“Then I’ll have time.”

“Time?”

“I thought I would visit Doe first.”

Heather looked a bit startled.

“Her grave. She’s buried up in the hills.”

“Oh … I didn’t realize.”

“I’d like to take Janna with me. It’s time she got to know her ma a bit.”

Heather hesitated, uncomfortable turning the child over to a stranger, even if he was her uncle. “Perhaps I should come with you.”

His handsome mouth curled. “I’m not going to kidnap her, if that’s what worries you.”

“No, but I’m responsible for her. Janna is my daughter now, and I don’t like letting her out of my sight.”

His eyebrow raising again, Wolf regarded Heather intently with those penetrating jet eyes, yet she sensed approval.

“I think,” he said slowly, “Doe would have been glad to have you looking out for Janna.”

He kept Janna entertained while Heather finished hanging the wash. When she suggested hitching up the buckboard, however, he said she would need a horse to get up into the foothills. They left word with Rusty where they were headed and rode out, Wolf with Janna propped in front of him, and Heather riding sidesaddle.

The gravesite was a natural shrine, Heather reflected when they finally came to a halt. It was protected by rugged hills, secreted in a glade of aspens. The surrounding meadow shimmered lavender blue with delicate columbine, while above the simple granite headstone towering aspens stood sentinel, their bright green leaves whispering gently in the warm summer breeze.

She watched wordlessly as Wolf dropped from his horse and carried Janna over to the grave. He bowed his head, his long raven hair falling over his carved cheekbones, his thoughts private.

After a respectful interval, Heather dismounted slowly and moved to stand beside him. An ache caught in her throat as she read the inscription: Here lies Doe Who Sleeps, Beloved wife of S. McCord.

“She didn’t deserve to die so young,” Wolf said tonelessly, yet Heather could feel his edge of anger. When she glanced at him, his bronzed jaw had hardened.

“What was she like?” Heather murmured.

He shrugged. “She was quiet mostly, but she had a lively spirit. She made you laugh … and just plain damn feel good.”

“I understand she kept house for you?”

Wolf nodded. “Doe was five years younger. We had the same ma but different pas. Mine was white, and he raised me to be a miner. That’s how I escaped Doe’s fate when the army rounded up all the Cheyenne and herded them to Indian Territory.” Wolf’s mouth curled savagely. “They lived like prisoners on a reservation. Our ma died there. When I learned about it, I went to fetch Doe and bring her back to the mountains, where I’d staked a claim. Doe kept house while I panned for gold.”