Authors: Nicole Jordan
“I once hoped he might, but now…” Heather shook her head, despairing of ever winning Sloan’s love. “He doesn’t want a future with me. He only wants to live in the past. I remind him of the love he lost.” Heather drew a shuddering breath. “I’ve tried, Caitlin, truly I have.”
But she had to face reality. No more denial and
no more hope. She could never free his heart from the chains of his past love.
“Where will you go?” Caitlin said finally in resignation.
“Denver … would be best, I think. I can find employment there, and I would still be able to visit you and Janna sometimes. Evan knows an elderly widow who’s seeking a full-time companion. I received a letter from her yesterday, inviting me for an interview. Actually she sounds quite charming and gracious. And the work shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Heather, if money is the problem, I told you, Jake and I will be able to raise some cash in a few weeks, once we sell some of our livestock.”
Heather wiped her eyes. “You know Sloan won’t allow you to make such a sacrifice. At this time of the year you would only be offered a pittance of your stock’s worth. In any event, our situation isn’t nearly as dire now that the mortgage has been paid off. Besides, money is only part of our problem.”
Albeit a large part, Heather acknowledged to herself. She had redeemed the note on the Bar M ranch with Evan’s draft. Not only did Sloan not appreciate her efforts, he was so furious with her, he refused to speak to her. The Bar M in the past few days had been a battleground, straining nerves and flaying already raw emotions.
Heather forced a feeble smile. “You shouldn’t worry about me. If I don’t find the role of companion agreeable, I could always become a political advisor. I met a number of candidates in Denver last month. Perhaps one of them will need help with a future campaign. My stock will soar if Sloan wins, and I could begin a whole new career.”
Her lame attempt at humor fell flat. When Caitlin’s troubled blue eyes searched her face, Heather
knew her friend could see her despair.
“When will you leave?”
“I’ve agreed to remain here till after the election.”
“But that is only a few days from now!”
“Yes.”
Only a few more days to endure before she could escape the misery and heartache.
Slipping a hand into her skirt pocket, she fingered the gold piece Sloan had so contemptuously flung at her as payment for her sexual services. She’d found it on his dresser and kept it in order to remind her of his unwavering determination to reject her love—and in order to bolster her resolve to leave him.
The day of the election dawned clear and bright in the magnificent Rockies, with enough of a nipping chill to hint at autumn. In a public show of support, Heather drove into town with Sloan so he could cast his vote, but the tension between them remained higher than ever. They returned to the Bar M almost at once, since it would be the next day at least before the votes from the district could be tallied.
The following morning they again drove into town, this time for a barbecue hosted by Sarah and Harvey Baxter for Sloan’s supporters.
The day proved glorious. Heather was surprised to see the crowd swell nearly to the size of the July Fourth celebration. The atmosphere, too, seemed almost as jovial, thanks mainly to the laughter and boisterous energy of the children as they played countless games in the big meadow behind the Baxters’, including baseball and sack races and horseshoes.
The grownups, however, seemed more sedate as
they awaited the outcome of the election. Much of the desultory conversation centered on Sloan’s chances, and whether the scandal involving Lovell would affect the voters’ decisions. Sloan refused to discuss the subject entirely and spent most of the time coaching his young nephew Ryan on how to hit a baseball.
The food had been devoured and cleaned up by mid-afternoon, when Rusty came galloping across the field, waving his hat and yelling in the air like a wild Indian warrior. He’d been posted at the telegraph office to await word from the county courthouse.
Heather felt her stomach somersault when she caught his shouted words, “Sloan won! Sloan won!”
The crowd burst into excited cheers, but it wasn’t until Marshal Netherson rode up at a less reckless pace and confirmed the news that Heather could breathe more easily.
“How ‘bout a hand for the new Senator McCord!” he shouted.
A round of applause went up, followed by more yells and cheers.
Eventually the marshal spied Heather and rode up to the back porch, where she had been helping Sarah wrap leftover food.
“Sloan won,” Luther told her in delight. “By a pretty narrow margin, but he still won. You should be mighty happy.”
“Indeed, I am,” Heather replied, trying to summon enthusiasm.
From a distance she watched as Sloan was surrounded by a crowd of men, all laughing and backslapping and shaking hands. A moment later he was hefted onto someone’s shoulders and the rabble-rousers moved off, surging toward the front of
the house and the street. She thought Sloan turned his head to search the crowd, possibly for her, but then the throng disappeared from view.
“Where are they taking him?” she asked Luther.
“The saloon, I’ll bet—in order to celebrate. Which is where I should be heading, if you’ll pardon me, ma’am. I’ve gotta buy Sloan a drink. It’s not often a man spits in Quinn Lovell’s eye and gets away with it. Harvey, you goin’ with me?”
Luther tipped his hat to the ladies and rode off after the crowd of men.
“It’ll be a wonder if a single one of them manages to come home sober tonight,” Sarah complained good-naturedly as her own husband Harvey hastened after the marshal.
Most of the women stayed to finish the cleanup. Heather made the rounds to thank all of those who had been so instrumental in getting Sloan elected, and then saw the last ladies away.
Finally she collected Janna from Caitlin. Not knowing when they would see each other again, she took the opportunity to say a tearful good-bye.
“I’m going to miss you dreadfully,” Caitlin said, giving her a fierce hug. “But at least Denver’s not as far as St. Louis.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” Heather replied, trying not to sob.
She was still swallowing tears as Rusty drove her and a sleepy Janna home. She had just put Janna to bed for a long overdue nap when Evan arrived a day early. She had wired him this week, accepting his offer of escort to Denver, but hadn’t planned to leave just yet.
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” Heather said as she showed him into the house.
“I concluded my business affairs sooner than expected, so I thought I would spend the night in
town. Unfortunately I didn’t count on Greenbriar not boasting an hotel or the saloon being occupied by inebriated merrymakers. I booked a room at the saloon, but if we left today, I might avoid the inferior accommodations. Plus the maidservant I brought to accompany us would be spared sleeping at the livery stable.”
“Today?”
“Is there any reason to delay?”
Heather averted her gaze from Evan’s penetrating dark eyes. “I suppose not.”
“You can stay at the Windsor Hotel tonight and be fresh for your interview with Mrs. Sharp at one o’clock tomorrow. I think you will like her, my dear. She was an acquaintance of my mother’s before coming out West with her husband. She used to feed me gingerbread when I was a child.”
Heather smiled faintly. She found it hard to imagine Evan Randolf as a child. But she appreciated his trying to raise her spirits and divert her mind from the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. “I’ll need to finish packing. And I should wait till Sloan comes home to look after Janna—and so that I may say good-bye. He is my husband, after all.”
“Of course.”
“He won the election,” Heather said absently.
“I know. I just saw him at the saloon. He was surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers. It doesn’t appear as if he will miss you greatly.”
Heather winced at Evan’s unfeeling remark and wondered if he was trying to console her or make her feel worse.
He seemed all business as he adjusted his bowler on his head. “I’ll return for you, my dear, when I’ve settled my bill at the saloon and fetched the maid.”
She nodded, suddenly feeling too numb to answer politely.
Sloan narrowed his eyes and squinted through a haze of cigar smoke and whiskey fumes. He wasn’t drunk. He’d nursed a single glass for the past two hours of celebrating. He wasn’t seeing things either. That really was Evan Randolf crossing the barroom.
A wave of fury washed over Sloan, but he clamped it down. Despite his injured pride, Randolf
had
relieved a severe financial burden by canceling his debt.
“Excuse me, boys?” he said to his friends. Rising from the table, Sloan made his way through the boisterous crowd to the bar, where the railroad baron had stationed himself.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Sloan asked, making himself heard over the clinking piano and a dozen cowboys singing off-key.
Randolf raised an elegant eyebrow. “Why should you wish to?”
Sloan gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep his tone even. “Because I owe you thanks for bailing out my ranch.”
Evan smiled without humor. “I trust it hurt you to say that as much as it did me to return the funds.”
“Likely more.”
He inclined his head. “Very well, Mr. McCord, your gratitude is acknowledged. Forgive me, I should say Senator McCord.”
“Whiskey?”
“That will do.”
Sloan waved to the bartender and ordered two whiskies, then leaned against the bar. “What brings you to this neck of the mountains, Randolf?”
“Would it upset you if I said your wife?”
He went still, every nerve in his body on alert.
“Your wife asked me to escort her to Denver. Didn’t she tell you?”
“No.” The word was barely audible.
“We plan to leave within the hour.”
Silence.
Evan regarded him curiously. “You know, Mr. McCord, you don’t look witless. But you must be even more of a fool than I was. You actually had her love and let her go.”
Sloan turned slowly to stare at him.
“I dislike to be the bearer of bad tidings,” Randolf said solemnly, “but perhaps you should consider returning home. I believe your wife is waiting to say farewell.”
She was upstairs in her bedchamber, packing her bags while Janna napped, when Sloan came in. He stood for a moment in the doorway, watching her. His first rush of panic had dulled to numbness.
“Congratulations,” she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder. “You deserved to win.”
Sloan made no reply. He couldn’t accept her accolades, or thank Heather for her help, even knowing she was a chief reason for his victory. He should have been elated by his success. He should have cared about the election that he’d spent so much time and energy campaigning to win. He should have felt something other than the cool, dead feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat.
She nodded. “Yes. In a short while. Evan is coming for me in his carriage.”
Sloan felt his hand curl involuntarily into a fist, but he forced himself to relax. Her next comment made it clench again.
“My courses came this week.”
A look passed between them, tangled with dark, churning emotions. She was not carrying his child.
“Good,” he said abruptly, before turning on his heel and walking away.
She waited to say good-bye to Janna until the very last moment. When Evan Randolf’s carriage arrived, he sent his coachman to the front door to fetch Heather’s trunk and bags and then waited patiently for her to join him.
In the front hall, Heather smoothed on her gloves and adjusted her bonnet, postponing her leavetaking as long as possible. Finally, though, there was no more reason for delay.
Reluctantly she went to the kitchen, where Sloan had just finished feeding his daughter.
She paused in the doorway, watching the two of them together, his tawny head bent toward his daughter’s raven one. She wondered if they would miss her.
“I’ve come to say good-bye,” she murmured past the ache in her throat.
Sloan didn’t reply except to nod his head. Taking that as permission, Heather moved across the kitchen. Her teeth tugging at her trembling lower lip, she lifted the tiny girl in her arms and held her tightly.
“I shall miss you dreadfully, sweetheart.” She was aware of Sloan’s narrowed gaze on her. “You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?” she asked in a voice husky with tears.
“Have I ever not?”
Even his lightly spoken words were like a knife stabbing her.
Her gaze found his, her eyes filled with love and hopelessness. She wanted him to ask her to stay,
but all the crying in the world wouldn’t change his feelings for her.
Sloan felt her despair echo in his veins and looked away from her unbearably sad eyes. He wanted to kiss those tears away, wanted to beg her to stay, but he crushed the urge. Lies were his only protection now. He didn’t want her thinking he needed her.
“So you’re choosing Randolf after all,” he said in a low voice.
She shut her eyes briefly. “No… I’m not choosing him. My leaving has nothing to do with him.”
“It’s pretty clear you prefer his fortune to the life I can offer you.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? You expect me to believe you don’t find ranch life too hard?”
“The life here
is
hard, but that isn’t what’s driving me away. It’s you, Sloan. You’re the reason I have to go.”
He stared at her grimly.
“You don’t understand at all, do you?”
“I guess I don’t”
Her mouth trembled. “I love you, Sloan. So much it hurts. I love you … I love your child”—her arms tightened around Janna—“I love this land. We could have had a beautiful life together.”
His jaw clenched in resistance. “So you love us but you’re going to leave us.”
“I can’t stay. Not without your love. I can’t bear to live here any longer.” Her throat constricted, and a tremor shook her voice when she continued. “I can’t bear the bitterness, the pain. I’m a flesh-and-blood woman. You throw barbs and I bleed. I just can’t bleed anymore.”