As their eyes met, Sarah nodded in accord. “I imagine he’s grateful to you at least for keeping the females away. And for looking after Janna. A lot of women want to be the one to help Sloan recover from his grief, or simply become mistress of all that land, but there aren’t too many anxious to mother a half-breed daughter.”

Reflexively Heather’s arms tightened around Janna. “I don’t much care for that term,” she replied coolly, “and I’ll thank you not to use it in her hearing.”

Sarah’s grin only broadened. “Good, you’ve got steel in your backbone, just as Caitlin said. I’m afraid you’ll need every ounce of it, with what you’ll have to face. But I want you to know, if you ever need my help, you have only to ask.”

Heather cherished little hope of improving her relationship with her husband, and the long years of loneliness stretched out before her like a frozen river. Yet despite Sloan’s cold reserve toward her, she knew he must have a softer side. She’d seen for herself his extreme gentleness with his daughter, his passion for the wild land, his devotion to his ranch hands… the love he still harbored for his first wife.

She’d seen the vulnerability in those bleak, world-weary eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching. She was learning to look beyond his man’s hard face, into the raw places in his heart.

She wanted to reach out to him, to offer him a touch, some comfort, even though she knew instinctively he wouldn’t want it. The knowledge made her heart ache, and she vowed to do everything in her power to aid Sloan in his struggle to keep his ranch solvent.

The devastating winter hung on with a vengeance, bitter with cold and enough snow to bury a steer chest deep. Sloan drove himself till he was dizzy with pain and fatigue. He was a man who wouldn’t admit defeat; he didn’t know what it was, Heather realized. But even she, who knew nothing about cattle, could see the kingdom he had built was crumbling. His very way of life was threatened.

It was during her third week that she sensed a small crack in Sloan’s granite exterior—the night she was awakened by Janna’s mewling cries. Leaping out of bed without even taking the time to put on a wrapper or slippers, Heather hurried down the hall to Sloan’s room, to find him cradling his daughter against his bare chest, pacing the floor by the light of a lantern, wearing only red long johns.

He gazed at her with a helpless expression. “She won’t stop crying.”