The Heart Breaker

by Nicole Jordan

  He deserved more than the slap she’d delivered last night. He deserved to be horsewhipped.

  It was a long moment before he found the courage to climb out of bed and clean himself up. Longer still before he could make himself leave the room and go downstairs to the kitchen.

  Wolf was there at the table, feeding Janna biscuits and milk for dinner. The day was already half gone, Sloan realized.

  “Where’s Heather?” he asked, his voice dry and rasping.

  “She went home with Jake last night.” He felt Wolf’s gaze pierce him. “Can you blame her?”

  “No.”

  Slowly Sloan walked over to the stove to pour a cup of coffee. It was muddy and cold and strong enough to strip the hide off a sow. Wolf must have made it, Sloan surmised.

  Feeling his stomach rebel, he poured the mess down the sink and glanced regretfully around the clean kitchen. There were no appetizing smells of bacon frying or pies baking. No mouthwatering pancakes with maple syrup. No warm feminine laughter, the kind that made a house a home. None of the things he’d taken for granted since Heather’s arrival.

  His conscience struck him another blow.

  His daughter was watching him wide-eyed, Sloan realized. He greeted her, forcing a semblance of a smile to reassure her, then eased himself into a chair and propped his elbows on the table, the better to hold his aching head.

  Wolf said not a word. His disappointment was palpable, his silence condemning.

  “I know,” Sloan said finally in a low voice. “I was a complete horse’s ass.”

  “Worse than that, I reckon.”

  “Okay, a pile of horseshit. That satisfy you?”

  “That’s about right.”

  When Wolf fell silent again, Sloan lifted his head and glowered. “Why don’t you just say your piece and be done with it?”

  “All right,” he responded soberly, “I will. You went way over the line last night. Your wife is a lady. She sure as hell didn’t deserve to be treated like a two-bit whore during a Saturday-night binge.”

  Sloan shut his eyes. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t told myself a dozen times.”

  “What the hell got into you?”

  He couldn’t answer. It was hard to explain the panic he’d felt last night. Heather’s declaration of love had scared him spitless—so much that he’d tried to drive her away.

  “Seems to me she’s a pretty special woman,” Wolf murmured.

  “I know.”

  “You should count yourself lucky to have her.”

  “I know, goddammit!” Sloan winced at the pain that stabbed through his head. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Well, somebody should.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Denver?”

  “I’ll go when I’m good and ready. I’m not finished having my say.”

  “Well, hurry up and leave me in peace.”

  Wolf held the cup of milk to the toddler’s lips. “You say you know she’s special, but you don’t act much like you appreciate her.”

  “I do appreciate her,” Sloan protested with less vehemence.

  “I think you owe the lady one whopper of an apology.”

  He sure as hell did, Sloan agreed mutely. He would have to go crawling to Heather, his tail between his legs. Swallow whatever pride he had. Maybe then she would forgive him … even if he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

  “I’ll ride over just as soon as my head settles.”

  “You best wait a while, give her a little more time to get over it. Maybe take her some flowers this afternoon.”

  “I’ll take Janna with me, too.”

  “Good notion. She’ll be more likely to see you if you bribe her.”

  Sloan gave his brother-in-law a baleful glare. “You’re damned well enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Wolf grinned, his teeth showing white against his bronzed complexion. “I am. But not out of spite. You’ve been like a walking dead man this last year. It’s good to see you finally taking an interest in life. Even with a sore head, you’re more alive than you’ve been in a coon’s age.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s now. What about this afternoon? Will you still be laughing if Heather puts a bullet through me?”

  She had no business crying, Heather scolded herself as she stood at Caitlin’s parlor window. Yet Sloan’s hurtful actions the previous night had left her heart aching.

  She wanted to flee. Like an injured animal, she wanted to crawl into a hole and lick her wounds. She had offered Sloan her love and he had rejected it utterly.

  But then, she’d always known she was fighting a losing battle, trying to win a man like Sloan McCord, with his dark soul and embittered heart. Heather squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to swallow the ache in her throat. She would not cry. She had promised herself she would hold on to her pride at least.

  She would do better to consider her future. She had seriously contemplated leaving. This morning she’d gone so far as to drive into town, meaning to inquire at the train station about one-way fare to St. Louis. Instead she’d stopped at the offices of the Rocky News to see the publisher. Not only was Gus McAllister pleased to see her, but he expressed delight at her editing of Vernon’s articles. He had more work for her if she was interested.

  She’d given him no answer yet—she felt too emotionally raw to make any rational decisions just then—but she would have to choose soon what to do.

  Certainly there were advantages to accepting his job offer. It would give her some measure of independence for one thing, and allow her eventually to repay her debt to Sloan for another. She wouldn’t have to leave Janna and the life she had made here. She wouldn’t have to leave Sloan....

  Heather bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. She wasn’t certain she could bear to stay. Her heart couldn’t stand another buffet like the one he had delivered last night.

  A soft rap on the parlor door interrupted her thoughts. She took a steadying breath, and by the time Caitlin entered, Heather had herself under control.

  “Sloan is here,” Caitlin said. “I told you he would come.”

  She felt her heart wrench painfully.

  “Do you want to see him?”

  “No, but I suppose I must.”

  “He’s brought Janna. If you’d like, I’ll keep her in the kitchen with me while you two talk.”

  Heather managed a smile of gratitude. Her friend had been a pillar of strength.

  Caitlin smiled in return. “Just remember, you can stay here as long as you want.”

  When she had gone, Heather wiped her burning eyes. The last thing she wanted was for Sloan to see her cry.

  She kept her back to the door, but she could tell when he entered the parlor; she could feel the raw, sheer power of his presence.

  When he greeted her in a low, rasping voice, she ventured a glance at him over her shoulder. His expression was inscrutable but he appeared to be still feeling the effects of the liquor he’d drunk the night before. He had shaved the stubble from his face, but his eyes were bleary and bloodshot. When he met her gaze, he seemed uncertain. He was fingering his hat in his hand.

  As the awkward moment drew out between them, Sloan cleared his throat. He was keenly aware of her distress … aware of his own. At just this moment he felt as uncomfortable as he’d ever felt with a woman. He was still smarting from the tongue-lashing Wolf had given him, while Cat had looked as if she wanted to take him out to the woodshed.

  And Heather seemed determined to make this harder. He wanted to apologize, to persuade her to come back home, but her silence was far from encouraging. She was still angry at him; he could read it in every elegant line of her body as she stood stiffly with her back to him.

  He cleared his throat, struggling to say what needed to be said. “Heather, about last night… I apologize for the way I acted. I’m afraid I wasn’t myself.”

  “On the contrary,” she retorted in a low, strained voice, “I expect you were very much yourself.
In vino veritas, they say.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “In wine there is truth. It’s a Latin term—oh, but how reprehensible of me. You don’t wish to me to use such ‘highfalutin’ words.”

  Her tone held more than a hint of animosity, but Sloan knew he deserved her scorn, so he bit his tongue. “I should never have said that. The truth is, I’m sorry for all the things I said. They were inexcusable.”

  “Why do you imagine I have difficulty believing your sincerity?”

  “I know you’re angry. You have a right to be. But please, won’t you at least try to forgive me?”

  For a long moment she didn’t answer. Sloan tried again, softening his tone to a plea. “I want you to come home with me.”

  She couldn’t help the leap of her heart. “Why? You obviously don’t want me in your life.”

  “That isn’t so.”

  “No, I suppose you’re right. You do want me—to cook and clean for you, to care for your daughter and help with your speeches.”

  He took a steadying breath. His reasons for marrying Heather hadn’t changed. He still needed a mother for his child, a political hostess for his campaign. But he wanted her for other reasons as well, reasons more nebulous than he could acknowledge or explain. He couldn’t deny, though, that Heather had become important to him—in ways that had nothing to do with his daughter or his political ambitions.

  “That’s what I wanted in the beginning, yes, but over the past months I’ve seen what a difference you’ve made in my life. I want you for my wife, Heather.”

  She turned reluctantly to look at him and found him regarding her with troubled eyes. “Well, I don’t want a husband who betrays his marriage vows with saloon women.”

  “Nothing happened at the saloon last night.”

  “Nothing?” Her tone held skepticism.

  “No, nothing. I got drunk and Della put me to bed in her room till Jake could come and get me. She knew I didn’t want any woman but you. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  She eyed him silently for a moment, remembering the gold piece he had offered her. “You might want my body, but you made it very clear last night you don’t want my love.”

  He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Heather felt pain squeeze her heart. Sloan didn’t even realize how much he was hurting her. Her anger faded, leaving a sense of hopelessness. “Sloan … this isn’t working. You know it as well as I.”

  “What isn’t working?”

  “Our arrangement. Our marriage. I think perhaps … we need to put some distance between us. For a time, at least.”

  Sloan stood there, unable to manage a word. He felt as if he’d taken a fist to the gut. He’d wanted to push Heather away last night, to drive her away emotionally. Evidently he’d succeeded beyond his expectations. “You want to end our marriage, is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “I … I hadn’t considered that far ahead yet. But that might be best. I can’t go on the way we have been.” When he remained mute, she clasped her hands together, seeking courage to continue. “If you’re concerned about my debt, I still intend to pay back every penny.”

  He made a gesture of impatience. “I don’t give a damn about the money.”

  “That isn’t what you said last night,” she reminded him in a low voice. “And even if you don’t care, I do. I still owe you nearly fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. What you’ve done for Janna is worth ten times that amount to me.”

  She shrugged and turned away, but she couldn’t dismiss the issue. “Perhaps it’s merely pride, but it is important to me that I not be so dependent on you. Gus McAllister has offered to expand my job responsibilities at the paper. He needs some bookkeeping done, secretarial work, that sort of thing. It wouldn’t be full-time, but it would double my salary. And Caitlin says I may live here with her and Jake.”

  Sloan felt a stab of panic as he sensed her slipping away. “What about the campaign?”

  “What about it? You don’t really need my help any longer.”

  “How do you expect me to explain to voters why you’re living in my brother’s house?”

  “I can’t imagine that my absence will affect your chances any more than your drunken behavior last night.”

  For a span of several heartbeats he didn’t answer. When Heather risked a glance at him, Sloan’s lean face was shuttered.

  “You could at least wait till the election is over,” he said tonelessly.

  She looked away. Of course Sloan wouldn’t want her to abandon his senatorial campaign before he won.

  “You can punish me if you want,” he added finally, “but it isn’t fair to hurt Janna. She still needs you.”

  Heather closed her eyes. Even knowing Sloan was deliberately making her feel guilty, she couldn’t fight that argument. Janna did need her.

  She let out her breath slowly, wishing there were another alternative. Some swift painless way to break with Sloan. A way to separate herself from him that wouldn’t mean ripping out her heart.

  “Very well,” she said, her murmur quiet with despair and resignation. “I’ll return to the ranch with you. I’ll stay until the election is over.” She could see the tightness of his features start to ease and held up her hand. “But as your housekeeper, not as your wife.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll care for Janna and do the household chores, but I won’t share a bed with you. You aren’t to touch me. Is that clear?”

  For a moment he didn’t reply.

  “And I mean to accept the additional assignments at the newspaper. Those are my conditions, Sloan. If you can’t agree, then you can look for someone else to care for Janna.”

  Sloan took a deep breath. It was too much to expect that she would forgive him so soon after his cruelty. He would have to prove he was sincere about wanting her. But at least if Heather was living with him, he would have the chance to persuade her.

  “All right then,” Sloan said finally. “If that’s what you really want, I won’t touch you.”

  Heather wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake by returning to the Bar M with Sloan. It wrung her heart to realize how glad Janna was to see her, but being in such close proximity to Sloan all through supper was akin to torment. It wasn’t specifically anything he said or did—or perhaps it was. He was as solicitous and agreeable as any woman could wish a husband to be. Too solicitous and agreeable. Too kind. He was trying to make up for the cruel things he’d said and done last night, she knew. But he couldn’t mend the rift between them. He couldn’t make it right. He couldn’t tell her he loved her.

  She had just put Janna to bed and escaped to her own room for the night when she found the gold piece half concealed beneath her bed.

  Almost fearfully Heather bent to pick it up. Sloan’s harsh words rang in her ears as she stared at it mutely. What do you say to ten bucks a shot? That’s one hell of a price for a few minutes on your back.

  The bright metal seemed to burn her fingers, but she curled her fingers around it purposely, letting the hard edges bite into her palm. She would keep it to remind her of that night, of all that was wrong in her marriage—

  She flinched when she heard the soft rap on the door. Reluctantly she went to open it.

  Sloan stood there in the dim hallway, looking ruggedly handsome, his blue eyes soft and questioning. His voice was just as soft when he spoke. “I thought I’d see if there’s anything you need.”

  “No, there’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  Sloan didn’t want to accept her answer. With effort he shoved his hands in his denim pockets, reminding himself of his promise not to touch her. If he gave Heather enough time, she might relent and forgive him. Meanwhile, though, he had to deal with his male ache. With his need to reach out and pull her into his arms.

  In the quiet hush of the hallway, sexual tension pulsed between them, thick and palpable.

  “Good night, Sloan,” Heather whispered
hoarsely.

  She started to turn away, but he reached out to capture her hand, unable to help himself. “Heather?”

  She flinched and pulled it back. “Don’t.”

  “You won’t forgive me?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I forgive you. I just don’t want you here, in this room. I want to be left alone.”

  “Heather … I told you I was sorry. All I’m asking for is a chance to show you how much.”

  When she lifted her gaze to him, he could see her golden eyes stark with unhappiness.

  She opened her fingers, offering him the tendollar gold piece. “You gave this to me last night, remember? In exchange for my sexual services.” Her voice trembled. “Well, I’ll gladly return it if you will go away. I’ll pay you not to touch me, Sloan. In fact … I’ll double the amount if you’ll only leave me in peace.”

  She pressed the gold into his hand. Then, before he could react, she shut the door softly, inexorably, in his face.

  She avoided Sloan whenever possible. Her additional responsibilities at the newspaper took Heather into town for a few hours each day, but there were still the long evenings to get through. She felt a little more secure in her future now that she’d begun to earn a modest income, but she had yet to decide what she would do once the election was over.

  Heather was almost relieved when Richard Weld arrived later in the week to interview Sloan for the Denver newspaper. Having a guest in the house meant that meals no longer must be endured in enforced intimacy.

  She suspected Richard sensed the tension between them, for during the two days of his visit she often felt his probing gaze on her. Before he left, however, she found the courage to broach a question to him about possible employment opportunities in Denver for a gentlewoman of limited means.

  “Do I know the lady?” he asked.

  “Well … yes. It’s myself.”

  “Are you and Sloan moving to Denver after the election?”

  “Not… exactly. I was considering going on my own.”

  “You’re not planning to leave your husband?” Richard asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise and concern.

  Heather averted her gaze, though she was unable to hide the mortified flush on her cheeks. “It’s possible that… we might try a separation for a time. Our marriage hasn’t worked out the way either of us planned.”