Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(20)
“I don’t think it happens often. But it’s happening to me,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “That’s sick, Roan. I’m writing a novel. I’m not the heroine in that novel.”
“There’s some people who can’t separate out reality from fantasy,” he told her quietly. “They’re mentally ill.”
“That’s also what I think is going on but I can’t prove it.”
“He’s a sexual predator.” The thought turned Roan’s stomach. Shiloh was a beautiful, sensitive soul, completely unable to defend herself against someone like that. He felt every protective cell in his body stand at attention. There was no way in hell anyone was going to touch or hurt her. No one.
“I hope I’m wrong,” Shiloh admitted quietly. “I hope he’s gone by the time I get back to New York. Forgotten me.”
Grimly, Roan didn’t think that was the way it worked with a sick son of a bitch like that. “Look, maybe there’s room to investigate this in other ways. You need to first get caught up on a lot of lost sleep. Then, some fresh air, sunshine, and working yourself physically will help too.” He saw a grin come to her lips, her eyes starting to sparkle.
“Now you sound just like Maud. Get on a horse! Roll up your shirtsleeves! Wear a pair of leather gloves and cowboy boots! Go to work.” She laughed a little. “Did you two conspire?”
Her laughter was like a creek singing to him. It was low and smoky. His flesh riffled with possibilities. Roan tamped down his reaction. She was running scared from a sexual predator. And what was he? One in disguise? Wanting her? But he would never stalk Shiloh. If there was some kind of connection, Roan would know it. And he had no problem in asking Shiloh to her face if she’d like to go to bed with him. Roan had rarely been turned down, but he was more than willing to risk it because, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Shiloh made him run hot and he wanted to capture that smile of hers for himself.
Chapter Five
Roan watched Shiloh’s reaction to the black-and-white paint horse named Charley, a fifteen-year-old gelding. She approached his box stall in the large barn the next morning. Charley was generally used at the dude ranch portion of the Wind River Ranch and was a children’s horse. Maud decided Charley was a good fit for Shiloh.
The air was chilly at nine A.M.; most of the dude families who were in for the week were over at the chow hall. Roan had dropped in to see Maud, who was out in her machine shop. She was an ace at welding, fixing small engines and making spare parts to fit some of their aging farm equipment. He’d best let her know that Shiloh was going to be with him for the day. Otherwise, he’d be missing in action. Maud had glowed and smiled, giving her nod of approval.
Roan wasn’t sure he liked the twinkle in her large green eyes. The rancher was wise and crafty, to say the least. She had broadly hinted from time to time that he should think about settling down, having a family. Right. And those weren’t just idle words coming from his boss. No, Maud Whitcomb was a master chess player on the board of life. She’d even provocatively dangled the one thing he’d wanted the most since leaving the Army: to build a cabin he could call is own. After the first year, she’d gifted him with five acres of land on the other side of Pine Grove, on Wind River Ranch property.
Maud provided the logging package that would help make his home, a cedar log cabin, a reality. Roan spent every waking minute out at his small spread when he wasn’t wrangling for the Wind River Ranch. The cabin was coming along after a year of his hard work and he was pleased with the progress he’d made. Roan wasn’t one to stand idle for too long, anyway. The need to be outside in the elements, to battle them and win, was overriding. He’d gotten the shell of the cabin up, roofed with cedar shake shingles, and now, this coming season, he could start building the inner guts of the house, the plumbing and electricity; all of which he had knowledge of. Being a Special Forces A-team member, he’d become skilled at many other areas of life.
Shiloh twisted a look over her shoulder as she stood at the bars over the stall door, staring in at Charley, who was finishing his hay for the morning. “He looks awful big,” she said, worrying her lower lip. Charley’s big brown eyes studied her as he calmly munched his hay, his small, fine ears flicking back and forth. Roan came to a halt at her side. He towered over her, but it made her feel safe.
“Actually,” Roan drawled, pulling on his leather gloves, “Charley is pretty small. He’s only fourteen hands high. Taller than a pony but nowhere near the height of the other working horses here at the ranch. Most of them are fifteen and sixteen hands tall.”
“Oh.” Shiloh studied the horse. He had a long black-and-white mane, his forelock fuzzy and thick between his ears and draping down across his broad forehead. “Is he . . . friendly?”
“You mean, is he ornery?” Roan placed his hand beneath her elbow, wanting to touch Shiloh. Any excuse would do. He pulled her gently to one side and then released her. Picking up a red nylon halter with a lead rope attached to it, he said, “Charley’s an old man. He’s been around and he knows the drill. He has one speed: slow,” and Roan grinned, sliding open the box stall door. “Now, watch what I do, Shiloh, because from now on, you’ll be doing it instead.”
Standing to the side, she watched as Roan murmured hello to Charley, patted him in a friendly manner on the neck, and then slid the halter over his nose, buckling it on top of his head. Roan turned.