He grinned unwillingly at the way she lifted her chin with evident pride. The impression he’d had of inner fragility was evidently misleading. The duchess had steel in her backbone. She was no shrinking violet. But that didn’t mean she was cut out to be a rancher’s wife, or the mother of his daughter. He felt a fierce, protective love for his child. He couldn’t entrust Janna to a woman who couldn’t even take of herself.

Sloan shook his head. “Good health or not, in one day I’ve had to save you twice. What makes you think you can survive out West if you have trouble managing here in civilization? What makes you think you can look after my daughter? I won’t have time to devote to pulling you out of scrapes. I sure won’t be able to protect you every minute of the day.”

“You won’t be required to.”

“Look … Miss Ashford.” He took another tack. “I don’t believe you know the whole truth about me. Caitlin wasn’t completely forthright about my situation. I’m not wealthy like Randolf. I’m holding on to my ranch by my fingernails. I can’t afford to support a wife with fancy tastes.”

Heather felt anger lap at her, driving away her nervousness. “I am not looking for wealth in marriage, Mr. McCord. If I were, I would have accepted Evan Randolf’s proposal long ago. Indeed, I fully intend to carry my own weight. I won’t be a burden to you.”

“Just having to keep you decked out in silk gowns will be a burden.”

His words slashed at her pride. “I assure you, I do not expect silk gowns—or anything else besides food and shelter.”

When he remained silently doubtful, Heather asked tightly, “Once and for all, are you withdrawing your offer of marriage?”

Feeling trapped, Sloan exhaled a breath of frustration. “No. I just want you to be damn sure about what you’re letting yourself in for. The work is not only backbreaking, but dangerous. There’s been a range war going on for decades.”

“Caitlin told me something about the feud, but she said it had ended for the most part.”

“Did she tell you about all the innocents who’ve died?”

“She … told me about your wife.”

The pain was swift and sharp. Sloan shut his eyes so that the duchess wouldn’t see his own private hell. He didn’t want another woman to get hurt the way Doe had been hurt. He couldn’t bear the guilt. Yet if Heather became his wife, the violence could touch her.

She didn’t look the sort to cotton to violence—which might be an argument he could use in his favor.

“I’m not blameless myself. I’ve killed when I had to, more men than I care to count. I have blood on my hands.”