Читать книгу Heartbreak Ranch - Fern Michaels - Страница 11

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 boarding 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.

He’d be quite a challenge. She shook the thought from her head, only to have another even more provocative one take its place. I wouldn’t mind taking up the challenge.

* * *

WALKER’S HORSE grazed nearby while he made himself comfortable, sitting halfway down the hill with his back against a boulder. He removed his field glasses from their leather case, flung the strap over his head and focused the lenses on the shack. He’d convinced himself that he needed to keep an eye on her, even though he knew she wasn’t likely to venture over the hill, especially once it got dark. Even she had more sense than that.

So why was he there? He wasn’t sure. Something about her called to him, like a siren singing to a seaman, only Walker wasn’t about to let this siren lure him to destruction. He’d meant what he’d said. Deed or no deed, Heartbreak Ranch was his.

* * *

AFTER THE SMOKE cleared, the only work Amy managed to accomplish before dark was to drag her trunks and supplies inside. She didn’t want to leave them outside a second night.

Rather than add any more wood to the stove—

seasoned or green—she used cold water right out of the bucket to bathe. Each time she touched the cloth to her skin, she thought up another witty retort that would have neatly countered Walker Heart’s sarcastic statements and questions. If only she’d thought of them earlier when they would have done her some good. Next time, she promised herself, she’d be better prepared.

Finished with her ablutions, Amy readied pen, ink and paper, then crawled into bed and sat up against the iron head rail. She started to make a list of all the things she had to do tomorrow: scrub the kitchen, cookware and utensils; shelve and organize suppl— Her pen rested on the l as her mind wandered. How awful for Walker to learn from a perfect stranger that his father had sold the ranch. What kind of father would do such a thing? She focused her attention and rewrote the last word because a pool of ink had obliterated the letters. Then, she added: rearrange the furniture— Is there a Mrs. Walker Heart? Little Hearts with sandy brown hair and blue eyes?

A moment later she shook her head. Impossible. She hadn’t seen anything to indicate a family had lived in the house. As far as she could tell, the only inhabitants had been a few mice and a raccoon, which left the question, if Walker Heart didn’t live here, where did he live?

“What do I care?” she asked herself, pretending not to care. Much to her surprise she realized she

really did care.

She leaned forward and twisted around to look behind her at her mother’s portrait. “I wish you could tell me just exactly how you acquired Heartbreak Ranch,” she said, staring into her mother’s violet eyes, eyes so like her own. “Did you buy it or did you get it as collateral for a gambling loan?” She knew gamblers put up everything from property to racehorses for collateral.

Might she have written something about how she’d acquired Heartbreak Ranch in her journal?

Setting pen and paper aside, Amy got out of bed and opened her mother’s trunk, releasing the scent of lemon verbena. Inside were a dozen or more bottles, some labeled in English, others in Chinese. Most of them were filled with liquids; others appeared to contain dry ingredients. Hidden within the fabric of a magnificent blood-red velvet gown was a faro dealing box. She ran her fingers over the painted tiger face, then its eyes.

“Emeralds.” She stared at the twin jewels, then laughed. They couldn’t possibly be real. If they were, Howard would have told her about them. Next came a jewel-studded dog collar, which served to confirm her belief that the tiger’s eyes were fake, since the stones in the dog collar were almost as large, and nobody—not even Bella Duprey—would go so far as to put real jewels in a dog’s collar.

The journal was at the very bottom of the trunk. Howard had told her that the journal could be useful to her one day. What a magical tome it would be if it could give her the answers she needed now. Flipping through the pages, Amy saw that the journal was divided into four sections, each with its own title: “Captivating Your Man”; “Toddy’s Tricks and Commands”; “My Life—Bella Duprey”; and “Recipes for Romance and Other Concoctions.” The first seemed to be a manual on how to handle men. The second and smallest section was devoted to Toddy. And the third was a sort of diary of her mother’s life, beginning when she left France and came to San Francisco with fifty other courtesans to find their fortunes. The fourth was nothing but recipes.

Later, when time allowed, she would read it in its entirety, but right now she needed specific information. She leafed through to the last entry of the diary and began reading.

May 10

Tonight is the night. Everything is ready. There can be no mistakes and no turning back. The crimps will come for Sam at midnight and carry him off to some faraway port. If only he had loved me as I loved him.

“Oh, my God! Mama had Sam Heart shanghaied!” Amy slapped the journal shut, then pressed her palms against the front and back covers as if to keep the incriminating words from escaping.

The noise awakened Toddy, who had been sleeping on the bed next to her. He bolted to a sitting position and stared at her expectantly.

“Why, Toddy? What would possess her to do such a terrible thing?” The poodle curled his upper lip and showed his fangs. “Toddy Duprey! Shame on you.” With a whine, Toddy got down off the bed and crawled beneath it.

If only he had loved me as I loved him. The words reverberated in Amy’s head. Somehow Sam Heart had achieved the impossible; he had made her mother fall in love with him. But what on earth had he done to hurt her?

Reopening the journal, Amy flipped back until she found the first entry mentioning Sam Heart.

April 5

His name is Sam Heart and he is très magnifique! Every night he comes to my faro table and makes love to me with his eyes. Felice, she has tried to entice him, but he tells her he wants only me. I have told him my services are no longer for sale but he insists that I make an exception for him.

Amy read on—word for word—to the end, which she read once again, but only now fully understood.

Sam had played her mother for a fool. He’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her, when in truth what he’d wanted was to win a bet—a bet that he could get her to do what no man had in five years: break the house rule and take him to her bed.

Amy closed the journal and stared at the wall, tears blurring her eyes. She didn’t have to read between the lines of those last entries to know how much it had hurt her mother to end her relationship with Sam. Every word echoed her sorrow and pain. But it still didn’t excuse her actions. Amy had grown up on the Barbary Coast and knew that once a man was shanghaied, he was usually never seen again.

“Oh, no!” she said suddenly. What would Walker do if he found out? It was a question she didn’t want to contemplate. “He won’t find out because I’m not going to tell him,” she told herself.

Filled with her mother’s righteous indignation, Amy had no difficulty convincing herself that she was justified in keeping what she knew of Sam Heart’s disappearance a secret and in maintaining ownership of Heartbreak Ranch.

At length, she turned down the light and waited for sleep.

But sleep eluded her. She tossed. She turned. She pounded her pillow. She pulled the covers up to her chin. She pushed them down to her knees.

When she felt Toddy’s hot, moist breath on her face, a signal that he had to go outside, she was glad to leave her bed. He yipped once and ran to the door, tail wagging.

“All right, I’m coming.”

She lit the lamp, carried it to the other room and set it on the table. When she opened the door, a cool breeze billowed her nightgown.

Toddy ran outside and headed for the closest tree.

* * *

WATCHING THROUGH his field glasses, Walker felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw Amy Duprey standing in the doorway. God, she was beautiful. Beautiful all over. Her honey-blond hair fell around her shoulders in shining waves. The lamplight behind her filtered through her nightgown, silhouetting her slender body and revealing far more than he should be seeing, but not nearly as much as he would like to see. He adjusted the focus until her image appeared sharper.

Maybe if he hadn’t held her in his arms and didn’t know just how good she’d felt, he wouldn’t be driving himself crazy wanting to do it again. There was no forgetting those womanly curves or the way her body seemed to fit his as if she were made for him, for him alone.

“Toddy! Where are you, boy?” she called, a brisk breeze lifting her nightgown well above her knees.

Walker nearly swallowed his tongue when she pushed the fabric down and poked it between her legs. A low moan escaped him and he was forced to shift his position to ease his ache—an ache that was not only physically painful but damned unnerving. He had never reacted to a woman this intensely before.

“Toddy!”

The answering bark drew Walker’s gaze away from Amy to her big, dumb beast of a dog...who was charging up the hill after him.

“Oh, no!” Walker jumped to his feet and ran for his horse. “Hold still, you fiddle-footed knothead or I’m gonna trade you in for a mule.” He grabbed the reins and yanked the animal into position, then leaped into the saddle and galloped up the hill.

From where she stood in the doorway, Amy couldn’t tell what Toddy was after, but whatever it was, he scared it away.

“Good boy,” she congratulated him as he came prancing back. She reached out her hand to pat his head and noticed he was carrying something. “What have you got in your mouth?” He sat down in front of her and gave up his prize to her open palm. “It’s...why, they’re field glasses.” She looked at Toddy. The dog cocked his head and barked as if to confirm her conclusion.

Amy’s gaze flew to the hill. No one had to tell her whose they were.

Grabbing Toddy’s collar, she jerked him inside and slammed the door so hard the shutters rattled.

* * *

NEAR DAWN, Amy gave up trying to get any sleep and started cleaning the kitchen, attacking the built-up grease and dirt with a vengeance. It didn’t take her long to realize how little she knew about housekeeping.

By noon, she had managed to finish her cleaning and was struggling with her first attempt at baking. She’d heard that biscuits were a basic and had brought a recipe with her. So far she’d made two batches, used up half her flour supply and still didn’t even have one edible biscuit. Batch number three was nearly ready to come out of the oven and it looked promising, but no matter how it turned out, it was going to be her last. All that kneading had worn her out.

After two ruined batches, Amy knew that brown on top meant burned on the bottom, so this time she took them out before they browned. She pulled the pan out of the oven, shut the door and used her towel to flip one over.

“Perfect!” she exclaimed in excitement. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

Toddy sniffed the air and woofed.

While she was turning to set the pan on the table, the front door swung open and banged against her arm, sending all twelve perfect biscuits flying into the air.

“Miss Duprey? I heard you yell and I—”

Amy stood watching the biscuits fall, bounce then roll across the floor.

Toddy ran toward the door barking, then abruptly changed direction when a biscuit rolled past him.

Fighting to control her temper, which had become particularly volatile since meeting Walker Heart, Amy resisted looking at him as she spoke. “I don’t suppose you could have knocked,” she said in an even monotone.

Walker’s gaze darted from Amy to the floor to Toddy, who was pawing at a steaming biscuit.

“I...uh...told you. I heard you yell. I thought somethin’ was wrong.”

“Something is wrong, Mr. Heart,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Something is very wrong.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about your biscuits, but it’s not like you can’t whip up another batch lickety-split.” He reached down, retrieved one off the floor and inspected it. “Kind of puny, don’t you think?” Grinning, he added, “Looks to me like you got more flour on you than in the—” He broke off, his gaze having lifted to meet hers.

Eyes narrowed and nose pinched, Amy scowled at him, silently daring him to continue.

Walker’s cocky expression curdled. He looked beyond her to take in the flour-covered kitchen and the refuse bucket full of black-bottomed biscuits. He glanced down at the biscuit in his hand and appeared to give it serious thought.

Much to Amy’s surprise, he brushed it against his chest, then bit into it and started to chew. “They’re small, but tasty,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

Amy flashed him her most brilliant smile. “Well, then, in that case, why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you some more.” She shoved Walker into the closest chair, then went around the room picking up biscuits and dropping them into her apron.

Toddy had eaten one biscuit and had another one in his mouth, ready to carry it away, when Amy shouted for him to stop. “Give that to me,” she commanded. He dropped the biscuit into her hand and crawled under the table.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Walker start to get up. “Sit,” she ordered, in the same tone she’d used with Toddy.

Walker sat.

Emboldened by her anger, Amy removed the biscuits from her apron and set them down, one by one, on the table in front of him.

“You like them?” she asked, mischief sugaring her voice. “Then eat them.”

Walker looked down at the dirt-smudged biscuits and swallowed. “I’m really not very hungry. Cookie just finished serving me and the boys some leftover stew.”

“Cookie?”

“Yeah. Damned if I remember what his real name is. He’s the cook so we call him Cookie.”

“And where does Cookie do his cooking?”

“Yonder, over at the—” He cut himself off, suddenly realizing he was about to give his secret away. To cover his mistake, he started coughing. He’d have to be more careful in the future. If she got wind that the real ranch house—a house ten times the size of the branding shack—was only a mile-and-a-half away, she’d be harder to uproot than an oak tree.

Amy sat down across from him and folded her arms in front of her. “You were saying?” she prompted.

Walker made a fist, pounded his chest and cleared his throat. “Me and...the boys, we got us a cow camp...over yonder.”

Toddy came out from under the table and sat down in front of Walker. Walker stared at him. Up close he didn’t look like a lamb, he decided. His nose was too long... and those ears! What he did look like, Walker wasn’t sure.

“What’s he want?” he asked when Toddy lifted his paws.

“He’s hungry. I expect he wants a biscuit.”

“If I give him one, he won’t come chasing after me when I leave, will he?”

“You mean like he did last night?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Amy stood up and closed the door. Behind the door, hanging by the strap from a nail were his field glasses. She lifted them off and walked over to him, the glasses swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

“I believe you left these behind,” she said, dropping them into his lap. “Toddy found them and brought them to me.”

Walker picked them up, slung the strap around his shoulder and jumped to his feet. “I can explain,” he said, reaching for her.

“Don’t touch me, you—you Peeping Tom!” She turned away and he grabbed her arm.

“All right. I admit I was watchin’ you, but dammit, Amy, I have a right to know what you’re up to. Sure as I’m standing here, there’s something fishy about my pa signing Heartbreak Ranch over to your ma, and I think you know what it is!”

Amy stiffened. “I don’t know anything more than what I told you,” she returned in a tone that was anything but convincing.

He released her. “So you say, which is why I wired a friend of mine, a Pinkerton man, to take the case.”

“A Pinkerton man?” Amy’s throat felt dry. “You hired a detective?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. It seemed the only way to find out what’s going on with my pa.”

His words were followed by a stern silence. Amy had to stop herself from filling in the void with a confession. Only by force of will did she succeed.

Walker drew a breath. “So that’s where we stand.”

Stand? Amy felt as if her knees were going to buckle. A Pinkerton man! She’d heard how efficient they were at tracking down outlaws and train robbers and how cold they could be when it came to dispensing justice. What were the chances of the man discovering that Sam Heart had been shanghaied? Better than the chances that he wouldn’t!

Amy clasped her hands, trying to think. According to the journal, only Howard Evans and a pretty waiter girl named Felice had known of her mother’s plan. Amy was certain Howard would never say anything, but what about Felice? Obviously, her mother had considered Felice to be a trusted employee, but was she?

“I expect an answer in a couple of weeks,” Walker said, breaking the tense silence. Amy frowned at him, distracted from her thoughts. “Until then, I intend to continue running this ranch the way I always have.”

Amy managed a stiff nod. “Of course,” she replied. A couple of weeks. It wasn’t much time and yet she knew it would seem like a lifetime.

It will be all right, ma chère. You must trust your mama.

Amy glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see her mother standing there, poised and in control. But Bella was gone. And wasn’t coming back. Amy had to accept that, no matter how she felt, or what she thought she heard.

Trust me, my Amy. I will always be here for you.

Amy’s body tensed. “Did you hear anything?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she crossed the floor to her bedroom, opened the door and peered inside. The only sign of her mother was the painted image above her bed.

“No,” Walker answered. “Why?”

Hearing the jangle of Walker’s spurs, Amy quickly pulled the door closed. Like a dutiful sentry she stood in front of it. “My imagination,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, hoping her air of nonchalance would divert him. She could not allow Walker to see the painting. The picture represented her mother’s life—first as a prostitute, then as a madam, who had bedded so many clients that she didn’t know who Amy’s father was.

Walker simply wouldn’t understand.

“What’s in there?” He took a step toward her.

Panic rose inside her but she forced herself to appear calm and stepped directly in front of him, blocking his path. “It’s just my bedroom,” she told him, as if that was explanation enough. He hesitated but a moment, then moved to go around her. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Heart,” she said, placing her hand upon his chest to halt him, “but some things simply aren’t done. You do not enter a lady’s bedroom without an invitation.” The words were no sooner out than Amy realized exactly where the reprimand had come from. Her mother had taught all her protégées that rule—no customer was allowed entry into a girl’s bedroom without explicit permission. Such formality was intended to eliminate disastrous surprises, as well as protect what little privacy the girls had.

Much to Amy’s relief, Walker didn’t argue. He seemed at a loss for words, even embarrassed.

“Well, I...I guess I’d better go.”

“Yes, I guess you’d better.”

He strode to the front door, then jerked it open. “Thanks for the biscuits,” he said over his shoulder, though he didn’t sound thankful at all.

Amy pursed her lips in a tight smile. “My pleasure.”

She followed behind him, then stood on the threshold, watching as he slowly made his way to the edge of the porch. He stopped before he reached the steps and looked north toward Havilah. After a moment, he turned and faced her.

Amy raised a defensive brow. “Yes?” she prompted. “Was there something you forgot?”

He looked her square in the eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “My backbone.” Walker wrapped his hand around the porch post. “Look, I’m not real good at tea and biscuit manners, but I’m no monster, either. The reason I rode down here was because...well...we got off to a bad start the other day and now...well, here we go again. It seems we can’t talk without gettin’ all riled up at each other.”

Was he apologizing? Amy searched his handsome face but couldn’t seem to get past his eyes. Such beautiful eyes for a man. So expressive. A girl could lose her heart just gazing into them.

He nudged his hat up his forehead. “So anyway...I got somethin’ to say and I don’t want to leave here till I’ve said it.”

He wasn’t apologizing, she realized. But he seemed to be making a genuine effort to talk to her in a reasonable manner, which was better than sarcasm and a Pinkerton threat.

“All right. I’m listening.” Curious but guarded, Amy crossed her arms in front of her and leaned against the door frame. She avoided looking into his eyes.

Walker sat sideways on the porch rail, his right leg bent at the knee. “I don’t know anything about you ’cept what little you’ve told me and what I can see with my own eyes,” he began. His gaze ran up, then down the length of her body as he spoke. “And what I see is you’re a lady. You’ll never make it out here on your own. Ranchin’ and cattle—that’s men’s work. I’ve only known one woman cattle rancher, and believe me, she was no lady.”

“Mr. Heart—”

“Call me Walker,” he interrupted, “and let me finish.” His polite insistence cut her off and kept her quiet. “I don’t want you to take this wrong—like I’m tryin’ to scare you off or somethin’.” He removed his hat and set it on the crook of his knee. “Heartbreak Ranch...well, it’s...my life and I’m not going to give it up without a fight.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied. She had been here only a few days and already she had fallen in love with the vast expanse of grazing land and the surrounding mountains. She could imagine how he felt, thinking he might lose it all and not even know why. She looked away, feeling guilty for her deceit.

“What’s wrong?” He left the porch rail and came toward her.

Amy took an unconscious step back. “Nothing’s wrong.” But, in truth, Walker’s honest admission of his feelings left her drained of all energy and fight. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep particularly well last night.”

“Sure you’re not comin’ down with somethin’?”

“I’m sure.” She stood up straight as if to prove her point. He took another step toward her, forcing her to look up at him.

“I just want to add one thing,” he said. “The other day...I said some things...implied some things about you and your ma that I shouldn’t have.”

Those implications, still fresh in her memory, sent a surge of anger through her. “Don’t insult me by saying you didn’t mean them,” Amy snapped, her chin jutting forward with wounded pride. She stared at him, her gaze narrowing. “But tell me, Mr. Heart—I mean, Walker,” she corrected herself. “Do you still think I look like the kind of woman who would offer her—what did you call them?—oh, yes, services in exchange for money? Look at me closely and tell me what you see, because if I do—if I do look like that kind of woman, I— I—” She stopped midsentence, mortified to realize he was doing just as she had asked—looking at her. Intently looking at her. Amy’s mind went blank as her body grew hot. Just because she’d told him to look at her didn’t mean he had to do it like that, with such fervor. Point lost, she had no idea how to continue.

His eyes actually glimmered. What did he see, for heaven’s sake? It was a sure bet he wasn’t seeing the proper, sophisticated, young woman she’d intended him to see. Feeling suddenly breathless and light-headed, she lifted her bodice away from her skin. She could feel her face redden beneath his scrutiny and told herself to turn and walk away, but somehow she couldn’t seem to make herself take that first step.

Walker took it for her. One step closer brought them toe to toe. Amy watched as he raised his hand and cradled her chin between his fingers. “You want to know what I see? I see a smart and beautiful young woman who’s too stubborn and independent for her own good.” His eyes were so light blue they appeared silver. She could see herself on their glittering surface.

“Walker? There’s something I need to tell—” The words died in her throat. She couldn’t do it. Not now.

Walker was mesmerized by the contrast between his rough, suntanned hand—the hand he used to tie up calves and cock a pistol—and her soft, ivory face. To think that she was that same creamy white all over stirred him in ways he had never experienced with any other woman.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” he said, bending his head toward hers. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but he couldn’t help himself. Not even a saint could have resisted such a vulnerable and bewildered look. And there was one other thing. He’d seen it in her eyes the moment he’d gotten down off his horse and confronted her that first day. She was attracted to him. She probably wouldn’t admit it—even to herself—but there were some things that eyes couldn’t hide.

The emotions that came with kissing her took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it sure wasn’t this all-consuming need to hold her against his body and never let her go. He moved his hand away from her chin and explored the soft contours of her jaw and cheek and realized how delicate she was—like the spring poppies that grew on the hillside.

His mouth moved over hers gently yet insistently, coaxing her lips apart, tasting the sweetness just within. When he felt her tremble, he moved his hand around behind her head, steadying her. She opened her mouth to him, moaning softly, pleading unintelligibly for him to stop, even as she stretched up and twined her arms around his neck. Like a schoolboy, he shivered with excitement, but then the man took over and he pulled her close.

The last thing Amy had expected from this day was to find herself in Walker Heart’s arms. What had she said to bring it about? What had he said? For the life of her she couldn’t think of a thing, but with each passing second it mattered less and less. Nobody had ever kissed her like Walker was kissing her, as if she were revered, cherished. There was tenderness in him that confused her, that could almost make her believe he was in love with her.

In some distant region of her mind, Amy knew that was impossible. Walker Heart couldn’t love her. She was his enemy.

Yet, there had to be something there. No man could kiss a woman the way he was kissing her and not feel something for her.

“God, Amy, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, his lips exploring her neck.

You have no idea what you’re doing to me, she repeated to herself. It wasn’t just the kiss or the way he was holding her; it was more than that. It was a sense of well-being, of closeness and of joy. She’d never experienced feelings like these before.

“Walker.” It took every bit of her will to push her hands against his chest. But she had to stop him—and herself—before things got out of control. She knew if she didn’t stop him now it might be impossible to stop him later. He held her a moment longer as if to test her. She remained firm, then took a step backward, breathing heavily. “I think you’d better leave,” she said, her heart aching under her breast.

His hands slipped away. “I think you’re right.”