This explained the bottles in the bottom of the trunk.
Amy skimmed through the pages of the recipe section, thinking of them as witches’ brews. Then a thought crossed her mind. Might there be a potion she could mix up and use on Walker to soften his heart? She quickly turned the page, chiding herself for even thinking such a thing. If there was such a magical formula, she could never bring herself to use it.
Amy figured it was well past noon by the way the shadows fell. She had to read only another twenty pages or so of the journal and she’d be finished. Tired of sitting, she stretched out on her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows.
Toddy lay down beside her and rested his long nose between his front paws.
To become accomplished in the Art of Fascination, you must be willing to explore even the most unconventional methods. Several years ago an idea came to me quite by accident, after a devoted gentleman friend gave me Toddy.
Curious as to how Toddy figured into things, Amy leaned closer to the page, not wanting to miss a single word. Nothing could have surprised her more than to read her mother’s theory that a man could be trained in much the same way as a dog. She laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it but continued to read—page after page of instruction on how to correct a man’s behavioral problems with training methods similar to those used for a dog.
It is all in the communication. You must make very clear what you want. And use short commands because men, like dogs, sometimes get confused.
Now Amy knew what Howard meant when he said Toddy taught Bella more about men than all the courtesans in France.
“Toddy, sit,” Amy said, putting her mother’s theory to test. The big poodle sat down. “Good boy,” she congratulated him. “Speak.” He began to bark. “Quiet,” she told him and he stopped.
It was then she remembered that this morning she had seen for herself how commanding Toddy to be quiet had inadvertently silenced Walker, as well. And when Walker had ruined her only decent batch of biscuits, she’d ordered him to sit and he’d sat!
“Good heavens!” she whispered, stunned. Her mother’s theory did indeed appear to work, but— How awful! How demeaning! She could never bring herself to use such underhanded tactics to—
Uninvited, a trio of recent and rather demeaning events popped into her head: Walker refusing to move his horse so she could get the deed from her trunk; Walker chastising her for not knowing the difference between green wood and seasoned wood; and Walker inspecting her biscuits, then having the audacity to call them puny.
One corner of her mouth drew taut and her eyes narrowed to slits as she gave in to her devilish thoughts...and the delightful possibilities.
She went back to the first line where Toddy was mentioned and pored over the lessons, laughing even as she committed them to memory.
It was late afternoon when she finished and started back to the house. Approaching the corral, Amy stopped short when she looked up and saw Walker standing on the roof unbuttoning his shirt. She went breathlessly still as she watched him peel it off. His sweat-slick arms were heavy with muscle, and a dark thatch of hair covered his chest, narrowing as it ran down his stomach and disappeared into his pants. He looked hot, tired and entirely too appealing for any man to look, especially after a day of hard physical labor.
“I’m just about finished,” he said, crumpling the shirt into a ball, then tossing it down. “Here. Catch.”
Hypnotized by the wide expanse of Walker’s chest and the rugged breadth of his shoulders, Amy didn’t see the garment until it dropped on top of her head. While fighting to get it off, she heard Walker laughing. She threw the shirt to the ground and glared up at him.
His laughter stopped abruptly when he lost his footing. Amy’s mouth opened to shout a warning but nothing came out. She watched fearfully as he struggled to maintain his balance, his arms windmilling. In the end, he was unable to save himself and gave in to the roof’s slippery slant.
The ground under her feet seemed to vibrate with the force of his landing.
“Walker!” She hiked up her skirts and ran to his side.
Flat on his back, spread-eagle, he lay still as death. In a panic, she knelt beside him. “Walker?” His eyes were wide open but he didn’t seem to see her.
“Walker, oh, no, please.” Amy looked him over for signs of broken bones and blood, but there were no visible injuries. With shaky hands, she carefully turned his head toward her. “Walker, please say you’re all right.”
He lifted his hand and clasped it around her arm, squeezing tight as he gulped air back into his lungs.
“I—I’m all—right,” he managed at last, releasing his hold on her arm. “Just got...the wind... knocked—” He started to cough.
Amy bowed her head and thanked God. For all the anger and mistrust between them, she didn’t wish him harm. When she looked up again, she saw Toddy standing next to Walker’s head. In an uncharacteristic display of affection, he licked Walker’s face.
“Get him...stop—” Walker sputtered between gasps.
“Toddy! Don’t do that,” Amy commanded, but instead of obeying her, he did it again.
“Damn dog... I’m gonna—kill—” Walker choked out as he rolled over onto the hem of Amy’s skirt.
“Toddy! No!” Amy shouted.
Toddy turned and headed for the house, his tail between his legs.
“I’m sorry. He must really like you.” She looked down and saw Walker’s head lying on her skirt in the junction between her thighs. She took in a startled breath, then tried to hide her shock when he glanced up at her.
“Just give me a minute,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
Unable to speak, she could only nod.
Minutes later Walker was breathing more normally. He made a face as he lifted his head off her skirt and raised himself on one elbow.
“Let me help you,” Amy offered, reaching toward him. She wasn’t sure how much assistance she could give, considering he probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more. But she would do what she could.
“No. Leave me be.”
Amy ignored him. “Oh, don’t be silly.” She jumped to her feet, bent down in front of him and was reaching toward him when he swore at her under his breath.
“I said leave me be.” He waved her away, then, amid grunts and groans, rolled to his knees and began easing himself up.
Hands clenched together against her heart, Amy watched his struggle and felt his pain almost as strongly as if it were her own. Why he would refuse her help, she could only guess. Masculine pride, perhaps. Or maybe just bullheadedness. Whatever the reason, it simply wasn’t good enough.
He was halfway between a stoop and a stand and making poor progress when Amy bent down in front of him, wrapped her arms around his bare middle and helped lift him to his feet. Even after they were standing, she continued to hold him close to her, afraid to let him go.
With her cheek pressed against his chest, she could feel the vibration of his voice, hear the rapid beating of his heart. Memories of another day—of him holding her, kissing her—flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes and let the memory envelop her.
“I thought I told you to leave me be,” he said in a tone that effectively ended her daydream.
She pulled back to look up at him. “So you did, but it happens that I don’t respond well to being ordered around.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She smiled, pleased with herself that she’d stood her ground.
Amy released him then and took a step backward. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. My back hurts like a son of a—!”
“Walker Heart! I will not tolerate cursing!”
“For God’s sake, Amy! This is no time—” Whatever he was about to say ended when he took a step forward and faltered.
Amy saw the difficulty he was having and moved around to his side. “Put your arm around my shoulder and lean on me.” When he didn’t make a move to
do as she suggested, she did it for him. “Now, then, let’s take it real easy. One step at a time.”
Once they were in the house, Amy steered Walker toward the bedroom. She maneuvered him through the door, then propped him against the door frame.
“Stay here a minute. I have to take the blanket off the bed.”
“Don’t go to any extra trouble for me.” He took a step forward.
“Walker, stay!” she shouted, halting him before he could take another step. Amy didn’t have time to ponder the fact that she’d used a dog command to get him to listen to her, because the second she turned around, she confronted the blue-checkered tablecloth covering her mother’s painting.
She froze, her heart racing, as she tried to think of what to do. Short of ordering him back outside, then telling him to mount up and ride out, there wasn’t anything she could do, except hope for a miracle that he wouldn’t ask what she was hiding.
Taking a deep breath, she took the debris-covered blanket off the bed, then started fluffing the pillow.
Walker made a sound in his throat that was a combination of impatience and pain.
Keep the training lessons short. The journal’s lessons came to her unbidden, but she didn’t shut them out. If ever she needed help on handling a man, it was now. And whether she approved of the method or not, anything was preferable to his seeing the painting and discovering her secrets. If you work with him for too long at one time, he’ll become bored and won’t respond at all.
Amy hurried to finish.
“Ready?” she asked. He growled an indistinguishable answer and pushed off the door frame as she started toward him. “Wait for me,” she said, ducking under his arm. Amy gritted her teeth as she prepared to bear his weight, but instead he dropped his arm from around her shoulders and moved forward on his own.
“Walker Heart!” She brandished his name like a weapon and slipped around in front of him, splaying her hands flat against his chest to prevent him from taking another step. “You’re going to do as I say or else!” she threatened, her voice throbbing with anger and frustration. Too late she remembered her
mother’s cautionary note.
Never lose your temper. Yelling and stamping around in anger will only make things worse, and he’ll be reluctant to respond to your training.
“I—I’m sorry,” she offered, hoping to undo any damage she might have caused. When she realized she was speaking to his chest, she tilted her head back and looked up. His expression was tight with strain. “I really must insist that you let me help you. One wrong move and you could hurt yourself even more.”
Believing that she had appealed to his common sense, Amy tried again and this time found him slightly more cooperative. Still, getting Walker into bed was no easy task. He was not a small man and pain made him inflexible.
Muttering an oath, he sat down on the edge of the bed.
Turning, lifting, pushing and pulling, Amy managed to lay him down.
“There now. That should do it,” she said, adjusting the pillow beneath his head.
“I can’t lie here like this,” he complained. “I feel like a corpse. I need pillows to prop me up.”
She shook her head. “What you need is to lie flat.”
“You a doc?” he snapped.
“No, but I often helped my mother take care of her girls. They were always straining their backs and—” She broke off, the reality of what she’d said hitting her like a slap on the face. She glanced down at Walker and was relieved to see that he wasn’t paying her any attention. He was too busy trying to get himself comfortable.
Admonishing herself for always saying the first thing that came into her head, Amy moved to the end of the bed, grabbed his left boot and started to tug.
“Hey!” he shouted. He shook his foot loose of her hand. “The boots stay on.”
Remember who is in charge. Be confident in your authority.
“Not in my bed they don’t,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument. Before he could respond, she grabbed his boots by the heels and tugged them off. “I’ll just leave them by the door.”
“Thanks,” he replied to her back as she set the boots on the floor.
A moment later she was back, pulling off his socks. She tossed them on the floor next to his boots. Coming around to the side of the bed, she leaned forward and started toward his belt buckle.
He grabbed her hands in midmotion. “If you want to take my pants off it’s fine with me. But I think I should warn you that I’m not wearin’ anything underneath.”
Amy snatched her hands away. What on earth had she been thinking? Obviously, she’d gotten carried away with her nursing duties. His smug expression mocked her, but she refused to let him see her mortification.
“Thank you for the warning. It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t be wearing any— I mean— I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
“I’m as comfortable as I’m gonna get, considerin’.” He gave her a disgruntled look, then turned his face toward the wall.
“Good. That’s...good.”
Without another word, Amy fled the room and closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER FOUR
WALKER WAS HALF-ASLEEP when Amy bustled back into the bedroom, making more noise than a bunkhouse full of booted ranch hands. He cracked one eye open and saw her set a washbasin down on the trunk beside the bed. Wearing a starched white apron with a towel draped over one of her shoulders, she dipped a cloth into the basin, then rubbed it against a large cake of soap. He waited until she was leaning over him, her hand inches above his face, then he opened his eyes wide and glared at her.
“What the hell are you doin’?” He gave her an accusing look.
Amy bristled like a porcupine. “I was about to clean some of the dirt off you. I guess I’d better start with that mouth of yours.” He intercepted her hand before she could stuff the soapy cloth into his mouth.
“I’m a little past that age, don’t you think?”
“Apparently age has nothing to do with bad behavior.”
“Bad behavior, huh? If you’re bent on tryin’ to change me into somethin’ I’m not, you can forget it. I am the way I am. I spend my days and sometimes my nights with ornery steers and cuss words are the only language they understand.”
“All I ask is that you make an effort not to swear in front of me. Now, if I may proceed?”
“With what?”
“Cleaning you up.”
“No, thanks. I’d like to try to get some shut-eye.”
Before he knew what she was about, she swiped the cloth across his chest, then held it for him to see. It was filthy.
“Do what you gotta do,” he said, resigned.
Amy gave him an indulgent smile as she stretched out her arm and pushed his hair back from his forehead. He watched her closely as she performed the task of washing his face, and wished, not for the first time, that things could be different between them. But until he heard from the Pinkerton man, he needed to keep his guard up.
“As soon as I’m through, we’ll see about getting you home. I’ll take your horse and go tell your men you’re here—”
“No!” he replied sharply. That would be all he needed. If she found out he’d been keeping the truth from her about the real homestead, she’d never give up the deed.
Amy laughed lightly. “Well, you can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
She seemed to flounder before his questioning gaze. “Well, because you can’t. It wouldn’t be right...you and me together...all night long. There’s a matter of propriety, you know. People would talk and my reputation would be ruined.”
“What people?”
“The neighbors.”
“What neighbors?”
Amy pulled back and stared at him. “There aren’t any neighbors?”
“This is a big ranch, Amy. The closest ones are in Havilah. Nobody’s gonna find out if we don’t tell them.”
“But—”
; “No buts. I’m stayin’ and that’s that. Besides, nobody can ride Outlaw but me. He’d buck you off even before you got in the saddle.” She was silent, defeated, he hoped. “Don’t look so glum. It’s only for one night. Come mornin’ I’ll be right as rain and back up on top of that roof.”
Amy rolled her eyes. She wished she shared his optimism, but conversely, she thought he’d probably feel worse than ever come morning.
Weary of fighting him on every issue and weary of standing and leaning over him, Amy sat down on the edge of the bed and devoted herself to the task at hand. She washed his neck, arms and upper chest. She couldn’t help but admire his well-developed muscles. His physical presence not only filled the bed but filled the room, creating a sexual awareness in her that she’d never experienced before. The thought that he would be spending the entire night in her house, in her bedroom, in her bed, caused beads of perspiration to break out on her upper lip.
Wishing she’d never started bathing him in the first place, Amy hurried to be done with it. As she moved the cloth in a circular pattern down his stomach, her thumb came in contact with the top edge of his belt buckle. Remembering his warning, her hand slowed.
She slid her gaze to his face and saw that his eyes were closed. He appeared totally relaxed, which struck her as ironic since he’d made so much fuss about being bathed. Determined not to let her thoughts about what he wasn’t wearing beneath his pants get the best of her, she carried on. Moments later, her hand was once again at the bottom of the circle near the buckle. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed down lightly and ran her thumb below the buckle, touching skin she couldn’t see.
She inhaled sharply as a surge of fiery heat raced through her body. Unable to fathom how so simple an action could cause such an alarming reaction, she stared at her hand as if it had betrayed her.
* * *
WALKER WATCHED her from beneath lowered lids, fascinated. Emotions flitted like evening shadows across her face, one after another. Determination, confusion, surprise. Desire. A man would have to be stone-blind not to see it and pushing petunias from six feet under not to feel it. When her hand slowed, he knew she was remembering what he’d said about not wearing anything under his pants. Had she thought him awake, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere near that belt buckle. But because she thought him sleeping, she not only went near it, but below it. In fact, another inch and she would discover the profound effect she was having on him.
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