Ranger Pride

by Layla Chase

  “Right.” He collected the grooming tools he’d been using and approached the roan horse. “Allow me.”

  Shaking her head, she held out her hand. “I enjoy grooming.”

  Unwilling to give up this opportunity, he passed them over then retrieved another set from the tack room. “Can’t be caught letting a guest do all the work.”

  “But I’m family.” She ran the brush over the roan’s dark mane.

  He pressed a hand on his chest and widened his gaze, affecting an affronted air. “But you wouldn’t want me to put my job at risk, would you?” He watched as her brows wrinkled and she flicked her gaze at him and then away several times.

  “Surely, Tilda wouldn’t…Oh, of course, I don’t.” Shaking her head, she waved a hand at the big gelding and continued brushing.

  Her capitulation was quicker than he’d imagined, and he’d have to remember that excuse for future situations. Several minutes passed as they finished the grooming together. On his way to saddle the gray, he handed her the hoof pick. Best keep her occupied, or he’d turn his back and she’d be gone. Saddling the horse was easy enough, but he’d barely put the cinch through its ring when he spotted her grabbing a saddle blanket from a tall stack. He moved to the back wall where rounded supports stored a collection of saddles in several sizes. After a quick perusal, he lifted one down that looked the right size and carried it to the roan.

  “I can do—“

  “All part of the guest services here at Dream Vistas.” As he hefted the saddle onto the roan’s back, he brushed against her side, hearing her quick inhale. Where had he come up with this customer-first attitude? An aura of crisp citrus surrounded her, and he breathed it in as he secured the cinch. “Let me help you up, and I’ll adjust the stirrups.” He turned, ready to cup his hands as a step, and caught her staring. Their gazes tangled, and his pulse beat a crazy tattoo.

  “You don’t move like a cowhand.” Her head tilted, and she ran her teeth over her bottom lip.

  Caught. He stilled. What had given him away? He forced a grin and gave her what he hoped was a bad-boy, heavy-lidded look. “Been watching me that closely, huh? Can’t say that I mind.”

  Her lips pursed, and her eye narrowed to a slit. She turned to grab the saddle horn.

  Rhys stooped to capture her rising boot before she slid it into the left stirrup and gave her enough push so she could mount easily. He couldn’t resist cupping her calf to hold her foot in place. “How’s the length?” Firm muscles flexed under his fingers, and he fought the urge to caress them. Was she responding to his words or his touch?

  “Down one hole, please.”

  “Sure enough.” After the adjustment, he counted the empty holes and circled the front of Big Red to fix the other stirrup. As he worked, he analyzed why this woman was getting under his skin. If he’d seen her again in her sophisticated clothes, he probably could have maintained more distance. But this down-home woman who entered the barn possessed qualities that drew him.

  “Thanks.” She clicked her tongue.

  The roan trotted off down the aisle.

  “Shit.” As quickly as he could, he finished cinching the gray—a glance at the stall informed him this mare was Stormy—and swung into the saddle. He couldn’t let the subject get out of sight.

  Chapter Four

  The moment Caitlyn cleared the barnyard and moved past the corral, she tightened the hat’s stampede string under her chin, leaned forward, and urged Big Red into a canter. She headed for the trail that led to the ranch’s highest pastures. Guilt niggled that she’d been too abrupt. But being that close to Rhys had again spiked her pulse. The way he carried out the necessary tasks demonstrated he spent time around horses.

  Other elements of his mannerisms didn’t match a good ol’ boy cowboy. He maintained a low-key surveillance of the surroundings—his gaze in constant motion, shifting from the doorway to the windows to the loft to where she stood and back to the doorway. Most people might not have even noticed his awareness of everything within the barn. But she spent lots of time around returning veterans who suffered hyper-vigilance, one of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

  The rush of air against her skin made her feel alive. She let her gaze stray enough to take in the foothills in the distance and the golden grass brushing against the horse’s knees. Cotton-candy clouds decorated the beautiful blue expanse of Montana sky. Moving in rhythm with the horse’s strides and the friction of her thighs against the saddle were more intense than she imagined from her St. Paul apartment. The real thing almost always was better.

  Tension built low in her belly, and her thoughts drifted to the man she’d deserted in the barn. Her battery boyfriend would undoubtedly pale in comparison to what the muscled cowboy could wrangle from her body.

  From behind came the pounding of hooves. She didn’t need to look back to know who gained on her position. Instead, she rolled her hand to the right and guided Big Red toward an incline topped by a stand of Rocky Mountain junipers where she could connect with the high trail. “Easy, boy.”

  Big Red slowed to a walk, and Stormy pulled up alongside, the horses touching noses for a moment.

  “Got a destination in mind?”

  “Just higher into the hills so I can get a view of the valley.”

  “You know riding solo isn’t advised.” With narrowed gaze, he glanced ahead at the tree line.

  She leaned a hand on the pommel so she could twist in the saddle and meet his gaze. “Look, I’ve been coming here for a lot of years. As a teen, I helped lead some of the trail rides.”

  “In that case, why am I even mentioning anything about being out here by yourself?” An eyebrow crooked. “I’m following the guidelines I was given by Miss Langstrom. That would be Tilda, the eldest. You’re not intentionally jeopardizing my job, are you?”

  “I’m not doing that.” Caitlyn bit back a sigh of frustration. Of course, she knew what the safety precautions were. But she just wanted a few minutes of freedom—of an abandon so pure she got lost in the movement. So she didn’t have to think about the repercussions to the veterans served by the family’s foundation if her testimony didn’t provide solid arguments for the extension of the grant.

  The hardest reason to admit, but possibly the most important, was she needed distance from this man’s masculine allure. “About ten more minutes along this trail is a view that will astound you. Ride with me?” Giving him a beseeching smile, she tilted her head to the left.

  “Blaze the trail, and I’ll take the rear.”

  Fighting the knowledge that being in the lead meant her ass would be on display, she reined Big Red to the left and kept him at a walk. She guided the gelding to skirt boulders, jump downed trees, and cross a creek with only a few inches of running water.

  Surrounding the riders were the piney scents of conifers, evergreens, and junipers. Bold reds of fireweed and scarlet paintbrush mixed with the golden colors of tansy and sunflowers. Emerging from the trees, she glanced around to confirm this was her desired spot. About five feet from the edge of the escarpment, she applied backward pressure to the reins and patted his shoulder. “Whoa, Big Red.”

  She spied the view that always made her wish she possessed the talent to paint so she could forever keep the scene close. Once, she’d tried taking a photo, but the image didn’t have the depth to satisfy her vision of the place’s wildness. “See?” She took in the small buildings below that made up Dream Vistas Ranch, the wide prairie with a stream at the north end, and the fields of alfalfa to the south.

  He let out a low whistle. “Beautiful. Can’t argue that.”

  Contentment settled deep inside, and she relaxed her hold on the reins, letting the horse graze. Only at the very edges of the tableau were signs of civilization evident by the sun’s reflection off cars on the interstate and a plane high in the sky leaving a con trail.

  With a start, Big Red snorted and reared.

  Caught off-guard, she lunged forward with both hands to
grab his neck to remain seated. The saddle horn hit her sternum, and she gasped against the slam of pain to her chest.

  Rhys charged Stormy close and grabbed for Big Red’s bridle. “Whoa. Easy now.” He kept the roan’s head low and guided him to the left, away from the escarpment edge. “Great reflexes to grab for his—“

  Blood pounded in her ears. She held a hand splayed on her chest and made sucking sounds, trying to pull in enough air. But she couldn’t. Images like a super-fast slide show flashed through her mind. Her stomach churned, and she thought she might be sick.

  Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her across the space between the horses onto his lap. “Put your knees under your chin. Or as close as you can get them.” He rubbed circles on her back. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Take slow breaths. Look into my eyes and breathe with me.”

  Lifting her chin, she stared into dark blue eyes that focused like a laser on her. Finally, the calm cadence of his words registered, and she followed the directions. But, she still couldn’t get enough air to count as a deep breath. The edges of his face wavered. She shook her head and cupped her hands at the base of her throat, hoping he recognized the universal sign for choking.

  “Okay, different tactic.” He rested his splayed hand on her belly. “This time, inhale and push against my hand. Now, exhale and suck in your stomach. Repeat.”

  His warm hand followed her belly’s movement, which wasn’t really an aid for settling her breathing onto a regular rhythm. Thankfully, after several forced-breath cycles, the pounding in her ears lessened. This time, she felt the chest constriction loosen, and sweet air filled her lungs. Her body relaxed. “Thanks.”

  Rhys wrapped the roan’s reins around the saddle horn and clucked his tongue. “I want to make sure you’re all right. We’ll take the return trip slow and ride double.”

  With a final big breath, she lowered her legs and grabbed the saddle horn. Then she eased her hips enough to hook her left knee around the upright. Which put her back flush against a hard muscled chest.

  “Relax. I need to make sure you’ve recovered fully.” His hand cupped her belly.

  She resisted the feminine instinct to tighten her stomach. “What made Big Red do that? He’s normally so easygoing and steady.”

  “Could have been a rabbit ran near his hooves. Or a bird fluttered near his head.” He rubbed his rein hand along the top of his thigh. “If I was back home, I’d say he disturbed a snake sunning itself on a rock. But I don’t know what snakes live at this elevation.”

  “Maybe.” Either could have happened, but she didn’t remember hearing any nearby movements. And she caught a note of hesitancy in his voice. If she thought Big Red might spook like that, she never would have dropped the reins. “Where’s back home?”

  “Texas, but I’ve been away for a while.”

  Long enough to have lost most of his accent. Did “away” mean he’d been in the military? That would explain the way he carried himself and his watchful attitude. When the horses started down the incline, she had to lean back harder against Rhys, and his hand tightened on her stomach. Being pressed together this close and feeling his heat surround her played havoc with her equilibrium. Pulse racing, she closed her eyes and savored for a moment the sensation of being protected. Something she hadn’t realized she lacked because of her intense work schedule.

  On her own for the past decade—basically since the day she left home for college—Caitlyn was used to being the one in charge. But, for the duration of the return trip to the ranch, she willingly gave up control to Rhys. She even leaned back her head until it rested against his shoulder and closed her eyes. The gentle sway of Stormy’s gait lulled her senses. Sometime later, she roused, realizing the sun no longer beat down on her body and the horses had stopped.

  “Sit still until I’m set to help you down.” Rhys swung a leg over Stormy’s rump and jumped to the ground.

  “This is silly. I can get down on my own.” After settling into the saddle, she moved her left boot, searching for the stirrup. Because of the difference in their heights, it hung several inches out of reach. “All right.” She crooked her right leg and eased it over the horn then reached her hands toward his shoulders. The position left her with no place to look but into his intense navy blue gaze. Her stomach fluttered like a hummingbird was trapped inside and tried to escape.

  Rhys set his hands at her waist and eased her down, dragging her body against his until her boots were flat on the ground. “Knees are steady? Your legs’ll hold you?”

  Her throat clogged, and she nodded.

  “Good.” His hands released her waist, but he lifted them to cup her cheeks and bent his head to brush a kiss across her lips. Only a moment passed before he wrapped both arms around her and ravaged her lips, tasting and suckling.

  His frenzied onslaught was hard and caught her by surprise. Her back pushed against the saddle’s fender, and her butt hit the stirrup. She grabbed handfuls of the front of his shirt and opened her mouth to his probing tongue. Heat thrumming through her veins, she met his thrusts with ones of her own. Her pulse kicked into overdrive, and she ground her mons against the bulge of his jeans fly. One touch in the right place, and she’d dissolve into a much-needed orgasm.

  When he broke away, they breathed hard, staring into one another’s eyes. Then he bent his head and nuzzled nibbling kisses along her jaw and down her neck. His warm hand caressed the skin of her lower back, skimming toward her bra strap.

  A shiver ran over her skin, tightening her nipples into hard peaks. One quick sideways motion against his chest zinged sensations to her core. Her panties dampened. Images of their naked bodies sprawling on a blanket in the hay loft crossed her mind. Was Jude right... should Caitlyn indulge in a weekend fling? Suddenly, she had no support, and she stumbled forward a step.

  “Shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Rhys picked up his hat from where it fell and jammed it back on. Shaking his head, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I should never have kissed you. Employees can’t get involved with guests. Must have been the drama—you having the wind knocked out of you and me feeling so relieved you’re okay.” Frowning, he paced the length of two stalls and then returned. His eyes narrowed into a glare. “Promise me, you won’t tell your cousin. Better yet, promise you’ll forget what just happened.”

  “I won’t say anything to Tilda.” Caitlyn fought to control her expression. She couldn’t let him know how his words hurt. “Thank you for rescuing me.” She turned and strode down the barn’s aisle. With each step, her ire grew hotter. How dare he get her all fired up, and then tell her to forget the kiss. No way in hell could she ever forget the most spectacular kiss of her life! At the edge of the barn’s open door, she paused long enough to glance over her shoulder. Into a haunted expression that proved Rhys would have just as hard a time denying the heat they created as she would.

  Chapter Five

  The look over her shoulder almost made him relent. From fifty feet, he spotted the hurt and confusion caused by his lack of self-control. But once he’d driven them to the safety of the barn, he’d been unable to hold back his need to be sure Caitlyn was all right. If only he could blame his reaction solely on adrenaline. A near-death experience needed a contrasting one that affirmed life. He’d heard the theory in training lectures, but his tours in the Middle East hadn’t afforded similar conditions.

  Frustration still had him wound up. Enough so that his body screamed for a brutal workout or a five-mile run. But he had chores to finish so he could get back to his surveillance duties. At the moment the undercover ruse got in the way of his real purpose—to protect Caitlyn. He removed the horses’ saddles and replaced their bridles with halters and lead ropes before guiding them to the corral where he could hose them off. Because of the time of year, he left them in the sunshine to dry and collected a currycomb from the tack room. As he combed, he looked for any place where the tack chafed or rubbed the hide. He brushed out Stormy
first and released her to graze.

  Then he brought Big Red to the tie ring and secured the lead rope. Before he started brushing, he inspected the gelding’s body. Sure enough, he discovered the cause for Big Red’s reaction. Fighting his rising anger, he laid his thumb and forefinger against the gelding’s hide and felt the horse flinch. The roan had been hit in the left rear flank with a pellet from an air rifle. A steel shaft about a quarter inch long extended outward from the hide. The pfft sound of the rifle firing must have been hidden beneath his or Caitlyn’s conversation or the sounds from the horses.

  While moving on the trail, they’d had partial cover from the trees and bushes, making their positions somewhat protected. But once they reached the escarpment, the riders were exposed. The shot could have been a stray. A thought that didn’t sit easy on his mind. Usual range for an air rifle was a distance of four hundred yards. Say he went with the supposition the hit was an accident. What in the riders’ direction could have been the target? Any shot coming from behind them would have gone over the rocky edge.

  In order for the pellet to pierce the horse’s hide, the shooter must have been closer—maybe half the normal distance. And the horse was targeted so the rider would be bucked off. His blood chilled. Or flung over the edge.

  Too damn close. Especially for a man who spent a decade being the expert in charge of monitoring bad-guy tangos so his team could root out the exact ones to be punished. With extreme prejudice. His fingers tightened on the currycomb, but he kept his strokes light. Then he went into the tack room for a bottle of water, salve, and a pair of needle-nose pliers to extract the pellet and give Big Red some relief. No need to alarm Tilda yet. At least, not until he alerted the sheriff in Eagle Rock to the potential threat, faceless as it was at the moment.

  During their ride, Rhys hadn’t pinpointed anything specific, but he’d registered a presence in the forest that had him on alert. He’d passed off the sensation as an awareness of a bobcat or puma watching from a tree branch, so he hadn’t mentioned anything to scare Caitlyn. That he hadn’t considered the two-legged variety of predator was on him, and an assumption he would not make again.