Page 5 of Point of Mercy
“Sure,” he taunted.
“I was.” What did it matter?Just take off, Heather. Leave well enough alone!
“Well, you sure as hell weren’t troublin’ me.”
“Good. Because you troub—you bothered me.”
He chuckled, deep and low. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it any way you please,” she threw back, not understanding the emotions that seemed to have control of her tongue. The man scared her half to death, yet she was fascinated by him. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five or-six, and yet he wore the jaded cynicism of a man twice his age.
“You’d better be careful of that tongue of yours,” he said and, from the corner of her eye, she saw him swim closer, his head above water, his gaze never leaving her. “Could get you into a heap of trouble.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“My pleasure.” Again that deep, rumbling chuckle. At her expense. He reached the ledge and threw his elbows onto the rocks, content to stretch in the water. Heather was mesmerized by his sinewy forearms as they flexed.
There was something about him that got under her skin, something irritating, like a horsefly caught under a saddle that just kept biting the horse. Though she knew she was playing with fire, she couldn’t just walk away, letting him think that he’d bested her—by seeing her naked and forcing her, for propriety’s sake, to leave.
A plan of revenge started to form in her heart. Oh, but was she willing to pay the price? He obviously worked at the Lazy K. If she angered him, he might make the next two months of her life miserable.But it was worth the gamble. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Didn’t give it to you.” His gaze found hers again, and for some reason she had trouble finding her breath. “Turner Brooks.”
Not just one of the cowboys. Turner Brooks was nephew to the owner of the Lazy K. A drifter who followed the rodeo circuit. A man with a past that she’d only heard snatches of. Something about his father and a woman…maybe a girlfriend… Then there were the rumors of all the hearts he’d broken over the past few years—women along the rodeo circuit waiting for his return. “What’re you doing back at the Lazy K?”
“Got to work between rodeos,” he said.
“Aren’t you good enough to make a living out of riding broncos?” She heard the sarcasm in her voice, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, damn him, he grinned again—that irreverent I’ve-seen-it-all kind of grin that caught her by surprise and made her heart beat unsteadily.
“I’m good,” he said, his dark gaze moving slowly up her body and causing a tingle to spread through her limbs. “Very good.”
Her throat turned to dust. She swallowed with difficulty.
“I just came here to help out and earn a little extra spending money. Hurt my shoulder a while back and it’s givin’ me some trouble. Thought I’d take a rest.” His gaze hadn’t left her face, and she felt as naked as she had in the water. Though she was dressed, she knew that she had no secrets from him; her clothes were little shield. He’d seen her completely unclothed, had his fun at her expense; now it was time to turn the tables on him.She eyed his pile of clothes, wondering how he would feel if she took his worn jeans and work shirt. As if he guessed her intent, he clucked his tongue. “Don’t even think about it unless you want more trouble than you can even begin to imagine.” She bit her lower lip. Stealing his jeans seemed too childish and not punishment enough. Besides, he would catch her. But not if she took his horse. What more humiliation for a cowboy than to have a mere woman steal his pride and joy? No more had the thought entered her head than she turned and caught the gelding by the reins.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned. “Sampson doesn’t like people he doesn’t know.”
“Then I guess I’d better introduce myself,” she ridiculed. She wasn’t going to let him bluff her. She climbed into the saddle and kicked the big buckskin, pulling hard on the reins. In a ripple of muscles, the horse whirled and leapt forward, covering the open ground at a breakneck pace. Heather clung to his mane and leaned forward as Sampson’s long strides carried her into the woods. Trees rushed by in a blur. Heart pounding madly, she prayed the gelding’s hooves were sure because the forest was gloomy, the trail uneven. She felt a quick little thrill of showing up the cowboy, and yet she knew that what she’d done was dangerous. Turner would never forgive her.
She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to find Turner, wet and naked and furious, yelling and running barefoot through the trees. But Turner didn’t start hollering or giving chase, and that worried her. He didn’t seem the kind of man to roll over and accept defeat so easily.
She could imagine the consternation in his gray eyes,the anger holding his features taut.
A loud, low whistle pierced the forest. Heather’s skin crawled. The gelding slammed to a stop, nearly pitching her over his head.
“Hey—wait a minute,” Heather whispered, giving the buckskin a quick kick.
Another whistle curdled the air and sent a shiver of dread down Heather’s spine.
With a snort, Sampson wheeled and Heather was nearly thrown to the ground. She wound her fingers more tightly in the gelding’s coarse mane and pulled hard on the reins with her other hand, but the stubborn rodeo horse had a mind of his own.
“No, you don’t,” Heather commanded, as Sampson broke into a lope and headed back to the river. Back to Turner. Back to whatever terrible punishment he intended to mete out. She could do nothing but hold on. “You miserable lump of horseflesh,” she muttered, still yanking on the reins, but the gelding had the bit in his teeth and he didn’t even break stride.
Damn, damn, damn and double damn! Now what? Within seconds the forest seemed to part and the river rushed before her, a night-dark swirl that cut through the canyon. Turner, dressed only in his jeans and boots, was sitting on the rocks, his face a stony mask, fury blazing like lightning in his eyes. Drops of water still clung to his hair and drizzled down his chin.
“Nice try,” he said to Heather’s mortification.
“Youarea bastard.”
