Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(21)
“Got that?”
Nodding, Shiloh said, “I think so.”
Roan saw the trepidation in her eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, and after unbuckling the halter and sliding it off Charley, he handed it to her and said, “Your turn.”
Gulping, Shiloh watched Roan step aside. She stepped into the thick cedar shavings on the floor of the stall. The sweet smell of alfalfa made her inhale more deeply.
“Always slide the door shut before you do anything,” Roan advised, angling his chin in that direction. “A horse will escape. And then, you’ll have to hunt him down and find him. Not what you want to do.”
“Right,” Shiloh said, gripping the halter in her hand. Turning, she slid the door shut. Anxiety shot through her as she approached the munching horse. Roan reached out, hand on her elbow, guiding her to one side of Charley.
“You never approach a horse head-on, Shiloh. See how their eyes are set? On the sides of their head? They can’t see you if you walk up directly in front of them. You want your horse to see you coming so you don’t spook him. Always quietly approach them at an angle.” His mouth twisted in a slight grin. “If a horse is spooked, he usually leaps straight ahead. And you can get hit and run over. Another reason to always approach from an angle. Okay?” He forced himself to release her elbow as she stood close to him. Shiloh had tamed her red hair into a ponytail. Roan had suggested she wear Levi’s, her cowboy boots, a tee, and a blue chambray long-sleeved shirt over it. Later on in the morning, it would turn warm. And in the afternoon, it would get hot. Layers were always a good thing.
“Okay,” Shiloh said, hesitantly reaching out to pet Charley’s sleek, gleaming neck. He was a beautiful horse, really. Just—big.
Charley snorted. She jumped. Scared.
“It’s okay,” Roan reassured her, touching her shoulder, seeing the fear come to her eyes. “Horses are always clearing their noses. That’s normal.”
“I thought—I thought he was going to bite me,” she said, and she cast a look up into Roan’s features. The man’s face was iconic. Someone who had weathered many things in his life other than just the storms and challenges he must have endured as an operator. His mouth teased her. It was a wide mouth, well shaped and strong. Gulping again, nervous, Shiloh fingered the halter and rope.
“Nah, Charley isn’t a biter.” He kept his hand on her shoulder and gently gave her a nudge forward. “Go put the halter on him. He isn’t going to do anything but eat.”
Shiloh gave the horse a look. “Just stand there, Charley. Don’t run over me,” she said, and she leaned down, pulling the halter over the horse’s nose. With trembling fingers, she finally got the halter buckled. Feeling relief, she stepped back with the nylon lead rope in her hand.
“Well done,” Roan praised. He saw instant relief in her eyes. Roan wanted her to learn her way around the horse, but didn’t want to stress her out so much that she’d never want to go near one again.
His low, deep voice vibrated through Shiloh, making her feel an intimacy with Roan that hadn’t been there before. Warmth moved through her heart. A building heat bloomed in her lower body. The man was so damned sensual, it constantly rocked and engaged all her senses. And equally, she lapped up his sparse praise, desperately needing to feel all right and that she wasn’t being a pain in the ass to him. Roan looked pleased, one corner of his mouth hooking upward, a warm gleam in his eyes as he met hers. Automatically, her breasts tightened beneath her tee and even though she wore a bra, she could feel her nipples tightening. Shiloh had no experience with what was happening between them. The sweet scent of alfalfa hay mixed with the fragrance of the cedar shavings in the stall. Charley snorted again. This time, she didn’t jump. Roan’s half smile deepened, silent praise that made her feel halfway confident about her learning to ride a horse.
“Okay, in the future, we feed our horses early so that by nine A.M., they’re ready to be taken out of the stall, put in the cross ties, brushed, and cleaned up. Then, we saddle up and start the day’s work.” Roan pointed to the alfalfa hay that was nearly gone. Charley was eating it with relish. “He’ll be done in about ten minutes. Come with me and I’ll show you where the tack room is located.”
Shiloh slid Charley’s stall door shut, locked it as Roan instructed, and then followed him down the wide, airy concrete walkway. She loved seeing the way he walked; boneless, confident, and yet, she could feel a fine tension running through him. She wondered why, following him as he opened the tack door and walked in.
Roan showed her where the switch was.
Shiloh looked around the huge tack room. It smelled of leather, Neatsfoot oil, leather soap, and she inhaled it deeply. Roan was watching her obliquely. “It smells so good in here!” she whispered, her eyes widening as she drank in the saddles, bridles, martingales, cinches, brushes, and other tools that hung on hooks on the dark umber wooden walls.
“One of the best smells in the world,” Roan agreed quietly, resting his hands on his hips. He didn’t want to be affected by Shiloh’s almost childlike reaction to the tack room. This was a place he always enjoyed being in, cleaning up the saddles and bridles with a soft cloth and leather soap. He could see the awe and the pleasure shining in her eyes as she walked to the saddle wall, touching some of them lightly, almost reverently. The tension she normally carried in her face melted away. Maybe Maud was right after all: Shiloh needed to immerse herself into being a Westerner, get involved in riding, caring for her horse, being responsible, and she would let the stalker and New York City dissolve away. It was a good distraction for her but Roan worried about when she left and returned to her home. The stalker would still be there. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that. At least, not yet.