He didn’t much relish this dispassionate means of release, but it wasn’t unnatural for a healthy man to have needs, and he hadn’t had a woman in months.

Oh, there were any number of females who’d be willing to scratch his masculine itch, including Doc Farley’s pretty daughter and a lively rancher’s widow who lived on the outskirts of town. But he’d shied away from them all, avoiding even the doves at the saloon in Greenbriar. They couldn’t fill the emptiness inside him since losing the woman he’d loved, or replace what he’d shared with Doe.

Despite what his family said.

His brother Jake was pushing him to get on with his life. His sister-in-law insisted he needed another wife.

With a swift, impatient movement, Sloan threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. After wiping his damp hand on the sheet, he bent over tiredly, his corded forearms resting on his thighs, his head bowed.

Ever since Caitlin’s marriage to his brother last summer, she’d been intent on playing matchmaker, Sloan reflected somberly. She’d finally worn him down with sheer persistence.

“What in blazes do I want another wife for?” he’d demanded several months ago when Cat first broached the subject, half amused by her gumption, considering that they’d been mortal enemies for years.

“I can think of several excellent reasons,” she’d returned stubbornly.

And all her arguments had been sound, Sloan was forced to admit. Shrewdly she’d started with his foray into state politics.

“You want to win your campaign this summer, don’t you?” Caitlin asked.

“I have some notion of winning, yes.”

Ignoring his wryness, she eased her body, which was beginning to swell with child, into the leather sofa in his study, looking prepared for a long siege. “Then you’d better start thinking about how to get people on your side. Your maverick ways haven’t endeared you to voters, Sloan. Especially to sheep men.”

Caitlin was right, he knew. He planned to run for the Colorado senate, but his violence in the long range war had earned him more than a few enemies. Caitlin herself had helped him end the feud, but there was still bad blood between cattle ranchers and sheep farmers.

And then there was his marriage.

A hell-raiser in his youth, he’d earnestly avoided matrimony until he’d fallen for the full-blooded Cheyenne woman he’d met soon after his brother was unjustly branded an outlaw. His marriage had stunned and shocked the community. And it hadn’t helped that later, as a widower, he’d continued to evade the local belles.

“It would improve your public image significantly to be married to a well-bred lady,” Caitlin persisted.

Sloan didn’t bother repressing his scoff. “Your ‘well-bred lady’ is from St. Louis. A citified Easterner.”

“Who would do quite well as a political hostess.”