At the moment, Heather could see nothing of the kind, but she forced a smile and let Winnie lead the way to the dining room.

The wedding breakfast was delicious—ham and fried chicken and flaky croissants, hothouse strawberries, and clotted cream. Heather, however, scarcely tasted a bite as she sat beside her new husband at the lace-covered dining table. From time to time she glanced covertly at Sloan.

Her mother would not have approved of him, although her father might. Charles Ashford had liked independent, strong-minded men.

Her own feelings were more nebulous and confused. Despite his remoteness toward her, she felt an attraction she could not explain. She was drawn to Sloan McCord against her will. There was something about him that called to her, something untamed and elemental.

He had a similar effect on other females, apparently. To her dismay, her friends sat awed and spellbound as Sloan politely described some of the sights out West and recounted the dangers of a cattle drive.

The breakfast was concluded with coffee and slices of wedding cake—an iced confection crowned with a delicate china figurine of a bridal couple. Afterward, the female guests rose to help Winnie clear the table, while the minister departed.

Heather found herself momentarily alone with her new husband. She risked a glance at him, wondering if he felt as strange and awkward as she did. His expression was unsmiling, with no sign of warmth in those remarkable eyes.

“Do you need help to finish packing?” he asked without inflection.

“No, I can manage, thank you.”

“I’ll harness Winnie’s buggy and wait for you outside, then.”

Heather heaved a soft sigh as she watched him leave. If their marriage was to be this chilly, this polite and distant, the years ahead would be long indeed.

Sloan escaped the stifling atmosphere of the house for the chill of the winter air. Out on the porch, he took a deep gulp as he struggled to breathe.

The ache in his chest had started this morning even before he’d laid eyes on his stunning bride—an ache that had only grown tighter as the minister droned the fateful words that would bind him to Heather Ashford in marriage. The ceremony itself resembled his first wedding, but he’d felt none of the love, the joy, the intimacy he’d known the first time.

This time he had wed a stranger. They had less than nothing in common, starting with their social stations. Hell, that fancy wedding gown of Heather’s must have cost a fortune, a far cry from Doe’s simple white buckskin dress embroidered with beads….

Sloan shut his eyes, missing Doe as if a knife were buried in his chest. But that part of his life had ended brutally the day she died. All he could do now was hoard his precious memories and try to make it through each day. With his new bride.