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.