The sheriff had hauled Gabby to jail, and his band of rustlers was now under lock and key. As hard as it was to find out that one of Chase’s men had betrayed his trust, it was nothing compared to watching the townsfolk turn against Emily.

Although no one dared speak up Sunday at church, he saw the way the congregation looked at her. The way they whispered behind gloved hands. The way they went out of their way to avoid him and Emily. She saw it too. He could tell by the way the light faded from her eyes, the way her smile vanished from her lips, how much it hurt her.

The worst part had been when she was attacked outside the ranch house by Fred Benton and Maizie Riley. The surge of protectiveness that had swelled up inside him surprised Chase. He wasn’t a violent man, but it was all he could do not to slam a fist into Fred’s face.

Even now, he felt protective of her, which was why he had to do what he had come here to do. There was no other way. His first mistake had been marrying her; his second had been falling in love. It was his love for her that had brought him here tonight.

He drew in his breath. Entering the room had been torture. Everything in the room reminded him of the one glorious night they’d spent together. Did she think about that? Think about all that they’d had and lost? Did she wake in the morning and gaze at the empty pillow, the empty bed, wishing he was there?

Would he ever again be able to walk in this room without doubling over in pain?

Shaking the thought away, he pulled the check from his vest pocket. Without a word, he crossed to where she sat and laid the check on the dressing table.

Her gaze fell upon it before she lifted rounded eyes to his. “What’s that for?”

“I told you I would pay your way back to Boston, if that’s what you wanted. If not, it’s yours to do whatever you want. After everythin’ that’s happened, I have no right to ask you to stay.”

She sucked in her breath. “I said I would.”

“I know what you said, but…I know how painful this has been for you.” For me…

“You don’t have to protect me,” she said. “If that’s what you’re doing.”

He knotted his hands by his sides. With a guilty start, he realized he wasn’t just protecting her; he was also protecting himself. Living under the same roof and not being able to hold her was unbearable. He couldn’t think of anything else, and he was no good to the ranch—to anyone—in his present condition. It had to end.

Aloud, he said, “Legally, you’re still my wife, and that makes it my job to protect you.” What he didn’t say was that he would do anything to keep her safe. Even if it meant losing the ranch.