The kitchen was empty. A fledging fire snapped and crackled in the stove’s belly. The lamp in the center of the table had been filled with oil and cast a bright light to guide him to the door, where the peg next to his was empty. Where had she gone? He grabbed his coat and, on the edge of panic, skidded outside into the frosty morning.

Where had she gone? He followed the small imprint of her shoes on the frosted crust of the snow to the stable. There, just beyond the paddock where the stallion watched, a dark figure in the shadows spread grain from a small silver pail for the five deer in a half circle around her.

Her back was to him, and the delicate shape of her affected him more fiercely than ever before. How could it be that every time he looked at this woman, he desired her more? Thought her more beautiful? More sensual? More amazing?

As if she felt his presence, she stiffened. Turned. How pale she looked. Big circles bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes. She wasn’t feeling well. It troubled him. He should have made sure she didn’t feel obligated to do too much too soon. Well, he’d take care of her. He always would.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Her smile was tentative. Shadows darkened her angel’s eyes. He took the empty pail from her mittened hands and gave her a kiss to warm her to her toes.

The same way she warmed him.

It should have been a beautiful day, but it wasn’t, Katelyn realized. Seated beside Dillon in the snug little sleigh skimming the snow behind a matched set of black-and-white pintos should have been the most exhilarating ride of her life. It wasn’t.

Was there any way he would want her when she told him the truth? Their love was so new. It wasn’t as if they’d spent years together and their bond had been strengthened by time and familiarity. No, her husband of many years had been able to cast her aside. How easy would it be for Dillon?

“I’ve got to swing by the stockyard.” Dillon broke the silence as the prairie road gave way to the first signs of town. “You want me to drop you off at the dress shop?”

“That sounds wonderful. I need a few things.”

“You make sure you get whatever you want. I got you some clothes, but that was only meant to get you by. You need more than you have.”

“No, I have all I need.”

“Me, too.”

He snuggled her close, drawing her against him, his arm a pleasant weight on her shoulder.

Her generous, loving husband, who had vowed to always stand by her. To always love her.

What if he knew the truth? Would he still want her?

The main street of town was crowded with horse-drawn sleighs and various sleds. Folks had come in from all over the county because of the auction, Dillon explained as he drew the horses to a slow walk behind a loaded teamster’s enormous sled stacked high with crates.

Katelyn was grateful for the chaos. Dillon was kept busy as out-of-town drivers rode through intersections or stopped in the middle of the street to look around and get their bearings. He was too preoccupied to wonder why she was so quiet.

She should just tell him. Say it very matter-of-factly. Open her mouth and let the words roll off her tongue. Dillon, I can’t have children. Will you still love me anyway?

Her stomach clenched tight. A blurry, agonizing memory shot into her head. Of Brett hauling her to the door, his fingers biting into the soft skin of her upper arm. Angry, so angry. And she’d felt so worthless…

No, don’t remember. She squeezed her heart closed, like the lid on a too-full trunk, and did her best to lock it up tight before any other painful images popped out.

Dillon wasn’t Brett. She knew that. Dillon was an incredible man of integrity, everything that Brett was not. But the truth remained, cold and harsh and as unchangeable as the season. As the dirty, beaten-down snow on the street in front of them. Every man wanted a son.

“I can’t believe our luck.” Dillon drew the team to a halt and waited while an ox-drawn sled skimmed away from the hitching post. “Right in front of the dress shop.”

Maybe there was a chance he would want her. He was the most steady and loving man she’d ever known. He accepted her flaws and her less-than-perfect cooking with that easy, lopsided grin of his. Maybe he would still love her. Maybe he would still love her the same way.

As if she were a princess, he took her hand and helped her from the sleigh. He walked by her side up the slick wooden steps, opened the door for her as the overhead bell tinkled and introduced her to the seamstress.

“Have a good time shopping. I know it’s what you women like to do.” With an approving grin, he laid his palm to her face and kissed her in public, to the sigh of the seamstress and a few nearby shoppers.

He strode away as regal as any prince. A noble, worthy man who deserved to have the son he wanted.

The son she couldn’t give him. The injustice of it tore her in two. Could have dropped her to her knees except for the seamstress who took her elbow and helped her to the bench near the window.

“Goodness, you look pale, dear. I’ll fetch you a cup of hot tea. That should help cure what ails you.”

It was a lovely thought, that something as common and as ordinary as tea would fix the grief inside her.

Her gaze naturally followed him through the window. He yanked on the tether line to make sure it was good and tight, then slipped pieces of peppermint from his coat pocket and let the horses lip the treat from his gloved hands.

He turned, his attention on someone just out of sight. A group of women stood in a small circle, blocking whoever it was Dillon was talking to from Katelyn’s sight. Wait, the women were moving. Dillon reached out for something…

A baby. Mariah’s baby boy was wrapped in green today. His thick coat and cap and mittens were so small, so dear. Mariah waited, looking pleased with Dillon’s obvious compliments, as he cradled the little one, held him close and blew kisses on his plump forehead.

What a good father he would be. Katelyn had felt his silent longing when he’d held the infant. Because a part of her heart would always be his. Her last hope died as quietly and as surely as a single snowflake in sunshine. Melting without protest. Because it was inevitable.

Dillon should be a father. He had the right to hold his son one day. She would not stand in his way. She did not want him to live his life alone, without the large family he obviously desired.

The one she could never give him.

The seamstress returned with the tea, and Katelyn sipped it dutifully. She watched as Dillon handed the baby back to Mariah, said goodbye and tromped off across the busy road, cutting between vehicles as he went, until he was out of sight.

Everywhere she looked, she saw children. A toddler cried, “Mine! Mine!” somewhere in the store. Children who were too young for school raced down the boardwalk, escaping from their mother who charged after them. Babies held tight in their mother’s arms.

Did these women know how lucky they were? she wondered. Her arms felt empty without a baby to hold.

As empty as her soul.

Every wonderful thing Dillon did cut like a knife. His generosity. His gallantry. He held every door. Took her hand. Carried her packages. Treated her to a delicious meal at the finest diner in town. He helped her into the sleigh and tucked the robes snug beneath her chin.

The image of him holding Mariah’s baby troubled her. The way he had lit up. How big and strong he looked, cradling that tiny little boy. He wanted one of his own. Anyone could see it.

I wish I could give you a child. She’d sacrifice anything, do anything, to give Dillon what would make him happy. To give him the child he wanted. If only she could.

Just tell him. It plagued her all the way home, as the afternoon sun chased away the stubborn gray clouds. It burdened her as she added wood to the stove and checked on the pot of simmering brown beans.

Maybe it would be all right. She wouldn’t know until she told him. What happened next-whether she left or stayed, was happy or miserable, loved or not wanted-was all in Dillon’s capable hands. It was his choice.

She had to let him make it.

It wasn’t easy opening the door and stepping outside. It was hard to make her feet move forward all the way to the paddock. Her spirits didn’t lift when she saw the man and stallion together, alone. The wild horse trusting Dillon enough to eat peppermint treats from his hand.

Dillon’s low voice calmed the horse and it calmed her heart. She waited, perched on the fence, while Dillon stroked the stallion’s face and head. The animal shied and sidestepped, only to return to the delicious treat and the man’s enchanting touch.

“That’s it, boy, that’s all I have. You ate all of it.” Dillon held up his hands and the stallion backed away, haltingly, unsure. Dillon spied her and headed straight for her. “Katelyn, I’m glad you’re here. His wound is healed, and so I’m letting him go.”

“Back to the wild? But what about the reward for him?”

“It no longer exists.” He braced his forearms on the fence as he stretched over the top rung and claimed her mouth with his. “You know those ten Arabian mares I bought at the sale? The ones Dakota is going to help me drive home from the livery tomorrow? Those were your stepfather’s horses. The ones he paid me to train.”

“What? He wouldn’t sell those horses.”

“He didn’t. He’s bankrupt, and the bounty on our stallion’s head is nullified. He is no longer in danger.”

She felt relief for the stallion, but sadness, too. “That land was my father’s.”

“Your stepbrother managed to appease the bank. The land is his now. At least it’s still in the family.”