She stood at the rail on the back porch, her head bowed, her throat tight with unshed tears as she remembered Sloan’s parting words. You can keep your love, duchess. I don’t want it. When a coyote crooned mournfully in the distance, she shivered, despite the warmth of the summer night.
Just then the kitchen door whispered open behind her. Her breath catching sharply, Heather turned to find Wolf Logan staring at her in the darkness with his intent gaze. Wiping her burning eyes, she closed the folds of her wrapper more tightly over her throat.
“You all right?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“I’m a light sleeper.”
Closing the door softly behind him, he came to stand beside her at the rail. Half-naked, he wore no shirt or boots, merely denim trousers. The corded sinews of his bare arms and torso rippled in the moonlight, brazenly masculine. Modestly Heather averted her gaze. Despite his striking handsomeness, he seemed more than a little savage with his long raven hair and bronzed skin and piercing eyes. Yet somehow she didn’t fear him. On the contrary, she felt inexplicably safe with him.
“Sloan often ride into town to play poker?” Wolf asked.
She preferred not to reply. It was mortifying to have her marital problems on display. “Not often,” she murmured.
“He never used to be much of a gambler. Has he changed that much since I last saw him?”
“I don’t suppose so.”
Wolf must have misunderstood her dismay, for he said consolingly, “I wouldn’t worry too much. Sloan’s not liable to gamble away the ranch. It’s his heritage, after all. And he’d never do anything to jeopardize his daughter’s future.”
She nodded, yet it wasn’t really the thought of Sloan gambling that distressed her. It was the way they had parted. She tried a careless smile. “I confess I have an aversion to gambling, ever since my father gambled away my mother’s fortune.”
“I heard you were obliged to pay your pa’s debts after he died.”
“Yes. I … was able to settle most of them, but Sloan assumed the remainder when we married. I didn’t realize at the time, but it was a burden he was ill-equipped to handle.”
She felt Wolf’s penetrating gaze on her. “I thought Sloan made a mistake marrying you, but now I’m not so sure. He seems different from the last time I saw him. More at peace with himself.”
“I would hardly describe him as being at peace,” Heather answered bitterly.
Wolf gave a quiet huff of laughter. “You didn’t know him after he lost Doe. He was like a madman then. All he lived for was revenge.”
“Perhaps he has changed in that respect. But he … isn’t happy. I’m not Doe, you see. He loved her so very much.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Heather cast Wolf a startled glance.
“Oh, he loved her well enough, I reckon. They were happy together. But guilt can do strange things to a man. Shade his memory a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think maybe he only remembers the good parts about their marriage, about Doe herself. He blames himself for her murder, and afterward he built her up in his mind. Put her up on some pedestal, like some goddess.”
“Saint,” Heather murmured.
“What?”
“She’s always seemed like a saint to me. An ideal which I’ll never be able to live up to.”
“I think he cares for you a lot more than he lets on.”
Mutely Heather shook her head. Perhaps Sloan had exaggerated the depth of his love for his murdered wife because of guilt, but she couldn’t believe he’d come to truly care for her. Not after tonight, when he’d spurned her love so unequivocally.
She forced a rueful smile. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trying to raise my spirits.”
His slow masculine smile was dazzling. Heather felt her heart skip a beat at the display of white teeth in his bronzed, striking face. “My pleasure, ma’am.”
The congenial moment was broken, however, by the slow sound of hoofbeats and wagon wheels in the distance. Several minutes later, a buckboard swung into the yard and lumbered to a halt before the back porch.
Heather recognized the driver. In the moonlight she could make out Jake McCord’s handsome features. She could also see the figure of a man lying prone in the rear of the buckboard. Sloan?
Her heart leapt to her throat, while her hand reached out to clutch Wolf’s arm. “Dear God, he’s not…?”
“No,” Jake answered quickly as he jumped down from the seat. “He’s fine. Just had a bit too much to drink, I’m afraid.”
She couldn’t reply. Instead she watched mutely as Jake pulled his brother to his feet and caught him around the waist.
Shaking his head groggily, Sloan roused enough to drape an arm around the other man’s shoulder. He mumbled something under his breath but allowed Jake to support him up the steps to the back porch.
When they passed her, Heather went rigid as she caught the scent of cheap perfume mingled with the stench of whiskey. Sloan had been with a woman, she could smell it. She remembered the odor from her own visit to the saloon and Della Perkins.
The sudden slicing pain low in her stomach was like the twist of a knife.
In the kitchen doorway, Jake paused with his burden to call over his shoulder, “Should I put him to bed?”
She felt Wolf’s dark gaze on her, yet she forced a hoarse reply. “Yes, please, I would appreciate it. On second thought, would you put him in the guest bedroom? Janna is asleep in his room and the beds aren’t set up in the other rooms.”
When she glanced apologetically at Wolf, he nodded in agreement. “You want me to bunk at Jake’s place for the rest of the night? Looks like you two have some things to work out.”
Heather shook her head, her throat tight with unshed tears. “You don’t have to leave. Indeed, I wish you would stay. I can make up one of the spare beds.”
“There’s no need to go to so much trouble. I’ll bed down on the floor.”
“The study has a comfortable couch.”
“Even better.” His mouth curved in a smile of sympathy. “I’ll wait in the kitchen till you get Sloan settled.”
She fabricated her own smile to hide her mortification and heartache and went inside. Her pride was fiercely wounded, yet her heart was suffering more. Sloan had heard her declaration of love and gone straight to the bed of another woman.
Jealousy and humiliation scored her. He had been with a prostitute, there was no other polite term for it. She might have been reared a lady and sheltered from the seamier sides of life, but she knew well enough what men sought from saloon women. She just hadn’t expected it of Sloan.
A sick ache in the pit of her stomach, Heather unwillingly followed the two brothers upstairs to her bedchamber. She lit a lamp on the dressing table and turned it down low while Jake settled Sloan heavily on the bed.
“Thank you,” she said tightly. “I’ll take care of him now.”
“If you’re sure,” Jake replied skeptically.
“I’m sure.”
When he had gone and shut the door quietly behind him, Heather stood over the sleeping Sloan, not wanting even to touch him. He was lying on his back, fully clothed, on top of the covers, one arm draped over his face. Her mind felt numb, but as she regarded him, her despair grew into a hard, bright little kernel of anger. After his betrayal of her, his peaceful slumber infuriated her.
For a moment she was gripped with a strangling rage so powerful she wanted to scream. She wanted to strike him, to wail and pound her fists against the hard wall of his chest. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and sob out her anguish.
She did neither. Instead, she gritted her teeth and bent to tug off his right boot. She let it drop to the floor with a thud.
Sloan stirred with a groan. He blinked when he spied Heather and turned his head on the pillow to peer around the room in confusion.
“What’m I doing here?” he asked in a rasping voice.
“I asked Jake to put you here. I didn’t want Janna exposed to her drunken father.”
He squinted at her. “You mad at me?”
Heather reached for his other boot, struggling against feelings of fury and pain. “Whyever should I be mad? Simply because you come home completely inebriated, stinking of smoke and liquor and cheap perfume, making a fool of yourself and mortifying me in front of your brother and your friend?”
“In-ee-brated.” He slurred the word, then gave a snort of harsh laughter. “Why d’you always have to use such highfalutin’ words? Why doan you jush say drunk?”
“All right, drunk then.”
She moved around the bed and leaned over him to unbutton his shirt.
He caught her wrist. “Doan be so prudish, duchess.”
Wrenching her arm away, she fixed him with a steely glare. “I’ll thank you not to touch me.”
His mood suddenly seemed to sober as he eyed her narrowly. “I got every right to touch you. You’re my wife. I paid for you, remember?”
Her eyes blinked with the pain he’d given her, yet she kept her spine straight. “You did not pay me enough to associate with a drunken boor who betrays his marriage vows by consorting with saloon women! I’ve had enough. In future, you can find someone else to sleep with.”
She started to turn away, but Sloan’s hand captured her wrist once more. When she tried to pull from his grasp, he only held on more tightly.
“I won’t be barred from your bed,” he said, still slurring his words.
“My bed?” She was white and trembling with anger. “I seem to recall I’m the one who has been barred from your bed. You didn’t wish to sully the memory of your precious Doe, remember?”
He winced, but Heather continued relentlessly. “You needn’t worry that I’ll try to force myself on you. I don’t intend to let you touch me, ever again.”
His blue eyes turned hard and glittering. “I think you’re forgetting something. You still owe me fifteen hundred dollars.”
She felt the color drain from her face. Even on their wedding night, Sloan had used her debt to drive a wedge between them.
Dark fury burned in his bloodshot eyes as his gaze raked down her body. “You’re my bride, bought and paid for.”
“Perhaps so.” She was trembling now. “But I’ve begun repaying you from my weekly salary—and I’ll continue until I’ve returned every penny.”
“At three dollars a week, it’ll take years.”
“Then I’ll look for a job that pays more.”
“I have a better idea,” Sloan retorted, each slurred word cutting like a knife. “You can pay me back in services.”
“What… do you mean?”
“Sex, duchess. You give me sex for canceling your debt. What’d’ya say to ten bucks a shot? That’s one hell of a price for a few minutes on your back.”
Heather clenched her teeth to stop the sudden whimper of pain that bubbled forth. His offer was not just a deliberate insult; he was deadly serious.
His hands unsteady, Sloan fumbled in his pants pocket and drew out a ten-dollar gold piece. Ignoring the stricken look in her eyes, he forced it into her hand.
“What about it, duchess?” His voice, though thick, held a razor edge that tore tiny chunks from her heart. “You wanted to repay your debt. Well, thish is as good a way as any. But I have to warn you, I believe in gettin’ my money’s worth.”
“You want me to whore for you?” A million layers of hurt bled through her tremulous whisper.
“You could call it that—though I doan see how it’s any different than what you been doing for the past five months, even if we do have a marriage license.”
She slapped him them. Hard… with as much strength and fury as she could muster.
The blow to his cheek jerked his head around, while the gold piece fell from her hand. When he looked at her again, his eyes were narrowed and fierce. His grip on her wrist tightened.
Ashen-faced, Heather tried to pull away from him. His eyes had an icy gleam to them that frightened her.
Reflexively she drew her arm back to strike him again, but Sloan muttered an oath and wrenched her down to sprawl on top of him. Heather gasped in outrage and struggled to rise, but his arms wrapped around her waist.
“Let me go!” she cried.
She stuck out at him, letting all her frustration and pain and rage surface in a feeling of explosion; her fists swung at his shoulders, his chest, his jaw—any part of him she could reach.
Venting another curse, Sloan rolled over with her, pinning her beneath his weight. When she twisted under him and tried to claw at his face, he captured her flailing hands to hold her arms above her head.
He no longer looked drunk; he looked dangerous. His eyes seared her, smoky and furious, as he stared down at her.
Heather returned his icy gaze measure for measure. “Damn you, let go of me!” she demanded again. “You have no right to touch me.”
“I’ll touch you if I want! You’re my wife.”
She retorted through clenched teeth, “You can go to the devil!”
The animosity between them clashed like swords, throwing off sparks of fierce emotion. Sloan’s hard, virile face hovered over hers, the weight of his lean, powerful body pressing her down. Rage and raw tension vibrated between them… along with an abrupt, pulsing sexual awareness.
Heather flinched, feeling the granite outline of Sloan’s manhood against her thigh.
Neither of them heard the door swing open, but they both froze at the quietly lethal voice.
“You want to let the lady go, Sloan?”
Wolf stood in the doorway, his features hard, expressionless.
Sloan stared at him a moment, as if trying to understand the question. Then abruptly, he released Heather and rolled off her.
She rose shaking from the bed and fled past Wolf, into the hall.
Lying back, Sloan clutched his aching head, which had started swimming again.
The silence drew out. Wolf was still looking at him grimly, he realized. The half-breed hadn’t said another word, but the disapproval on his dark features spoke volumes.
Wolf turned quietly then and picked up the lamp. Just as quietly, he left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.
Sloan squeezed his eyes shut. God, what had he done?
The whiskey-hazed stupor washed over him once more, along with a wave of acute shame. Heather was right; he was stinking drunk. Too damned drunk to tell her he was sorry.
Sorry for scaring her. Sorry for ever letting her into his life. Sorry for trying to drive her away.
In the hallway, Heather stood with her hand clenched over her stomach as she fought tears of despair and anguish. She heard the bedroom door shut softly, but she didn’t glance up till Wolf touched her arm.
There was concern and compassion in his dark eyes. “You okay?”
She heaved a shuddering breath and nodded, though she wasn’t certain she would ever recover. “Yes, I’m all right… But I can’t remain here.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Do you have a place to go?”
“Caitlin will take me in, I’m certain.”
“Jake’s still here. He’ll drive you home. Why don’t you pack your things?”
Heather hesitated. “I can’t leave Janna here. Not when Sloan is in that condition. But it wouldn’t be wise to take her…” If Janna was still asleep, she didn’t want to wake her and drag her out into the night. Nor did she dare steal the child away. Sloan wouldn’t mind being rid of her, Heather thought bitterly, but he wouldn’t want her confiscating his daughter.
Wolf didn’t seem to need an explanation. “I’ll look after Janna … and Sloan as well. You don’t need to worry.”
“Thank you,” Heather murmured gratefully. She had no doubt he would do as he said, although it was strange how quickly she’d come to trust him. “Would you ask Jake to wait until I can
pack a bag?”
“Sure.” It was Wolf’s turn to hesitate. “If I don’t see you again before I leave for Denver, ma’am, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
Heather tried to smile. “I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”
“So do I.” His expression was grave. “I’ll stop by on my way back from Denver in a few weeks to check in on you.”
She nodded, unable to say more.
“Here, you’ll want this.” He held out the lamp to her.
Accepting it, Heather went across the hall to the master bedchamber. Janna was still sleeping in her cradle, but she’d thrown off the covers entirely.
Tears stinging her eyes, Heather gently drew up the sheet. When she smoothed a lock of raven hair from Janna’s sweet face, a fierce feeling of love and despair overwhelmed her.
The young child stirred then and whimpered in her sleep—almost as if she knew Heather meant to leave. Or perhaps it was simply wishful thinking.
Fresh tears clogged Heather’s throat. Swallowing hard, she turned away, wondering when she would see Janna again, wondering if she could bear it if she didn’t.
Chapter 16
Prying one eye open, Sloan squinted against the sunshine streaming in through the curtained windows. Heather’s room. He groaned at the bright light. His head was pounding like a bull was loose inside his brain.
Gingerly he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, but he couldn’t escape his tormenting thoughts. The numbing whiskey had worn off, leaving behind a fierce sense of shame and a sharper remorse.
His memory flayed him more harshly than his hangover. He remembered what he’d done last night, even if the details were a bit blurred.
He’d been a drunken bastard.
With a curse, Sloan squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell could he have been thinking, a savage voice prodded. How could he have been so deliberately cruel? He had no excuse for his despicable behavior. He’d lashed out at Heather in anger, mainly because he felt so damn vulnerable. He’d deliberately tried to drive her away—and cruelly wounded her in the process. He’d seen it in her eyes … her golden eyes hot and bright with unshed tears.
The Heart Breaker Page 24