The feverish madness that had seized them both had been remarkable; every womanly instinct she possessed told her so. She hadn’t been mistaken. The intimacy of their joining had gone beyond the physical. For the briefest moment she had felt so close to Sloan … as if she were a part of him, and he a part of her.

But he was determined to push her away, to keep his heart closed to her.

Heather let out her breath in a sigh. Sloan McCord didn’t want a true wife, she had to remember that. She had to crush the fledgling emotions she was beginning to feel for him and make the best of an awkward situation.

She had to uphold her end of the business arrangement—and protect herself from heartache, if she could.

Chapter 5

THE DENVER TRAIN depot was a bustle of activity despite the winter season, Heather noted with surprise. While she waited for Sloan to collect his buckboard from the livery and load her trunks, she watched curiously as passengers scurried along the platform.

The station seemed less genteel than the one in St. Louis, with fewer ladies and frock-coated gentlemen and more cowboys sporting low-brimmed Stetsons and spurs with six-guns riding their lean hips. The stockyards in the distance marked the terminal as a main cattle-shipping center, while the buildings boasted painted clapboard instead of brick.

It was perhaps colder here, as well, she thought. Snow covered the ground in patches, glittering in the bright afternoon sunshine.

Heather was grateful for the added warmth of the sun. With her emotions so raw, she’d slept little last night and was weary after twenty-six hours on the train, with the prospect of a thirty-mile trip to the McCord ranch in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains still to come. Sloan had warned her they would arrive well after dark.

Otherwise he’d spoken little to her since the consummation of their wedding vows. Shortly after breakfast this morning, he’d returned to the car and lain down on the bed to sleep. A porter woke him when the train was a half hour outside of Denver, and he’d shaved and changed clothes with scarcely a glance at Heather. It was all she could do to concentrate on her book. She felt bare, exposed, far too vulnerable in his presence, especially with him performing such intimate tasks, the way a real husband might in front of his wife.

That defenseless feeling rose again unbidden as she saw Sloan pushing through the crowd, his tall, lean body moving with athletic grace. When she stepped down from the train, carrying her carpetbag, their gazes locked.

“You ready, duchess?”