The Heart Breaker

by Nicole Jordan

  After a long moment, she took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain, trying to gather the courage to broach a subject that would likely only kindle more misery.

  Finally she said in a low voice, “Sloan … I think it might be best if I left. I never should have come here in the first place.”

  She turned reluctantly to look at him, to find him staring at her with hooded eyes.

  “Where will you go?”

  “I thought … perhaps Denver.”

  Sloan couldn’t respond. He felt gut-punched. Heather actually meant to leave him and his daughter. He knew he was greatly to blame, but it still struck him like a blow. He sat there numbly, holding his daughter, unable to manage a word.

  “What about Janna?” he said finally. “You mean to desert her now? After she’s come to love you?”

  She glanced down at Janna, who was happily smacking her lips as she ate her breakfast. “I love her as well. But the longer I remain, the harder it will be for both of us to part when the time comes. Children are resilient. She’ll forget me in time.”

  What about me? he wanted to demand. How am I to forget you?

  His mouth twisted in a thin smile. “Sure, duchess. She’ll get over it. She’s too young to have feelings. She’s only a half-breed, after all.”

  An angry flush stained Heather’s cheekbones. “Must you use that term to describe her?”

  “Why not? That’s what Janna is.”

  “Perhaps so, but she isn’t to blame for her Cheyenne ancestry. She cannot help who her mother was.”

  His quick, indrawn breath was loud in the silent room; a slap would have been less hurtful.

  In the awful pause, Heather bit her lip hard. She wished she could take back the words. She didn’t know why she had lashed out at him like that, except that he had wounded her so deeply by rejecting her love. “I… I’m sorry. I should never have said that.”

  He ignored her apology. For a span of several heartbeats he didn’t answer. When Heather risked a glance at him, Sloan’s lean face was shuttered, set in harsh forbidding lines. His next question took her breath away.

  “You could be pregnant, have you thought of that? You think I’ll let you leave if you’re carrying my baby?”

  The question slipped into her heart like a knife. “I’m not… My courses came last week.”

  “Yesterday could have changed that.”

  When she remained mute, he stared at her. “Even leaving that aside for a minute … just how do you propose to support yourself in Denver? I can’t afford to do it.”

  “I told you, I’ll find a job.”

  “There may be horns on that bull, duchess. For a woman alone it won’t be so easy to find honest work in a strange town.”

  Her chin rose at his disparaging tone. “Who says it must be honest work? Perhaps I’ll apply for a position at a saloon, dancing for money. I’ve noticed that gentlemen have a great fondness for that sort of woman.”

  His expression went dangerously still. She might have been bluffing, but it outraged him to think of his beautiful wife dancing for money in a gaudy saloon. “Like hell you will,” he said softly.

  “Does that upset you, Sloan?” Heather retorted bitterly. “I can’t imagine why. You’ve always known I’m not a saint like your precious Doe.”

  She drew blood with that barb, she could see it in his face.

  “Leave her out of this,” he said tightly.

  “How can I, when she’s always come between us?”

  Sloan’s fist tightened around the spoon in his hand. Heather had struck straight at that dark, empty place that had once been his heart.

  “In any event,” she went on tonelessly, “I have a friend in Denver, remember? I’ve applied to Richard for help, and he has agreed to look for a possible position for me.”

  Sloan remembered the newspaperman well enough. A sick sensation knotted his belly.

  “At the very least I could become a governess, or perhaps a music teacher. Elite families are willing to pay handsomely for pianoforte lessons for their spoiled daughters, I’ve discovered.”

  His jaw hardening, he set his daughter on the floor and rose slowly to his feet. Janna looked startled to be so abruptly abandoned, but Sloan paid her no heed as he moved to stand before his wife.

  The tension was raw, so brittle it had an edge to it. He stared down at Heather, yet he didn’t realize he had reached out to grasp her shoulders until she said tightly, “Would you kindly unhand me?”

  He didn’t want to let her go. He felt the primitive urge to bind her to him now, so she wouldn’t leave him.

  “Sloan…” Her eyes implored him, while her tone softened to a plea. “Let me go. You don’t want me for your wife. You don’t really want me at all.”

  She was dead wrong, he realized, his jaw locked against the pain. He did want her. More than he’d ever wanted any woman in his life.

  “You think not, duchess?” Catching her wrist, he drew her hand down to his groin to feel the hard evidence of his desire. “What the hell does this feel like? Indifference?”

  She winced. “Our relationship has always been merely carnal. Just sex—you said so yourself.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe all I’ve ever really wanted is your body.”

  She felt the color drain from her face.

  For the space of a dozen heartbeats, he stood towering over her, his face as tight with emotion as hers. The strain between them was palpable enough to shatter.

  “All right then,” Sloan said finally, his voice as cold as a Colorado winter. “Have it your way, duchess. You can leave. You can do whatever you want once the campaign is over.” His fingers opened to release her shoulders. “Don’t worry that I might repeat yesterday. I won’t touch you again. You have my word on it.”

  With no more than a glittering glance at her, he turned to scoop up his startled daughter and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Heather alone in the brittle silence.

  Her hand clenched over her stomach, she heaved a shuddering breath, fighting tears of despair and anguish, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake.

  The silent and bitter war between them showed no signs of abating. They might as well have been strangers, for all the intimacy they shared.

  Sloan kept his promise to keep away from her bed, not betraying by so much as a touch or a glance that he cared whether her heart was breaking.

  It was all Heather could do not to humble herself at his feet, to beg him to love her. Yet he had spurned her love in the starkest terms imaginable, and it would serve no purpose to try to persuade him differently.

  She might have been gratified to know Sloan was battling his own inner devils.

  They struck him hardest when he rode home at sunset one evening to find Heather beside the corral, supervising his daughter’s new acquaintance with a gentle mare.

  “Was there something you wanted?” Heather asked, her tone carefully even as he sat looking down at her from the saddle.

  You, he nearly said. Her beauty nearly took his breath away. The setting sun made a gilt halo of her hair, while her porcelain complexion was flushed with gold and rose—a vivid reminder of how she looked in the depths of passion. A searing passion they had shared until he had destroyed the fragile bond between them.

  Sloan felt his throat close tightly as a sharp pang of longing went through him. Yet he couldn’t give her the love she needed.

  Maybe Heather was right. Maybe it might be best if she took herself the hell out of his life. Then he could return to the cold shell that had protected him from the tormenting emotions of grief and guilt and loneliness in the endless months after Doe’s death.

  Maybe then he could escape the pain that hounded him now when he merely looked at Heather.

  * * *

  It was a shock to them both when Evan Randolf unexpectedly arrived in Colorado the following week. Heather had just applied herself to the mending basket in the kitchen when she heard the knock at the front door rather than the back, a
s was customary when neighbors came to call.

  “Evan!” she exclaimed when she opened the door.

  His smile was warm, his look intent as he removed his bowler to expose carefully styled dark hair. He appeared as elegant and handsome as ever in a tailored chocolate frock coat and fawn trousers.

  “How are you, my dear?” When she stared at Evan in incomprehension, he prodded gently, “I trust you are well.”

  “Yes… of course.” She was well, if well meant heartsick and lonely.

  “It is good to see you after all this time. I’ve missed you a great deal, Heather.”

  She glanced beyond him to see the private carriage waiting in the drive.

  “If you are wondering why I am here… I’ve come to see how you go on. Will you not invite me in?”

  Heather recognized her rudeness at leaving a guest standing on the doorstep, but she wasn’t certain she trusted Evan. And yet his manner seemed conciliatory enough. And it was good to see a familiar face from home. “Yes, of course. Do come in.”

  Reluctantly she stepped aside and took his hat and cane. “May I offer you tea?”

  “I should like that, thank you. The drive from Denver was long and dusty.”

  “I shall put the kettle on.” She hesitated. “You may wait in the parlor, or accompany me to the kitchen, if you prefer.”

  “The kitchen, if that is where you will be.”

  Heather led Evan to the back of the house, wondering what he could have to say to her that would warrant his traveling such a great distance. He paused when he spied the child. Janna had pulled herself to her feet and stood clinging unsteadily to the wooden leg of a chair, staring at the newcomer with wide, solemn eyes.

  “This is McCord’s Indian daughter?”

  Heather felt her shoulders stiffen reflexively as she prepared to defend Janna from any possible slur. “Yes, this is Janna McCord. But I consider her my daughter now.”

  Evan viewed the raven-haired toddler critically. “Those eyes and cheekbones are striking. I expect she will grow up to be a rare beauty.”

  Hearing the sincerity in his tone, Heather breathed more easily. Evan Randolf was a legendary connoisseur of beauty, and it gratified her to have him praise Janna’s attributes rather than focus on her mixed blood. “Please, have a seat.”

  Taking Janna’s hand, Heather led the child to her blanket to play with her toys, then turned to fill the teakettle and set it on the stove to boil. Her guest settled at the table to watch her.

  From the corner of her eye, Heather saw him survey the serviceable kitchen. When he pressed his lips together, she wondered if Evan Randolf had ever even been inside a kitchen. In St. Louis he had an army of underlings to see to his every whim.

  “You have no servants?” he asked after a moment.

  Heather couldn’t repress a smile. “Not a one, I’m afraid. Although Sloan’s ranch hands are always willing to help if I need assistance.”

  “It must be difficult, managing under such adverse circumstances.”

  “It isn’t so bad. Actually I find depending on myself to be a challenge.”

  “Your family would be dismayed to see you thus.”

  Her smile turned wry. “My mother would have been appalled. Fortunately I am not much like her. She was a wealthy socialite whose happiest function was deciding which parties to attend. I grew unaccustomed to a life of ease after my father’s passing. And truthfully, there is something quite satisfying about putting in a hard day’s labor. Certainly it makes me appreciate more the advantages I do have.”

  Evan’s brows drew together in a frown. “Even so, I cannot imagine that you are truly happy here. You deserve better than this, Heather.”

  She started to shrug and reply, “I am content”—and yet she wasn’t content. Ignoring his comment, therefore, Heather began setting out the tea things. “I never expected to see you in this part of Colorado.”

  “I have business dealings in Denver, but in truth I came here out of concern for you.”

  “Why should you be concerned?”

  “I saw Richard Weld recently. He suggested you might be in need of assistance.”

  Her frown conveyed her disappointment. “I never expected Richard to betray a confidence.”

  “He did not, not in so many words. But he had promised to keep an eye out for you, and when I quizzed him about how you were faring, he told me you were seeking employment. I’ve come to offer my aid, Heather.”

  “I am flattered, Evan, but there really was no need for you to go to such trouble.”

  “Ah, but there was. I am greatly worried about you, my dear. I do not like to think of you struggling under such hardship … although in all honesty I cannot deny hoping you would come to regret your choice of husband.”

  “Evan…” She said nothing further, but her tone implied how inappropriate she found the conversation, and how uncomfortable.

  “I warned your Mr. McCord to see to your happiness, or he would answer to me. It seems he did not take me at my word.”

  She glanced at Evan in surprise, but before she could reply, he leaned forward, eyeing her intently.

  “Heather, I wish you to know that the offer I made you some months ago still stands.”

  To hide her dismay, she averted her gaze. As she set the china cups and saucers on the table, she kept her answer carefully neutral. “Evan, I am a married woman. I would never contemplate committing adultery.”

  He shook his head solemnly. “You quite mistake me. I would never ask you to. I would never be satisfied to have you merely as my mistress, nor would I ever insult you so. But there is such a thing as divorce.”

  “Divorce?” She stared down at him.

  “It would leave you free to wed again.”

  Her lips parted but no sound came out.

  “I still want you, Heather. As my wife. I want you to share my life.”

  “You … cannot mean what you’re suggesting.”

  “Believe me, I do. I have been unable to forget you, Heather, though God knows I’ve tried.” When she started to speak, he held up an elegant hand. “Please, my dear, hear me out. I’ve spent the past thirty miles working up the courage to say this. Please … won’t you sit down?”

  When she complied and sank a bit dazedly into the seat beside him, Evan took a deep breath. “I made the worst mistake of my life letting you go. And I’ve come to beg you to give me another chance. Believe me, I am quite serious when I ask you to consider divorce.”

  “But … the scandal… Surely you wouldn’t wish to wed a divorcée.”

  His smile was rueful, edged with selfdeprecating charm. “I fancy my consequence in society is high enough to weather a scandal. But even if not, it would be worth the risk to have you by my side.”

  Was he truly in earnest? Heather wondered, still reeling in shock.

  He apparently saw her confusion and reached out to gently take her hand. “If I thought you happy here, I would never dream of making so bold a proposal. But you aren’t happy.”

  “That doesn’t mean,” she replied in a low voice, “that you and I would suit. I could never be the wife you desired, Evan. You’ve always seen me as a pretty ornament for your empire.”

  “Perhaps I once did. But with you gone from my life, I realized what a gem you were. I was wrong, not giving you the respect you deserved … not appreciating or valuing you properly. I should never have taken winning you for granted.”

  “Evan, that is all in the past now.”

  “But it needn’t be. Please, my dear… can you not give me reason to hope?”

  “I … I’m not certain what to say.”

  “Say you will consider my proposal at least.”

  “Evan… I can’t.”

  His voice lowered. “Perhaps you cannot forgive me for my despicable behavior when we last met.”

  “That isn’t the reason.”

  “Heather, I wish you to know how deeply I regret my behavior that day. It was unpardonable. I cannot rem
ember that incident without cringing.”

  “You needn’t apologize again, Evan. You did so quite adequately at the time. Lending your private railroad car for our wedding trip was a generous gesture.”

  “It scarcely seems sufficient after my barbarous treatment of you.”

  “I have put it out of my mind, I assure you.”

  “Then you are not sorry to see me?”

  “No … not at all. Truly, it is good to see you,” Heather replied, and was surprised at how much she meant it. “But I cannot marry you.”

  “I would understand if you don’t wish to return to St. Louis. If you prefer to remain here in Colorado, I can buy you a dozen ranches.”

  “Evan, please believe me. I am overwhelmed by your generosity, but I could never wed you.” She eased her hand from his grasp. “I am afraid I could never feel anything more for you than friendship, or become involved in any intimate way. I’m sorry.”

  His expression was pained, but his sigh was one of resignation. “I feared as much. But I had to try.”

  He looked down at his fingers, and Heather stood up awkwardly, unsure what else to say to convince him.

  “Can you tell me…” he asked quietly, “if you are planning to leave your husband?”

  “I’m not certain. But regardless, I couldn’t accept your proposal. It would not be fair to you to have a wife who could never return your feelings. You see … I love Sloan.”

  It was a long, long moment before Evan moved or spoke. With an uncustomary air of defeat then, he reached into the inner breast pocket of his frock coat and withdrew an envelope. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  Curiously Heather took it and opened it. Inside was a bank draft for fifteen hundred and fifteen dollars. “What is this?”

  “The amount your husband gave me to settle your debts, plus six months’ interest.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Again his lips curved, but this time his smile was tinged with bitterness. “I realize I never had the right to hold you accountable for your father’s gambling debts. Indeed, I only used the obligation as leverage, so you would accept my suit more readily. It was unforgivable of me.”

  For an instant Heather shut her eyes, contemplating how different her life might have been had Evan come to this conclusion before she had wed Sloan out of desperation.