HE WAS RUNNING, his heart pounding in desperation as he chased an ephemeral vision across the sunlit meadow. Doe’s shining raven hair rippled behind her in the wind as she ran from him through the columbine.

It was a game, a lover’s game.

He called her name, but she refused to stop. He shouted, pleading with her to come back, but she wouldn’t hear. He followed, his legs churning, his lungs laboring for breath.

She led him to her grave. When he arrived, chest aching, she was sitting cross-legged on the grass, weaving stems of delicate blue columbine together.

She lifted her dark gaze to him, and her sad smile tore at his heart. “You have come to say farewell.” It wasn’t a question.

He could answer only with the truth. “Yes.”

The flowers slipping through her fingers, she held her hands up to him.

His own hands were shaking as he took hers and dropped to his knees before her. Her touch was so faint, she seemed more spirit than flesh.

“My love,” she whispered, her image wavering before his eyes.

“God, Doe, I’m sorry. I let you die.”

“No, the blame was not yours.”

“I wish …” he began helplessly.

“No. No regrets.” She shook her head in sadness.

“Doe … there is something I must tell you.”

“I know. The woman … your new wife… She loves you.”

He bowed his head, unable to dispute her.

“And you love her.”

“Yes…” His throat was tight. “I love her.”

“Then I must go.”

When he felt her grasp waver, he looked up. Her likeness was fading. “Doe,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw.

“Farewell, my love. Care well for our daughter…”

He gripped Doe’s hands, trying desperately to hold on, but they dissolved in his grasp. He cried her name in anguish, but her spirit faded in a wisp of smoke and shadow.

He woke with a start, his cry echoing in the darkness, the wetness of tears chilling his face.

It had been a dream. Bittersweet, heartrending. A final good-bye.

His eyes burned with scalding tears. The muscles of his throat locked tight against the effort of holding them back, Sloan turned his head to find his baby daughter snuggled against his arm. He drew Janna into the curve of his body, seeking comfort. It brought no ease.

A sob caught in his throat.

Struggling against the fierce ache, he buried his face in the soft down of her hair. His chest heaved once, twice, before he finally surrendered to the wrenching despair. Helplessly he let the relentless pain and grief out, his young daughter’s hair muffling the broken, wracking sound of his weeping.

It was a long while before he found the energy to stir. Amazingly Janna still slept soundly beside him.