With a curse, Sloan squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell could he have been thinking, a savage voice prodded. How could he have been so deliberately cruel? He had no excuse for his despicable behavior. He’d lashed out at Heather in anger, mainly because he felt so damn vulnerable. He’d deliberately tried to drive her away—and cruelly wounded her in the process. He’d seen it in her eyes … her golden eyes hot and bright with unshed tears.

He deserved more than the slap she’d delivered last night. He deserved to be horsewhipped.

It was a long moment before he found the courage to climb out of bed and clean himself up. Longer still before he could make himself leave the room and go downstairs to the kitchen.

Wolf was there at the table, feeding Janna biscuits and milk for dinner. The day was already half gone, Sloan realized.

“Where’s Heather?” he asked, his voice dry and rasping.

“She went home with Jake last night.” He felt Wolf’s gaze pierce him. “Can you blame her?”

“No.”

Slowly Sloan walked over to the stove to pour a cup of coffee. It was muddy and cold and strong enough to strip the hide off a sow. Wolf must have made it, Sloan surmised.

Feeling his stomach rebel, he poured the mess down the sink and glanced regretfully around the clean kitchen. There were no appetizing smells of bacon frying or pies baking. No mouthwatering pancakes with maple syrup. No warm feminine laughter, the kind that made a house a home. None of the things he’d taken for granted since Heather’s arrival.

His conscience struck him another blow.

His daughter was watching him wide-eyed, Sloan realized. He greeted her, forcing a semblance of a smile to reassure her, then eased himself into a chair and propped his elbows on the table, the better to hold his aching head.

Wolf said not a word. His disappointment was palpable, his silence condemning.

“I know,” Sloan said finally in a low voice. “I was a complete horse’s ass.”

“Worse than that, I reckon.”

“Okay, a pile of horseshit. That satisfy you?”

“That’s about right.”

When Wolf fell silent again, Sloan lifted his head and glowered. “Why don’t you just say your piece and be done with it?”

“All right,” he responded soberly, “I will. You went way over the line last night. Your wife is a lady. She sure as hell didn’t deserve to be treated like a two-bit whore during a Saturday-night binge.”

Sloan shut his eyes. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t told myself a dozen times.”

“What the hell got into you?”

He couldn’t answer. It was hard to explain the panic he’d felt last night. Heather’s declaration of love had scared him spitless—so much that he’d tried to drive her away.

“Seems to me she’s a pretty special woman,” Wolf murmured.