Heartbreak Ranch. Fern Michaels
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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