Out Rider

by Lindsay McKenna

  Goldy had her nose pressed between the iron bars and nickered softly as Dev approached. Bella whined and leaped up on her rear legs, paws on the front of the sliding door to the stall, happily licking at Goldy’s velvety black nose. Dev positioned Bella at one side of the stall and like the good girl she was, she sat down. Bella knew when Dev gave a certain hand signal it meant stay and sit. Now, Dev could bring Goldy out and put her in the crossties to give her a brushing, clean her hooves, and the dog wouldn’t move from where she’d placed her.

  Her heart lifted with silent joy as she led her buckskin mare to the crossties and hooked the panic snaps on either side of her red nylon halter. Goldy’s black mane had bits of cedar shavings in it, indicating she had lain down and rested at some point during the night. That was good, because two days of riding in a trailer was tiring for any horse. Grabbing her grooming kit from the tack room, Dev met Sloan on the way out.

  “While you’re cleaning up Goldy,” he said, “I’m going to get the trailer hitched up.”

  “Sounds good. Do we saddle them before putting them in the trailer?”

  “Yes. But we’ll put the bridles on them once we arrive at the trailhead.”

  Her heart wouldn’t settle down because Sloan had just given her an intent look. The sensation she’d felt was as if he was mentally photographing her. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather made her feel desired. And darned if her body wasn’t taking off and reacting favorably to that heated look. When he settled the Stetson on his head, it made him look like a cowhand, not a ranger. Trying to ignore her body and silly heart, she quickly cleaned up Goldy, who enjoyed all the attention.

  They worked like a well-oiled team, which surprised Dev. She quickly saddled her mare and led her out of the barn, the bridle in her other hand. Rocky, the big gray gelding with the black mane and tail, was Sloan’s horse. He was a rangy horse like his owner, probably part Thoroughbred because he was a good sixteen hands high. Of course, Sloan was a tall man and needed a bigger horse than she did for her size. Rocky was just as placid as his master. Dev waited outside the barn, allowing Goldy to nibble at the grass poking up here and there. She liked to watch Sloan move. He was graceful in a masculine sort of way.

  “How old is Rocky?” she called down the aisle.

  “He’s ten,” Sloan replied, running a comb and unsnarling Rocky’s long, thick mane.

  “Is he a USFS horse?”

  Shaking his head, Sloan said, “No, he’s mine.”

  “He’s a nice-looking animal.”

  Grinning as he patted his horse’s long, slender neck, he said, “I’d like to think so. Can’t be a farrier and not be paying attention to the all-important conformation of a horse’s legs. He’s got near-perfect legs, but so does your mare.” He glanced in her direction. “Says something about your horse knowledge, Dev.”

  Heat fled up Dev’s neck and into her face. She was blushing from his praise and the warm looks he gave her. Sloan finished grooming Rocky and unsnapped the gelding from the crossties. All the man had to do was lower that voice of his and Dev felt like he’d reached out and stroked her with one of those beautiful male hands. To say she was befuddled didn’t even begin to describe her body’s reactions to being around Sloan Rankin. He was amiable, genial even, but not being a flirt or trying to let her know that he liked her.

  Dev was positive Sloan liked her. With a groan, she took Goldy to the trailer. Both doors were open and she led Goldy into her narrow stall and snapped her halter to the chain in front. Moving up to the compartment, she watched Sloan throw the halter lead across Rocky’s withers and cluck to him. The horse moved into the stall without hesitation and then stood quietly until Sloan got around to his side compartment to snap the lead to the trailer.

  “That horse is used to hauling,” Dev said, impressed. Not many horses would just hop into a trailer without being led in by a person.

  “Rocky doesn’t get upset about much,” Sloan assured her. “Kinda like me…” He stepped out and shut the door. Dev followed. She went to the rear and watched Sloan close and lock the rear barn doors.

  “Ready?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

  “Very. I’m excited to get out into these mountains.” Dev smiled a little, looking up at the massive peaks that were lined up in a row, north to south. “This is such a gorgeous place to work.”

  “Sure is,” Sloan agreed, meeting her smile. “We’re going up to the Moose Lake area. Lots of tourists get up in that area and get lost. I have no idea why, but it’s a hot spot for us.”

  Snorting to herself as she climbed in the cab of his truck, Dev thought Sloan was a hot spot for her!

  As they drove northward on the main two-lane highway through the park, Dev couldn’t stop her curiosity about Sloan. She asked, “You have a sort of Southern drawl. Where were you born?” She saw him slant a glance in her direction and then return his attention to driving.

  “I was born in the Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia,” he told her. “Place no one’s heard of, Black Mountain.” Opening his fingers on the wheel for a moment, he added, “Most people, when I tell them that, think I’m a hillbilly.”

  Dev caught the amusement in the inflection of his voice. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  He raised a brow. “No?”

  “No. Why would you ask?” Dev felt him teasing her and she enjoyed watching the corner of his mouth curve upward a little.

  “Curious as to how you would respond to the label.”

  “Do most people catalog you because of it?” she asked. When he glanced at her, she saw thoughtfulness in his gaze. The man was easy to read. Unlike Bart Gordon, who always smiled, who always showered her with compliments, telling her how beautiful her hair was or how pretty her eyes were. It got so she hated to be in the same building with him.

  “What does the word hillbilly bring up for you?” Sloan asked.

  Shrugging, Dev petted Bella, who sat on the floor between her legs. “Actually, lucky, because they were born in rural parts of America. In more natural surroundings, rather than the big city or suburban areas.”

  “And you weren’t born in nature?”

  She grinned. “Technically, I was born in the suburbs of Casper, Wyoming, but out in back of our house there was nothing but fields that went on forever. I felt like I lived in nature.”

  “So you’re a tough Wyoming-bred woman?”

  The way his voice caressed her, Dev had to shake herself out of the sensation of warmth surrounding her. It was as if Sloan had invisibly embraced her. But he hadn’t. “I don’t know about tough,” she said, “but yes, I’m used to long winters.”

  That brought a smile to his mouth. “Yes, you would be. Where I come from we have about three months, but then it starts warming up.”

  “Did you learn your farrier trade from your father?”

  “Yes, I did. You’re pretty astute.”

  “I find in some families that skill is passed down.”

  “So,” he mused aloud, giving her a quick look, “you’re a pretty observant woman. How did you get that way?”

  “People interest me,” Dev admitted, hungry for this kind of intimate conversation to better explore Sloan. She didn’t look too closely at why.

  “You’re an extrovert?”

  “Mostly, although—” Dev looked out the window at the passing grassy meadows and the evergreens skirting around them “—I consider myself half and half. My mother is an introvert. My father is an extrovert. I think I got a little from both of them. What about you?”

  “My pa and ma are both introverts, so I got a double dose of it.”

  She smiled softly, absorbing his clean, rugged profile. There was nothing weak about Sloan Rankin. He was, in her book, a man’s man. “You like quiet, no crowds and not getting peopled to death daily. How on earth did you get into the Forest Service, then? Most of our duties, with a few exceptions, involve interfacing with the public on a daily basis.”

  “They hired me for a couple of reasons.
I don’t think it crossed their minds that I was a total introvert. I came out of the Army and was a combat assault–dog handler. Plus, my pa taught me to be a blacksmith, and they were looking for someone good with animals and who had farrier skills.” He smiled a little, slanting a look toward Dev. “Most of the time, I’m with animals, not humans. They never stress me. But put me on the visitor’s desk? Then I’m tensed up tighter than a riled copperhead.”

  She chuckled. “So you were in the military?”

  “I was. I guess I fit the profile of a dog handler at the testing phase and got shuttled out of basic and into dog training. Ended up with a few two-year-long deployments to Afghanistan with my boy Mouse.”

  “Those had to be intense deployments,” Dev muttered, frowning. “Dangerous work every day.”

  “It was. I wanted out of the Army after my four-year enlistment was up. My dog had a nervous breakdown of sorts. We got attacked on a hill with RPGs being thrown at us from three directions. My dog couldn’t handle it.” And then his mouth thinned. “None of us could, so the dog’s anxiety was merely a reflection of all of ours. He just showed it outwardly. The rest of us stuffed it deep down inside of us instead. Animals are more honest than most humans, I’ve found.”

  Dev felt tension and grief surround Sloan for a moment, and then the sensation dissolved. It surprised her he would allow his feelings to show and wondered why. Did he trust her? Or was he that way with everyone? “I was in the Marine Corps for four years,” she admitted quietly. “I was a dog handler, too. Only I was out on deployments with bomb-sniffing dogs, not like what you did. Your kind of work was far more dangerous than mine.”

  “So, you were in the Corps?”

  “Now, you aren’t going to throw labels on me, are you, Sloan?” she teased a little, watching his shoulders come down to their normal position. Just talking about those dangerous deployments had tensed him up. Dev understood fully.

  “Me? Nah. I believe in letting a person show me who they are through their actions, not their words. Still, I find it interesting we were both in the military and both dog handlers, although in different capacities.”

  Moving her fingers across Bella’s sleek, golden head, Dev smiled softly. “I loved my work, but the heat was brutal. Bella here is my second dog. She got injured in a bomb blast and I got to take her with me after I got out.”

  He scowled. “Were you injured, too?”

  “Just shrapnel. Bella’s the one who took the real injury.” Dev held up her right arm. “The doctor picked out a bunch of shrapnel from my lower arm and shoulder. I’m good as new now. Bella took a big piece in her left shoulder. She develops a bit of a limp if we’re out tracking more than six hours. Other than that, she’s in no pain and is great at what she does.”

  Sloan’s brows drew downward, his mouth flexing, as if unhappy. A powerful sense of protection washed over Dev and this time she knew it was from Sloan, how he was feeling toward her. Never had she felt this kind of a reaction from a man. She wondered if he was aware of it. Glancing at his profile, he seemed intent on driving. Oh, how humans hid things from one another. With an internal shake of her head, Dev knew full well she had been hiding her real feelings and reactions from the day that IED had gone off, sending her and Bella into the air, blown ten feet backward from the blast wave. Even now, her hearing wasn’t back to normal.

  It had ruptured both her eardrums. And even Bella’s hearing wasn’t perfect, which was why the Marine Corps had released her.

  “Well,” Sloan drawled, “I’m fairly sure you’re glossing over your time in the military. On any given night, I can have a nightmare and recall every last detail whether I want to or not.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE GRAVEL PARKING lot near Moose Lake was huge. There were steep trails that led to a waterfall halfway up the flank of one of the jagged, snow-dusted Tetons. The sun was warm on Dev’s back. Both horses were frisky and eagerly trotted toward the narrow, rocky trail that disappeared quickly in the fir trees. Bella happily trotted behind Goldy, keeping pace with them. Dev had a leash but didn’t use it in such tight quarters. Besides, her dog was voice trained and Bella would obey her without hesitation. The air was pungent with the scent of the evergreens, and Dev thought it was one of her most favorite fragrances as she followed Rocky and Sloan up a steep switchback. They disappeared around the corner for a moment. Dev noted there was spring runoff snow from further above. The soil was slippery. On top of that, rocks appeared out of the mud and crisscrosses of roots snaked horizontally across the trail.

  As they moved more deeply into the woods, always staying on switchbacks and climbing ever higher, Dev absorbed the muted silence of the forest surrounding them. She heard a blue jay calling in the distance. In front of Rocky, who had settled down to a plodding walk because of the nature of the challenging trail, she saw a robin on the path, pulling a worm out of the ground.

  Dev tried not to appreciate Sloan’s broad shoulders, which were pulled back with natural pride. But now she realized it was a military posture, too. The fact that he had been an Army combat-dog handler made her feel good. Why, she wasn’t quite sure, but because of her own experience it served to tell Dev that Sloan was a patient, kind person. A dog handler had to be sensitive, fully aware not only of themselves or their surroundings, but of the dog who was working and keeping the rest of the soldiers safe from hidden IEDs planted by the local Taliban.

  Just the swaying movement of Goldy between her legs lulled her into a relaxation, more like a meditation, that Dev loved. The morning was perfect in every way. And the man in front of her tugged at her dormant heart. For months, Dev had been wrapped in anxiety, nightmares and sleeplessness after Gordon’s attack on her. Her male supervisor had wanted her to go get therapy, but Dev had refused. Her mother, an airline pilot, was a very strong, confident woman. Dev had never seen her buckle under any loads she carried, and she wasn’t about to buckle under hers, either. She’d just had to gut her way through it.

  About a mile into the trail, it widened and Dev noticed that two trails to the east and west branched off from the one they were on. Sloan halted his horse and turned around at the juncture.

  “Nice riding, isn’t it?” he asked her, watching as Bella came and sat down nearby, panting and looking happy to be out in the woods with them. Big dogs needed big exercise to stay happy.

  Dev wore her dark green USFS baseball cap. “Yes, gorgeous. It’s so peaceful here.” She smiled fondly, looking around, absorbing all the smells and sounds around them.

  Pushing his Stetson up on his brow Sloan said, “This east trail goes to the waterfall about half a mile above us.” He gestured toward the upward slope. “The other trail goes down into Lupine Meadow. It’s a very large meadow about a quarter of a mile from the waterfall.” He pointed to the signs. “You can see they’re well marked. What happens is that parents with small children who go to the Lupine Meadow trail are pretty bushed by the time they arrive at the spot. Once they get into the meadow, which is very large and wide, they let the children run around. Nothing wrong with that, but if you got more than one child to look after, distraction occurs and the parents tend to lose one of ’em.”

  Nodding, Dev lifted her leg and curved it around the saddle horn to ease the stress on it. She hadn’t ridden in about two weeks, so her legs needed to get their muscles back. “Are we going to the meadow?”

  “Yes. First, I’ll take you to the waterfall area and then there’s a small, unmarked trail that goes directly to Lupine. Most tourists don’t find it because it’s pretty well hidden. Plus, there’s a grizzly whose territory is around there and she has two one-year-old cubs with her. We don’t mark that trail nor do we want tourists on it. The construction teams use it, though, when we pack in equipment on the mules to repair trails or other areas that need fixing after the hard winters we get around here.”

  Taking off her cap, Dev pushed her fingers through her loose hair. She saw something in Sloan’s eyes but couldn’t translate
it. Her body, however, did respond to that millisecond look as she slid her fingers through her hair. “Okay, I’d like to see that trail, too. Has anyone ever gotten lost on it?”

  Sloan shook his head. “No, thank God. Because the mother grizzly has a den up about one-tenth of a mile off it and the Forest Service doesn’t want anyone up there. Right now, we’ve got grizzly warning signs around the waterfall area where she comes to get water. If she’s spotted too often by incoming hikers, we’ll shut the whole area down until midsummer when she’s not so hungry as to be looking at tourists as a food source.” Sloan grinned a little.

  “Do grizzlies really want to eat a human being?”

  “Not really. But if the human gets in their territory, then the bear perceives them as a threat and will attack. You ever seen a grizzly?”

  “No. From the sounds of it, I don’t want to, either.”

  “Oh,” Sloan murmured, “you’ll meet them soon enough.” He glanced over at Bella. “And what’s worse, you have a dog in tow. Bears really get agitated when seeing a dog and that’s why they aren’t allowed in either the Tetons or Yellowstone Park. Grizzlies, I think, see them as wolves. They aren’t, but bear perception is such that they are seen as a definite threat.” He touched the quart of bear spray hanging off his left hip. “This is why whenever you take Bella with you, you have bear spray as a deterrent. And you have to make sure she won’t go bark or charge the bear, either, because that will only worsen the situation.”

  “Do they like to eat horses?” Dev asked, running her fingers gently through Goldy’s black mane.

  “The scent will attract them,” Sloan said. “Usually, we get bear and horse attacks on riders who are staying and camping overnight in certain areas of the Tetons. Grizzlies are starving to death when they come out of hibernation, which is right now, and they will eat anything they see. Horses look like big elk to them and elk are their favorite meat source on the hoof.”

  Mouth tightening, Dev looked down at the leather sheath beneath her left leg. There was a .30-06 rifle in it, loaded, with the safety on. It was a bear rifle and would stop one, if necessary. Not that she wanted to kill one of those magnificent bears, but Sloan had said they could range between six hundred to a thousand pounds. And that was a threat to Dev, pure and simple. Her horse weighed a thousand pounds. She couldn’t imagine a brute of a grizzly weighing that much, but Sloan assured her they were around, and plentiful among the females of the population.