The Heart Breaker (26 page)

“I’ll do my best. And so will the girls. They always did have a soft spot for Sloan McCord.”

Those words echoed in Heather’s mind the following week as she campaigned earnestly for her husband—and again the morning of July Fourth as she dressed for the picnic and supper-dance to be held on the outskirts of town.

She was standing in her lacy underdrawers, trying to don her corset, when Sloan walked into her bedchamber carrying Janna. When his glance raked over her, a warmth rose inside Heather that had little to do with the heat of the day.

“We’re ready,” he announced, settling in the armchair by the window with his daughter to wait. “Doesn’t Janna look pretty?”

Heather gave the child a warm smile. “Beautiful.”

The toddler was garbed in a pale-blue calico dress with a froth of cream ruffles adorning the neck, a dress Heather had lovingly fashioned to complement the one she planned to wear to the celebration.

But it was Sloan who took Heather’s breath away. Sunlight was reaching through the window now, turning the dusty blond of his hair to gold, a rich, burnished shade that reminded her of wheat fields in summer. He looked ruggedly masculine and impossibly handsome, dressed in the same dark-gray suit he’d worn at their wedding, a crisp white shirt and string tie setting off his lean features. His mere presence roused in her a sensual memory of the previous night: his tender, relentless hands caressing her, his dark voice murmuring words of praise and pleasure, his hard, driving body taking her to the heights of passion....

Yet this morning he was a different man from the incredible lover of last night. Despite the sixguns strapped to his thighs, he seemed carefree and relaxed. Holding his daughter on his lap, he straightened the blue bow Janna wore in her raven hair, but then glanced at Heather with an easy smile curving his lips.

She loved him most, Heather reflected, at moments like this, when his tenderness for his daughter spilled over to
her,
when he softened toward her and let down his guard.

Heather froze in the act of tying the corset strings.

She was in love with Sloan, she realized with dismay. Despite her efforts to protect her heart from danger, she had fallen in love with her husband.

He apparently misconstrued her hesitation. “You
need help putting on that contraption?”

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head silently.

“Just as well. I don’t know the first thing about corsets, except how to take them off.” His amused blue eyes grew distant with fond memory. “Neither did Doe, for that matter. She tried to put one on once, and wound up with it upside down. Broke a string, too. I laughed so hard, I thought I would split my sides.”

At the soft affection in his tone, Heather swallowed the ache in her throat. She wondered if Sloan’s heart could ever be freed from the chains of love he bore his late wife. Should she even try? Until now, she’d been content with winning small victories in her attempt to become indispensable to him—aiding Sloan with running his household and raising Janna and promoting his campaign. But she wanted to mean more to him than a helpmate. More than a lover. Much, much more.

The realization haunted her thoughts and made her unusually quiet during the drive into town, so much so that Sloan commented on her silence.

“You all right?” he asked, giving her a penetrating glance.

Heather forced a bright smile. “Perfectly,” she lied. “I’m simply enjoying the beautiful day.”

And it
was
beautiful. The foothills were magnificent in summer, the rocky slopes bright with sunshine and richly green with towering pines and firs, aspens and spruce, while the meadows brimmed with wildflowers—delicate blue columbine and lavender phlox and flaming Indian paintbrush.

The Fourth of July was a major holiday in Colorado, Heather had learned, and the day would be filled with picnicking and baseball games and fireworks, to be followed that evening by a dance
and late supper. This year’s celebration would also include speeches by the two senatorial candidates.

The entire community seemed to be present, Heather decided when they arrived at the meadow on the edge of town—ranchers, cowboys, sheep farmers, miners, and all their families. She deposited her pies on a long table already groaning with food, then remained at Sloan’s side, holding Janna, as he mingled with the crowd. She was pleased to recognize so many faces, and more pleased by the number of people who greeted her warmly.

After several athletic events ended, including sack races and ballgames, the picnickers gorged themselves on lemonade and fried chicken and apple pie. For the meal, Heather and Sloan shared a blanket with Jake and Caitlin, while Harvey and Sarah Baxter sat beside them, along with the schoolteacher, Vernon Whitfield. There was much laughter and friendly banter among the families. Afterward the older children took themselves off for more games, while the babies napped and the adults lazed on blankets during the worst heat of the day.

An hour or so later Sloan excused himself to talk to some of the other ranchers, and Vernon moved over to join Heather.

“A few weeks ago you asked me about possibilities for employment,” Vernon began, “and I’ve thought of an idea that would benefit us both. You know that since school let out, I’ve been reporting on the political races for the
Rocky News?”

“I know. I’ve read your articles,” Heather said warmly. “They’re quite lively and informative.”

“Well, there’s more work than one person can handle. I hoped you might consider helping me part-time—editing my articles, primarily, but upon occasion, writing up my notes into articles of your
own. The salary wouldn’t be lucrative, but the hours are flexible and you wouldn’t have to leave your ranch. And you might find the intellectual challenge stimulating as well as rewarding.”

“I would enjoy it immensely,” Heather replied. “As long as it wouldn’t interfere with my caring for Janna, it could prove the perfect job.”

“Well, then, what do you say I call on you tomorrow and we can go over your duties?”

She smiled at Vernon with warmth and gratitude. She would indeed enjoy the challenge of editing and writing. Certainly she possessed the necessary skills, having been exposed to her father’s journalistic world practically since birth. Moreover, Heather reflected silently, with a salary, no matter how meager, she would no longer be so totally dependent on Sloan, and she could even begin repaying some of the debt she owed him.

Despite the congeniality of the day, however, Heather found herself growing nervous as the afternoon waned and the picnic wound down, since the time for speech-giving was fast approaching. She had seen Quinn Lovell across the meadow shaking hands with countless people, and knew he was making the most of the opportunity to ingratiate himself with voters.

Her nervousness increased tenfold, though, when she saw the mining baron make his way toward Sloan. When the two men met, Heather picked up a dozing Janna from the blanket and moved closer, so she could hear what Lovell was saying.

“…surprises me you can afford the expense when your ranch is mortgaged so heavily.”

“Seems to me,” Sloan returned with a chilling smile, “your interest in my ranch is misplaced. I
have this quaint notion that my finances are my own business.”

Lovell gave him a measuring stare, but then he caught sight of Heather and tipped his hat to her. “I’ve had the privilege of meeting your lovely wife, McCord. You are quite fortunate.”

Sloan gave her a brief glance. “Yes, I am,” he said coolly.

“Well, then, I shall wish you luck. May the best man win.”

Lovell turned away then, toward the platform which had been erected for the speechmakers and the fiddlers.

“What did he want?” Heather asked Sloan curiously.

“To deliver a threat, I expect.”

“A threat?”

Sloan’s jaw clenched, but then he smiled at his sleepy daughter. “You’d best go back to your nap, darlin’,” he murmured, deliberately avoiding Heather’s question. “There’s no need for you to listen to long, boring speeches.”

As the crowd resumed their places before the platform, Lovell was introduced to the crowd by Harvey Baxter, who ran through a long list of the baron’s accomplishments, including his stock holdings in railroad companies and mining ventures.

Waiting for the applause to die down, Lovell raised his hand benevolently. “Most of you know me by now,” he began with a friendly smile. “And you also know that I want to bring renewed prosperity to this part of Colorado…”

What followed was a long speech—as boring and uninspiring as Sloan had predicted, Heather thought, making no allowances for her decided partiality. The speech garnered a smattering of polite
applause, before Lovell stepped down for Sloan to take his place.

Although unsure if her imagination was playing tricks, Heather could feel the sudden rise in tension as the two men passed. Sloan stepped up on the platform then, and faced the crowd, making deliberate eye contact, one by one.

A charge of energy filled the air; the atmosphere was so quiet, it sounded almost like a crack of gunfire when Sloan cleared his throat and raised his voice so as to be heard in back.

“I’d say most of you know me, too. We grew up together. Some of us were enemies in a range war we didn’t start. We’ve shed blood together. We’ve fought to protect our homes and our families. We’ve shared some good times as well as bad. But a new fight is just beginning.

“It’s no secret that my opponent is wealthy enough to buy half the state of Colorado. Well, fine. But I don’t intend to make this a competition to buy your vote. I can’t afford it. Like many of you, I’m having trouble making ends meet. And it looks as if the hard times are going to get worse before they get better.

“I’m not about to give up, though. Not in this lifetime. I’ll be damned if I’ll let all the sweat and blood and tears go for naught. But the fight is bigger than any one man. I can’t win it alone. I need your help. I can’t promise you a rosy future. I can only promise to try to protect our way of life, to keep this community a good place to raise our families. I can only say that we have to stick together. This is
my
land—mine and yours. And I’m asking you to help me keep it that way.”

Heather felt her heart swell with pride as Sloan interrupted the stunned silence to step down from the platform. He hadn’t stuck precisely to the script
they’d worked out during long hours in his study, but he’d spoken simply and eloquently, from the heart.

And the sparse speech clearly had a powerful impact. He had touched his audience if the reaction of the crowd was any measure. Somebody—a cowboy from one of the neighboring ranches, perhaps—let out a piercing whistle, before the rest of the crowd broke into applause that seemed deafening in contrast to the reception Quinn Lovell had received.

When a chant of “Sloan, Sloan, Sloan…” broke out, Harvey Baxter stood up, raising his hands to ask for quiet. “Well now, we thank you two gentlemen for the fine words. But now I think we need to start the dancin’. What do ya say, folks!”

The chants turned to whoops as rowdy cowpunchers tossed their hats in the air and scurried to find a female partner. A half-dozen couples had taken to the grassy floor by the time the fiddles launched into a lively reel, and more followed suit directly.

Throughout the evening, quite a number of people came up to congratulate Sloan for his insightful remarks and promised to support him. Lovell appeared to take his temporary setback with composure, although once Heather caught him studying Sloan with a dark look that disturbed her.

Fortunately, the dance was uneventful, as was the supper afterward. Heather found herself in great demand as a partner, and she had the pleasure of dancing twice with her husband, who proved to be a surprisingly accomplished dancer.

The hour was late when the weary but happy revelers finally dispersed. Sloan drove the buggy home in the dark, while Heather sat silently beside him, holding a sleeping Janna. The night was
warm, the sky black as velvet, while he rugged hills towered over them like benevolent giants.

Heather might have been content to enjoy the peaceful interlude but for the disquiet she felt after the obscure threat Quinn Lovell had made earlier.

“Lovell won’t like the idea of losing the race, will he?” she asked quietly as they neared the Bar M Ranch.

“I doubt it,” Sloan responded.

“What do you think he means to do?”

“I don’t know. I figure I’ll have to be prepared for just about anything.” His jaw hardened. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let him hurt you or Janna.”

Heather shook her head. She hadn’t really needed such reassurance. She knew Sloan well enough to know he would do everything in his power to protect his own.

When they reached the ranch house, Sloan helped her dismount before driving on to the barn to stable the horses. Heather heard the greeting he gave some of his hired hands, who had arrived home just ahead of them.

Entering the dark kitchen, she laid the sleeping Janna on the blanket in her play corner in order to light a lantern. When she turned back to pick up the child, a harsh buzzing sound suddenly reached her ears.

Heather froze in the act of reaching down for Janna. A rattlesnake lay curled beneath one edge of the blanket, within easy striking distance of them both. Poised to attack, the reptile stared at her, its beady eyes gleaming cold and vicious in the lamplight, its tail issuing a deadly warning.

Fear screamed through Heather, but with an inhuman act of will, she forced herself to remain still. She prayed Janna would remain asleep and not attract
the rattler’s notice before Sloan could get there.

It seemed like forever before she heard Sloan mounting the back porch steps. She tried to call out to him, but her breath was trapped in her throat. As he pushed open the door, she made another desperate attempt.

“Sloan…” The word came out a hoarse rasp. “Stop…”

He was carrying the empty pie plates from the picnic, but he hesitated at her plea, taking in the scene. He suddenly went rigid as the harsh rattle sounded again. She sensed rather than heard his curse.