“I know.”

“You should count yourself lucky to have her.”

“I know, goddammit!” Sloan winced at the pain that stabbed through his head. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Well, somebody should.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Denver?”

“I’ll go when I’m good and ready. I’m not finished having my say.”

“Well, hurry up and leave me in peace.”

Wolf held the cup of milk to the toddler’s lips. “You say you know she’s special, but you don’t act much like you appreciate her.”

“I do appreciate her,” Sloan protested with less vehemence.

“I think you owe the lady one whopper of an apology.”

He sure as hell did, Sloan agreed mutely. He would have to go crawling to Heather, his tail between his legs. Swallow whatever pride he had. Maybe then she would forgive him … even if he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

“I’ll ride over just as soon as my head settles.”

“You best wait a while, give her a little more time to get over it. Maybe take her some flowers this afternoon.”

“I’ll take Janna with me, too.”

“Good notion. She’ll be more likely to see you if you bribe her.”

Sloan gave his brother-in-law a baleful glare. “You’re damned well enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Wolf grinned, his teeth showing white against his bronzed complexion. “I am. But not out of spite. You’ve been like a walking dead man this last year. It’s good to see you finally taking an interest in life. Even with a sore head, you’re more alive than you’ve been in a coon’s age.”

“Yeah, well, that’s now. What about this afternoon? Will you still be laughing if Heather puts a bullet through me?”

She had no business crying, Heather scolded herself as she stood at Caitlin’s parlor window. Yet Sloan’s hurtful actions the previous night had left her heart aching.

She wanted to flee. Like an injured animal, she wanted to crawl into a hole and lick her wounds. She had offered Sloan her love and he had rejected it utterly.

But then, she’d always known she was fighting a losing battle, trying to win a man like Sloan McCord, with his dark soul and embittered heart. Heather squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to swallow the ache in her throat. She would not cry. She had promised herself she would hold on to her pride at least.