When he glanced at her to gauge her reaction, she offered him a quiet smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“God’s country,” he said simply.

A while later they heard the staccato sound of hoofbeats behind them. With one hand Sloan reached for the rifle stowed in the scabbard beside the wagon seat. He kept the weapon slung across his knees until the three riders, all older cowboys, passed with a greeting and a tip of their hats.

“Are you expecting trouble?” Heather asked in a low voice when they were alone.

“No, but the range war hasn’t been over long enough to go around unarmed. I want you to always carry a gun with you when you travel.”

Hearing his grim tone, Heather recalled soberly what Caitlin had told her—that Sloan’s Indian wife had been killed by gunmen while simply driving home.

The road became rougher as it grew dark, with boulders and ruts and broken snow choking the trail. Sloan made frequent use of the brake on the steep inclines and had to dismount several times to lead the horses through particularly treacherous patches. Shortly, though, a full moon rose to bathe the countryside in pale luminescence, lighting the way. As they edged alongside dangerous precipices, Heather clung to the rocking buckboard, yet somehow she felt safe in Sloan’s care.

The bitter cold was another question. She buried her face in the wool blanket as she found herself shivering.

“Not much farther,” Sloan said sympathetically. “We’ll turn off before we reach Greenbriar.”

Heather nodded. Caitlin had told her about the town that was the local watering hole for ranchers and miners.

“Is Greenbriar part of the district you would represent if you run for the state senate?” she asked.

Sloan gave her an odd look, as if surprised she would concern herself with such details. “Yes. The district’s large—stretches from a few miles back to twenty miles into the mountains, and nearly a hundred miles north to south. Part of the problem has always been balancing ranching and mining interests.”

Some ten minutes later they left the main road and traveled along a rocky trail that wound through the foothills. The McCord ranch was nestled in a moonlit valley, at the base of a dark, pine-clad slope. Welcoming lights shone in the distance as they drove through a gate marked Bar M.

In the moon’s silver glow, Heather could see a handsome split-timber house, two stories tall, flanked by corrals and outbuildings. A lantern illuminated the front porch of the ranch house, while wood smoke curled from several chimneys.

Sloan had scarcely pulled the team to a stop in the yard when a raven-haired woman came hurrying out of the house, her slender form now bulky with pregnancy.

Heather felt a surge of joy at seeing Caitlin, yet a bit alarmed when she negotiated the slippery porch steps in order to greet them.