She’d thought she could be content with merely being Sloan’s wife, his lover, sharing a deep physical passion without his love. But she had wanted more all along. She wanted him to want her, to care for her, to feel that his life was incomplete without her. As hers was without him.

No man had ever held such power over her. Until now she had been too proud to beg him for a crumb of affection. But she feared what she would become if she stayed. She would be beyond defenses, unable to protect herself. She would be his, body and soul, accepting his unmeaning cruelties because she was so sick with love for him that she would take anything she could get.

Heather buried her face in her hands. She had to leave. Going away was the best solution for them both. Perhaps someday the doomed love that had taken possession of her heart would fade and the pain would diminish….

She gave a bitter, silent sob. And maybe pigs would sprout wings.

Just then she heard Janna’s exclamation of delight as the child spied her papa. Heather’s spine stiffened. Sloan had silently entered the kitchen, she realized.

Swiftly she wiped a sleeve across her damp eyes. She would not let him see her cry again.

He went straight to Janna’s corner and picked up his daughter. As he settled with her at the kitchen table, Heather stole a look at him. His expression was inscrutable, his attention fixed solely on the child.

She turned away without speaking.

As the awkward silence drew out between them, though, Heather felt him watching her. Selfconsciously she stirred the oat porridge and scooped a small helping into a bowl, then added brown sugar and a little milk. When she carried the concoction to the table, she paused beside him.

“Would you care to feed Janna or shall I?”

“I’ll do it.”

She set the bowl down before him on the table, then returned to the sink, where she mechanically began cleaning the dirty pot and utensils. Behind her she could hear Sloan spoon-feeding his daughter. When Janna gave a gurgle of laughter, Heather clutched at the edge of the sink, the ache inside her chest savage.

After a long moment, she took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain, trying to gather the courage to broach a subject that would likely only kindle more misery.

Finally she said in a low voice, “Sloan … I think it might be best if I left. I never should have come here in the first place.”

She turned reluctantly to look at him, to find him staring at her with hooded eyes.

“Where will you go?”

“I thought … perhaps Denver.”