She would have to ask Vernon Whitfield what jobs might be available for a woman with her skills. Perhaps the schoolteacher would know where she could find work as a part-time tutor. But this was not the best time to begin looking. School would be letting out shortly and not resume until the fall.

Meanwhile, however, she would do what she could to help Sloan’s senatorial campaign. She needed no convincing to know he was the better candidate. Sloan’s political aspirations were different from his opponent’s. His was not a search for power or wealth, but a fervent desire to make life better for the ranchers.

The roundup ended the second week in June. Sloan and his cowpunchers drove a herd to the railhead in Denver, a short distance compared to the long treks of most cattle drives. He left Rusty as guard and general handyman.

While he was in Denver, Sloan planned to meet with a group of politicians who were interested in seeing him beat Lovell. He intended to be gone only three days, but Heather missed him more than she cared to admit. The day after his departure, she was gathering Sloan’s clothing to launder when she found the chambray shirt he’d worn when they’d first met in St. Louis.

Wistfully, she rubbed the soft collar between her fingertips. Bunching the fabric in her hands, she brought it up to her face. She could still smell his male scent. Unbidden, the vulnerability, the loneliness, the longing rose up in her like a tide. She longed for a true marriage, a husband who cherished her. She longed for Sloan.

Her heart aching, Heather shook her head. She was a fool for wasting her emotions on an impossibility. Sloan had made it clear he didn’t want love. She yearned for a man beyond her reach. Despite the intensity of his passion, he kept himself shut off from her, elusive and terrifyingly remote, guarding what was left of his soul like a miser.

And yet when she looked into his haunted eyes, she could almost forgive him. He still grieved for his first wife. Still loved the ghost of another woman.

She couldn’t fight a ghost, or compete with such a hallowed memory. Yet she would not, could not, stop trying to get close to him. Even though she greatly feared he would break her heart in the end.

He came home on Thursday, in mid-afternoon, just after she had put Janna down for a nap. Heather’s heart did a somersault when she descended the stairs to find Sloan in the kitchen.