Join New York Times bestselling authors Fern Michaels and Jill Marie Landis, with Dorsey Kelley and Chelley Kitzmiller, for four timeless love stories set on one very special California ranch.

Heartbreak Ranch is more than a plot of land—it is a legacy.

Over a century has passed since Bella Duprey, famed Barbary Coast madam, won the treasured range in a card game from the lover who jilted her. She left it to her descendants, along with her how-to tome of feminine wisdom: The Art of Fascinating a Man.

Bella hoped her bequest would help future generations of Duprey women find better luck in love than she did. But can a dusty journal and some sprawling acreage ensure that Amy, Josie, Harmony and Arabella will find happiness with the men they love?

“There is something very attractive to men about a madam. She combines the brains of a businessman, the toughness of a prizefighter, the warmth of a companion, the humor of a tragedian. Myths collect about her.”

—John Steinbeck

Heartbreak Ranch

Fern Michaels

Jill Marie Landis

Dorsey Keller

Chelley Kitzmiller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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We gratefully dedicate Heartbreak Ranch

to the Rankin family.

Our thanks also go to Lisa Kimble for her encouragement.

Barbary Coast

San Francisco, California

May 10, 1869

AT PRECISELY TEN o’clock, Arabella Duprey, Queen of the Barbary Coast, left her suite. Accompanied by her eighty-pound white poodle, Toddy, she glided down the hallway then paused at the handrail that overlooked the elaborately appointed gaming hall below.

Oil paintings of nude women covered every square inch of wall space. One was of herself—a life-size portrait, commissioned five years ago when she bought out her longtime employer and became the madam of the Cock O’ The Walk.

The enormous, gilt-framed portrait hung directly over the bar, where everyone was sure to see it. Could she help it if she wanted to be remembered throughout the years to come as a beautiful and desirable woman?

Toddy sat panting patiently at her heels as Bella watched the activities below: the croupiers dealing cards and spinning the roulette wheels, the pretty waiter girls serving drinks, the musicians tuning up. And the customers spending their money.

This was her domain and everything was running just as it should. She was proud to be the reigning queen of the Barbary Coast.

A shudder ran down her spine at the thought of how she had jeopardized her business and her future—all for the love of a man.

Sam Heart had played her for a fool.

In the five years since Bella had bought the Cock O’ The Walk and become its madam, she had not invited any man to her bed. To do so would have been against the house rules—rules she had set in place to eliminate competition between her and her girls.

She had believed Sam when he pretended to love her. He had even gone so far as to offer her marriage.

But for her daughter, Bella might not have been so gullible.

Six years ago when she had sent Amy away to school, she promised herself she would use the school years to set up a different kind of life for her and Amy. A respectable life, away from the Barbary Coast.

Amy’s letter had taken Bella by surprise. Her schooling was finished and she was coming home to help run the Cock O’ The Walk. Where had the years gone? There was no more time.

Becoming Sam’s wife was the answer to her prayers as well as a dream come true. Except that it was all a lie.

Bella closed her eyes and gripped the rail as she gave up a silent prayer of thanks that she had overheard him boasting about her. He’d been bragging that he would win a bet—a bet that he could sweet-talk her into taking him to her bed. Thank God, she had discovered the awful truth before it was too late. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the night’s events. Carefully lifting her skirt out of the way, she started downstairs to greet her customers.

Tonight was the night. Everything was ready. There was no turning back.

Tonight Sam Heart would learn that no one played Bella Duprey for a fool and got away with it.

Tonight he would pay with the one thing he held most dear. His ranch. Heartbreak Ranch.

Once she obtained the deed, she would turn the management of the Cock O’ The Walk over to her case keeper and barkeep, Howard Evans, who had been her trusted friend and confidant since she began working at the fandango palace twenty years ago. By tomorrow morning, when Amy’s stage arrived, she would be packed and ready to leave for their new home and their new life—courtesy of Sam Heart.

Always cool and collected, Bella was surprised to be overtaken by a giddy rush of nervousness tinged with excitement. But habit allowed her to smoothly commence her nightly ritual. Upon reaching the landing, she paused and nodded to Howard. At her signal, he hit a small, brass Chinese gong at the end of the bar. The room immediately fell into an expectant hush.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” Howard’s voice boomed over the crowd, although it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. “It is my pleasure to present your hostess...the incomparable...the one and only...Bella Duprey!”

She smiled with satisfaction as every man in the room looked up at her. She knew what an arresting sight she made, dressed in a new crimson satin gown, her signature color, now highlighted by the chandelier hanging directly over her head. Her gaze swept the room until she was certain she had everyone’s undivided attention. Then, she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and took a deep breath, knowing how the movement swelled her breasts.

“Gentlemen, I welcome you to ze Cock O’ The Walk.” She purposely emphasized her French accent.

Immediate applause and cheers rang through the air.

Bella acknowledged them with a slow, regal nod. Before descending the stairs, she gave the big dog beside her a silent signal to sit. When she reached the floor of the gaming hall, she wound her way through the maze of green, felt-topped tables covered with tall stacks of chips and gold and silver coins. She graciously exchanged comments with those she knew and stopped to introduce herself to the few she did not recognize.

Finally, Bella made her way across the room to where Sam waited. She silently cursed herself for noticing that he looked particularly handsome tonight in a new checkered wool suit and gold brocade vest. When she reached the faro table where he stood waiting, Sam took her hand and whispered in her ear.

“You’re looking especially radiant tonight.” He drew her close and discreetly ran his fingertip along the edge of her heart-shaped bodice. “Did you wear this gown for me?” he asked, laughing softly.

“Oui, mon cher. For you, Sam. Only for you.” She nearly choked on the words as she covered his hand with hers and gently moved his exploring fingers away. “But you will have to wait until midnight when I am through dealing.”

“I’ve waited a long time already. I guess I can wait a few more hours.”

She leaned forward, giving him an unobstructed view into the bodice of her gown, then kissed him lightly on the mouth.

“I promise you, it will be a night you will never forget.” With that she took her seat at the faro table, opposite Howard, the case keeper, whose look of reassurance betrayed his usual stolid expression. Once she was settled, Howard placed a deck of cards and a dealing box in the center of the table. Bella had always taken pride in running an honest gaming house, but tonight’s game called for special equipment. The cards were lightly sanded so that when one card was dropped upon the other, the two appeared as one. The faro dealing box sported an intricately painted face of a tiger. A hole in the tiger’s eye allowed the dealer to see the next card up for deal. Bella had only to press a concealed lever to release an extra card. She had ordered the specialty duo so she could turn the tables on any professional gamblers who tried to cheat the house.

“So, gentlemen,” she said, smiling a flirtatious smile at each of the men who had hurried to take a seat at her table, “you want to ‘buck the tiger,’ eh?”

Once she began shuffling the deck, once she felt the cards in her hands, she was able to rein in her emotions and become all business. She cut the cards and put them into the dealing box, confident that everything would come about just as she had planned.

Another of Bella’s trusted employees, the lovely waiter girl Felice offered everyone at the table drinks on the house. After handing Sam his, Felice gave Bella a discreet nod.

“All bets down, gentlemen,” Bella told the gamblers.

She watched Sam sip his drink. The drug Felice had put in Sam’s glass would begin taking effect within the hour. An annoying headache, blurred vision and impaired judgment were the first symptoms, followed later by excruciating stomach cramps and eventual loss of consciousness.

Bella relaxed and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

Cards ranking from ace to king were painted on the top of the faro table where the players placed their bets. By the end of the first game of twenty-five turns, Sam was winning.

She knew that his run of luck would make him overconfident as he went into the next game. During the next hour, Sam’s judgment became so impaired that he played carelessly and was now down to his last few chips. He kept rubbing his forehead and squinting to focus.

“Is something wrong, Sam?” Bella asked solicitously.

He slowly came up out of his seat, leaned across the table and motioned Bella to meet him halfway.

“It seems I’ve run a little short, my love. Could you extend me a small loan—say a thousand—until tomorrow?”

Bella feigned surprise. It was the moment she had been waiting for. “A loan? Oh, Sam...but I never—”

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow as soon as the bank opens.”

Shielding her mouth with her hand, Bella replied discreetly, “Sam, I do not doubt you for a second, but it is against the house rules.”

“Christ, Bella, you’ve got more house rules than a dog has fleas. Come on. Be reasonable. My luck will turn. All I need is a thousand.” He stretched closer, drew her near until his lips brushed against her ear. “You can trust me.”

When he tried to kiss her, she backed away, wagging a finger at him, forcing herself to laugh when what she wanted to do was pull every hair out of his handsome head.

“Very well, mon cher,” she said, feeling as smug as a cat playing with a mouse. “But, you must understand, I am a businesswoman. You will have to give me something for—how is it you say—for collateral?”

He thought a moment. “I know.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold watch and laid it on the table before her.

“This watch, it is very beautiful, Sam, but it is not worth so much money.” Turning her hands over, Bella indicated her helplessness with a shrug, then picked up the cards.

“Just hold on one minute,” Sam said, reaching inside his coat. “You want collateral. I’ve got collateral, dammit.”

He pulled a folded paper out of his pocket with a flourish and tossed it across the table.

“There. Heartbreak Ranch. Thirty thousand acres of the finest cattle range in California.”

His tone was proud, boastful. Bella knew the drug had altered his good sense. Before he could change his mind, she asked Howard to hand her a pen and ink.

In a voice loud enough for all those gathered around the table to hear she said, “It is against my better judgment to accept this, Sam. I do so only because you insist, you understand.” At his nod, she added, “Très bien.” With icy calm, she shoved the pen and ink toward Sam, then began to count out a thousand dollars in chips.

Sam stared down at the deed for a moment or two as if trying to focus. His hand shook as he scrawled his name across the bottom of the page.

“All signed and legal,” he said, thrusting it away from him.

Bella blotted the ink, then refolded the deed. With her eyes on Sam, she slipped it down the bodice of her gown, between her breasts.

Over the next half hour, Bella made certain Sam regained some of his confidence and some of his money.

“I told you my luck would turn,” he crowed, his voice too loud, his forehead and upper lip sheened with sweat. Before the next deal, he bet all his chips on the jack of hearts. The risky bet started a flurry of whispers. Within seconds a crowd gathered around the table. The air crackled with excitement.

A stillness akin to death descended upon the Cock O’ The Walk as the crowd waited. Bella made an elaborate show of shuffling the cards, cutting the deck and placing it inside the box. Moving her finger off the tiger’s eye, she saw that the next card up was a jack.

Obviously Sam’s senses were not yet entirely impaired. He had calculated the odds of being dealt the winning card. Too bad for him that he had not calculated the odds of her discovering his deceit.

Pressing her thumb on the hidden lever, Bella dropped a six on top of the jack and dealt the two cards as one.

The onlookers moaned in chorus when they saw the six. Sam cursed.

“Six wins,” Bella declared in a casual tone that belied her elation.

No one had bet on six. Quickly she swept the cards into a pile. “The game, it is fini. Better luck another time.”

Seconds later, she and Sam were the only two left at the table. He looked shaken, his dark eyes unfocused, yet haunted. She watched him run an unsteady hand through his hair before trying to collect himself.

With an imploring gaze he stared across the table at her.

“If I didn’t know you better—know how honest you are, I’d be real worried right now. Heartbreak Ranch is all I’ve got.”

Her heart tripped over itself. She almost wavered.

Think of Amy’s future. Think of what would have happened if you had not discovered the truth.

The legendary Bella Duprey would have become the Barbary Coast’s legendary fool.

Sam closed his eyes and groaned.

“Come, chéri,” Bella coaxed, sidling up close to him. “Let us go now up to my suite.”

With both hands planted on the painted tabletop, Sam shoved himself out of his seat and staggered to his feet. “About my deed, Bella...”

“Oui, chéri.” She patted her bodice. “I have it right here, next to my heart, safe and sound.”

Bella helped Sam up the stairs to where Toddy was waiting. Tongue lolling, the dog bounded down the hall, leading the way.

Once Sam was stretched out on her bed, his head turned sideways against the ruffled satin pillow, she crossed the room and lit the lamp on the table next to the window. When the crimps saw the light they would know the time had come.

Next, she knelt beside the old trunk in the corner and lifted the lid. Toddy sat down beside her. With a glance toward the man on the bed, she reached in and took out her life’s work, a personal journal entitled The Art of Fascination. Inside the leather-bound book were the secrets of her success, the information and procedures that had earned her the title of Queen of the Barbary Coast, and had made her a legend.

Lamplight flickered over her meticulously written notes of men’s likes and dislikes, their reactions and responses, as well as the various techniques she employed to enhance their sexual pleasure.

With the help of a Chinese herbalist she had developed recipes for wines, potions, elixirs and scents that worked as aphrodisiacs and stimulants.

Her fingers toyed with the springy curls atop the poodle’s head. Even he had proved useful—giving her ideas about how to control a man’s behavior. Through the years she had discovered that most men responded best to simple commands, just like a dog.

Along with the deed to Heartbreak Ranch, The Art of Fascination would be part of Amy’s inheritance, which was why she’d written it in English. Bella smiled as she slipped the document into the journal, tucked it in among her other treasures and closed the lid of the trunk.

Sam moaned pitifully and doubled up, drawing his knees to his chest. Bella stood and walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down beside him.

“Poor Sam,” she whispered as she smoothed his shining black hair off his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy. He had begun to tremble. He was too far gone to fight her.

Before the crimps came, before Sam lost consciousness, she wanted him to know that she knew of his plans.

“I loved you, Sam,” she told him. “I think I’ll always love you.”

“I’m...sick, Bella,” Sam ground out, his teeth rattling. “G-get a d-doctor.”

Bella smiled sympathetically, then shook her head. “What you have is not fatal, though I was tempted, believe me.”

He stopped writhing long enough to squint up at her.

“What...are you...talking about?”

“The drug I had Felice put in your drink. You’re going to get much worse before you get better. Tomorrow, by the time you regain consciousness, I expect you’ll be on your way to the port of Shanghai. I hope you don’t get seasick on top of everything else.” She touched her fingertips to her lips, then placed them upon his mouth. “I will miss you, mon cher.”

“You bitch!” He tried to raise himself up on his elbow, but collapsed. “You poisoned me?”

“I’m afraid so, Sam. But, as I said, it will not kill you. Although by this time tomorrow, you will wish it had.”

He moaned again.

Bella nodded at him. “I know all about your plan to seduce me, to humiliate me. What was it you called me? A two-dollar—no, a two-bit whore? I assure you, Sam, I am worth far more than two bits.”

His face twisted. “I would have won that bet, too.”

Bella smiled. “I am afraid I will have the last laugh after all.”

Toddy growled at a noise outside. Bella got up and walked over to the window. She pulled aside the Belgian lace curtains, then opened the window. Two swarthy figures appeared out of the fog and crawled inside. The smell of sweat, fish and the sea eddied about them.

“He’s ready,” Bella said, pointing to the bed. “Take him. Quickly. Please.” She was trembling so badly she had to grasp the back of a chair for support.

Unable to watch, she pressed her palm against her heart and headed for the opposite door.

“Come, Toddy.” He pranced across the room to her side. “That’s my good boy,” she said, praising the dog in the honeyed tone she used whenever he did exactly as she commanded.

The crimps took hold of Sam Heart and jerked him to his feet. He retched and vomited on his shining black boots as well as the crimps’ worn ones, earning himself a rap on the side of the head.

“Damn you, Bella Duprey!” Sam cursed. He struggled futilely as the seamen dragged him to the window. “I hope you go to hell for this,” he gasped.

“I think it is you, Sam, who is going to hell.”

Her heart breaking, Bella lingered in the doorway with her fingers clutching the brass doorknob. As the crimps shoved Sam Heart out into the night, the man mustered one last burst of energy.

He lashed out, kicking and swearing. The toe of his boot caught on the edge of the table beside the window and sent the kerosene lamp atop it crashing to the floor.

Glass shattered. Kerosene spilled. Immediately, tongues of orange flame licked up the lace curtains, raced down across the polished wooden floor and encircled the wooden chest.

Horrified, Bella screamed and ran toward the fire. She could think of only one thing—saving her precious trunk filled with memories of the past and hopes for the future.

Amy’s Story

Chelley Kitzmiller

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

Barbary Coast

San Francisco, California

One week later

“I GOTTA WARN YOU, missy. There ain’t much left to see.”

Amelia Duprey sat perched on the edge of the buggy seat, her gloved hands tightly clenched around Toddy’s braided silk leash. Despite the warning, when the buggy rounded the curve, she gasped at the sight of the charred ruins of the Cock O’ The Walk. It was almost as shocking as coming home from school to the news of her mother’s death only hours before.

Howard Evans reined the horse to the side of the road and set the brake. “Hard to take, ain’t it?”

Amy nodded, unable to speak. Only the stairs were left standing. As a child, she used to hide behind a potted palm at the top of them and watch her mother greet the customers.

Toddy’s whine drew Amy’s attention away from the rubble. “I know, boy. I know.” She put a comforting arm around the dog and patted his shoulder. In a sitting position, the curly canine was as tall as Amy.

“I couldn’t bring myself to ask you before,” Amy ventured, “but...do you know how the fire got started?”

“Well, I—” Howard hesitated, regarding her with a look of uncertainty. “Considering it happened so suddenlike, I ’spect someone knocked over a kerosene lamp.”

“Was there a fight?”

Howard shook his head. “Your mama didn’t allow no fights. Fact is, everything was goin’ as planned—I mean...just fine.”

Amy’s brow puckered in question but before she could speak, Howard went on to explain.

“She’d finished dealing for the night and went upstairs,” he said, his gaze on the ruins. “It weren’t an hour later when she come running back down, leading Toddy with one hand, dragging her trunk with the other and screaming, ‘Fire!’” He paused and took a deep breath as if to muster the courage to finish. “Everyone panicked and started running every which way. I grabbed the cash box and ran out the side door to go ring the fire bell. By the time I got back, the place was ablaze. Bella weren’t nowhere in sight, but she’d tied Toddy up to the handle on her trunk so I figured she was all right.” He bowed his head. “I figured wrong,” he said on a down note. “She’d gone back inside.”

“Why would she go back in?” Amy asked.

“For that.” With a glance behind him, Howard indicated the blanket-wrapped bundle in the rear seat. “Next thing I knew she come running out of the building dragging that painting of hers. By the time I got to her she was on her knees gasping for air. I done everything I could to try to save her, but there weren’t nothing I could do. She died in my arms.”

Thinking about the horror of that night, of the terrible way her mother had died, Amy shuddered. She would never understand why her mother had risked her life to save a painting. But then there was a lot Amy would never understand about her mother, which was exactly the way it was meant to be. Bella Duprey’s mystique was part of her success.

Amy turned to Evans. “I’m ready now,” she said in a steady voice. “We can go.”

He continued to hold the reins still. “I know it ain’t my place to tell you what to do, but I owe it to Bella to try to talk some sense into you. It’s only been a week since you got here. Seems to me that you should give yourself some time to think about what you want to do with your life before you go off to a ranch you ain’t even seen. Your ma left you more than enough money to see you through. And you’d have even more if you decided to sell the property.”

“Sell the ranch? Oh, no, Howard. I couldn’t possibly sell it,” she said, shaking her head. “Settling down on a ranch was Mama’s dream. I know you think I’m acting irrationally, but I really have thought things out. If I don’t like what I see, I can always come back here.”

“I know all about your mama’s dreams, believe me. But things are different now,” the gray-haired man argued. “It’s not up to you—”

Amy placed her gloved hand over his. “Howard, Mama gave me everything I ever wanted. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I have to try to make her dream come true.”

“You’re just as stubborn as Bella was,” he said with a rueful smile, then snapped the reins.

Minutes later they arrived at the stage station. Two burly men hefted Amy’s trunk and her

mother’s smaller one to the top of the coach. When they reached for the painting, she cautioned them to take extra care and watched as they stood it upright between her trunks.

Satisfied it was secure, she led Toddy around to the side of the coach. “Up, boy,” she commanded, patting the floor. Toddy needed no urging. He jumped up into the Concord and sat down. “He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever seen,” she said, turning to Evans.

“Bella was plumb crazy ’bout that fool dog. Spent a lot of time training him.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and a small cloth bundle. “Here’s a list of basic tricks and commands you need to know right off to make him mind you. And here’s some of his favorite treats. Your mama made them special. He’ll do just about anything to get one, so you best hide them where he can’t see or smell them or he’ll drive you crazy with his beggin’. Everything else you need to know ’bout him is in Bella’s journal. You should know, Missy, that your mama put a lot of work into that journal. I believe she intended it to be useful for you one day, although I’m not quite sure how. As far as I know, it’s just full of dog commands.” Evans regarded Toddy with a look of dismay. “To hear Bella talk about that animal, you’d think he was human. Claimed he was the best thing that ever happened to her. Said he taught her more about men than all the courtesans in France.” The moment the words left his mouth, he reddened with embarrassment.

“Is that so?” Amy barely managed to hold back a smile. “In that case—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—he’ll be quite an asset because I know nothing at all about men.” With that, she lifted her skirt and climbed up into the coach.

A red-faced Evans stood at the stage door until she was settled. “If you need me for anything—

anything at all—I’ll be working downtown at the What Cheer House.”

The moment had come. Amy didn’t speak for fear she would cry. She had known Howard Evans all her life and thought of him as the father she never had.

“Thank you for loving Mama and taking care of her all these years.” She tried to stem the welling tears but could not. “I know in her own way she loved you, too.”

“That she did, honey. That she did.” Howard squeezed her hand, then stepped back as the Concord lurched forward.

* * *

IT WAS NOON when the stage pulled into Havilah, a busy mining town high in the Tehachapi Mountains. It stopped in front of the Golden Gate Hotel. As the passengers disembarked, the hotel proprietor, Leopold Wattiez, announced that he provided the best accommodations in town along with French-cooked meals.

Amy decided that a French-cooked meal was exactly what she needed before continuing on to the ranch. She tied Toddy to the post next to the water trough and went inside.

“Voilà!” said the rotund cook a few minutes later, as he set the plate down in front of her. Amy was hard-pressed to see what was French about the roast beef and potato dish, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Recalling some of the French phrases her mother had taught her, she praised his efforts and earned a beaming smile plus all the information she needed about the town, where to shop and where to hire a wagon and driver.

Not knowing exactly what supplies she would need, she decided to buy a little of everything so she wouldn’t have to come back for a while. Then she hired a boy with a spring wagon to load up her things and drive her out to the ranch.

An hour later, they came within view of Heartbreak Ranch.

“I ain’t been out here for a long time, but I’m purty sure this is it,” said the boy, pointing a finger.

Amy gasped in delight at the small white house surrounded by ancient oaks and emerald-green hills covered with bright orange poppies, blue lupine and owl’s clover. Dozens of fat steers stood grazing, not even looking up as the wagon drew close.

It’s Mama’s dream come true, she thought, wishing her mother were here to share this moment with her.

Riding in the back of the wagon, Toddy ran back and forth, barking with excitement.

“Toddy, quiet,” Amy commanded, then realized he probably thought the steers were big dogs and wanted to chase them. Until he got used to them—and they to Toddy—she’d have to tie him up.

The closer they got, the more Amy saw that the house’s beauty was an illusion, caused by distance and wishful thinking. Up close, it was nothing more than a tumbledown shack. Overcome with disappointment, she now felt relieved that her mother wasn’t there to see her dream shattered.

So this is Heartbreak Ranch. She shook her head. She’d wondered about the name. Now she knew. It broke her heart just looking at it—the chipped and peeling whitewash, the dilapidated front porch, the weatherworn door branded with a broken heart. Maybe she should have taken Howard’s advice and stayed in San Francisco.

“Where do you want me to put your things?” the boy asked.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to turn the wagon around and head back to Havilah. Instead, she surprised herself by saying, “Anywhere will be fine.” Before she could change her mind, she climbed out of the wagon. Toddy leaped out of the wagon bed, nearly toppling her in his excitement to get down. She grabbed his leash and gently commanded him to settle down, but it was an effort in futility. Straining against his leash, he pulled her across the yard to the house, where he used his long nose to push the door open.

The inside of the house was even worse than the outside. Thick dust and dirt covered everything. A stack of old newspapers lay on the table, the edges chewed away. The furniture—what there was of it—was crudely made and the earthen floor was covered with animal droppings and litter.

The thought that this was her legacy made Amy groan. “Oh, Toddy, I don’t know....”

“That’s the last of it,” the boy said, walking up behind her.

Only when he held out his hand, did Amy remember that she needed to pay him. She reached into her reticule, pulled out three coins and dropped them into his palm.

“Much obliged, ma’am. Let me know if you need me for anything else, you hear?”

Amy could only nod. The fact was, she needed so much she didn’t know what to ask for first. Dazed, she stared after him as he climbed into the wagon and released the brake. He was beyond shouting distance when she thought to ask how she was supposed to contact him.

Toddy snapped her out of her thoughts when he jumped up on his hind legs and dropped his big paws on her shoulders.

“Good grief! What are you doing?” she asked, struggling to push him off. “Down, Toddy. Get down.”

She barely finished speaking when a raccoon scampered out of its hiding place and ran between them, then out the door.

Amy screamed and jumped back.

Toddy yipped and lurched forward, yanking his leash out of her hand. He ran after the creature at a full gallop.

Amy chased him, yelling for him to stop. Finally, the raccoon darted up an oak tree and sat on a branch looking smugly down at the dog.

“Bad dog!” Amy scolded between gasps. She tried to pull him away from the tree, but he fought her every step, twisting and turning, barking and yipping. She had no idea how to control the animal. Nothing on the list Howard had given her covered chasing raccoons up trees. Remembering that his other commands were in her mother’s journal, she decided to look them up at the first opportunity. On her way back to the house, she stopped at the pile of baggage and supplies and opened her satchel. She pocketed a handful of Toddy’s bite-size treats, thinking they might come in handy if Toddy gave her any more trouble.

Looking up at the sky, she figured she had about an hour before nightfall. After her town meal, she wasn’t hungry, which meant she wouldn’t have to tackle the kitchen area just yet. That was a relief, since it was the dirtiest.

She supposed the first thing to do was to put the bedroom in order so she would have a clean place to sleep. She tied Toddy to a porch post and fed him the leftover beef she’d saved from her supper.

It took less time than anticipated to clean the bedroom and make up the bed. As soon as she finished, she went outside to get her mother’s painting. Having already decided against hanging it in the main room because of the difficulty she would have explaining it to anyone who saw it, she opted for the bedroom.

Lifting the heavy, gilt-framed, life-size nude up to the nail above the bed proved to be a challenge. It took her three tries before she succeeded, then she jumped down off the bed and stood back to admire her efforts.

“You’re home, Mama,” she said, feeling a little foolish talking to an inanimate object. “I know it’s not exactly what you had in mind, but I promise you that one day it will be everything you dreamed of and more.”

A pistol shot interrupted her one-sided conversation.

Amy shrieked, jumped back and flattened herself against the wall next to the window. Outside, Toddy barked furiously. Dear God, don’t let him get shot. Cautiously, Amy sidled up next to the window and peeked out. At first, all she saw was Toddy fighting against his rope. Then she saw a half dozen men on horseback galloping toward the house, their guns drawn. Who were they? What did they want? She looked around for something to use as a weapon, then realized the futility of it. If they meant to do her harm, she was virtually at their mercy.

As she waited, something drew her gaze to the painting. Be brave, chérie. I am with you. I will always be with you.

Outside, an angry voice called out, “Whoever you are, get out here.”

Amy straightened her spine, smoothed back her hair and headed for the door.

The riders, still astride their horses, formed a semicircle several yards from the porch step. The sun had slipped below the horizon making it impossible for her to see their faces clearly.

“Who are you and what do you want?” In spite of her resolve, her voice cracked.

One of the six nudged his horse a step forward. “Name’s Walker Heart and you’re trespassin’ on my property.”

“There must be some mistake,” Amy replied without hesitation.

“Damn right there is,” the man rejoined. “And you made it. Now get the hell off my land.”

Amy gasped. No one had ever spoken to her in such a crude manner. Forgetting to be cautious, she stomped out onto the porch, where Toddy’s loud, insistent barks provoked her all the more.

“Toddy, quiet,” she commanded so sternly that the curly, white canine lay down and put his head between his paws. “And you, Mr. Heart,” she said, pointing an accusing finger, “I’ll thank you to mind your language. You happen to be speaking to a lady.”

Walker Heart’s eyes widened in surprise at the blue-eyed blonde decorating his front porch. From a distance she hadn’t appeared to be anything

special—just another squatter’s wife. He’d ordered the last squatters off his property a month ago and threatened to shoot them if he ever saw them on his land again. He was sick and tired of folks trying to take what didn’t belong to them and had decided to get tough even if it meant gaining a reputation as a bully.

Damned if she isn’t the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, he thought. And the maddest. Feet slightly apart, arms akimbo, she looked ready to do battle. But so was he. He rearranged himself in the saddle and leaned forward over the saddle horn. “I’m only gonna to tell you one more time. This is my land and I want you off it. Now.”

His land. Amy’s heart sank. Was it possible that this wasn’t Heartbreak Ranch after all? Had the boy made a mistake and brought her to the wrong ranch?

She was about to tell the rude Mr. Walker Heart that she would gladly leave if she had the means to do so when a thought struck her. Heart was the name on the deed.

“Are you related to a Sam Heart?” she ventured, hoping two and two would make four.

Walker cast a sideways look at the Indian next to him, then turned back to her. “He’s my pa.”

“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 considered 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 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.”

CHAPTER THREE

AMY KEPT HER MIND busy by doing what she could to fix things inside and outside the house. But there was a lot that needed doing and a body could only do so much without new lumber, whitewash and muscle.

Most of all the roof needed fixing. It was full of acorn-size holes, as was the wood siding. The whole house seemed to be a haven for an army of tireless, redheaded woodpeckers. A long-dead oak tree standing nearby served as their multilevel home, though Amy would have sworn they rarely used it. The birds spent the mornings pecking holes in the roof, the afternoons pecking holes in the siding and the evenings feeding their screaming babies—a whole new generation of wood-pecking pests.

The days went by quickly, spent chasing the birds away and doing chores. It was the nights she dreaded, when there was nothing to occupy her mind, nothing to keep her from thinking about Walker Heart, his words, his kiss, his embrace, his desire for her. Her desire for him. Each night loomed longer and lonelier than the one before it.

It had been two weeks since Walker’s last visit but it seemed much longer. Toddy by her side, Amy sat on the porch step, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the most spectacular sunset she’d ever seen. The sun’s last rays ignited the low clouds clustered over the Tehachapi Mountains, setting them ablaze with bright orange light. It was the kind of sunset poets wrote about, to be appreciated by lovers, not by a lone woman and her dog.

Amy put her arm around Toddy and pulled him close. “Oh, Toddy, what have I gotten myself into?” Toddy licked her hand and she reached up and scratched him behind his ears. “I can’t stop thinking about him no matter what I do.” Toddy stared at her, head cocked to one side as if considering her dilemma. He made a funny, whiny sound that made Amy smile. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m feeling sorry for myself.” She kissed him on the snout, then got up. “Come on, boy. Time for supper.”

Amy took one last, wistful look at the disappearing sunset, then stepped into the shack.

* * *

A THUNDEROUS NOISE pounded the roof. Amy woke with a start and bolted upright. Toddy scampered out from under the covers and barked.

The pounding continued, but it didn’t sound like any thunder she’d ever heard. The woodpeckers? No, it couldn’t be. Even if they all attacked the roof at the same time, they couldn’t make that kind of noise. A hailstorm maybe?

Amy sprang out of bed and ran barefoot into the other room. Dirt and dust fell like heavy snow from the ceiling onto the table, the chairs—everywhere she had spent so much time cleaning. Fearing the roof might collapse at any second, she caught hold of

Toddy’s collar, opened the door and ran outside.

It was with something like dismay that Amy saw there was no army of birds, no dark, thunderous storm clouds, no hailstorm. Nothing! What then? An animal? She shrank back toward the door, pulling Toddy with her. Maybe the raccoon had come back and was on the roof. Or maybe something bigger—like a bear! Not wanting to take any chances, she turned to run inside.

The pounding stopped.

“Amy. You finally up?”

Both Amy and Toddy looked up and stared at the porch’s overhang as if they could see the speaker through the wood and shingle.

Not a raccoon. Not a bear. But a polecat named Walker Heart!

Toddy let loose with a series of howls and Amy stomped down the porch step into the open. A few paces out, she turned, shaded her eyes and glared up at Walker, who was straddling the peak of the roof.

“Mornin’.” Walker lifted a gloved hand. “I know it’s a mite early, but I wanted to—”

“Quiet!” Amy shouted at Toddy to stop his howling. Much to her surprise, the command silenced both Toddy and Walker. “What are you doing up there?”

Walker grinned. “Fixin’ the roof.”

“But it’s—it’s barely even light out.” Amy gestured at the sun, just beginning to creep over the horizon.

“It’s a big job. I needed to get an early start.”

“Well, you’ve certainly done that. I don’t suppose you could have given me some warning?”

“I told you that until I heard from the Pinkerton man, I was gonna run this ranch the way I always have. The roof has to be fixed before the next brandin’.”

Amy bristled at the reminder of the Pinkerton man, ignoring most of what else he said. Second to Walker’s kissing her, she’d thought of little else. “You still could have had the courtesy to tell me,” she snapped. “I spent a lot of time cleaning things up, and now, because of your hammering, there’s dirt all over everything.”

“So I see,” he intoned, his gaze traveling downward.

Confused by his answer and his too-intimate expression, Amy bent her head and looked down at herself. It wasn’t the dirt that made her draw in her breath, but that she was wearing her nightgown.

She could have screamed. Would have screamed if she hadn’t been so embarrassed. She grabbed

Toddy’s collar, made a dash for the house, then bolted the door behind her.

“I should have known he’d do something like this,” she said, looking down at Toddy. “He probably thinks if he makes our lives miserable enough we’ll just pick up and leave.” Toddy gave a low growl that Amy interpreted as agreement. She shook her head and patted him comfortingly. “No, don’t worry. We’re not leaving. We have every right to be here. Sort of.”

Feeling calmer after her talk with Toddy, she dashed around the house gathering up all her personal belongings, then piled them in the bedroom and covered them up. She draped a blue-checkered tablecloth over her mother’s painting and spread an old blanket over her bed quilt. The journal lay on the trunk beside the bed. She hadn’t had time to read it in its entirety, but perhaps today would be the day since she could do little else thanks to Walker.

Moments later Amy left the house carrying a blanket, a food basket and the journal. Toddy prancing by her side, she marched like an infantry soldier toward a grassy knoll near the corral. Considering Walker’s curiosity of what was in her bedroom, she wanted to stay close enough to the house to keep an eye on him.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Walker called after her.

Amy jutted out her chin and kept walking, her sights set on an oak tree. The tree’s leafy branches would provide shade and its trunk would make a solid backrest. She laid her blanket beneath the tree and sat down.

“Sit, Toddy.” As soon as he sat, she removed his leash, confidant he’d stay close. Two days ago he’d learned his lesson about chasing cattle when one of them chased him. Since then, he’d been content to observe them from afar.

After situating herself, Amy opened the journal to the section entitled “My Life—Bella Duprey” and began reading.

My darling Amy,

If you are reading this, it is because I am unable to educate you in the Art Of Fascination. It is not my wish that you follow in my footsteps and become a courtesan. I want more for you than that. I want you to have a home, a husband and a family—all the things I never had. Because I know you want this, too, I have written this journal in the hopes that it will help you attract, manage and keep the man you love.

Here, in these pages, you will find the secrets of my success—methods and techniques in the art of understanding and pleasing a man. Some of them may shock you. Others you may find laughable. But trust me, done properly, they all work! One word of caution—if you are not desirous of a particular man’s attentions, be wary of casual experimentation.

Amy hadn’t realized that the journal was written specifically for her, although Howard had suggested as much. That her mother would go to so much work for her benefit brought a smile to her lips and tears to her eyes.

She turned the page and was immediately engrossed in her mother’s writings. She read that her mother had made a habit of observing men—their likes, dislikes and responses. With this knowledge, she felt she could assess a man’s temperament as well as determine the best way to enhance his sexual pleasure. Each page confirmed just how dedicated her mother had been to her profession. She’d left nothing to chance. After purchasing the Cock O’ The Walk, she’d hired a Chinese herbalist to help her develop aphrodisiacs, elixirs and potions to soothe the mind, heal the body and heighten sexual pleasure.

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.

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