Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (39 page)

“Turner? You listening to me? I said ‘you’d be closer to your ma’s place!’”

Forcing his attention back to the conversation, Turner frowned and took a long swallow from his beer. While his mind was occupied with Heather, Mazie was talking about the run-down ranch where his father lived. Turner had grown up there and his father had rented the place from Thomas Fitzpatrick, a wealthy Gold Creek businessman who had gotten the ranch by some shady means. John Brooks had always wanted to own that miserable scrap of earth and when his wife had died, he’d managed to buy out Fitzpatrick with the life insurance proceeds coupled with a huge mortgage from the Bank of The Greater Bay.

Turner had done his best to pay off the mortgage. He scowled as he thought of it.

“Someday, son,” his father had told him when he was barely thirteen, “this will all be yours.” John Brooks had waved expansively to the acres of green grass and rolling hills. “And that’s the way your ma, rest her soul, would’ve wanted it. Oh, I know she took out that policy for you, so you could go to college, earn yourself a degree, but she would’ve known that you weren’t right for schoolin’, that you needed some land, some roots.” He’d slapped Turner on his shoulder. “That’s right, boy. Your ma, now she was a smart woman. Had her own degree, y’know. In music. Could’ve been a teacher, but she married me instead—and me, I wasn’t about to have my wife workin’ and supportin’ me. No way!” John had leaned over the fence rails, cradling a beer and smiling into the western hills. The tears in the corners of his eyes were probably from the intense light of the afternoon sun. Those telltale drops probably had nothing to do with remorse for being drunk behind the wheel of the pickup when it had rolled down an embankment, flipped over and killed his wife. “She would’ve wanted you to own something, kid, and there’s nothing more valuable than land. Yesirree, Margaret would’ve approved.”

Turner doubted it. He finished his beer in one long swallow and tossed the empty into the garbage can. In his peripheral vision, he caught Mazie studying him through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“It won’t work, y’know,” she said kindly, and in that instant he realized that she could read his mind. “She wants the fine things in life, has her sights set upon being an artist.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. I see the way you look at Heather when you think no one’s watchin’. And she feels the same. But it won’t last, son. Think of your poor ma—”

He rammed his hat back onto his head. “I’ll be leavin’ before the end of the month,” he said suddenly. “Don’t want to miss the final days of the rodeo season.” Without waiting for a reply, he headed back outside and refused to think about Heather. Mazie was right. Heather complicated his life, and right now he had more than his share of complications.

* * *

H
EATHER COULDN’T SLEEP.
Dennis’s surprise visit had caught her off guard. He’d come hoping to patch things up and she’d had to be firm. She didn’t love him. Never had. Never would. She’d tried to be gentle, but he’d understood and he’d been angry when he’d left. Dennis Leonetti was used to getting what he wanted.

What had she ever seen in him? Compared to Turner…well, there was just no comparison. Sighing, she threw off her blankets and let the brisk night air that stole through the open window cool her body.

Her roommates didn’t share her problem with insomnia. They were all tucked under their covers, snoring softly, dreaming whatever dreams filled their heads. But Heather was restless. She tossed and turned.

Ever since the night she and Turner had made love, he’d been avoiding her. She was hurt, and the ache in her heart wouldn’t go away. Getting through the days had been difficult, and she’d just gone through the motions of her work. Mazie had been forced to scold her more than once and even Jill had noticed her bad mood. Sheryl hadn’t said a word, but her blue eyes had been filled with silent accusations.

All because of Turner.

What a fool she’d been. She loved him. She was sure of it now. The fact that he was a cowboy was no longer repulsive—she even found his livelihood intriguing and romantic. “You’re being as silly as Jill,” she muttered to herself as she climbed from her bunk. She felt bottled up—claustrophobic—and she had to get outside for some fresh air. Throwing a robe over her nightgown, she stole down the back stairs.

The ranch house, filled with noise during the day, seemed strangely quiet. The hall clock ticked, the refrigerator hummed, the old timbers groaned and creaked, but still the house was different, the dark shadows in the corners seeming close.

Holding her robe together with stiff fingers, Heather dashed through the kitchen and outside. Muttso growled from somewhere in the bushes, but she ignored him and ran to the paddocks, her bare feet scraping on the stones and packed earth of the paths and walkways. The air was filled with the drone of insects and an owl hooted from an upper branch of a mammoth pine tree situated behind the pump house.

Heather breathed deeply of the pine-scented air. She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking the loose, tangled curls that fell down her back. The notes of an old country ballad drifted from a forgotten radio left on the windowsill of the tack room.

She wondered about Turner. Was he in his bed—sleepless as she? Was he packing to leave, for she’d heard he would soon rejoin the rodeo circuit? Or was he sleeping soundly, maybe with some other woman in his arms? That thought caused a particularly painful jab in her heart.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous slinking around here in the middle of the night?” Turner’s voice was soft and close, and for a minute she thought she’d imagined it, had conjured the deep sounds as her thoughts had drifted to him.

Turning, she saw him, shirt open and flapping in the gentle breeze, Levi’s riding low over his hips. She forced her gaze to his face, expecting hard censure. She wasn’t disappointed, his gaze was stony, his jaw set.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her.

“Seems to be contagious.” His voice was low and supple and seemed to whisper up her spine.

Heather gripped the top rail of the fence so hard she felt splinters against her fingers. “Did you think about the other night?”

“Can’t think of much else.”

Her heart took flight. “Me, neither.”

He hesitated a second. “You had a visitor today.”

Her stomach turned over and she bit her lip.

“Your boyfriend.”

“Ex,” she said automatically.

“He didn’t seem to think so.”

“Look, Turner, it’s over. I know it and I think he does now, too.”

He turned halfway, leaning an elbow on the fence rail and studying her face as if it held a vast secret he hoped to expose. “You’re a hard woman to forget.”

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

“I’m just pointing out that your ‘ex’ didn’t look like the kind who gives up easily.”

“He’s not.”

“But you convinced him?” His voice was edged in skepticism.

“All I can tell you is that it’s over between me and Dennis. It has been for a long time. And now…”

“Now what?”

Curling her fists, she sent up a silent prayer for strength, for honesty took more strength than she knew she possessed. “And now I only want you.”

He let out a long low whistle. “You don’t—”

She stepped forward, touching the rough stubble on his face with her hand. “I do, Turner. I want you.”

She felt him smile in the darkness, a slow, sexy grin that brought an answering smile to her own lips.

“So what’re we going to do about it?” he drawled.

She turned and looked across the rolling acres of night-darkened grassland. Her throat felt thick and tight. “You tell me,” she finally whispered, swallowing hard and afraid that he would tell her that he didn’t want her again, that it would be best if they stopped seeing each other. Her heart was knocking against her ribs, her hands sweating.

“I think the less we talk about it, the better.” His arms suddenly surrounded her. He pulled her backward a bit, so that her buttocks pressed against his thighs, and he bent his head and kissed the crook of her neck. She went liquid inside, her knees giving way as his hands slipped beneath her robe, wrapping possessively around her abdomen. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, she felt his fingertips, the hot pinpoints stretching from beneath her breasts to the top of her legs.

“I’ve missed you, Heather,” he murmured, his lips hot and hungry.

“I…I’ve missed you, too.”

His hands moved, stroking the skin over her belly, the thumb of one hand grazing the underside of her breasts, the fingers of his other swiping the apex of her legs.

Her blood began to pulse as he shifted, his hardness firm against her buttocks.

Closing her eyes, she knew she couldn’t resist, that as long as Turner and she were together, she would surrender to him, even seduce him, time and time again. As they tumbled into the dry grass, she realized that loving him was her destiny as well as her curse.

For the first time in her life, Heather felt weak. She knew she should avoid Turner, for he would certainly leave and leave soon.

* * *

“
Y
OU’RE MAKING A BIG MISTAKE,”
Sheryl told Heather as they basted chicken with tangy barbecue sauce. Over fifty fryer quarters sizzled over the huge barbecue pit in the backyard. Tonight was the last evening at the ranch for many of the guests. Balloons and torches lined the back porch and a huge barbecue and dance were planned.

“What kind of a mistake?” Heather asked innocently as the sweat ran between her shoulder blades. She picked up the tongs and began turning each quarter. The sun was blindingly hot. Grease spattered loudly and smoke billowed into the blue sky.

“You know what I mean. About Turner. You should avoid him. He’ll only cause you heartache.”

Jill, balancing a tub of sauce on her hip, heard the last of the discussion. “I don’t know,” she said, sending a wistful glance in the direction of the corral where some of the cowboys were branding calves. “I’d take his kind of heartache any day of the week.”

“That’s crazy,” Sheryl muttered, as she brushed more sauce onto the chicken.

“Crazy like a fox,” Jill replied, tossing her head and lowering her voice. “But I tell you, if I wanted to tie Turner down, I’d trick him.”

“I don’t want to tie anyone down,” Heather snapped, hating the conversation. “I don’t think we should be talking about—”

“Trick him?” Sheryl repeated. “How?”

“By telling him I was pregnant.”

Heather dropped the tongs.

“Oh, God,” Sheryl whispered. “That’s insane.”

“Not if you really want a man. You know what they say, ‘all’s fair in love and war.’”

“But he’d find out—” Sheryl said.

“By then it’d be too late, or I would be pregnant,” Jill replied with a smile.

Sheryl and Heather stared at each other as Jill flounced up the stairs. “She’d do just about anything to leave home, I guess,” Sheryl said, biting her lip. “Even trap a man.”

Heather felt sick. She finished basting the chicken, then helped bake corn bread as Mazie stood over a massive tub of chili. Even with the windows thrown wide, the kitchen seemed well over a hundred degrees. Heather tried to keep her concentration on her job, but her eyes kept wandering to the window and beyond where calves bawled and sweaty men tended a small fire and pressed the hot brand of the Lazy K into living rawhide.

Turner was there. She could see him leaning over a frightened calf, talking softly, untying quick, flying hooves and stepping back swiftly as the calf scrambled to its feet.

“If you don’t watch out, that bread’ll rise three feet,” Mazie admonished. “Just how much baking powder you figure on adding?”

Heather jumped, nearly dumping the contents of the baking powder can into her mixture of cornmeal, flour, milk, sugar and egg. “Sorry,” she said, recovering.

“Just keep your mind on what you’re doing.”

That wasn’t easy advice to follow. For the next few hours, her eyes worked as if they had a mind of their own, searching the corrals, always seeking out Turner. Just as some of the guests were leaving tonight, Heather had a horrible premonition that Turner, too, would try to say goodbye. He’d been hinting at it for the past two days. It was only a matter of time.

The girls were given time to change after the food had been served, and they, along with the hands and guests, danced on the plank deck while the flames of the torches gave off a flickering light. The music was a blend of country and old rock and roll, and Heather danced with several of the ranch hands and guests before she found herself in Turner’s arms.

The lead singer, as if on cue, started singing a slow ballad by the Judds that nearly broke Heather’s heart.

Turner’s arms folded around her and she clung to him with a desperation born of fear. Tears burned behind her eyes. Soon he would leave. As surely as the sun would rise in the east, Turner would be gone.

And what was she supposed to do? Live her life as if she’d never met him? Pretend that their affair hadn’t existed? Save enough money for art school and find an apartment in the city? She thought of her sister’s life-style, once so envied, that now didn’t have the same fascination for her. The bright lights of the city, the dazzle of theater openings, the glitter of dance clubs had dimmed as she’d come to know and love Turner.

She snuggled deeper in his arms, closing her eyes as his scent enveloped her. Leather and denim and smoke from the branding fire mixed with soap and horses to create a special male aroma. His body molded against hers, and beneath the sundress she wore, her skin turned warm. His lips pressed against her bare neck and she tingled all over… .

The song ended, and Turner whispered, “Meet me in the barn at midnight,” before they parted and found new partners. She fell into the arms of a hefty guest named Ron, who stepped on her toes, and Turner wound up dancing with Sheryl. Heather gritted her teeth and forced a smile and tried not to watch as Sheryl smiled up at Turner and whispered something in his ear. Turner laughed and Sheryl cast a superior glance in Heather’s direction.