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?”