Fern Michaels - Heartbreak Ranch

“I’m sure.” She stood up straight as if to prove her point. He took another step toward her, forcing her to look up at him.

“I just want to add one thing,” he said. “The other day...I said some things...implied some things about you and your ma that I shouldn’t have.”

Those implications, still fresh in her memory, sent a surge of anger through her. “Don’t insult me by saying you didn’t mean them,” Amy snapped, her chin jutting forward with wounded pride. She stared at him, her gaze narrowing. “But tell me, Mr. Heart—I mean, Walker,” she corrected herself. “Do you still think I look like the kind of woman who would offer her—what did you call them?—oh, yes, services in exchange for money? Look at me closely and tell me what you see, because if I do—if I do look like that kind of woman, I— I—” She stopped midsentence, mortified to realize he was doing just as she had asked—looking at her. Intently looking at her. Amy’s mind went blank as her body grew hot. Just because she’d told him to look at her didn’t mean he had to do it like that, with such fervor. Point lost, she had no idea how to continue.

His eyes actually glimmered. What did he see, for heaven’s sake? It was a sure bet he wasn’t seeing the proper, sophisticated, young woman she’d intended him to see. Feeling suddenly breathless and light-headed, she lifted her bodice away from her skin. She could feel her face redden beneath his scrutiny and told herself to turn and walk away, but somehow she couldn’t seem to make herself take that first step.

Walker took it for her. One step closer brought them toe to toe. Amy watched as he raised his hand and cradled her chin between his fingers. “You want to know what I see? I see a smart and beautiful young woman who’s too stubborn and independent for her own good.” His eyes were so light blue they appeared silver. She could see herself on their glittering surface.

“Walker? There’s something I need to tell—” The words died in her throat. She couldn’t do it. Not now.

Walker was mesmerized by the contrast between his rough, suntanned hand—the hand he used to tie up calves and cock a pistol—and her soft, ivory face. To think that she was that same creamy white all over stirred him in ways he had never experienced with any other woman.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” he said, bending his head toward hers. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but he couldn’t help himself. Not even a saint could have resisted such a vulnerable and bewildered look. And there was one other thing. He’d seen it in her eyes the moment he’d gotten down off his horse and confronted her that first day. She was attracted to him. She probably wouldn’t admit it—even to herself—but there were some things that eyes couldn’t hide.

The emotions that came with kissing her took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it sure wasn’t this all-consuming need to hold her against his body and never let her go. He moved his hand away from her chin and explored the soft contours of her jaw and cheek and realized how delicate she was—like the spring poppies that grew on the hillside.

His mouth moved over hers gently yet insistently, coaxing her lips apart, tasting the sweetness just within. When he felt her tremble, he moved his hand around behind her head, steadying her. She opened her mouth to him, moaning softly, pleading unintelligibly for him to stop, even as she stretched up and twined her arms around his neck. Like a schoolboy, he shivered with excitement, but then the man took over and he pulled her close.

The last thing Amy had expected from this day was to find herself in Walker Heart’s arms. What had she said to bring it about? What had he said? For the life of her she couldn’t think of a thing, but with each passing second it mattered less and less. Nobody had ever kissed her like Walker was kissing her, as if she were revered, cherished. There was tenderness in him that confused her, that could almost make her believe he was in love with her.

In some distant region of her mind, Amy knew that was impossible. Walker Heart couldn’t love her. She was his enemy.

Yet, there had to be something there. No man could kiss a woman the way he was kissing her and not feel something for her.

“God, Amy, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, his lips exploring her neck.

You have no idea what you’re doing to me, she repeated to herself. It wasn’t just the kiss or the way he was holding her; it was more than that. It was a sense of well-being, of closeness and of joy. She’d never experienced feelings like these before.

“Walker.” It took every bit of her will to push her hands against his chest. But she had to stop him—and herself—before things got out of control. She knew if she didn’t stop him now it might be impossible to stop him later. He held her a moment longer as if to test her. She remained firm, then took a step backward, breathing heavily. “I think you’d better leave,” she said, her heart aching under her breast.

His hands slipped away. “I think you’re right.”

CHAPTER THREE

AMY KEPT HER MIND busy by doing what she could to fix things inside and outside the house. But there was a lot that needed doing and a body could only do so much without new lumber, whitewash and muscle.

Most of all the roof needed fixing. It was full of acorn-size holes, as was the wood siding. The whole house seemed to be a haven for an army of tireless, redheaded woodpeckers. A long-dead oak tree standing nearby served as their multilevel home, though Amy would have sworn they rarely used it. The birds spent the mornings pecking holes in the roof, the afternoons pecking holes in the siding and the evenings feeding their screaming babies—a whole new generation of wood-pecking pests.

The days went by quickly, spent chasing the birds away and doing chores. It was the nights she dreaded, when there was nothing to occupy her mind, nothing to keep her from thinking about Walker Heart, his words, his kiss, his embrace, his desire for her. Her desire for him. Each night loomed longer and lonelier than the one before it.

It had been two weeks since Walker’s last visit but it seemed much longer. Toddy by her side, Amy sat on the porch step, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the most spectacular sunset she’d ever seen. The sun’s last rays ignited the low clouds clustered over the Tehachapi Mountains, setting them ablaze with bright orange light. It was the kind of sunset poets wrote about, to be appreciated by lovers, not by a lone woman and her dog.

Amy put her arm around Toddy and pulled him close. “Oh, Toddy, what have I gotten myself into?” Toddy licked her hand and she reached up and scratched him behind his ears. “I can’t stop thinking about him no matter what I do.” Toddy stared at her, head cocked to one side as if considering her dilemma. He made a funny, whiny sound that made Amy smile. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m feeling sorry for myself.” She kissed him on the snout, then got up. “Come on, boy. Time for supper.”

Amy took one last, wistful look at the disappearing sunset, then stepped into the shack.

* * *

A THUNDEROUS NOISE pounded the roof. Amy woke with a start and bolted upright. Toddy scampered out from under the covers and barked.

The pounding continued, but it didn’t sound like any thunder she’d ever heard. The woodpeckers? No, it couldn’t be. Even if they all attacked the roof at the same time, they couldn’t make that kind of noise. A hailstorm maybe?

Amy sprang out of bed and ran barefoot into the other room. Dirt and dust fell like heavy snow from the ceiling onto the table, the chairs—everywhere she had spent so much time cleaning. Fearing the roof might collapse at any second, she caught hold of