He knew what he wanted from Heather, and it didn’t include love or even passion. He would never feel for her what he’d felt for Doe. He never wanted to care that deeply for a woman again. He couldn’t stand the pain.

Not that it would come even close to that.

Last night had sure as hell been a mistake, but the simple truth was, it had meant nothing to him. He had used Heather’s body, that’s all.

It was a basic tale of man wanting woman, male needing female. Only sex. Desire in its basest, rawest form. The kind that had nothing to do with love or tenderness, and everything to do with physical need. Their lovemaking could never be like what he’d known with Doe, tender and gentle and … meaningful.

The duchess could never be anything more to him than temptation, Sloan swore. He damned sure wouldn’t let her.

Chapter 8

HIS VOW TO keep away from Heather proved easier once the spring thaws finally came in mid-April. Sloan was able to bury himself in ranch work—the hell with her wary eyes and soft mouth and silken body. The exertion focused his mind and made certain the overriding pain was in his muscles.

With the melting of the snows, he could take stock of the disastrous damages the brutal winter had wrought. Few folks could remember a season whose bitter cold lasted so deep into April, or one so devastating. Fully a third of the Bar M herds had perished, and the steers remaining were more bones than beef.

Heather knew Sloan was avoiding her, yet she tried to bear his neglect with stoicism. She was still inclined to make excuses for him, and during the days at least she had her own work to keep her busy. If during the long nights she had to battle wrenching loneliness, well then, it was the price she had to pay for choosing this life, as the wife of a cattle baron who cared for nothing but his ranch and his daughter.

At least her relationship with Janna continued to develop. Her fondness for the young child grew, as did the bonds of trust and affection between them. Beginning to shed her quiet shyness, Janna often could be heard chattering to her doll in baby language, before setting off on hands and knees, crawling into corners to explore. Yet for the most part she stayed close to Heather, as if reluctant to let her out of sight.

Heather’s acquaintance with the Bar M ranch hands improved as well. She had never known men quite like these cowboys—ones so honest and direct, who took pleasure in simple joys. They treated her with respect, indeed almost reverence, but lived such rugged lives, she wanted to help ease their hardships if she could.