Shrugging, Shiloh sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve gone through my e-mail correspondence with my readers and I can’t find anything to suggest something like this.”
“You do have male readers, don’t you?”
“I do. Not many, though, mostly women.”
“If it were a man, Shiloh, why would he want to do this to you?”
Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “I don’t know. Maybe my love scenes? In a romance there’s always love scenes. I’m known for hot scenes. Not erotic, but hot.”
Roan tried to keep focused on the discussion, and not forming fantasies of love scenes and erotic images of her in his bed. His senses told him she’d be damned sensitive, hot, and a little wild in bed. He’d bet money on it. But this wasn’t the time to go there. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the worry. Her lips were thinned. “So, do all authors get some men who are like that? They get turned on by the love scenes and then start stalking you? Unable to separate reality from fiction?”
“I don’t think it happens often. But it’s happening to me,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “That’s sick, Roan. I’m writing a novel. I’m not the heroine in that novel.”
“There’s some people who can’t separate out reality from fantasy,” he told her quietly. “They’re mentally ill.”
“That’s also what I think is going on but I can’t prove it.”
“He’s a sexual predator.” The thought turned Roan’s stomach. Shiloh was a beautiful, sensitive soul, completely unable to defend herself against someone like that. He felt every protective cell in his body stand at attention. There was no way in hell anyone was going to touch or hurt her. No one.
“I hope I’m wrong,” Shiloh admitted quietly. “I hope he’s gone by the time I get back to New York. Forgotten me.”
Grimly, Roan didn’t think that was the way it worked with a sick son of a bitch like that. “Look, maybe there’s room to investigate this in other ways. You need to first get caught up on a lot of lost sleep. Then, some fresh air, sunshine, and working yourself physically will help too.” He saw a grin come to her lips, her eyes starting to sparkle.
“Now you sound just like Maud. Get on a horse! Roll up your shirtsleeves! Wear a pair of leather gloves and cowboy boots! Go to work.” She laughed a little. “Did you two conspire?”
Her laughter was like a creek singing to him. It was low and smoky. His flesh riffled with possibilities. Roan tamped down his reaction. She was running scared from a sexual predator. And what was he? One in disguise? Wanting her? But he would never stalk Shiloh. If there was some kind of connection, Roan would know it. And he had no problem in asking Shiloh to her face if she’d like to go to bed with him. Roan had rarely been turned down, but he was more than willing to risk it because, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Shiloh made him run hot and he wanted to capture that smile of hers for himself.
Chapter Five
Roan watched Shiloh’s reaction to the black-and-white paint horse named Charley, a fifteen-year-old gelding. She approached his box stall in the large barn the next morning. Charley was generally used at the dude ranch portion of the Wind River Ranch and was a children’s horse. Maud decided Charley was a good fit for Shiloh.
The air was chilly at nine A.M.; most of the dude families who were in for the week were over at the chow hall. Roan had dropped in to see Maud, who was out in her machine shop. She was an ace at welding, fixing small engines and making spare parts to fit some of their aging farm equipment. He’d best let her know that Shiloh was going to be with him for the day. Otherwise, he’d be missing in action. Maud had glowed and smiled, giving her nod of approval.
Roan wasn’t sure he liked the twinkle in her large green eyes. The rancher was wise and crafty, to say the least. She had broadly hinted from time to time that he should think about settling down, having a family. Right. And those weren’t just idle words coming from his boss. No, Maud Whitcomb was a master chess player on the board of life. She’d even provocatively dangled the one thing he’d wanted the most since leaving the Army: to build a cabin he could call is own. After the first year, she’d gifted him with five acres of land on the other side of Pine Grove, on Wind River Ranch property.
Maud provided the logging package that would help make his home, a cedar log cabin, a reality. Roan spent every waking minute out at his small spread when he wasn’t wrangling for the Wind River Ranch. The cabin was coming along after a year of his hard work and he was pleased with the progress he’d made. Roan wasn’t one to stand idle for too long, anyway. The need to be outside in the elements, to battle them and win, was overriding. He’d gotten the shell of the cabin up, roofed with cedar shake shingles, and now, this coming season, he could start building the inner guts of the house, the plumbing and electricity; all of which he had knowledge of. Being a Special Forces A-team member, he’d become skilled at many other areas of life.
Shiloh twisted a look over her shoulder as she stood at the bars over the stall door, staring in at Charley, who was finishing his hay for the morning. “He looks awful big,” she said, worrying her lower lip. Charley’s big brown eyes studied her as he calmly munched his hay, his small, fine ears flicking back and forth. Roan came to a halt at her side. He towered over her, but it made her feel safe.
“Actually,” Roan drawled, pulling on his leather gloves, “Charley is pretty small. He’s only fourteen hands high. Taller than a pony but nowhere near the height of the other working horses here at the ranch. Most of them are fifteen and sixteen hands tall.”
“Oh.” Shiloh studied the horse. He had a long black-and-white mane, his forelock fuzzy and thick between his ears and draping down across his broad forehead. “Is he . . . friendly?”
“You mean, is he ornery?” Roan placed his hand beneath her elbow, wanting to touch Shiloh. Any excuse would do. He pulled her gently to one side and then released her. Picking up a red nylon halter with a lead rope attached to it, he said, “Charley’s an old man. He’s been around and he knows the drill. He has one speed: slow,” and Roan grinned, sliding open the box stall door. “Now, watch what I do, Shiloh, because from now on, you’ll be doing it instead.”
Standing to the side, she watched as Roan murmured hello to Charley, patted him in a friendly manner on the neck, and then slid the halter over his nose, buckling it on top of his head. Roan turned.
“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.
“Every saddle is used by a specific horse,” he told her, motioning to the plastic nameplates above each one. “Charley’s is there on your left, in the center. See it?”
Shiloh quickly spotted it because his name was carved in wood just above the gear. She saw the saddle and it was padded on the seat, sewn in a diamond-like pattern. “This looks comfortable,” she said, smiling over at him. She saw him nod and push the brim of his Stetson up a bit on his brow. Roan was so pulverizingly male, it kept her feeling like her lower body was constantly on simmer. Wanting him, Shiloh had no idea if he had a girlfriend or was in a serious relationship with another woman. He was just too drop-dead gorgeous to be available.
“It’s a comfortable saddle to ride.” Walking over, Roan showed her the bridle above the saddle. “This is Charley’s bridle,” he said, and he pulled it off the hook, settling it into her open hand. “Every horse has a bit in its mouth and that’s the way we control the animal.” He tapped the clean silver bit. “Charley has what we call a soft mouth and this is called a snaffle bit. His mouth is sensitive and he responds quickly if you pull on his reins.” He took the bridle, slid it up her arm, and settled it across her shoulder. “This is how we carry the bridle. Slide your arms through either end of the saddle and lift it off its resting place. It weighs about twenty pounds.”
Shiloh was surprised at the weight as she did as he instructed.
“Good,” Roan murmured. “Now, follow me.”
Walking out into the barn once more, Roan showed her where to put the saddle and bridle near the cross ties. She felt good, being able to heft the heavy leather saddle around by herself. Maybe she wasn’t as much of a weakling as she first thought. Her confidence began to blossom. She followed Roan to Charley’s stall. He stepped aside.
“Okay, so go in and get Charley. He’s cleaned up his hay,” he said, and the floor was clean.
Feeling proud of herself, she led Charley out of the stall on the nylon lead. Roan came up to her, settling his hands on her shoulders.
“Never walk in front of a horse, Shiloh.” He eased her off to one side of Charley. “Remember? He can’t see you because his eyes are on the sides of his head?”
“Darn,” she murmured, apologetic. “You’re right.”
“If he got spooked, he’d lunge forward to run away from whatever scared him. You’d get run over in the process.” Roan forced himself to release her shoulders. Even though he wore leather gloves, he could feel the softness of her skin beneath the blouse she wore. “By being on either the right or left side of him, he can see you. If something scares him, he’ll leap away from you. A horse will never run over a human if they can help it.”
“That’s good to know,” Shiloh said wryly, grinning.
Roan took her hand, placing it just below the snap on the halter and lead rope. “Always walk your horse like this. That way, you have a grip and control on his head. The horse can’t move away from you as long as you manage where you want his head. Take Charley down to the ties,” he said, and he pointed down the walkway.
Nodding, Shiloh tugged on the lead rope. Charley came, walking quietly at her side. She smiled proudly, feeling happy and pleased with herself. Roan walked on the other side of Charley, his unforgiving profile making her once more want to explore and kiss that strong mouth of his.
Roan showed her how to place the panic snaps on each side of Charley’s halter as he stood quietly between them in the middle of the breezeway. “Panic snaps are just that,” Roan told her, showing her how to open it at an instant’s notice. “Sometimes a horse will get spooked while in ties and they can twist turn and end up choking themselves to death on one of these cross ties.” He ran his gloved hand down the length of sturdy nylon rope. “All you need to do is pull this lever down and it immediately opens the snaps and stops the horse from killing itself while in panic mode.”
She grinned. “I should have a set of these for my life.”
Roan’s mouth stretched. “I think everyone should have a set.” She was a feisty filly and he felt his heart opening more toward her. Yes, she was a city slicker, no doubt, but she had moxie and she wasn’t afraid to try new things. Two things he liked to see in a woman he was interested in. Roan tried to push away his desire for Shiloh. Tendrils of red hair softly caressed her flushed cheeks and he wanted to fall helplessly into her shining forest-green eyes. When his gaze dropped to her curved lips, everything in his lower body went on red alert. Groaning inwardly, he felt his erection stir. Not good. It would be hell to ride with later, so he placed steel control over his body. Their laughter echoed around the area. It felt damn good to laugh. Roan didn’t do it often, but the warm fuzzies in his chest just kept opening up and making him feel a sharpened, edgy hunger for Shiloh.
Snapping it closed, he said, “Let’s mosey back to the tack room.” This time, Shiloh walked in front of him and that was a mistake. The sweet sway of her hips, those long legs of hers, made him groan internally. Already, visions of having her naked, lying in his bed on her back, and him running his fingers down her rib cage, enclosing those hips, opening her thighs, hit him broadside. Giving a shake of his head, Roan felt like he’d been poleaxed. What was it about sweet, shy Shiloh that called to him like a mermaid siren? Roan grimly reminded himself those mermaids sang sailors to their deaths, too.
In the tack room, Roan guided her over to several wooden toolboxes sitting on the shelf on another wall. “This is your horse-grooming kit,” he told her, lifting one and placing it into her hand. “We groom our horses before we saddle them. We need to get the dirt, dust, and sweat off their skin where we’re putting the saddle blanket and saddle. If a horse isn’t cleaned up, sores can result.”
Shiloh nodded and Roan showed her where to put the toolbox out of the way so the horse wouldn’t get tripped up into it. When he chose a currycomb, he set it into her hand, showing her how to hold it. His fingers were strong and her flesh leaped as he gently curved her fingers around the wooden handle.
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