Wind River Wrangler

by Lindsay McKenna

  “And who would have guessed an Army Special Forces guy would build his own home?” she teased in return. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he tilted his head back, slugging down the water, thirsty. His flesh glistened and his masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her heart squeezed with a combination of need and happiness. Working with Roan today made her feel so different. So . . . fulfilled. And yes, working as a team member on something important made her happy.

  Shiloh had always known she was a team person. And Roan had been a patient instructor when necessary, quietly directing her or showing her how to use the air-powered nail gun. She remembered how impatient and angry Anton Leath had become with her as a child; Roan was the complete opposite. This allowed Shiloh to not only enjoy working beside him, but also the pleasure of simply being in his company. He was a hard worker, just like herself.

  Roan grinned as he lifted the cup away from his lips. He slanted her an amused glance. “So, what is a Special Forces soldier in your opinion, I wonder?” He didn’t want to admit it, but he was interested in how Shiloh saw him. Roan knew being identified as a black ops person led others to prejudge him. And with Shiloh, he wanted her to see him, not the label or the operator. Why? His heart tugged in his chest as he watched her expression become serious and contemplative. She didn’t take anything he said lightly. Instead, he could see her thinking over the question fully. Shiloh cared. But did she care about him, specifically? Or did she care in general about any human being whom she was interacting with? Roan wanted her to care about him. He didn’t look too closely at why.

  Settling her elbows on her knees and cupping her hand beneath her chin, Shiloh tilted her head, holding Roan’s gray gaze. “My dad, even though he was an Air Force combat pilot, knew plenty about the world of black ops. Did I tell you that he worked as a CCT over in the Middle East? That he was on the ground, as a pilot, calling in jets or other aircraft to protect black ops groups?”

  Roan’s brow rose a little. “No, you didn’t. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He saw her give him a wolfish grin. A CCT was a communications specialist on the ground directing air, weapons, and bombs onto hot targets. These men were sometimes enlisted and sometimes actual Air Force jet pilots, who remained deep behind enemy lines, with a black ops group, and worked the air portion to keep soldiers safe. It was a very dangerous job and Roan had worked primarily with enlisted Air Force CCTs, never any pilot officers. It gave him a new appreciation of Shiloh’s father, and his respect for the man rose even higher.

  “I didn’t know if you’d be interested.” Shiloh saw him nod, as if understanding what she meant. “My dad used to tell me stories about the black ops groups he worked with. Nothing that was top secret, of course, but he could tell me incredible stories and I hung on every word. Later, he would go on to write about this type of thing, but never about actual events.”

  “With his background, I imagine he could pen a really good suspense and adventure tale,” Roan said.

  “He did. They were so alive, Roan.” She smiled fondly. “I was young, but my aunt and uncle allowed me to start reading his books when I was fourteen. They felt I was old enough to understand them. I just fell in love with my dad’s storytelling. I hung on every word he wrote. I loved it because it brought back wonderful memories of me sitting at his feet when he’d tell me one of his black ops stories.”

  Roan could hear the grief and longing in Shiloh’s quiet voice as she reminisced about her father. “I need to go to the library in Jackson Hole and pick up a copy of one of his books.” Because by knowing her father, he would know Shiloh better. Roan decided to stop denying to himself why he wanted to do it. Shiloh interested him as no other woman ever had. He saw grief deep in her eyes and couldn’t go there with her. His father, Al, was alive, healthy and living on his Montana ranch. He wished for Shiloh’s sake that her father hadn’t died in his prime. She missed him terribly.

  “Oh, if you want, I have all of Dad’s books on my iPad. I can lend it to you and you can read the e-book version.”

  Nodding, Roan said, “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  “So,” Shiloh murmured, “you asked me what I thought of Army Special Forces soldiers?”

  Roan more or less internally steeled himself. “Yes. Fire away.” He knew she would.

  Laughing a little, Shiloh said, “I can only surmise from what my dad told me. He said of all the black ops groups, the most well-rounded one was U.S. Army Special Forces. That only sergeants with six or seven years could try for an A-team. The guys he worked with not only knew the language of the area they were in, but they had certain skill sets, like weapons, combat medicine, mechanics, communication, and things like that. They were well read and they respected and knew the customs of the people they were living among. They were sharp, intelligent men, who missed little and were well aware of the political situation of that country. He said what impressed him the most was the amount of intel that you guys could wring out of the local populace.”

  “That was because we earned their trust.”

  “Right,” Shiloh agreed, nodding. Her lips curved. “So, I know you’re a very astute person, Roan. You watch a lot and say little. You’re a good observer of the human condition. I’ve seen how you’ve worked with me today. You were patient, easygoing, explained things, and never once lost your temper or became impatient.”

  “People don’t learn when you’re yelling at them or cutting into the confidence they’re trying to build,” he said. Roan wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable with all of Shiloh’s accurate assessment of him. He rarely allowed anyone inside himself, to really know who he was, warts and all. But Shiloh’s keen insights were unsettling. At the same time, Roan didn’t feel like she’d use that knowledge against him. He prided himself on knowing human potential. She wasn’t a cream puff or a pushover. She was like her father in that she respected others, never judged them, but was interested in what made them tick the way they did.

  “You’re a good teacher, Roan. You made today so much fun for me.” Shiloh searched his gray eyes, sensing a shift between them. She felt an overpowering need to kiss this man. Never had she wanted anything more. And she saw desire in his eyes—for her. It was there. In plain sight.

  Tension swirled around them and Shiloh’s throat grew dry, an ache in her heart for enigmatic Roan. Her pulse sped up as she saw a slight narrowing of his gray eyes as he studied her in the throbbing, heated silence between them. Without thinking, Shiloh fractionally leaned toward him, tipping her chin upward. Her eyes met his. A lush heat flowed down through her, settling hotly in her lower body. Her fingers itched to touch Roan’s hard jaw, to feel the stubble that darkened his face rasping beneath her fingertips.

  And then, he lifted his hand, sliding his roughened fingers across her slender jaw, eliciting wild, sparking heat through her skin, making her breath hitch. Shiloh felt her heart swell with a wealth of unexpected emotions and needs for Roan. It surprised her. And she allowed herself to be angled toward his descending mouth, his eyes narrowed like a hunter upon hers as he drew her closer. Shiloh could feel the moistness of Roan’s breath as he lowered his head toward hers. Automatically, her lips parted. His fingers tightened just a bit against her jaw, holding her in place. Right where he wanted her. Lashes sweeping downward, Shiloh strained forward, lifting her mouth toward his. She could smell the sweat, the dust of the day and his unique male fragrance. It made her thighs clench with desperate need of Roan.

  His mouth barely brushed hers. Butterfly light, as if gently introducing himself to her. A keening sensation shot hotly through her as she felt his mouth skim hers, latent power held in check, a promise of things to come.

  Lifting her hand, Shiloh placed it against the hard wall of his chest, his T-shirt damp with sweat, clinging to his flesh. Wanting more, Shiloh sought and found his mouth hovering a bare inch above hers. She understood what Roan was doing. He was making sure this was what she wanted. It was. As her lips moved slowly, tasting him, tastin
g that power she felt leashed tautly within him, a soft moan caught in her throat. Roan tasted of male and sunlight. His mouth met hers more firmly, gliding, tasting and memorizing her. There was no hurry. It was slow and delicious, like tasting the most exquisite dessert Shiloh had ever encountered. Just the way he eased his mouth more surely against her parted lips, she knew he was skilled at making love with a woman.

  Somewhere in Shiloh’s mind, it occurred to her that, like a black ops soldier, he moved in carefully, all senses alert, wanting to understand the situation fully before committing. In his line of work if he didn’t slowly approach an area, it could get him killed in an ambush. Shiloh knew Roan didn’t see her as an enemy or threat, but his approach to her told him he cared enough about his potential partner to see if she wanted to engage with him or not. Or just a little. Or a lot.

  Her fingers instinctively curved slightly into the damp fabric as he took her lips more surely, connected with her, silently inviting her to meet and meld fully with his mouth. Her heart was thundering and she couldn’t hear anything except his ragged breath, the moistness flowing across her cheek and nose as he deepened their exploration of each other. He sipped at her lips, his mouth curving more strongly against hers as she responded in kind, letting him know she wanted more. Shiloh had scooted closer to him, sliding her other hand around the thick column of his neck, feeling him tense, a low growl issuing from deep within his massive chest. The sound spurred her on and she parted her lips more, allowing her hunger to drive her forward.

  As his fingers dragged through her hair, her scalp erupted with tiny, pleasurable tingles, making her moan, the sound vibrating through her, telling Roan how much she wanted his continued touch. His hand cupped the back of her head and he pulled her closer, angling her so that he had full access to her wet lips. Shiloh’s whole world focused on Roan, his maleness, his holding her captive while he tasted her with a maddening leisure that made her drown in wavelike ripples of heightening pleasure.

  There was such caged animal power around him; as if he were holding himself in tight check. Shiloh sensed Roan wanted much more than just a kiss. Her mind was full of swirling light and she could feel the primal hunger within herself leaping forward, committed to this man. In every possible way. She lifted her hand from his chest, sliding it along his rugged jawline, the stubble covering it like wildfire spreading through her fingers, moving straight to her tightening breasts, puckering her nipples.

  Roan moved his tongue slowly across her lower lip. Shiloh tensed with hunger, a cry lodged in her chest, her hand tightening against his jaw and neck. The man knew exactly what he was doing: a slow, sweet assault upon her senses, teasing her, pulling her toward him, discovering her one delicious inch at a time. As Roan moved to the corner of her mouth, she trembled violently, opening her mouth more, asking him to enter her. Every cell in her body was suspended for a moment as she boldly touched his tongue with her own. Instantly, she felt him freeze, as if to stop himself from grabbing her and throwing her down on the porch and taking her right then and there. The reactive sensation swept intense yearning through Shiloh and she felt for the first time what Roan really wanted from her. It was raw. Primitive. Starving. As he met her tongue, she quivered, pressing herself wantonly against his chest, trying to somehow get a little closer to Roan, to dissolve into his masculine power that twisted and eddied like feverish heat between and around them.

  Shiloh’s breath grew ragged. Her heart was pulsing heavily in her breast. She was not afraid of Roan and ran toward what he was offering her. An ache began to throb between her thighs and Shiloh felt dampness between them. All the man had done was kiss her! That was how much power he held over her and for once, Shiloh embraced it. She felt his fingers caress her scalp, the sensations swift, heated shocks rocking through her body. His breath was punctuated against her cheek and nose. The tension mounted in him until Shiloh felt as if he would snap and break, unleashing that throbbing sexual power she sensed so intensely around him.

  Roan reluctantly broke their kiss, pulling back just enough to hold her barely opening eyes. They were breathing hard. Both were tense. Needy. Wanting. She gulped and fearlessly met his stormy gray gaze. Shiloh had never seen a man who was a hunter. But she saw one now. There was an intense feeling around Roan, raw and untamed, as he studied her, his nostrils flaring to catch her scent. He ruthlessly dug into her opening eyes, reading her, trying to understand where she was at within herself and what she wanted from him.

  “This is your call,” he said, his voice low and guttural.

  Shiloh felt him remove his fingers from her hair. She wanted to groan over the loss until he began to sift them through her strands, sending new and wonderful heat through her ripening body. Roan ruthlessly searched her eyes. It was so hard to speak, her body online, her brain offline. Licking her lower lip, tasting Roan on it, she managed a trembling, “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want to stop,” and she fearlessly met and held his intent gaze. There was a bare movement of the corner of his well-shaped mouth curving upward. She felt as if she were quivering from the inside out with excitement coupled with a desperate yearning for Roan in every possible way.

  Large hands, long, callused fingers curled around her shoulders. Her flesh was wild with throbbing need as he gently smoothed the rumpled fabric against her shoulders and upper back. “Sure?”

  Shiloh gulped. It felt to her as if she were stepping off into space. Instinctively, she knew committing to Roan was going to change her life. This man played for keeps. He made no attempt to disguise his need for her. She saw it in his gray, silver-flecked eyes. Felt it like a fiery blanket surrounding her. “Very sure.” She saw his straight, dark brown brows fall. For a moment, she panicked. Was Roan backing off? Worried in some way? Doubting her? Himself?

  Roan moved her hair across her shoulder. “You’re a brave little thing. You know that?” he said, and his mouth curved carelessly.

  Shiloh wanted to melt in his hands. They moved through the silk of her hair. She saw appreciation in his expression, pleasure burning in his eyes as he continued to tangle his fingers, as if exploring. It was such a sensual experience for her. “I know what I want,” she admitted, breathless. His smile grew male and he released her hair, sliding his hands down the length of her arms, capturing her fingers within his.

  “This changes everything, Shiloh. You know that, don’t you?”

  Giving a jerky nod, she whispered, “Yes. You play for keeps, Roan. You’re not a one-night-stand kind of man.” She watched him lose his smile as he studied her with hunger. Finally, he was allowing her to see how he really felt toward her. To be desired by this taciturn, intense warrior made every inch of her body spring to thrilling life. She wanted his hands all over her, exploring her, teasing her, giving her pleasure. Roan was skilled. That much was obvious, but this man had such depth that he engaged her on deeper levels. Roan was a one-woman kind of man. He wasn’t the type to walk away. She’d walked away from three relationships in her life precisely because they were getting too close. She was so afraid of loss. Loss of the man she’d give her heart to. Her mother was utterly smitten with her father. She’d given her soul to him. Only to have her soul ripped apart, her heart utterly crushed, when he’d died so young. So suddenly.

  “You’re afraid.”

  Roan’s low, deep voice flowed through her wall of fear. She saw questions in his eyes. What was she afraid of? “Not of you.”

  Nodding, Roan cupped her hands within his spare ones, studying them. “The fear you have is deep, Shiloh.”

  “It has nothing to do with you.” She saw that hooked, one-cornered smile tug at his mouth. His eyes never left hers; as if he were memorizing her, burning her into his mind, his heart. His soul? She didn’t want to go there. Didn’t even want to think beyond tonight.

  “I think it does.”

  Her lips thinned and she looked away, feeling the roughness of his fingers upon hers. Her flesh was starving for his touch, tiny jolts of heat flyi
ng continuously up her hand and into her wrist as he gently moved them within his fingers. He handled her as if she were a priceless, fragile being who might shatter if touched wrongly. Forcing herself to look up at Roan, she saw his eyes had grown gentle with questions once more. The man inspired trust. Now she was getting a taste of what he’d said earlier about villagers trusting the A-team members. Roan cultivated it like breathing.

  “I—” she stumbled, frowning. Shiloh felt ashamed in even admitting it to Roan, but she pushed herself because he was a man of honor. He presented himself exactly as he was. No games. No mask. No charade. Roan deserved her honesty. “I don’t have a good track record with men,” she began in a halting voice. “At a certain point, I break it off. . . .” Shame swallowed her whole and she couldn’t hold the sympathetic look that she saw come to Roan’s gray eyes.

  “Is that a promise? Or is it a warning, Darlin’?”

  Hearing the roughened words, she shrugged. “I just can’t seem to commit, Roan. You’re right: I get scared. I break it off. I haven’t had that many relationships. Three.” Shiloh felt as if she were severely lacking. A wound so large in her that it controlled her life. That wasn’t something to be proud of and she felt humiliated by admitting it to Roan.

  “And you’re afraid you’ll break it off with me the same way you did with the other men?”

  The man went straight to the heart of everything! No messing around. No diplomacy. Just straight to her heart. Swallowing hard, Shiloh held his gaze. “Yes.” Her heart squeezed in pain, as if she had already lost Roan before she ever got to know him. To be loved by this man. Grief spread through her chest and she pulled one hand free of his, pressing it against her heart. Her voice held unshed tears in it. “You don’t deserve that, Roan. You’re a good, hardworking man. You’re honest. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I-I don’t want to hurt you because of myself.” Shiloh shut her eyes, feeling the heat of tears fill them. She didn’t want to cry in front of Roan. He would probably think her weak.