Holding Janna protectively, he returned his attention to Heather. “I don’t want her calling you mama. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.” Heather sent him the sweetest of smiles, yet a hint of steel edged her voice. “But allow me to make something understood. You might be my husband, Sloan McCord, but you will not bully or browbeat me. Is that clear?”

He stared at her, as if gauging her defiance. When he replied, it was not directly. “You’ll be the one to teach her, not Whitfield?”

“Yes, certainly. And I shall begin with polite manners. Janna obviously will not learn them from her uncivil, ill-tempered ogre of a father, who cannot seem to master even the basic social graces.”

His expression froze for an instant, before his eyes turned a cool blue that reflected nothing.

“I assure you,” Heather added tightly, her own temper roused, “I am not attempting to shirk my duties. Janna’s well-being is my only concern. I intend to do my utmost to give her every possible advantage. But it isn’t necessary to come to a decision just now. We have ample time to discuss her future and decide what’s best for her.”

Sloan gritted his teeth, an apology lodging in his throat like a chicken bone. “Maybe … I tend to be a bit protective where Janna’s concerned.”

“You do indeed—and it’s perfectly understandable. But I am not your enemy, Sloan. Nor is Vernon Whitfield. He can be a valuable ally in educating her.”

“Maybe,” he replied grudgingly.

“Furthermore, you can’t shield Janna from every unpleasantry in life. Certainly you can’t do it by wrapping her in a cocoon and never letting her out of the house.”

“I realize that.” She watched Sloan’s blue eyes grow dark and shadowy. “Still … I don’t want her to forget her ma, or her heritage.”

“Well…” Heather shrugged, wishing she hadn’t seen the raw pain in his eyes when he spoke of his late wife. “I don’t know how to teach Janna about her Indian heritage. I’ll have to leave that to you.”

Stiffly Heather turned away to resume her baking.

“Heather?” Sloan said after a moment, as if forcing the words out.

“Yes?” she replied woodenly, punching the biscuit dough.

“I… I’m glad you’re here for Janna. You have the right of it. I don’t know how to raise a baby girl. She needs you to help her.” Tenderly he kissed the top of his daughter’s ebony head. “I don’t know how.”

Heather felt her anger drain away, felt herself weaken helplessly. Sloan’s admission was an apology of sorts, and it touched her in the most tender corner of her heart. She couldn’t fight him when he was being humble and reasonable, or when he was showing such unconditional love for his daughter.

She nodded, accepting his apology, resuming their unspoken truce. For now, at least.