Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(43)
Roan grinned as he lifted the cup away from his lips. He slanted her an amused glance. “So, what is a Special Forces soldier in your opinion, I wonder?” He didn’t want to admit it, but he was interested in how Shiloh saw him. Roan knew being identified as a black ops person led others to prejudge him. And with Shiloh, he wanted her to see him, not the label or the operator. Why? His heart tugged in his chest as he watched her expression become serious and contemplative. She didn’t take anything he said lightly. Instead, he could see her thinking over the question fully. Shiloh cared. But did she care about him, specifically? Or did she care in general about any human being whom she was interacting with? Roan wanted her to care about him. He didn’t look too closely at why.
Settling her elbows on her knees and cupping her hand beneath her chin, Shiloh tilted her head, holding Roan’s gray gaze. “My dad, even though he was an Air Force combat pilot, knew plenty about the world of black ops. Did I tell you that he worked as a CCT over in the Middle East? That he was on the ground, as a pilot, calling in jets or other aircraft to protect black ops groups?”
Roan’s brow rose a little. “No, you didn’t. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He saw her give him a wolfish grin. A CCT was a communications specialist on the ground directing air, weapons, and bombs onto hot targets. These men were sometimes enlisted and sometimes actual Air Force jet pilots, who remained deep behind enemy lines, with a black ops group, and worked the air portion to keep soldiers safe. It was a very dangerous job and Roan had worked primarily with enlisted Air Force CCTs, never any pilot officers. It gave him a new appreciation of Shiloh’s father, and his respect for the man rose even higher.
“I didn’t know if you’d be interested.” Shiloh saw him nod, as if understanding what she meant. “My dad used to tell me stories about the black ops groups he worked with. Nothing that was top secret, of course, but he could tell me incredible stories and I hung on every word. Later, he would go on to write about this type of thing, but never about actual events.”
“With his background, I imagine he could pen a really good suspense and adventure tale,” Roan said.
“He did. They were so alive, Roan.” She smiled fondly. “I was young, but my aunt and uncle allowed me to start reading his books when I was fourteen. They felt I was old enough to understand them. I just fell in love with my dad’s storytelling. I hung on every word he wrote. I loved it because it brought back wonderful memories of me sitting at his feet when he’d tell me one of his black ops stories.”
Roan could hear the grief and longing in Shiloh’s quiet voice as she reminisced about her father. “I need to go to the library in Jackson Hole and pick up a copy of one of his books.” Because by knowing her father, he would know Shiloh better. Roan decided to stop denying to himself why he wanted to do it. Shiloh interested him as no other woman ever had. He saw grief deep in her eyes and couldn’t go there with her. His father, Al, was alive, healthy and living on his Montana ranch. He wished for Shiloh’s sake that her father hadn’t died in his prime. She missed him terribly.
“Oh, if you want, I have all of Dad’s books on my iPad. I can lend it to you and you can read the e-book version.”
Nodding, Roan said, “I’d like that. Thanks.”
“So,” Shiloh murmured, “you asked me what I thought of Army Special Forces soldiers?”
Roan more or less internally steeled himself. “Yes. Fire away.” He knew she would.
Laughing a little, Shiloh said, “I can only surmise from what my dad told me. He said of all the black ops groups, the most well-rounded one was U.S. Army Special Forces. That only sergeants with six or seven years could try for an A-team. The guys he worked with not only knew the language of the area they were in, but they had certain skill sets, like weapons, combat medicine, mechanics, communication, and things like that. They were well read and they respected and knew the customs of the people they were living among. They were sharp, intelligent men, who missed little and were well aware of the political situation of that country. He said what impressed him the most was the amount of intel that you guys could wring out of the local populace.”
“That was because we earned their trust.”
“Right,” Shiloh agreed, nodding. Her lips curved. “So, I know you’re a very astute person, Roan. You watch a lot and say little. You’re a good observer of the human condition. I’ve seen how you’ve worked with me today. You were patient, easygoing, explained things, and never once lost your temper or became impatient.”
“People don’t learn when you’re yelling at them or cutting into the confidence they’re trying to build,” he said. Roan wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable with all of Shiloh’s accurate assessment of him. He rarely allowed anyone inside himself, to really know who he was, warts and all. But Shiloh’s keen insights were unsettling. At the same time, Roan didn’t feel like she’d use that knowledge against him. He prided himself on knowing human potential. She wasn’t a cream puff or a pushover. She was like her father in that she respected others, never judged them, but was interested in what made them tick the way they did.
“You’re a good teacher, Roan. You made today so much fun for me.” Shiloh searched his gray eyes, sensing a shift between them. She felt an overpowering need to kiss this man. Never had she wanted anything more. And she saw desire in his eyes—for her. It was there. In plain sight.