The man couldn’t be trusted and Turner wasn’t interested in doing any kind of business with him.

Still bothered, he cleaned the dirt, grime and horsehair from his face and hands, then noticed the smell of oil that lingered on his skin from this morning, when he’d had to work on the fuel line of the tractor. Damned thing was always breaking down.

Scowling, he glanced at his watch. Three-thirty. She’d be here any minute. Calling himself every kind of fool, he stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, twisted on the shower and stepped under the cool spray. Within a minute or two the water warmed and he scrubbed his body from head to foot. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he headed down the hallway and nearly tripped over Nadine, who was walking through the front door.

“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?