Page 62 of Point of Mercy
“You, too—oh!” He grabbed her by surprise and silenced her with a kiss that stole her breath.
“Idon’t take orders from no woman,” he said, in a gritty voice. With a wink, he let her go, leaving her breathless as he headed for the bathroom.
“My goodness,” her mother whispered. “I wondered what you saw in that man, but now, I guess I know.”
* * *
Preparations for thewedding started to pick up. Rachelle and Jackson had moved into Heather’s cottage in town—the small house where she and Rachelle had grown up—and the old, forgotten summer camp on the edge of Whitefire Lake was being overhauled. Rachelle, usually calm under any condition, was a mess, and their mother, too, was a nervous wreck.
Heather imagined she might be a little more nervous, but she had her own problems to contend with. Doing a quick calculation with the calendar, she realized that she had missed the last menstrual period of her cycle.
She couldn’t believe the cold hard facts of the calendar, so she counted off the weeks. No doubt about it. There was no disputing the fact that she was nearly two weeks late. And her periods had always come like clockwork. Except when she’d been pregnant with Adam.
Mentally kicking herself for not being more careful, she checked the calendar one more time. She’d just been too busy with her worries for Adam and her relationship with Turner to consider the fact that she might be pregnant. It had been stupid—as often as she and Turner made love. This was bound to happen…and deep down,she knew, she’d hoped it would occur. But not just yet. Not until things were settled.
A part of her thrilled at the prospect of pregnancy, but the saner side of her nature was scared to death. She wasn’t married, for crying out loud. What would Turner do? What would he think? Just when everything was going so well…
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.
