Without waiting for Sloan to help her, Heather climbed down from the wagon seat and found herself drawn into her friend’s warm embrace.

“At last,” Caitlin exclaimed. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“I, too. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“We wanted to welcome you to your new home. Sloan, you should be roped and tied for making her endure such a hard journey,” Caitlin scolded. “I’ll do it myself if you don’t bring her inside at once.”

Sloan’s mouth curved in a reluctant grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

Heather’s brows rose in surprise at their easy rapport. She suspected few people had the nerve to order Sloan McCord around, much less threaten him.

“You must be frozen,” Caitlin remarked. “Come warm yourself by the fire. Supper’s heating in the oven.”

When Heather had collected her carpetbag from the back of the buckboard, the two women went up the steps arm-in-arm and encountered a man dressed in a chambray shirt and denims.

“Heather, this is my husband Jake—Ryan’s father.”

In the lantern light, Heather regarded the former outlaw curiously. Like Sloan, he was tall and rugged, with the same lean-muscled build and roughly chiseled good looks. His hair, too, was the color of dusty wheat, but his eyes were a vivid green, lacking the frost that glittered in his brother’s ice-blue ones.

Just now those striking eyes were inquisitive yet cautious, as if Jake McCord intended to withhold judgment of her. His work-hardened hand, however, felt warm and strong as he offered it to her to shake.

Heather smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you at last. Caitlin has told me a great deal about you, Judge McCord.”

“Call me Jake. Cat told me about you, too, but she didn’t warn me I’d be getting such a handsome woman for a sister.” His easy grin was as unconsciously seductive as it was dangerous, with the potent masculinity his brother possessed in full measure. “Welcome to the family.”

“Where’s Janna?” Sloan asked from behind them.

“In your study,” Caitlin replied. “She wanted to stay up to see her papa and meet her new mamma.”

At the remark, Sloan went still for an instant. But then he moved past them and entered the house.

At the urging of her friend, Heather followed. She caught a glimpse on her left of a darkened parlor, with brocade furniture and flocked wallpaper that looked surprisingly modern. On the right, however, was where Sloan disappeared.

Her first impression of the study was one of warmth and comfort and enduring solidness. Rustic beams stretched across the ceiling of the large room, while colorful woven rugs covered the floor and bookshelves lined one wall. The furniture was masculine, overstuffed tanned leather of black or rust hues—far less formal than that in the parlor and a good deal more inviting.