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
