Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (55 page)

“I just find it hard to believe that I fell for it.”

“You didn’t fall for anything—”

“Don’t lie to me, woman!”

Something inside her snapped, and her temper exploded. “I’m not lying, Turner, and I shouldn’t have to remind you that this baby wasn’t created by me alone! You were there and, I might add, enjoyed doing your part!”

His breath came out in a hiss. “I don’t object to a child! What’s the difference between one or two? But it’s the reasons for creating this child I hate. Cold and calculating. You didn’t even consult me—”

“Why would I do it?” she nearly screamed. “Your bone marrow is a match!”

“Maybe you didn’t want to be saddled with me. Maybe you didn’t trust me.”

“No, Turner, it’s you who never trusted me,” she said, wretchedness whirling deep in her soul. “You never loved me. And that was my mistake, because I loved you, Turner. For six years I didn’t do right by Dennis, because it was you I loved, you I’d always loved. But you never have believed me.” She was visibly shaking by this time, and she blinked hard against tears that burned her eyes. “With Adam or without, with this baby or without, I loved you. Stupidly, blindly, with no reason behind it, I loved you.”

She noticed the muscle ticking near his eye, saw the contempt in his expression and knew all her plans for happiness had been shattered. She glanced away from him, unable to stare him down, and noticed the biscuit dough beginning to rise, smelled the warm scent of coffee she’d never drink, noticed the pathetic grouping of cups and spoons near a vase of freshly cut flowers that she would no longer enjoy. She felt more miserable than she had in her entire life.

“Mommy?” Adam’s sleepy voice stopped her short, and she quickly cleared the lump of self-pity from her throat. She couldn’t break down in front of her child. He needed to know that everything was all right, that he was secure. He’d already lost Dennis as a father; it wasn’t going to happen again! Her fingers curled into fists of determination and she blinked back any remnants of her tears.

Turning, she managed a thin smile and thought her heart would break. He was getting well. Heather noticed the color in his cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes had disappeared. Living here, with Turner, had helped Adam. “Good morning, pumpkin,” she whispered over a clogged throat.

“You sad?” He looked from Turner to Heather with worry etched in his small features, and Heather swept him into her arms.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Look what Turner got for you—”

Adam’s eyes rounded as he spied the puppy, still cowering under the table. Slowly the gawky pup inched forward one big paw at a time. Adam pushed his way back to the floor. “He’s mine?” Adam whispered, his adoring gaze flying to Turner’s hard face. For just a second, Turner’s harsh visage cracked and he offered his son a smile as warm as a Western sunset. Heather’s heart shredded.

“All yours.”

“What’s his name?”

“You get to name him.”

“Can I really?” Adam looked to his mother as if he expected her to refuse.

“Of course you can.”

Adam’s freckled face squinched into a thoughtful frown. “Then I’ll call him Daytona—that’s where they have car races!” He reached out to pet the dog’s broad head and was rewarded with a long tongue that swiped his skin. Adam shrieked in happiness and within minutes he and the dog were outside, running along the fence line, kicking up dust and trampling dry grass and wildflowers.

“I won’t let him go, you know,” Turner said in a low voice edged in steel.

She bit her lip to keep from crying. “I know.”

Turner stormed out of the house and she didn’t think twice, just turned on her heel, marched to the bedroom she’d shared with him and stripped her clothes from the closet and bureau drawers. He didn’t love her, never had, never would—and she’d be damned if she’d spend the rest of her life with a man who couldn’t return her feelings.

Call her a hopeless romantic, call her a fool, but call her a woman who knew her own mind. She packed her things quickly and did the same with Adam’s. In short order she was ready to leave. She’d take Adam, she’d take her unborn child, she’d even take the dog, but she knew she’d be leaving behind a part of her heart.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“
Y
OU COULD DO WORSE.”
Thomas Fitzpatrick tented his hands beneath his chin and waited as Turner read through the offer. “That’s two and a half times what the place is worth—four times what your dad paid for it when he bought it from me. Quite a profit.”

Turner clicked his pen a few times. The papers looked straightforward enough, and he wanted to sell. Hell, ever since the fight with Heather three days ago, he’d thought of nothing but running.

But he hadn’t. Because things weren’t settled. Not only was there Heather and Adam, but now a new baby to consider. He and Heather hadn’t talked; she’d packed up the boy and said something about visiting her mother until the wedding, and Turner, because of his stubborn streak, hadn’t bothered to call. But he hadn’t slept a wink, either.

Then, out of the blue, Thomas Fitzpatrick showed up on his front porch offering money, bigger money than before. His ticket out. Almost like destiny. Trouble was, Turner didn’t believe in destiny.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested,” Turner said, slapping the contracts and deeds and all the rest of the legal mumbo jumbo onto the table.

“But that was before.”

“Before? Before what?”

Thomas pulled at his silk tie. His silver hair, as always, was cut just above his collar. He smoothed one side of his trim white moustache, then spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Gold Creek is a small town. There are no secrets in small towns.”

“Meaning what?” Turner didn’t like the feel of a noose around his neck, and he definitely was feeling that he was about to be strung up—by one of the best.

“I’ve heard about you and the Tremont girl.”

“What have you heard?” Turner demanded, the noose tightening and his rage turning black.

“Just that she left you. With your boy. Well, I know the cost of lawyers and I figure if you’re planning a lawsuit—for custody, you could use some quick cash. And if you do end up with the kid, you’ll have medical bills—more bills than you can imagine—”

Turner was on his feet in an instant. He kicked back his chair and grabbed Fitzpatrick by his fancy silk tie. It was his turn to pull the rope and he’d strangle the old man if he had to. “Where’d you hear all this—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t! Now, if you don’t want to tangle with me any further, you’d better spill it, Fitzpatrick.”

Beads of sweat dotted Thomas’s brow and trickled down his temples. “You can’t—”

“Tell me!”

“You have no right—”

Turner’s cold smile moved from one side of his face to the other. “You’re on my property, now, Fitzpatrick. Leastwise it’s still mine until I sign your damned papers. So, while you’re here, you’re going to play by my rules. Who told you?” To add emphasis to his question, he jerked on the tie. Thomas came forward, falling onto the scarred table, sending documents scattering to the floor.

“Ellen Little,” he finally said. “Ellen Tremont Little.”

Deceit seemed to run in the family. Turner dropped the tie and Fitzpatrick fell back into his chair. “Heather’s mother,” he snarled. So Heather had run to Mama and told her everything and Ellen had seen fit to give Thomas the information he wanted. Turner’s guts twisted into hard little knots and he could barely see beyond his fury.

Recovering somewhat, Thomas offered Turner a grin as icy as his own. “Ellen works for me now. Seems to think she owes me something for giving her a pathetic little job.”

“You bastard!” Turner lunged for the man, but Fitzpatrick was out of his chair in an instant. He moved as quick as a sidewinder to the back door.

“Think about the offer. Believe me, it’s the best one you’re gonna get.” He was gone as quickly as he’d come, and Turner looked at the scattered papers on the floor. Unfortunately some of what Fitzpatrick had said made sense. Heather had plenty of money from her divorce from Leonetti and she would use every dime she had to keep her child—his child—their child. His lungs felt tight and he could barely breathe. There was the chance that Adam would need more extremely expensive medical care—Turner’s insurance company wouldn’t touch a child already diagnosed with leukemia.

All he had was this ranch, and Fitzpatrick was offering him a fortune for it.

Bile rising in his throat, he grabbed up all the papers and without thinking too hard, started signing the documents wherever they were marked. With Fitzpatrick’s dirty money, he could fight for custody of his boy and his unborn child; then he’d figure out how he’d spend the rest of his life.

* * *

“
Y
OU’RE A FOOL!”
N
ADINE
scrubbed the stove as if her very life depended on it. “You let that woman go? Couldn’t you see that she loved you, that she wanted to have your children, that she would’ve done anything… Oh, for crying out loud, why am I talking to you?” Still polishing the damned stainless steel, she hazarded a quick glare in his direction. “Men!”

Turner wasn’t going to let Nadine rattle him. He wouldn’t have confided in her at all except she already knew half the story and when she’d come here and found Heather gone, she’d guessed the rest. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, plopped himself down at the table and twisted open the cap.

“What about your son?” Nadine asked. “What’re you going to do about him?”

“Probably sue for custody.”

“Oh, great! Just wonderful!” Nadine didn’t even attempt to hide her scorn. “Really confuse the kid.” She threw her dirty rag into a pail and put her rubber-glove-encased hands on her slim hips. “First the man he thought was his father rejected him, and now the guy claiming to be his real dad is getting into a bloody legal battle with his mom. And he’s the prize. ’Course he’ll be pushed and pulled and put through a damned emotional wringer before it’s all settled! Think, Turner! Use that brain of yours if you can find it! What’s going to happen to Adam and, as far as that goes, not that it really matters, mind you, think what’s going to happen to you!”

“I’m—”

“Miserable.” Nadine yanked off her gloves, and her anger was suddenly replaced with a deeper emotion. She took in a long breath and said in a voice that was surprisingly even given the state of her emotions, “Look, Turner, believe me, I, of all people, wouldn’t steer you into a relationship you didn’t want. But for the past week or two, you’ve been different—a changed man. Whether you know it or not, Heather Leonetti got under your skin so deep, you’ll never be able to shed yourself of her. So you’d better stop being a coward and face up to the fact.” She made a quick motion to the bottle of beer he cradled, untouched, between his hands. “And that’s not going to help. Your father was proof enough of that.”

To gall her as much as anything, he took a long swallow. The beer tasted sour, and he hated to admit it but she was right, damn it. He missed Heather. He missed waking up with her; he missed hearing her sing; he missed the scent of her perfume on his pillow and the lilt of her laughter. He missed making love to her at night.

And that didn’t even begin to compare to how empty he felt without Adam. Since the boy had been gone, Turner felt as if a hole had been torn from his heart.

“Don’t let your pride be your downfall,” Nadine said as she reached for the pile of papers he was about to throw out. “You know where you can find her.” With a flip of her wrist, she sailed the wedding invitation for Rachelle Tremont and Jackson Moore onto the table. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”

Thank God she didn’t know he planned to sell the ranch to Fitzpatrick.

He watched as she strode out the door in a cloud of self-righteous fury. She was right, damn it, Turner thought, picking up the invitation. Heather would be there. At the wedding.

Oh, to hell with it! He crushed the engraved sheet of paper in his fist and finished his beer. Then he picked up the phone and placed a long-distance call to the Lazy K Ranch. If Zeke wasn’t there, he’d track him down all across the damned country, and Mazie was going to help him. He needed answers. Answers he should have had six years before!

* * *

“
S
OMETHING’S WRONG.
I
FEEL IT,”
Rachelle said as she eyed her reflection in a free-standing full-length mirror in the back room of the tiny chapel by the lake.

“You worry too much. Everything’s perfect.” Heather adjusted her sister’s veil and sighed. Rachelle looked beautiful. Her long auburn hair, trained into loose curls that fell to the middle of her back, shimmered beneath the beaded veil and her dress, off-white with a nipped waist, lace and pearl bodice and billowing skirt, fit her exquisitely.

“Heather’s right. You’re always borrowing trouble,” Carlie agreed. With sleek black hair and blue-green eyes, she smiled at her friend. What a fiasco Carlie’s arrival had caused just a few days before the wedding. Rachelle had insisted Carlie become part of the wedding party. Somehow the seamstress had made the gown, another usher, a cousin of Jackson’s, was fitted with a tuxedo and here she was, an encouraging smile in place.

“I don’t know.” Rachelle’s forehead was lined as she looked from her best friend to her sister. “I did something I shouldn’t have.”

“You invited Thomas Fitzpatrick,” Heather said.

“You knew?” Rachelle asked.

“It doesn’t take an investigative reporter, Rachelle. You gave me the invitations to mail.”

“Didn’t you tell Jackson?” Carlie asked.

“Not until last night.”

“And?”

“Let’s just say he didn’t jump for joy,” Rachelle said, though she laughed.

“That takes a lot of nerve.” Carlie tugged at her zipper, then smoothed her skirts.

“Or no brains,” Rachelle joked.