The Heart Breaker

by Nicole Jordan

  “I should have canceled the debt months ago,” Evan added regretfully, “when you first refused my offer. But I couldn’t bear to think of McCord winning you. Call it jealousy or pride, but I wanted to make him suffer.”

  “Thank you, Evan. I shall put this money to good use.”

  “You will be able to redeem the mortgage on this ranch at least. The note is for fifteen hundred, is it not?”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What gives you the notion the Bar M is mortgaged?”

  “I make it my business to know the fiscal circumstances of my opponents.” Evan held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I swear to you, my intentions are entirely honorable in this case. I understand your husband is suffering rather serious financial trouble.”

  “No more than most,” Heather responded loyally. “Many cattle ranchers are facing difficulties this year.”

  “Perhaps, but none of the others are wed to you.” His eyes darkened. “Heather, please believe me when I say I only want the best for you, and that I would very much like to atone for my past sins. If you will permit me, I should like to provide the capital to get this ranch back on sound financial footing. No conditions attached. Purely out of friendship for you. Indeed, I would be honored if you would allow me to help. On behalf of your father’s memory, if nothing else. He was my friend and I owe it to him.”

  “I appreciate your generous offer, Evan, truly, but I must decline. Sloan would never agree. He is a proud man, you see. He refuses even to let his family help him.”

  “Very well… but I cannot simply stand idly by while you suffer. Most certainly I don’t like to think of you being forced to seek employment.”

  “I am grateful for your concern, but I couldn’t accept your financial assistance.”

  “Whyever not?”

  She smiled. “Besides the fact that I have a reputation to uphold, I never have enjoyed being indebted to you, or anyone else. Call it my pride, if you will.”

  His smile was genuine this time, and it reminded Heather why he was such a favorite with most ladies. “Very well. But if you mean to leave here, you must at least allow me to help find you employment. I have a number of business acquaintances in Denver, if that is where you choose to go. I can make inquiries… discreetly, of course. In fact, I know a certain affluent widow there who might be seeking a companion. If so, I could facilitate the introductions.”

  “Well … I expect there would be nothing improper in accepting an introduction.”

  He hesitated. “If you mean to leave here, I’m not certain why you don’t simply return home to St. Louis where you have friends.”

  Heather gave a delicate shrug. She did have friends in St. Louis who cared for her. Certainly Winnie would always take her in. And not having to pay for lodging would greatly minimize her expenses. But she preferred Denver, where she could perhaps lead a life of anonymity, where her failed marriage would not be so obvious. Where she would not be so very far from Janna, from Sloan....

  “There is no future for me any longer in St. Louis,” she answered evasively. “But I have a little more time to decide my course of action. I shan’t go anywhere until after the election.”

  “It is to be held in two weeks, is it not?”

  “Yes, on Wednesday after next.”

  “I fathom the race was predicted to go down to the wire, but that may be changing, from what I’ve read. Richard’s articles have been highly critical of your husband’s opponent.”

  “For good reason. Mr. Lovell’s use of his wealth and influence so far has been less than ethical.”

  “I have a passing acquaintance with Lovell. He is as ruthless as they come. He won’t take kindly to the idea of losing.”

  “I don’t imagine so,” Heather agreed.

  “Your husband should be on his guard.”

  She nodded. Sloan’s chances of winning had improved recently, thanks to Richard’s candid articles questioning the honesty of the mining baron’s more lucrative dealings. And she wouldn’t put it past Quinn Lovell to use some underhanded means to tip the scales back in his favor.

  She felt Evan’s penetrating gaze on her, though, which brought her out of her reflections.

  “Are you certain I have no chance with you?” he asked again, softly.

  “I’m sorry, Evan. I wish I could feel something for you, but I can’t.”

  “I know—you profess to love that cowman you wed. I just wish I knew what you see in the fellow.”

  “Evan…”

  He sighed again. “Forgive me, my dear. I’m acting the spoiled child, but I’ve always been reluctant to concede defeat. Very well, I suppose I must accept your answer with good grace.” He straightened his shoulders and was once again the urbane railroad magnate who ruled much of St. Louis and a good deal of the rest of the country.

  “In any event I intend to remain in Colorado until after the election is over. If you decide to return home to St. Louis, my dear, I would be pleased if you would consider my private car at your disposal. And if you choose Denver, I hope you will accept my safe escort there. There can be nothing improper in a friend offering a ride. My carriage can be here in under three hours, and I can even bring a female chaperone, if that would satisfy the dictates of propriety. You have only to send me word. I shall be staying at the Windsor Hotel in Denver.”

  Heather managed a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Evan. Your kindness means a great deal to me.”

  She was grateful to know she had a way to leave if she chose—and more grateful still when the kettle began to boil and she could end this intimate conversation and turn away.

  Heather agreed that Quinn Lovell would not take kindly to the possibility of losing the election, but Evan’s prediction proved accurate far sooner that she expected. Later that afternoon she was in the kitchen preparing supper when a gang of horsemen rode into the yard, stirring up a cloud of dust. Her heart leapt to her throat when she realized they were all armed to the teeth.

  Telling Janna she would be right back—to stay there and play—Heather seized her rifle and slipped out the back door. The riders had circled the yard and the man standing beside the corral gate. Evidently Sloan had ridden in moments before and unsaddled his horse.

  Her heart pounding, Heather picked up her skirts and ran. As she grew closer, she recognized one of the riders as Quinn Lovell. The others were holding Sloan at gunpoint.

  Some of those same weapons swung on her as she slowed to a breathless halt.

  “Heather,” Sloan commanded in a fierce voice, “go back to the house.”

  Lovell, however, seemed pleased to see her, for he smiled and tipped his hat politely to her as he sat his horse. “Mrs. McCord. Good afternoon.”

  “And to you, sir.” She forced the words past her dry throat. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

  His mouth curved slightly in appreciation of her composure. “I have a business proposition for your husband, ma’am. I’ve bought the bank which holds the mortgage for this ranch, and I’ve called in the note.”

  “You mean to foreclose on the Bar M?”

  “I am afraid so, Mrs. McCord.”

  Her gaze swept the armed riders, feigning amazement. “Is this normally how you conduct business, Mr. Lovell? At gunpoint? Surely this display of force isn’t necessary.”

  “When I’m dealing with a man like Sloan McCord, it is. I’m taking control of the Bar M, and I don’t expect him to go quietly.”

  No, she didn’t expect he would, Heather thought with a glance at her husband. His blue eyes were as cold and glittering as glaciers.

  Although Sloan’s Colt six-shooters lay in the dust, Lovell evidently saw the possible peril in his plan, for he uneasily cleared his throat. “However,” he added quickly, “I am prepared to offer you an alternative, McCord. You can withdraw from the election now and keep your ranch. I’ll cancel the debt entirely.”

  Heather drew a sharp breath; the gall of the man never ceased to astound her. Lovell
had already bought dozens of votes, and now he was trying to force Sloan to abandon the race when there was the chance he might lose. He must be truly getting desperate.

  “Go to hell,” Sloan replied evenly, his tone deceptively controlled.

  Heather raised her rifle, aiming it toward Lovell. “I believe you have your answer, Mr. Lovell. My husband is inviting you to leave.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Mrs. McCord. You could get hurt if you don’t stay out of this.”

  “I suggest you take your hired guns and go.”

  Lovell’s jaw hardened. “The law allows me to take command of this property. If I must, I’ll return with the marshal to enforce my rights.”

  Watching helplessly, Sloan balled his hands into fists as Heather debated with the mining baron, but he forced himself to restrain his fury. Under most circumstances he might relish a fight with Lovell, but not when it threatened his home and family. He’d wanted to curse when he’d seen Heather running toward him. He didn’t want her anywhere near the bastard. But at least she’d come armed. Lovell couldn’t know she could barely hit the side of a barn.

  She wouldn’t be able to hold them off alone, though. He would have to act, and soon… Sloan’s eyes narrowed, gauging the distance between himself and Lovell. Heather partially blocked the way, but that might be an advantage....

  She was shaking her head. “I am afraid you are rather precipitous, Mr. Lovell. The mortgage will be paid tomorrow.”

  “And just how will you manage that?”

  “You are acquainted with Mr. Evan Randolf of St. Louis, I believe?”

  “I know him.”

  “Well, Evan is a close family friend, and he has just provided the capital to allow the outstanding mortgage on the Bar M to be redeemed.”

  She dared not look at Sloan as she spoke, but she could sense the change in him.

  “I don’t believe you,” Lovell replied.

  “I am not in the habit of telling falsehoods, I assure you. Evan called here only a few hours ago and brought a draft to cover the full sum. It’s inside the house. I had intended to take it to the bank when I drove into town tomorrow, but if you insist, I can fetch it now. It can be signed over to you, if you’re willing to provide a receipt.”

  Before Lovell could respond, one of his cohorts called out across the yard.

  “Hey, boss? What d’you want me to do with the Injun kid?”

  Both Heather and Sloan turned to see a man standing on the steps of the back porch, holding Janna awkwardly in his arms.

  For a moment Sloan was paralyzed by fear. Then icy rage exploded within him.

  Dropping to the dirt, he grabbed for the six-gun at his feet and rolled; when he came up, his hand was filled with iron. As he lunged for Lovell, he shoved Heather to the ground, then dragged the man off his horse. Before Lovell could even cry out, Sloan had wrapped an arm around his throat and put a gun to his temple.

  It was all over in an instant. The wind knocked from her, Heather lay prone in the dust, looking dazedly up at Sloan.

  Danger pulsed around him like lightning; his tone was lethal as he ordered Lovell to call his men off.

  “Tell him to set my daughter down gently. If she so much as whimpers, I’ll blow your head off.”

  His face etched with fear, Lovell rasped, “Do as he says.”

  When the man complied, Sloan nodded at Heather. “Get Janna and bring her here.”

  Climbing hastily to her feet, she ran to Janna and scooped the wide-eyed child up in her arms. Only when she had returned to Sloan’s side did he fire two shots in the air to summon his ranch hands. Then he pressed the barrel again to Lovell’s head.

  “Tell your men to drop their guns and get off my land.”

  Lovell nodded slowly. “Do it.”

  One by one, they reluctantly but silently obeyed. The man who’d seized Janna crossed to his horse and mounted up. Then as a group, they turned their horses and rode out of the yard.

  Not releasing his captive, Sloan spoke low in Lovell’s ear, in a voice that was savage. “I’d think twice before you show your face here again. If I see you on Bar M land, I’ll shoot you on sight. And if you ever dare threaten my wife or daughter again, you won’t live to see the sunrise. You got that?”

  Just then Heather heard the rapid sound of hoofbeats. She breathed a sigh of relief when, a moment later, a half-dozen of the Bar M cowboys came racing into the hard-packed earth of the ranch yard, their horses going from a dead run to a sliding stop, with Rusty in the lead.

  “Mr. Lovell needs an escort back to town, boys,” Sloan said almost casually. “Would you oblige me?”

  “Be glad to, boss,” Rusty answered grimly for them.

  Looking somewhat shaken, Lovell climbed up on his horse. Without a word, he turned to ride away, leaving the cowboys to follow.

  The silence that remained seemed deafening to Heather. Trembling with fear and relief, she glanced at Sloan. For a moment he stood silently watching her, his expression inscrutable. Holstering his gun, he took a step toward her. Still without a word, he took his daughter from her, but his gaze was fixed on her face.

  Heather’s breath caught in her throat as he reached up to slide a tangled tress from her face, the movement intimate, infinitely protective.

  “You okay?”

  The rough concern in his voice touched her, yet she understood his solicitude. No matter his personal feelings for her, a McCord protected his own. Even so, she couldn’t resist the need for his comfort.

  Nodding briefly, she let her forehead rest on his shoulder, cherishing the sensation. For a moment she was surrounded by his strength and warmth, his subtle scent, and she never wanted it to end. And yet she knew it would.

  Sloan found himself torn by the same conflicting emotions. He wanted nothing more in that instant than to fold Heather in his embrace and kiss her endlessly, to taste those lips and reassure himself that she was all right. The danger to her had reminded him violently of Doe’s death—and it had shaken him to the core. Heather could be lying in the dirt right now, her dark blood draining from her body....

  He gave a silent curse of anguish. Maybe she was right. Maybe it would be best if she left. Hell, he ought to send her away for her own safety. He couldn’t bear to see her hurt the way Doe had been hurt. Until the election was over at least, he couldn’t guarantee he could protect her. Maybe he never could.

  Breaking the spell between them, he eased a step back and settled Janna higher on his hip.

  His eyes were shadowed when he finally met Heather’s gaze again. “Were you telling the truth? Did Randolf really call here today?”

  The air suddenly pulsed with renewed tension as the tender moment shattered.

  “Yes,” she replied quietly. “And he gave me a draft to redeem the mortgage note on the ranch.”

  “The hell he did.”

  Through aching despair she saw the gathering of raw anger in Sloan’s light, breathtaking eyes. Her chin came up. “I think it rather generous of him, actually.”

  “He has some scheme in mind that will only benefit him.”

  “I believe you’re mistaken. He meant to benefit me. Evan offered his financial assistance so I wouldn’t have to work in order to repay my debt to you.”

  Sloan stared at her, and the chill was back in his blue eyes. “I told you once, I’ll be damned if I’ll take money from that bastard—or let my wife take it.”

  “No? I suppose you would rather lose your ranch, perhaps even your life? Would you really risk your daughter’s life because of pride? Can you possibly be that foolish?”

  He didn’t answer, but a muscle flexed furiously in his jaw.

  Seeing Janna’s small forehead pucker with concern, Heather softened her voice but not her resolve. “Evan gave me the money to do with as I see fit, Sloan. And I intend to settle with the bank tomorrow—unless you physically prevent me.”

  “I won’t try to stop you,” he said through gritted teeth. His expression had hardened to ice,
while his eyes held that wintry look she dreaded.

  “No, you won’t stop me,” she agreed hollowly. “Because you don’t really have a choice, do you? Any more than I had when I married you.”

  She gave him one last bitter glance before turning on her heel to walk toward the house.

  Chapter 18

  “You can’t truly be thinking of leaving!” Caitlin exclaimed when Heather confessed her plans several days later. It was Sunday afternoon, and the two of them were watching the children play in Caitlin’s yard after church service.

  Heather looked away, regretting her friend’s distress. Yet she couldn’t bear to remain with Sloan, not with such bitterness and hostility between them. She hurt all the time. Sloan was never more than a heartbeat away from her thoughts, a raw ache that never left her. But he could never love her, and she couldn’t live with such heartache any longer. It was best if she severed their relationship, now while she still could.

  “Once the election is over,” she said quietly by way of explanation, “Sloan will no longer need me.”

  She felt Caitlin’s stare. “I take leave to dispute that. But even if you’re right, what about Janna? She certainly needs you. You’ve worked wonders already. Just yesterday Mrs. Elwood told me she means to invite Janna to her youngest daughter’s birthday celebration next month, and you know what an impossible snob she is. She may be rich as Midas with that gold mine of her husband’s, but she knows you can’t buy class. She’s hoping your elegance and grace will rub off on her own daughters—she told me so herself.”

  Caitlin paused in her argument to allow Heather a response, but she got none. “You must realize what that means for Janna’s future, Heather. If a woman like Francine Elwood can set aside her bigotry, even if it’s for selfish reasons, then Janna is likely to be accepted by the white community. And you’re the one who’s made that possible. Our neighbors are starting to think of Janna as your daughter—”

  Her stoicism crumbling, Heather buried her face in her hands.