six horses panicked and broke from their riders’ control, bucking, kicking, tossing their heads. Afraid she and Toddy would be kicked or trampled, Amy yanked on Toddy’s leash and made a dash for the pile of baggage and supplies. Between the horses’ whinnies and snorts, she heard human cuss words so hot they could sizzle bacon.
It took Walker several minutes to regain control of his horse, and his men slightly longer. By the time he dismounted and tied the animal to the hitching post, he was obviously angry.
Amy nearly panicked when Walker strode toward her. The jingle of spurs punctuated his every step like a death knell. Her eyes widened and her stomach flip-flopped when he chomped down on the fingertip of his glove and yanked it off. If ever she wanted to run and hide, it was now.
Toddy took a protective stance in front of her and growled a fierce warning.
“If that overgrown lamb bites me, I’ll truss him up like a Christmas turkey and roast him for supper.”
Amy stiffened. “He’s a French poodle,” she retorted in defense of the insult. “Trained to maim on command,” she added quickly, feeling a desperate need to boost Toddy’s too-soft image.
Walker stopped as she hoped he would.
“Call him off and show me this deed you say my pa signed.”
Keeping her eyes on Walker and her hold on Toddy, Amy opened the trunk and took the deed from inside her mother’s journal. “It’s quite legal, I assure you,” she said, slapping it into his outstretched hand.
Walker unfolded the document, then lowered his gaze to the signature line. There was no mistaking his father’s handwriting. The bold scrawl was entirely his own. Following the name was the date. May 10, 1869. Only two weeks ago, Walker realized. His father had left for San Francisco six weeks ago with the intention of settling a boundary dispute. Once the error was corrected, a new deed was to have been drawn up.
Walker read the document from top to bottom looking for something that would tell him why his father had sold the ranch. There was nothing. Nothing at all.
He looked at Amy, thinking he should be able to see something in her demeanor to tell him she was lying. But he didn’t. Switching his gaze to the dog, he reminded himself that looks could be deceiving.
Walker’s eyes narrowed to slits. “My pa—did he owe you money or somethin’?”
Amy shook her head.
“Then did he make you promises...in exchange for...you know...services?”
Amy’s brow knitted in confusion. “Services? What kind of—” A gasp escaped her lungs in a whoosh of indignation. “How dare you imply such a thing!” She plucked the deed from his hand. “For your information I’ve never even met your father.”
Taken aback, Walker cocked his head. “You never met him and yet—”
“I inherited the ranch from my mother,” she cut in, resenting the need to give him any kind of an explanation after what he’d just said.
Walker removed his hat and slapped it against his leg, drawing Amy’s attention to the ominous-looking six-shooter that was strapped there.
“You inherited it from your mother,” he parroted. “Did my pa owe your mother money, or—”
“I have no idea,” Amy returned. “She died in a fire only hours before I arrived home in San Francisco.” Amy bent her head forward. “All I know is that the deed was among the things she left me.”
Walker scratched his ear as he considered her words. He found himself almost believing her. But there were still too many unanswered questions—questions that she either had no answers for or wasn’t going to answer because she was hiding something.
“So it’s just you and your...uh...dog, right?” At her nod, he added, “You know anything about workin’ cattle?”
Working cattle. Amy’s bravado faltered. “I figured I’d get myself settled, then make some inquiries as to what I’d need to do.”
When a chorus of laughter rang out around her, she realized how impossibly foolish she must have sounded. Until now, she’d never even given a thought to how she was going to care for the cattle, let alone work them. But she’d be the last one to admit to Walker Heart that the only thing she knew about cattle was that she liked her beef cooked medium rare.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I didn’t. But it’s Amelia—Amy Duprey.”
Walker put his hat back on and pulled the brim low. “All right, Miss Duprey. Me and my men are gonna ride on out of here, but don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ that you’ve seen the last of me or that I’m givin’ in.” He turned away from her, walked over to his horse and mounted up.
Amy didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all. Was he making a promise or issuing a threat?
Gathering his reins, Walker wheeled his horse around and rode up next to her. “Deed or no deed, lady, Heartbreak Ranch belongs to me.” He touched his hat brim in mock salute, then spurred his horse into a gallop. His men followed.
The horses kicked up a cloud of dust that forced her to run into the house. By the time it cleared, the riders had disappeared.
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
