brews. Then a thought crossed her mind. Might there be a potion she could mix up and use on Walker to soften his heart? She quickly turned the page, chiding herself for even thinking such a thing. If there was such a magical formula, she could never bring herself to use it.
Amy figured it was well past noon by the way the shadows fell. She had to read only another twenty pages or so of the journal and she’d be finished. Tired of sitting, she stretched out on her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows.
Toddy lay down beside her and rested his long nose between his front paws.
To become accomplished in the Art of Fascination, you must be willing to explore even the most unconventional methods. Several years ago an idea came to me quite by accident, after a devoted gentleman friend gave me Toddy.
Curious as to how Toddy figured into things, Amy leaned closer to the page, not wanting to miss a single word. Nothing could have surprised her more than to read her mother’s theory that a man could be trained in much the same way as a dog. She laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it but continued to read—page after page of instruction on how to correct a man’s behavioral problems with training methods similar to those used for a dog.
It is all in the communication. You must make very clear what you want. And use short commands because men, like dogs, sometimes get confused.
Now Amy knew what Howard meant when he said Toddy taught Bella more about men than all the courtesans in France.
“Toddy, sit,” Amy said, putting her mother’s theory to test. The big poodle sat down. “Good boy,” she congratulated him. “Speak.” He began to bark. “Quiet,” she told him and he stopped.
It was then she remembered that this morning she had seen for herself how commanding Toddy to be quiet had inadvertently silenced Walker, as well. And when Walker had ruined her only decent batch of biscuits, she’d ordered him to sit and he’d sat!
“Good heavens!” she whispered, stunned. Her mother’s theory did indeed appear to work, but— How awful! How demeaning! She could never bring herself to use such underhanded tactics to—
Uninvited, a trio of recent and rather demeaning events popped into her head: Walker refusing to move his horse so she could get the deed from her trunk; Walker chastising her for not knowing the difference between green wood and seasoned wood; and Walker inspecting her biscuits, then having the audacity to call them puny.
One corner of her mouth drew taut and her eyes narrowed to slits as she gave in to her devilish thoughts...and the delightful possibilities.
She went back to the first line where Toddy was mentioned and pored over the lessons, laughing even as she committed them to memory.
It was late afternoon when she finished and started back to the house. Approaching the corral, Amy stopped short when she looked up and saw Walker standing on the roof unbuttoning his shirt. She went breathlessly still as she watched him peel it off. His sweat-slick arms were heavy with muscle, and a dark thatch of hair covered his chest, narrowing as it ran down his stomach and disappeared into his pants. He looked hot, tired and entirely too appealing for any man to look, especially after a day of hard physical labor.
“I’m just about finished,” he said, crumpling the shirt into a ball, then tossing it down. “Here. Catch.”
Hypnotized by the wide expanse of Walker’s chest and the rugged breadth of his shoulders, Amy didn’t see the garment until it dropped on top of her head. While fighting to get it off, she heard Walker laughing. She threw the shirt to the ground and glared up at him.
His laughter stopped abruptly when he lost his footing. Amy’s mouth opened to shout a warning but nothing came out. She watched fearfully as he struggled to maintain his balance, his arms windmilling. In the end, he was unable to save himself and gave in to the roof’s slippery slant.
The ground under her feet seemed to vibrate with the force of his landing.
“Walker!” She hiked up her skirts and ran to his side.
Flat on his back, spread-eagle, he lay still as death. In a panic, she knelt beside him. “Walker?” His eyes were wide open but he didn’t seem to see her.
“Walker, oh, no, please.” Amy looked him over for signs of broken bones and blood, but there were no visible injuries. With shaky hands, she carefully turned his head toward her. “Walker, please say you’re all right.”
He lifted his hand and clasped it around her arm, squeezing tight as he gulped air back into his lungs.
“I—I’m all—right,” he managed at last, releasing his hold on her arm. “Just got...the wind... knocked—” He started to cough.
Amy bowed her head and thanked God. For all the anger and mistrust between them, she didn’t wish him harm. When she looked up again, she saw Toddy standing next to Walker’s head. In an uncharacteristic display of affection, he licked Walker’s face.
“Get him...stop—” Walker sputtered between gasps.
“Toddy! Don’t do that,” Amy commanded, but instead of obeying her, he did it again.
“Damn dog... I’m gonna—kill—” Walker choked out as he rolled over onto the hem of Amy’s skirt.
“Toddy! No!” Amy shouted.
Toddy turned and headed for the house, his tail between his legs.
“I’m sorry. He must really like you.” She looked down and saw Walker’s head lying on her skirt in the junction between her thighs. She took in a startled breath, then tried to hide her shock when he glanced up at her.
“Just give me a minute,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
Unable to speak, she could only nod.
Minutes later Walker was breathing more normally. He made a face as he lifted his head off her skirt and raised himself on one elbow.
“Let me help you,” Amy offered, reaching toward him. She wasn’t sure how much assistance she could give, considering he probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more. But she would do what she could.
“No. Leave me be.”
Amy ignored him. “Oh, don’t be silly.” She jumped to her feet, bent down in front of him and was reaching toward him when he swore at her under his breath.
“I said leave me be.” He waved her away, then, amid grunts and groans, rolled to his knees and began easing himself up.
Hands clenched together against her heart, Amy watched his struggle and felt his pain almost as strongly as if it were her own. Why he would refuse her help, she could only guess. Masculine pride, perhaps. Or maybe just bullheadedness. Whatever the reason, it simply wasn’t good enough.
He was halfway between a stoop and a stand and making poor progress when Amy bent down in front of him, wrapped her arms around his bare middle and helped lift him to his feet. Even after they were standing, she continued to hold him close to her, afraid to let him go.
With her cheek pressed against his chest, she could feel the vibration of his voice, hear the rapid beating of
