“Oooh.” She unconsciously drew the word out as far as it could go. It was a relief to know she was right where she was supposed to be. But why didn’t Walker Heart know it? Wouldn’t his father have told him that he’d sold their property?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, nudging the brim of his hat back off his forehead.
He was so arrogant. So cocksure. So infuriating. If he wasn’t so mean and nasty, she might feel sorry for him and regret having to be the one to tell him he no longer had a claim on Heartbreak Ranch. As it was, she felt a sort of perverse satisfaction.
“I believe the mistake is yours, Mr. Heart,” she said with all the haughtiness she could muster. “I am the new owner of Heartbreak Ranch.”
Walker gave a sarcastic chuckle. “You expect me to believe that? What do I look like, a fool?”
Amy’s eyebrows arched to a peak. A fool? Him? Actually she had a different word in mind but was too much of a lady to utter it.
“I would not make such a claim if I didn’t have the proof. It’s in my trunk—a deed signed by your father.” She expected some sort of reaction but none surfaced. “If you and your men will move your horses out of the way, I’ll get it and you can see for yourself.”
Nobody moved.
Amy waited a moment longer. If they thought they were going to intimidate her, they had another think coming. She untied Toddy and walked toward them.
Walker stared down at her, his horse’s reins held loosely before him. He’d seen and heard enough and was getting angrier by the second. It was inconceivable that his father would sell the ranch. To anybody. For any price.
He had to admit that when his ma died, things did change some between them. There were clashes of will and disagreements. Then his pa started going up the road to Havilah on Saturday nights. More than once Walker found him sitting at the faro table, too drunk to make it home on his own. And there was that woman, Jersey Lil. A whore. Every man in a fifty-mile radius had bedded her.
But the one thing he and his father had always agreed on was how to run Heartbreak Ranch. Someone would’ve had to put a pistol to Sam Heart’s head to get him to sign over the deed.
Amy stopped a few yards short of the horses. Neither Walker Heart nor any of his gunmen had moved so much as an inch. She could be patient to a point and she had reached it. But as she stared at Walker Heart she wondered what she could do against a thousand pounds of horse and two hundred pounds of man?
She could take the long route, walking in a circle around them, then behind them to her trunk.
What would her mama have said about that? Amy could think of several things and decided that the long route was not an option.
She could call on whatever chivalry they might possess and plead prettily for them to move.
Her own instincts told her that was out.
Ironically, it was Walker Heart’s horse who offered a possible solution. The closer Toddy got the more skittish the horse became.
The horse has probably never seen a dog like Toddy, she realized. I wonder what would happen if Toddy showed him one of the little tricks? Amy had studied Howard’s list and knew what tricks he was capable of doing.
Pulling Toddy along beside her, Amy advanced a few more feet, then stopped and looked up at her tormentor. Until this moment, Walker’s face had been hidden by the evening’s shadows and she’d only imagined what he looked like. But up close, he didn’t look anything like the ogre she’d thought him to be. He was a handsome man but not in the typical smooth-featured way. His was a handsomeness honed by sun and wind and toughened by hard living. It appealed to her in ways she’d never dreamed. A blunt jaw, sharp cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose added character. Beneath his dun-colored hat, his brown hair was a bit too long, as were his sideburns.
But it was his eyes that gave her pause and caused her to reconsider her plan to make him move out of her way. It wasn’t just their color—a light, clear blue—but the way they watched her in narrowed speculation.
The same voice she’d imagined hearing coming from the painting came to her on the breeze, encouraging her.
Stay calm. He is, after all, only a man.
She reached into her pocket for one of Toddy’s treats, then gained the dog’s attention by holding it in front of him. “Dance, Toddy...and sing. Sing pretty.”
The big white dog reared up on his hind legs, yipping and howling like a coyote. With his front paws waving up and down, he danced around in a circle.
Amy had thought only to frighten Walker’s horse enough so it would move. Instead, bedlam.
All six horses panicked and broke from their riders’ control, bucking, kicking, tossing their heads. Afraid she and Toddy would be kicked or trampled, Amy yanked on Toddy’s leash and made a dash for the pile of baggage and supplies. Between the horses’ whinnies and snorts, she heard human cuss words so hot they could sizzle bacon.
It took Walker several minutes to regain control of his horse, and his men slightly longer. By the time he dismounted and tied the animal to the hitching post, he was obviously angry.
Amy nearly panicked when Walker strode toward her. The jingle of spurs punctuated his every step like a death knell. Her eyes widened and her stomach flip-flopped when he chomped down on the fingertip of his glove and yanked it off. If ever she wanted to run and hide, it was now.
Toddy took a protective stance in front of her and growled a fierce warning.
“If that overgrown lamb bites me, I’ll truss him up like a Christmas turkey and roast him for supper.”
Amy stiffened. “He’s a French poodle,” she retorted in defense of the insult. “Trained to maim on command,” she added quickly, feeling a desperate need to boost Toddy’s too-soft image.
Walker stopped as she hoped he would.
“Call him off and show me this deed you say my pa signed.”
Keeping her eyes on Walker and her hold on Toddy, Amy opened the trunk and took the deed from inside her mother’s journal. “It’s quite legal, I assure you,” she said, slapping it into his outstretched hand.
Walker unfolded the document, then lowered his gaze to the signature line. There was no mistaking his father’s handwriting. The bold scrawl was entirely his own. Following the name was the date. May 10, 1869. Only two weeks ago, Walker realized. His father had left for San Francisco six weeks ago with the intention of settling a boundary dispute. Once the error was corrected, a new deed was to have been drawn up.
Walker read the document from top to bottom looking for something that would tell him why his father had sold the ranch. There was nothing. Nothing at all.
He looked at Amy, thinking he should be able to see something in her demeanor to tell him she was lying. But he didn’t. Switching his gaze to the dog, he reminded himself that looks could be deceiving.
Walker’s eyes narrowed to slits. “My pa—did he owe you money or somethin’?”
Amy shook her head.
“Then did he make you promises...in exchange for...you know...services?”
Amy’s brow knitted in confusion. “Services? What kind of—” A gasp escaped her lungs in a whoosh of indignation. “How dare you imply such a thing!” She plucked the deed from his hand. “For your information I’ve never even met your father.”
Taken aback, Walker cocked his head. “You never met him and yet—”
“I inherited the ranch from my mother,” she cut in, resenting the need to give him any kind of an explanation after what he’d just said.
Walker removed his hat and slapped it against his leg, drawing Amy’s attention to the ominous-looking six-shooter that was strapped there.
“You inherited it from your mother,” he parroted. “Did my pa owe your mother money, or—”
“I have no idea,” Amy returned. “She died in a fire only hours before I arrived home in San Francisco.” Amy bent her head forward. “All I know is that the deed was among the things she left me.”
Walker scratched his ear as he cons
idered her words. He found himself almost believing her. But there were still too many unanswered questions—questions that she either had no answers for or wasn’t going to answer because she was hiding something.
“So it’s just you and your...uh...dog, right?” At her nod, he added, “You know anything about workin’ cattle?”
Working cattle. Amy’s bravado faltered. “I figured I’d get myself settled, then make some inquiries as to what I’d need to do.”
When a chorus of laughter rang out around her, she realized how impossibly foolish she must have sounded. Until now, she’d never even given a thought to how she was going to care for the cattle, let alone work them. But she’d be the last one to admit to Walker Heart that the only thing she knew about cattle was that she liked her beef cooked medium rare.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I didn’t. But it’s Amelia—Amy Duprey.”
Walker put his hat back on and pulled the brim low. “All right, Miss Duprey. Me and my men are gonna ride on out of here, but don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ that you’ve seen the last of me or that I’m givin’ in.” He turned away from her, walked over to his horse and mounted up.
Amy didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all. Was he making a promise or issuing a threat?
Gathering his reins, Walker wheeled his horse around and rode up next to her. “Deed or no deed, lady, Heartbreak Ranch belongs to me.” He touched his hat brim in mock salute, then spurred his horse into a gallop. His men followed.
The horses kicked up a cloud of dust that forced her to run into the house. By the time it cleared, the riders had disappeared.
CHAPTER TWO
AS SOON AS WALKER returned home, he drafted a message to John Drum, hiring him to find his father. Walker had known Drum since they were boys together in Philadelphia. Drum had hired on with the Pinkerton Detective Agency and was currently based in San Francisco. Walker wrote him about his pa’s traveling plans and all that he’d learned today. Tomorrow morning he would have his foreman ride down the mountain to the Bakersfield telegraph station and send the message over the wire.
Walker leaned back in his big cowhide-covered chair and placed his booted feet atop his desk. Crossing his arms in front of him, he stared across at the massive oak bookcase and tried to recall anything unusual his pa had said or done before he’d left. Walker could think of nothing.
If he didn’t hear from his father in the meantime, then in a couple of weeks Walker would know for sure what was going on with his pa. He hoped for the best, a logical explanation for what had happened. But the realist in him feared something was seriously wrong, and he suspected that Miss Amelia Duprey, for all her outward innocence, knew more than she’d let on.
Meantime, Walker decided to keep a close eye on the picture-pretty miss to make sure she didn’t venture over the big hill and discover the new Heartbreak Ranch homestead. The last thing he wanted her to see was the fine house built of sugar pine, the bunkhouse and numerous corrals and outbuildings. As it stood now, she thought the branding shack, built when his ma and pa settled in Walker Basin, was all there was.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT morning, minutes after his foreman rode off to send the wire, Walker saddled up and headed over the hill. He’d spent a restless night thinking about Amy Duprey. Was she telling the truth? Or wasn’t she? Either way, she had legal title to his land and he’d be damned if he was just going to sit back and let her have it without a fight. If, in fact, his pa had sold out to her mother, Walker would buy the ranch back. Heartbreak Ranch meant too much to him to lose it, especially to a woman who no more knew how to run a cattle ranch than he knew how to sew.
And if spending half the night thinking about her wasn’t enough, he’d spent the other half of the night dreaming about her. Dreaming about what they could do together. His dreams had ended abruptly when he squeezed his pillow so hard the seam popped and all the feathers flew out. He’d had a devil of a time explaining that one to the housekeeper. Even now, wide awake, the lingering memories of that dream made him ache.
Sometime later he reached the top of the hill and looked down on the shack. Smoke billowed out of the chimney. Huge white clouds of smoke. Not only was it coming out of the chimney but it was seeping out through the cracks in the door and from between the shutters.
He spurred his horse and galloped toward the shack.
Blinded by the smoke, Amy finally found the door and stumbled outside onto the porch, coughing and choking. Not seeing the step, she pitched forward and landed in a sprawl on the ground.
Tied to the porch post, Toddy fought against his leash but was unable to break loose and come to her.
Walker reined his horse to a sliding stop, leaped off and ran to Amy’s rescue.
“Are you all right?” he demanded, lifting her to her feet.
She could only wheeze, cough and choke.
“Take deep breaths.” He stood facing her, his hands on her arms, holding her up. “Come on now. Relax and breathe real deep.” He helped her across the yard to the well, then used his body to pin her up against the rock wall. He drew water, filled the dipper and held it to her lips. “Drink.”
She raised her hands to encircle the dipper and slowly sipped the water.
Deciding she’d had enough, Walker took the dipper and dropped it back into the bucket. Her breathing was still ragged and she looked utterly exhausted.
Before he knew what he was doing, he drew her against him and wrapped his arms around her trembling body. He could feel her heart pounding against his own. “Give yourself a minute or two and you’ll feel better.” He nuzzled his chin into the wavy golden hair atop her head. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman and he couldn’t remember ever comforting one. He was glad he’d been there for her when she needed him. No one had ever needed him.
The nearness of her reminded him of last night’s dream. And in less time than it took to rope a steer, he was hotter and harder than a branding iron.
“I’d better get inside and see if any damage has been done.” He pushed her back, making certain she could stand on her own. Then he wet his kerchief, wrapped it bandit style around his nose and mouth and headed into the shack.
Amy leaned against the well for support as she watched Walker Heart enter the smoke-filled house. The fact that he had come to her rescue told her he wasn’t as heartless as he had appeared yesterday. That he had held her so tenderly, comforted her, then shoved her away from him with such force, told her something else—that he was attracted to her. Attracted to her more than he would probably care to admit. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to interpret his behavior if she hadn’t had a mother who specialized in understanding why men acted as they did.
Amy smiled to herself. There wasn’t much her mother didn’t know about men. But what about women? What would her mother have called that fluttery feeling she’d experienced when Walker nuzzled his head into her hair?
Nerves, she told herself. Just nerves.
Before she had time to contemplate the matter further, the house’s wooden shutters flew open one by one and a moment later Walker came back outside. Striding toward her, he untied his kerchief and wiped his face and eyes.
Amy took a step toward him. “I want to thank—” she croaked, her throat sore from coughing.
“What in hell did you put into that stove?”
“Wood.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Just... wood.”
“Show me where you got it.”
She had only to point to the pile of wood stacked neatly against the side of the house.
Walker walked over to it and picked up a halved log, then motioned her over. “Don’t you know the difference between green wood and seasoned wood, for God’s sake? You don’t burn green wood unless you’re fixin’ to send up a smoke signal.”
Amy wiped a weary hand across her brow. “I’m sorry. I’ve never made a fire before. The servants at boardi
ng school made them.” She scrutinized the piece of wood in his hand. He’d said it was green wood, but for the life of her she couldn’t see that it was anything but brown. “Is everything all right inside?”
“More or less.”
“Then...I didn’t actually start a fire?”
He shook his head. The only fire she’d started had been the one inside him and he had a feeling he was going to play hell putting it out.
“It’s a good thing you came by when you did.”
“Yeah, a real good thing.”
“I was trying to boil water for washing all those dirty pots and pans someone left behind.”
“Well, now you’ll have to wait until the green wood burns up before you put in anything else.”
“Forgive me, but I’m a little confused. What color is the wood I’m supposed to use?”
“Color?” he asked, incredulous. He saw that she was serious and said, “Come with me.” He led her around the back and showed her the pile of seasoned wood.
After examining the seasoned wood—which was exactly the same color as the green wood—she went around to the front of the house, sat down on the porch and put her arm around Toddy. There was nothing to do for now but wait until the smoke cleared.
Walker leaned negligently against a post, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “What else are you plannin’ on doin’ today?
Amy answered without thinking. “I...ah...I’m going to finish cleaning the place up, then unpack my trunks and put the supplies away. Why?”
“Because I was wonderin’ if I should stay around to protect my property.”
“Protect it from what?”
“From you.” With that he pushed himself away from the post and strode past her.
Gritting her teeth, Amy watched him mount his horse and ride up the hill.
“It’s not your property,” she called after him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear her. “Of all the arrogant, overbearing...maddening... You, Mr. Walker Heart, are everything my mama warned me about!” It was true. Walker Heart epitomized the kind of man Bella had warned her about—for all sorts of reasons. But he was also the kind of man Bella had loved to tame, using methods only she knew because she had invented them. Amy couldn’t imagine anyone taming Walker Heart.
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