Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(41)

“And I love it.” Shiloh gave him a silly grin and tapped her head. “I have the most well-honed muscled brain in the world. I need to give my physical body the same kind of workout to stay in balance.”

Nodding, Roan finished off his cup of water. He slid off the tailgate, pulled the water container forward, and filled his cup again. Shiloh held hers out to him for a refill. “You’re a smart woman, balancing off mental with physical activity,” he praised. “A lot of people wouldn’t realize that.”

She thanked him for the water, drinking all of it quickly, slaking her thirst. Handing the cup back to him, she asked, “Were you in danger when you were in Special Forces?” The need to know Roan was driving her to ask more personal questions of him. She saw his mouth purse slightly as he considered it.

Allowing the water container to sit on the tailgate, he leaned against the truck frame. “Sometimes. Depended upon where my A-team was placed.”

“Like, Afghanistan? Iraq?”

“Yes. Sometimes South America.”

She smiled and shook her head. “You really have been around.”

“It was interesting,” Roan said.

“I’ll bet you could write great books about your adventures.”

“All of mine are top secret,” he said drolly, setting the cup next to the container. “Can’t breathe a word about them.”

“My dad always wrote from his military experience.”

“Yes, but probably a lot of what he did wasn’t black ops–related. Right?”

“Right.”

“Tell me about your growing-up years, Roan,” she said, and tilted her head, holding his amused gaze. She felt as if he were humoring her like a petulant, inquisitive child.

“My father was in the Army for thirty years, so I was a military brat.”

“Was he in Special Forces like you?”

“Yes, he was. That’s why I went into the teams.”

“So did you and your mom move around a lot?”

“No, because he was black ops and always being sent overseas to some country. We stayed at the Army base where his unit was based here in the States. My mother, Grace, was born and raised in Montana. And usually, we lived on her parents’ ranch when he was ordered overseas. I didn’t kick around the globe like a lot of military brats because he was an operator.”

“So you grew up on your grandparents’ ranch?”

“Yes. Liked it a lot.”

“I don’t remember much, but my dad was always getting moved from one Air Force base overseas to another, every two years. I was five years old when he left the Air Force and started his writing career, which took off like a rocket.”

“We were lucky kids, then.”

“Why lucky?” she wondered, watching how relaxed his face became when he reminisced.

“We had an anchor. A place to stay and plant roots. I think that’s important. We could make friends. Get to know the community around us.”

“You’re right,” she murmured. “I didn’t like moving very much.”

“I was restless when I was younger,” Roan admitted. “In the teams, we moved around every two to three years, depending upon what our assignment was.” He gave her a wry smile. “Now that I’m older, I like sitting in one place with no desire to be a tumbleweed anymore.”

Shiloh gestured to his cabin. “Did you buy the land from Maud to live here?”

“Actually,” Roan said, pushing away from the truck and pulling on his gloves, “Maud gave me this land as part of my employee package. She likes to help military vets and she’s given each of the wranglers who were in the military five acres to build a home on. It’s rent-free and it’s ours. She’s a very generous woman. She also bought the cabin package for me.”

“Wow,” Shiloh murmured. “That’s incredible!”

“Knocked my socks off, too,” Roan admitted with a grin. “She’s a good person, a great people manager, and she really does support vets. The woman rocks in my world.”

Sliding off the tailgate, Shiloh pulled on her gloves. “What a wonderful, priceless gift she’s given to you,” she murmured, gesturing around the area. “It’s so beautiful here. Quiet. Healing.”

“All those things,” Roan agreed. “Come on, let’s get you busy laying that Trex you cut. By the end of the day, if all goes well, we should have the first step in the porch laid.”

“And next will come the railing?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “The work is never done when you build a house. Always something else.” As he walked with her to the cabin porch area, Roan appreciated the sway of her hips. He could see Shiloh truly enjoyed what she was doing, as if this country were breathing new life into her. Maybe it was helping to dissolve all the built-up fear she’d experienced over the last six months. Frowning, Roan settled the baseball cap on his head, wishing he had more info on her stalker.





Chapter Ten


Where the hell was Shiloh Gallagher?

Anton Leath sat in his Manhattan apartment. He’d made morning coffee earlier and scoured the New York Times intently as he smoked his second cigarette of the morning. It was his only bad habit, not even one he could give up while spending years in federal prison for murdering Isabella Gallagher.