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
