Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (51 page)

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.

When Turner released the reins and kneed Sampson into a slow lope, Heather panicked, sure that Adam would fall. She started to cry out, but held her tongue when she saw the strong grip of Turner’s arm around his son’s chest. If she was sure of nothing else in this world, she was certain Turner wouldn’t let Adam fall. The thought was comforting and unsettling alike. Things were going to change. Her life with Adam would never be the same.

She urged her mare into an easy lope and the wind tugged at her hair and brought tears to her eyes. She felt eighteen again and couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “Come on, girl, you can keep up with them,” she told her little mount, and the game little mare didn’t lose much ground.

Turner pulled up at the crest of a small hill. A crop of trees shaded the grass, and a creek, dry now, wound jaggedly along the rise. From the hilltop, they could see most of the ranch. As he tethered the horses, Turner glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful and guarded as he looked at Heather. “My mom and dad rented this place for years,” he said, frowning slightly as he revealed more of himself than he ever had. “From Thomas Fitzpatrick. Dad bought it from him with the proceeds of the life insurance he had on Mom. Now Fitzpatrick wants it back.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you know?”

Heather lifted a shoulder. “How would I?”

“The man who’s going to be your brother-in-law is Fitzpatrick’s son.”

“A trick of fate,” Heather replied, surprised at the train of Turner’s thoughts. He seemed to be asking deeper questions, questions she didn’t understand. “Jackson and Thomas Fitzpatrick are related by blood only. There’s no love lost between those two.”

Turner opened the saddlebags and pulled out brown sacks filled with sandwiches, fruit and sodas. Adam wandered through the tall, dry grass, trying to catch grasshoppers before they flew away from his eager fingers.

Stretching out in the shade of an oak tree, Turner patted the ground beside him, and Heather, feeling the need for a truce between them, sat next to him, her back propped by the rough bark of the tree.

“Fitzpatrick says he’s interested in the mining rights to the place, thinks there might be oil. My guess is he already knows as much, though how he goofed and sold the place back to my old man beats me. Either John Brooks was sharper than we all thought, or Fitzpatrick made a mistake that’s been eating at him for years. Old Tom never likes to lose, especially when money’s involved. He made a bad decision years ago—concentrating on timber. Now he realizes with all the environmental concerns and restrictions, he’d better find new means to keep that Fitzpatrick wealth.” He plucked a piece of grass from the ground and twirled the bleached blade between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you think?”