Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(32)
Roan was content to remain with the horses and watch her bend down, cup a bloom, and inhale its fragrance. The sunlight picked up the burgundy, gold, and copper strands of her ponytail, which moved across her shoulder every time she bent down. She was like a kid in a candy store, enthusiasm evident in her face as she took photos of her favorites.
Around him, mid-morning was waking up in earnest. Hearing the red-tail behind him, he turned, looking across his shoulder toward Pine Hills, seeing one of the hawks leaving their nest. The chirping of birds was a tranquil song to him; one he’d never get tired of hearing. Roan kept his gaze on Shiloh as she slowly worked her way down the hill, looking for new flowers so she could photograph them. He knew there was nothing like this meadow in New York City. It must look like a kaleidoscope to Shiloh. Or maybe something else because she was a writer and saw things differently than most others.
Wrapping his arms against his chest while contented horses eagerly munched the grass, Roan found himself feeling happy for no discernible reason. Shiloh was graceful. He watched her put her arms out to balance herself here and there. There were a lot of gopher holes in the hillside and she couldn’t see where she was stepping, the grass covering up the many mounds where the pesky creatures lived in town-like burrows. If a horse ever accidentally stepped into one, it could break a leg and send the rider flying. He didn’t like gophers.
Once Shiloh made her way to the end of the slope, she turned and looked up at him, waving and smiling.
Roan felt his skin riffle. He lifted his hand and smiled in return. Her ponytail had pretty much worked its way loose and now her hair lay about her shoulders like a gleaming red and gold cape. Almost the colors of aged cedar. Like his cabin. Frowning, he lifted his chin, staring in the distance toward his home. On weekends, he would drive out here and work from dawn to dusk, returning back to the ranch center because there was no furniture in there yet. He’d set the major posts for a porch he wanted to build around half the cabin. The idea of having a rocking chair there that he could mosey out on with a cup of hot coffee in the morning appealed to Roan. He laughed to himself because at an earlier age, he’d never contemplate a rocking chair. But life had moved on and he’d changed. Things that had been important to him as an operator in the Army were now in the past.
Gazing toward Shiloh, he watched her walking around the edge of the meadow. As she started a long climb up toward him and the horses he could see her pant legs from her knees downward were soaked with dew. Smiling to himself as Shiloh drew nearer, he saw her cheeks had bloomed with pink once more. Even better, there was life in her green eyes again, no longer dull or rife with pain and memories. Her hair had a slight curl to it, the crimson waves lovingly outlining her oval face. Trying not to stare at her breasts too long or the gentle sway to her hips, he kept trying to control his hungry body.
Roan couldn’t help but grin as she came up the hill, breathing hard, cheeks flushed, her green eyes shining. It had been a good decision to bring her here, help her orient to the present. Let the past ebb out like a tide and give her some downtime from the brutality of it all.
“I just got lost in the beauty of all those flowers, Roan.” Shiloh pulled some of her strands away from her face, smiling up into his hard, serious-looking features.
“You looked like you were having fun.” Roan found himself wanting to sweep Shiloh into his arms. She was so alive. So . . . tempting. Gesturing down to her wet, darkened Levi’s, he drawled, “The only downside is wet pant legs.”
Laughing, she nodded and smoothed her hand against her knee. “That grass is heavy with dew!”
“It’s like that every morning until about eleven A.M.,” he said. The breeze moved her hair and, without thinking, he reached out, capturing some of those wayward strands and then tucking them behind her ear. Roan saw her stand very still, her pupils growing large and black beneath his touch. Cursing to himself, he dropped his hand, realizing how intimate the gesture had been. Shiloh suddenly looked shy and she lowered her lashes, moving over to where Charley stood, and picked up his reins. Roan wanted to touch her again. Everywhere, starting with that ripe mouth of hers.
“Thank you for showing me this meadow. It’s so perfect. So beautiful,” she said, holding his gaze as she pulled the reins over Charley’s head.
“I thought it might be a positive change for you,” he said, holding her stare. Roan saw desire in Shiloh’s eyes. When her pupils grew dark and large, he knew how to interpret that telltale sign. She had liked his touch. Right now, Shiloh was fragile. He shouldn’t have done it because it was like taking advantage of her when she was vulnerable. Kicking himself inwardly, he was finding by being around her, touching Shiloh was coming way too naturally for him. He tried to blame it on the fact that her red hair was loose and a glorious, shining crown around her shoulders. He tried to convince himself that her green eyes were only temporarily warm and soft with longing because she was raw from her earlier weeping in his arms.
As much as Roan wanted to tell himself that holding Shiloh was the humane thing to do, it went a lot deeper than that for him. He was protective toward her from the beginning and now he understood, in part, why. His operator’s senses had told him she was under genuine threat. And it had been proven to him. Whether he wanted to or not, Roan was emotionally invested in Shiloh because she’d turned into his embrace and wanted his arms around her. It made him feel good as a man to do that for her as a woman. And his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. Rubbing the area, Roan scowled and mounted his horse. Shiloh followed suit. Each time she was a little less gawky and unsure of herself, gaining confidence in herself and her horse.