Wind River Wrangler

by Lindsay McKenna

  “You’re an open book?” he guessed.

  “You’ve got a rapier mind, Taggart.”

  He saw the gleam in her eyes dance. “It’s my rapier wit that’s saved my ass out on many black ops assignments, believe me.”

  “I like a man who thinks on his feet.”

  “And I like a woman who speaks her mind.”

  “Then we must be in communication heaven and not know it?” Shiloh teased.

  Shrugging, Roan wanted to reach out and slip his hand into hers, but resisted. “Let’s find out, Darlin’. I’m pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee and going to sit in the living room. Want to join me?”

  “Are you throwing down the gauntlet?” Shiloh wondered warily.

  “No, handing it over to you,” he offered, pouring coffee into his mug. “Want a cup?”

  “Please.”

  “Go pick out a spot for us?” Roan gestured lazily toward the living room. He wanted Shiloh to decide where he should sit. If he had his way, he’d sit in the corner of the couch, tuck her in beneath his arm, and never let her go. They could sit there and talk all night that way. But he knew he was fooling himself and was accepting of whatever made Shiloh comfortable. There was no way he was going to pressure her. As he poured her a cup of coffee, Roan tried to rein in the joy thrumming through his chest. He liked Shiloh’s spunk. Her feistiness. Almost smiling, Roan knew she’d bring all of that to his bed. She was going to be a fearless lover and his body and heart ached for her.

  Sauntering through the living room he saw Shiloh pull an overstuffed chair near one corner of the couch. Handing her the cup, he settled down on the couch, leaning back, his long legs crossed out in front of him, sitting opposite her. Shiloh had initiated that surprising kiss. Roan felt he knew her well enough to know she’d one day boldly walk right into his arms and tell him she wanted to go to bed with him. Such a fearless, beautiful creature. Keeping it all to himself, he settled back, his gaze holding hers.

  “Would you tell me about your growing-up years?” she asked, looking at Roan over the cup.

  “My dad, Al, was stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, because he was with the Third Special Forces Group headquartered there. That’s where I was born. Shortly afterward, my mother, Grace, went home to our family ranch. I grew up on my grandparents’ ranch and when my dad got to come stateside for a year or more, then we’d move to where he was stationed.”

  “You had your grandparents to help you grow up even though your dad was gone?”

  “Right.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  “No.” Roan’s mouth quirked. “I miss the hell out of both of them. They were tough Depression-era stock, believed in work that paid off, didn’t ask for handouts and didn’t see themselves as victims.”

  “Do you carry photos of them?” Shiloh wondered. She heard an emotional catch in Roan’s deep voice, saw a softening in his normally hard, glinting eyes.

  “Afraid not. My mom has all the family photos at their ranch in Montana. I was in the U.S. Army from eighteen to age thirty-two. And because I was black ops, we never carried anything on us that could identify us or anyone else.”

  Shiloh felt sad for Roan. It was clear he was tied strongly to his family. “But you’re out now.”

  His mouth moved into a cutting line. “Old habits die hard, Shiloh.”

  “I understand.” She held the cup between her hands in her lap. There was such a comfortable feeling between them; as if they were old friends sitting down to catch up on each other’s lives. Shiloh tried not to gaze at Roan’s well-shaped mouth because it sent a skitter of heat and longing through her.

  He frowned. “I’m trying to put myself in your place, Shiloh.”

  “Oh?”

  “Both your parents are gone. I know how much I’ve always relied on my mom and dad. Being able to pick up the cell phone and talk to them. Send an e-mail. And you seem very family-oriented. The loss must be like a hole in your heart that never heals.”

  “You’re right,” she murmured, looking down at the coffee in her hands. “The hole in the heart is exactly right.” His observations cut through her and Shiloh felt tears gather at the back of her eyes. She swallowed a couple of times, forcing them away. The expression on Roan’s face made her want to cry, though. That hard mask he wore dissolved. And in its place, she saw a sensitive man who was very aware and in touch with those around him, in so many rich and wonderful ways. Shiloh swore she could feel his invisible embrace around her shoulders as he spoke quietly to her, his tone reflective. She detected sadness in his eyes—for her. It had been such a long, long time since she’d talked about her parents. Her heart twisted with grief.

  “I’m sorry, Shiloh. You’re a good person. I think your parents were a powerful support for you. When they got ripped away, it’s tough to suddenly be standing alone and having to always be strong with no support.”

  “There’s no one to lean on,” Shiloh agreed softly, closing her eyes, feeling the tears creeping back. Tonight, she did not want to break down and cry. This was the first time Roan had opened up to her and she didn’t want to lose that opportunity with him. Opening her eyes, she said mirthfully, “If I could have had a pair of cosmic crutches for a couple of years after that, it would have helped. At least I got to live with my aunt and uncle. And that was so much better than being put into the state system and sent to a foster home.”

  “You turned out beautiful, intelligent, kind, and incredibly creative,” Roan said. “You’ve got a strong spirit, Shiloh. A helluva backbone.”

  She perked up. “What? You saw my backbone the other day when I was nailing that Trex down your cabin porch? Is that when you stopped seeing me as a New York City cream puff?” She saw delight burn in his eyes, that wonderfully strong mouth of his curving recklessly upward.

  Snorting, Roan put the cup on the lamp stand and sat up, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. “I never thought of you as a cream puff.”

  “What then?”

  “A city slicker.”

  “And while I may be that, I have other qualities and skills that move beyond that label.”

  “Indeed you do,” Roan agreed. “I just wonder where you got that fearlessness of yours. From your mom? Your dad?”

  She touched her red hair. “I got this, my green eyes and risk-taking personality, from my mom.”

  “What was she like?” Roan wondered.

  “My mother was an artist. She studied at the Sorbonne, in Paris. She loved Europe and had many adventures over there in her early twenties.” Shiloh grinned. “My mother ran with the bulls in Spain, right along beside the men.”

  Brows rising, Roan said, “That’s really something. She didn’t get hurt, did she?”

  “No,” Shiloh said, fondly remembering the story. “And I have photos of her with her Spanish boyfriend before, during, and after the run.” Giving Roan a warm look, she added, “You’d have loved my mom. She was an absolute free spirit. She lived out of her heart. She did everything on emotional whim. She had such faith in the unknown. She never had a lot of money but it would always turn up when she needed it. To help pay for her art training in Paris, she worked as a cabaret dancer at a club in downtown Paris.”

  “I thought you might have some dancing genes in you.”

  “How could you know that?” Shiloh asked, amazed at his perception.

  “Just watching you,” Roan murmured. “You do everything with gracefulness whether it’s pulling a plate out of the cupboard or laying Trex on my cabin porch. I thought you might have taken ballet lessons when you were younger.”

  Heat flashed up her neck and into her face. “I did.” Staring at Roan, she whispered, “Do you read minds, too? Is this some special gift you created because you were in black ops?” She saw him grin and ruefully shake his head. It wasn’t lost on Shiloh that Roan missed nothing. The man was more than just a casual observer of the human condition. He watched her and intuitively knew her without any background info
rmation about her younger life. That made her breathless and stunned, but not afraid of him. There was a quiet steadiness to Roan, a man of honor. A man of his word. And she felt so incredibly safe and protected when she was around him.

  “I don’t know where it came from,” Roan admitted. “The male line of our family were all born with a caul over them. I was too.”

  “Ohhhh,” Shiloh said, eyes widening. “If you’re born with a caul over you at birth, it means you’re a seer. A visionary. Very psychic.”

  Holding up his hands, Roan chuckled. “Darlin’, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of fortune-teller because I’m not.”

  “But,” Shiloh said excitedly, setting her cup aside, “you see.”

  “I think a better word would be ‘perceive,’ Shiloh. I’m good at assessing people. It’s easy for me to read a face, a voice, and interpret a person’s body language. It did come in damn handy when my team and I were in areas that were always dangerous and bad things could happen in a heartbeat. I’d like to think my gut hunches, my ability to observe, saved us more than a few times out on patrols.”

  “Did your team know you have this skill?”

  “I didn’t tell them I was born with a caul,” Roan told her drily. “It wouldn’t have gone over well with the guys. It’s tough for military people to believe or trust something like I had. But over time, I proved my hunches so often they just accepted it and, later, were all very glad I had that skill in place.”

  “They just didn’t call it what it was: You’re psychic.”

  “No,” Roan said wryly, “they’d have called it ‘woo-woo.’”

  She laughed. And so did he. “And so,” she went on, her mind racing with connections, “I’ll bet you’re really good with wild horses that need to be tamed?”

  “I’ve gentled a few,” Roan admitted. “You have to work with animals from your heart, not your hand. I don’t think it takes any special psychic abilities, just love.”

  “That’s a wonderful way to look at training animals.” Shiloh swore she felt his hand on her, stroking her, gentling her. The sensation was so physical that she felt dampness between her thighs. The man’s voice was a low, vibrating growl. Roan’s eyes were almost soft with feelings as he talked about the horses. Would he ever look at her like that, with that male tenderness? If she hadn’t been here to see it, she would have never said that Roan Taggart possessed an ounce of tenderness. But now, she knew he did. Her longing to have Roan open up to her fully, to trust her, made her feel deep ache in her heart.

  Roan rose and said, “I need to finish up the kitchen and then I’m hitting the sack. Dawn comes early tomorrow.”

  Lamenting their time was up, Shiloh slowly rose and brushed out the wrinkles in her white capri pants. “I’ll take the cups over,” she volunteered. “I’ll help you clean up the kitchen.”

  Nodding, Roan walked with his long, easy gait to the kitchen while Shiloh cleaned up in the living room. Her heart was beating with renewed urgency. Right now, all she wanted to do was kiss this man and have him unveil his heart to her even more. There was something in Roan’s eyes, deep, almost hidden, that told her he longed to be that man for her.

  Fear from the past, though, drenched Shiloh as she placed the cups in the dishwasher. If she kissed Roan, where would it lead? To the bedroom? To wild, hungry love? And then what? The dawn of a new day always brought back reality, not romanticism. She would be leaving to go back to New York City. Roan would never leave Wyoming. Or the beautiful cabin he was building near Pine Hills.

  Feeling pulled one way and then another, Shiloh let the urge to kiss Roan, to take him by the hand and lead him into her bedroom, reluctantly dissolve. Her last relationship had taught her she’d better have one eye fixed on reality. Unfortunately, she was exactly like her idealistic mother: a romantic at heart. An idealist, not a realist. And like her mother, Shiloh wanted to give her heart to the right man. And up until meeting Roan, she knew she hadn’t met him yet.

  Licking her lower lip, she turned and whispered, “Good night, Roan,” and quickly left the kitchen. Shiloh knew if she stayed, she’d do something she’d be very sorry for come dawn tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The morning was cold but refreshing. Shiloh was eager to take a ride with Roan out to the buffalo area of the ranch. Maud kept a herd of twenty cows, calves, and one bull mostly for the tourists who were dying to see what one looked like.

  A week had passed since kissing Roan. As she used the hoof pick to clean out Charley’s hooves, her mind and heart were never far from Roan. Oh, he’d been circumspect and, as promised, made no move to become intimate with her since that blazing, sky-opening kiss they’d shared on the porch of his cabin.

  Shiloh was glad that she’d not only worn jeans, cowboy boots, and a long-sleeved orange tee, but also had added a heavy sheep’s wool vest and her green nylon coat on top of that. Her fingers were near freezing by the time she was done with her gelding’s hooves. Looking up, she saw Roan outside with his big black quarter horse gelding, Diamond, checking the cinch before he mounted up. Her heart swelled with so many happy emotions. Hurrying around Charley, she unhooked the panic snaps and let the cross ties fall against the walls. Patting his black-and-white paint neck, she ruffled his thick mane. Charley’s ears flicked back and forth. He might be fifteen years old, but the cold morning made even him friskier than usual.

  “Come on, Charley,” she clucked, pulling at the reins, leading him out to where Roan sat slouched comfortably in the saddle. His gray Stetson pulled low over his eyes, his profile rugged. Diamond was pawing the earth, raising dust, wanting to go. Her gaze just naturally fell to that wonderfully strong, well-shaped mouth of Roan’s. Shiloh saw him turn, his gaze meeting hers. She felt herself go hot with longing, her body clenching. The man could make her melt with just that calm stare of his.

  “Ready?” Roan asked.

  “Yep,” Shiloh said, quickly mounting up. Laughing to herself, she’d become relaxed around horses and riding. A few weeks ago, she’d been paralyzed over the idea of riding. She had on a red baseball cap that Maud had given her and drew the bill down, trying to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight flooding the valley. Giving him a quick smile, Shiloh pulled on her leather gloves, wanting to get her fingers warm. “Lead the way.”

  Nodding, Roan barely touched the barrel of his gelding and the horse walked eagerly toward the pastures in the distance.

  “Ever been around buffalo before?” he asked her as they rode side by side.

  Shaking her head, Shiloh saw that they were going to ride between two huge pastures. “No. Why?”

  Roan, who had just shaved and nicked himself earlier, carefully rubbed his jaw. “We’ll be going to drive them into another pasture. It’s June and the mother’s are calving. The bulls aren’t with them, but the mothers can be very protective of their young calf.”

  “Okay. What does that mean to a city slicker like me?” she asked, and flashed him a grin. Roan’s mouth barely lifted. The lush greenness of the pastures infused Shiloh. Overhead, she saw a red-tailed hawk flying in higher and higher circles in the sky. There were bluebirds everywhere, many of them sitting on fence posts. When they took off, that flash of brilliant blue always made her gasp with delight; it was almost an unearthly gorgeous color.

  “Don’t get Charley between a calf and its mother,” Roan warned her. “Buffalo are a twitchy lot by temperament anyway. And cows are very protective of their young in a situation they consider threatening.”

  Worried, Shiloh said, “Maybe I shouldn’t even be in there. I’m not that great a rider.”

  “Just stay behind me or on the outside of me and you should be all right,” he assured her. “A couple of other wranglers are going to be meeting us and the three of us will do the herding. I thought you might enjoy seeing buffalo, being that you’re a city slicker and all,” he said, and one corner of his mouth hooked slightly as he gazed over at Shiloh.

  Shiloh chewed on her lower
lip, not so sure. She saw the gleam of confidence in Roan’s eyes. He believed she could do it. “I’m a poor rider.”

  “Charley is old and wise. Just let him take care of you. Hold on to the saddle horn if it makes you feel better.”

  She had been trying not to do that because she wanted to appear able to ride without clinging like a greenhorn. “He would know what to do?”

  Roan nodded. “Yes. Before Maud put him in the dude ranch as a child’s horse, he was a damn good wrangling gelding the first twelve years of his life. He knows buffalo and cattle. You’ll be safe on board him.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, not sounding very sure of herself even to her own ears.

  “You can stay outside the gate if you want.” Roan saw the anxiety coming to Shiloh’s eyes as they approached the pasture. He pulled Diamond to a halt at the gate and dismounted.

  Shiloh was looking at all the brown humped buffalo cows and their frolicking calves. It looked bucolic. But the animals were huge! She saw about half a mile away, on the opposite side of the pasture, two wranglers opening up a large gate to allow the mothers and calves access to the area. Roan picked up his radio and talked to the other wranglers. Seesawing between staying outside the gate and following Roan in, she saw him finish off his chat with the wranglers.

  Stuffing the radio into his saddlebags, Roan looked up at Shiloh. “Well?”

  “I’m waffling.”

  He grinned. “Yes, you are.”

  Making a face, Shiloh admitted, “I don’t want you to think I’m a weenie.”

  Chuckling, Roan lifted his hat and moved his gloved fingers through his hair. “I would never think that, Shiloh.” He came over and rested his hand against the rear of her saddle, looking up into her indecisive features. “I’ll respect you no matter what you decide. Okay?”

  Grimacing, she muttered, “I’m going in with you.” Looking around, anger tinging her voice, she added, “I’m tired of being scared all the time. If I was back in New York City, I’d be sitting imprisoned in my apartment, feeling like a convict behind bars because somewhere out there, a man wants to hurt me and I don’t know who it is.”