“I think it’s a marvelous opportunity,” Heather replied. “Perhaps you could pay a call on all your neighbors beforehand to issue an invitation to the meeting. You could talk to them personally … find out their concerns and tell them your aspirations.”

“Will you come with me?”

Her eyes widened. “If you like.”

Sloan nodded. “I think it would help my cause. The ranchers here never could resist a beautiful woman. They’ll be more willing to attend the meeting if the invitation comes from you.”

It was some consolation that Sloan thought her beautiful, even if he saw her primarily as a political advantage. But she didn’t intend to quibble. “That makes sense, but as long as we’re talking about persuasion … you shouldn’t neglect the ranchers’ wives. Even if only men can vote in Colorado, women can influence the outcome of an election.”

His eyebrows rose thoughtfully, as if he recognized the truth to her observation. In addition to offering advice, though, Heather encouraged him to talk about his plans and tried to help him frame his ideas.

“People respect passion and conviction, Sloan. They need to understand why the election is so important to you, that you want to protect the land and help salvage people’s ranches. You know what it’s like to live with hardship. If you simply tell them the truth, if you speak from the heart, they’ll listen.”

For a rare moment, his smile reached those bright, unreadable eyes. A thatch of wheat-colored hair fell over his forehead, making him look boyish and incredibly masculine at the same time. She felt her heart melt.

Heather swallowed, trying to ignore the sensation. When he brushed it back out of his eyes, she suggested thoughtfully, “If you mean to start making public speeches, you might consider getting a haircut.”

He gave her a long, vaguely amused look. “My hair isn’t fancy enough for your tastes?”

“For a cowpuncher it is perfectly adequate, but a shorter style would look better if you don a suit. I doubt a shaggy bear is the image you want to portray with voters.”

“You’re the fashion expert, duchess.”

She trimmed his hair in the kitchen the next morning, and greatly enjoyed the task. At just that moment, Sloan looked carefree and relaxed. There was no sign of the dark, brooding stranger she had wed. Indeed, as she drew a comb through his longish hair, he even began flirting with her, showing the reckless, charming side that had won the hearts of all the local belles.

“I hope you’ve had more practice with those things than you have with a shotgun,” Sloan murmured, eyeing the shears. “You don’t mean to scalp me, do you?”

“I only hope to give you an air of refinement—no small task for a rugged cowboy, I must admit.”

Sloan shifted in the chair like a small boy.

“Would you please hold still?”