Yet, hard as he tried, he couldn’t picture her face, her smile. All he could see was her grimace of pain from the bullets that riddled her slim body.

Suddenly he was awash in memories, the savage images assailing him, razor-sharp, as if it had been yesterday.

The last moments of Doe’s life, when her shallow breaths had dwindled to nothing. The bright blood that soaked the ripped bodice of her gown and seeped between her legs. The harsh sobs that tore out of his body in great shudders as he clutched her still form to his chest.

His soul had been stripped away from him that day. The bleakness and grief had closed around him, enveloping him in blackness. It was the darkest time of his life.

With a raw curse, Sloan rose to his feet and turned away from the grave. Would he ever be free of the haunting memories? Of the guilt that hounded him?

He ran a hand raggedly down his face. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he lifted his gaze to the rocky, pine-clad slope above the meadow. These mountains, this ranch, the cattle and horses, were all he’d ever wanted before he met Doe. He’d never imagined he would come to cherish a woman above his heritage. Even above his own life.

He would have died in her place if he could. Instead he’d had to live with a bitter knowledge: he was the reason Doe was dead. If he hadn’t been so set on protecting his herds, his land, if he hadn’t been so determined to continue the feud….

To get back at him, his enemies had made his wife their target. They’d found Doe alone, driving back from town, and shot her team in its traces. She’d put up a valiant fight, Sloan learned later. The buckboard was riddled with bullet holes, while the rifles she’d carried were empty of ammunition. But when the last bullets were spent, Adam Kingsly and his confederates had set upon her like a pack of rabid wolves.

By the time Sloan found her, he was helpless to save her. Doc Farley told him afterward that if she hadn’t died from the gunshot wounds, the blood loss from the savage rape would have taken her.

His vengeance had been swift. With coldblooded efficiency he’d tracked every last man down, all seven of them, and made them plead for their miserable lives, before ending them with more mercy than his wife had been shown.

But he couldn’t bring Doe back.

His tortured eyes slid closed. For a few moments Sloan allowed himself to hurt. He let the ache rise up inside him, fierce and overwhelming, as he re-lived tormenting memories he wanted to shut away.

Then he inhaled another shuddering breath and forced himself to turn back to the grave.