The Heart Breaker (32 page)

Sloan stirred with a groan. He blinked when he spied Heather and turned his head on the pillow to peer around the room in confusion.

“What’m I doing here?” he asked in a rasping voice.

“I asked Jake to put you here. I didn’t want Janna exposed to her drunken father.”

He squinted at her. “You mad at me?”

Heather reached for his other boot, struggling against feelings of fury and pain. “Whyever should I be
mad?
Simply because you come home completely
inebriated, stinking of smoke and liquor and cheap perfume, making a fool of yourself and mortifying me in front of your brother and your friend?”

“In-ee-brated.” He slurred the word, then gave a snort of harsh laughter. “Why d’you always have to use such highfalutin’ words? Why doan you jush say drunk?”

“All right,
drunk
then.”

She moved around the bed and leaned over him to unbutton his shirt.

He caught her wrist. “Doan be so prudish, duchess.”

Wrenching her arm away, she fixed him with a steely glare. “I’ll thank you not to touch me.”

His mood suddenly seemed to sober as he eyed her narrowly. “I got every right to touch you. You’re my wife. I paid for you, remember?”

Her eyes blinked with the pain he’d given her, yet she kept her spine straight. “You did not pay me enough to associate with a drunken boor who betrays his marriage vows by consorting with saloon women! I’ve had enough. In future, you can find someone else to sleep with.”

She started to turn away, but Sloan’s hand captured her wrist once more. When she tried to pull from his grasp, he only held on more tightly.

“I won’t be barred from your bed,” he said, still slurring his words.

“My
bed?” She was white and trembling with anger. “I seem to recall I’m the one who has been barred from
your
bed. You didn’t wish to sully the memory of your precious Doe, remember?”

He winced, but Heather continued relentlessly. “You needn’t worry that I’ll try to force myself on you. I don’t intend to let you touch me, ever again.”

His blue eyes turned hard and glittering. “I think
you’re forgetting something. You still owe me fifteen hundred dollars.”

She felt the color drain from her face. Even on their wedding night, Sloan had used her debt to drive a wedge between them.

Dark fury burned in his bloodshot eyes as his gaze raked down her body. “You’re my bride, bought and paid for.”

“Perhaps so.” She was trembling now. “But I’ve begun repaying you from my weekly salary—and I’ll continue until I’ve returned every penny.”

“At three dollars a week, it’ll take years.”

“Then I’ll look for a job that pays more.”

“I have a better idea,” Sloan retorted, each slurred word cutting like a knife. “You can pay me back in services.”

“What… do you mean?”

“Sex, duchess. You give me sex for canceling your debt. What’d’ya say to ten bucks a shot? That’s one hell of a price for a few minutes on your back.”

Heather clenched her teeth to stop the sudden whimper of pain that bubbled forth. His offer was not just a deliberate insult; he was deadly serious.

His hands unsteady, Sloan fumbled in his pants pocket and drew out a ten-dollar gold piece. Ignoring the stricken look in her eyes, he forced it into her hand.

“What about it, duchess?” His voice, though thick, held a razor edge that tore tiny chunks from her heart. “You wanted to repay your debt. Well, thish is as good a way as any. But I have to warn you, I believe in gettin’ my money’s worth.”

“You want me to whore for you?” A million layers of hurt bled through her tremulous whisper.

“You could call it that—though I doan see how it’s any different than what you been doing for the
past five months, even if we do have a marriage license.”

She slapped him them. Hard… with as much strength and fury as she could muster.

The blow to his cheek jerked his head around, while the gold piece fell from her hand. When he looked at her again, his eyes were narrowed and fierce. His grip on her wrist tightened.

Ashen-faced, Heather tried to pull away from him. His eyes had an icy gleam to them that frightened her.

Reflexively she drew her arm back to strike him again, but Sloan muttered an oath and wrenched her down to sprawl on top of him. Heather gasped in outrage and struggled to rise, but his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Let me go!” she cried.

She stuck out at him, letting all her frustration and pain and rage surface in a feeling of explosion; her fists swung at his shoulders, his chest, his jaw—any part of him she could reach.

Venting another curse, Sloan rolled over with her, pinning her beneath his weight. When she twisted under him and tried to claw at his face, he captured her flailing hands to hold her arms above her head.

He no longer looked drunk; he looked dangerous. His eyes seared her, smoky and furious, as he stared down at her.

Heather returned his icy gaze measure for measure. “Damn you, let go of me!” she demanded again. “You have no right to touch me.”

“I’ll touch you if I want! You’re my
wife.”

She retorted through clenched teeth, “You can go to the devil!”

The animosity between them clashed like swords, throwing off sparks of fierce emotion.
Sloan’s hard, virile face hovered over hers, the weight of his lean, powerful body pressing her down. Rage and raw tension vibrated between them… along with an abrupt, pulsing sexual awareness.

Heather flinched, feeling the granite outline of Sloan’s manhood against her thigh.

Neither of them heard the door swing open, but they both froze at the quietly lethal voice.

“You want to let the lady go, Sloan?”

Wolf stood in the doorway, his features hard, expressionless.

Sloan stared at him a moment, as if trying to understand the question. Then abruptly, he released Heather and rolled off her.

She rose shaking from the bed and fled past Wolf, into the hall.

Lying back, Sloan clutched his aching head, which had started swimming again.

The silence drew out. Wolf was still looking at him grimly, he realized. The half-breed hadn’t said another word, but the disapproval on his dark features spoke volumes.

Wolf turned quietly then and picked up the lamp. Just as quietly, he left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

Sloan squeezed his eyes shut.
God, what had he done?

The whiskey-hazed stupor washed over him once more, along with a wave of acute shame. Heather was right; he was stinking drunk. Too damned drunk to tell her he was sorry.

Sorry for scaring her. Sorry for ever letting her into his life. Sorry for trying to drive her away.

In the hallway, Heather stood with her hand clenched over her stomach as she fought tears of
despair and anguish. She heard the bedroom door shut softly, but she didn’t glance up till Wolf touched her arm.

There was concern and compassion in his dark eyes. “You okay?”

She heaved a shuddering breath and nodded, though she wasn’t certain she would ever recover. “Yes, I’m all right… But I can’t remain here.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Do you have a place to go?”

“Caitlin will take me in, I’m certain.”

“Jake’s still here. He’ll drive you home. Why don’t you pack your things?”

Heather hesitated. “I can’t leave Janna here. Not when Sloan is in that condition. But it wouldn’t be wise to take her…” If Janna was still asleep, she didn’t want to wake her and drag her out into the night. Nor did she dare steal the child away. Sloan wouldn’t mind being rid of
her,
Heather thought bitterly, but he wouldn’t want her confiscating his daughter.

Wolf didn’t seem to need an explanation. “I’ll look after Janna … and Sloan as well. You don’t need to worry.”

“Thank you,” Heather murmured gratefully. She had no doubt he would do as he said, although it was strange how quickly she’d come to trust him. “Would you ask Jake to wait until I can pack a bag?”

“Sure.” It was Wolf’s turn to hesitate. “If I don’t see you again before I leave for Denver, ma’am, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

Heather tried to smile. “I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

“So do I.” His expression was grave. “I’ll stop by on my way back from Denver in a few weeks to check in on you.”

She nodded, unable to say more.

“Here, you’ll want this.” He held out the lamp to her.

Accepting it, Heather went across the hall to the master bedchamber. Janna was still sleeping in her cradle, but she’d thrown off the covers entirely.

Tears stinging her eyes, Heather gently drew up the sheet. When she smoothed a lock of raven hair from Janna’s sweet face, a fierce feeling of love and despair overwhelmed her.

The young child stirred then and whimpered in her sleep—almost as if she knew Heather meant to leave. Or perhaps it was simply wishful thinking.

Fresh tears clogged Heather’s throat. Swallowing hard, she turned away, wondering when she would see Janna again, wondering if she could bear it if she didn’t.

P
rying one eye open, Sloan squinted against the sunshine streaming in through the curtained windows.
Heather’s room.
He groaned at the bright light. His head was pounding like a bull was loose inside his brain.

Gingerly he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, but he couldn’t escape his tormenting thoughts. The numbing whiskey had worn off, leaving behind a fierce sense of shame and a sharper remorse.

His memory flayed him more harshly than his hangover. He remembered what he’d done last night, even if the details were a bit blurred.

He’d been a drunken bastard.

With a curse, Sloan squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell could he have been thinking, a savage voice prodded. How could he have been so deliberately cruel? He had no excuse for his despicable behavior. He’d lashed out at Heather in anger, mainly because he felt so damn vulnerable. He’d deliberately tried to drive her away—and cruelly wounded her in the process. He’d seen it in her eyes … her golden eyes hot and bright with unshed tears.

He deserved more than the slap she’d delivered last night. He deserved to be horsewhipped.

It was a long moment before he found the courage to climb out of bed and clean himself up. Longer still before he could make himself leave the room and go downstairs to the kitchen.

Wolf was there at the table, feeding Janna biscuits and milk for dinner. The day was already half gone, Sloan realized.

“Where’s Heather?” he asked, his voice dry and rasping.

“She went home with Jake last night.” He felt Wolf’s gaze pierce him. “Can you blame her?”

“No.”

Slowly Sloan walked over to the stove to pour a cup of coffee. It was muddy and cold and strong enough to strip the hide off a sow. Wolf must have made it, Sloan surmised.

Feeling his stomach rebel, he poured the mess down the sink and glanced regretfully around the clean kitchen. There were no appetizing smells of bacon frying or pies baking. No mouthwatering pancakes with maple syrup. No warm feminine laughter, the kind that made a house a home. None of the things he’d taken for granted since Heather’s arrival.

His conscience struck him another blow.

His daughter was watching him wide-eyed, Sloan realized. He greeted her, forcing a semblance of a smile to reassure her, then eased himself into a chair and propped his elbows on the table, the better to hold his aching head.

Wolf said not a word. His disappointment was palpable, his silence condemning.

“I know,” Sloan said finally in a low voice. “I was a complete horse’s ass.”

“Worse than that, I reckon.”

“Okay, a pile of horseshit. That satisfy you?”

“That’s about right.”

When Wolf fell silent again, Sloan lifted his head and glowered. “Why don’t you just say your piece and be done with it?”

“All right,” he responded soberly, “I will. You went way over the line last night. Your wife is a lady. She sure as hell didn’t deserve to be treated like a two-bit whore during a Saturday-night binge.”

Sloan shut his eyes. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t told myself a dozen times.”

“What the hell got into you?”

He couldn’t answer. It was hard to explain the panic he’d felt last night. Heather’s declaration of love had scared him spitless—so much that he’d tried to drive her away.

“Seems to me she’s a pretty special woman,” Wolf murmured.

“I know.”

“You should count yourself lucky to have her.”

“I know, goddammit!” Sloan winced at the pain that stabbed through his head. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Well, somebody should.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Denver?”

“I’ll go when I’m good and ready. I’m not finished having my say.”

“Well, hurry up and leave me in peace.”

Wolf held the cup of milk to the toddler’s lips. “You say you know she’s special, but you don’t act much like you appreciate her.”

“I do appreciate her,” Sloan protested with less vehemence.

“I think you owe the lady one whopper of an apology.”