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
