“I meant it,” Wolf said finally, “when I told you I made a huge strike. I’m filthy rich.” He hesitated, eyeing Sloan. “I know the cattle business isn’t what it used to be. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I want you to have a share of my stake. It would have been Doe’s, had she lived.”

Sloan shook his head solemnly. “You know I can’t take your money.”

“Not even for Janna’s sake? I am her uncle after all.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I’ll provide for my daughter.”

Wolf grinned, his teeth showing white in his bronzed face. “I know—McCords take care of their own. You told me that in no uncertain terms when you married my sister. All right, I’ll mind my own business. But you damned sure better let me know if you ever need anything.”

He sipped his whiskey, his expression turning thoughtful. “You know, when you first sent word about your marriage, I was ready to string you up by your thumbs, but now that I’ve met Heather … I think you did right. She’s good for Janna. She’ll give her advantages Doe never could, help her get accepted by the white world.”

Sloan kept his face shuttered, not wishing to be reminded of the duchess’s superior talents. He was in no mood to make comparisons when Doe came out the loser. In fact his mood was blacker than it had been in months. Having his brother-in-law as a guest in this house had reminded him painfully of Doe—but it was seeing Heather at the gravesite this afternoon that had brought all his former grief surging back. It had been like prodding a festering wound.

He was almost relieved when Wolf finished off his whiskey and said, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in. I plan to make an early start for Denver tomorrow.”

Sloan downed the rest of his liquor, relishing the burn in his throat, but when he started to rise, Wolf stopped him.

“You don’t need to show me to my room. I know the way. I’ll just fetch my gear from the barn.”

Sloan hesitated, remembering that Heather used that bedchamber now. Wolf was like a brother to him. They shared a history that bonded them more strongly than any blood: they’d tracked down Doe’s murderers together. Yet Sloan preferred not to reveal the intimate details of his marriage. He didn’t want to have to explain why he and his wife didn’t sleep in his bedchamber.

“Sure,” he said evenly.