Wind River Wrangler

by Lindsay McKenna

  She felt Roan gently pry her hand away from her chest and she opened her eyes. He was watching her with those dark gray eyes of his, and she felt an invisible embrace from him. He seemed stoic and unmoved by her emotional words. His mouth was relaxed. There was no tension in his face. Just calm. Like a starving thief, she absorbed the warmth of his hands around hers. He had such strength, yet his touch was gentle. Shiloh somehow knew he’d be a tender lover if that was what she needed. Roan read people just as well as she did. And he knew that she was presently emotionally fragile. She trusted him with her life, no question.

  “Then,” he said in a deep tone, “let’s just take it a day at a time?”

  Compressing her lips, Shiloh forced the tears away and opened her eyes. Roan looked like an unruffled Buddha, as if her admission wasn’t really that terrible. And if it was, he’d weighed and evaluated her fear and was not scared of it or of her fleeing from him. She wondered if anything ever frightened Roan. Just looking at his hard, elemental features, she knew he’d suffered greatly. And yet, he sat quietly, holding her hands, fully accepting her just as she was. Unafraid. Wanting her. Wanting to share something of value to both of them with each other. “Okay,” she said in a strained voice, “one day at a time . . .”

  Chapter Eleven

  Roan rummaged around in the kitchen. Shiloh was taking a shower while he prepared dinner. She’d grown very quiet on the trip back to the employee house from his cabin. There was a sense she desired him coupled with a deeply ingrained fear. He panfried some fresh trout that Maud had placed in his fridge earlier. Roan tried to sense his way through Shiloh’s present state. Maybe he’d said too much too soon to her? Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her at all? His mouth still burned hotly in memory of her soft, opening lips blossoming sweetly beneath his mouth. He could still taste her on his lips. Never mind he’d gotten an instant erection over her fearless, bold kiss with him. The woman was a complete turn-on. His body reacted long before his mind became engaged in the process.

  He’d taken his shower first at Shiloh’s insistence. Maybe she needed some alone time in her bedroom to collect herself from that world-tilting kiss they’d shared. He’d never look at the porch again without remembering that torrid, slow, deep kiss with Shiloh. Damn, but the woman was certifiably a turn-on. Roan wasn’t sure she was fully aware of her impact on him. Her head was in the clouds, literally, because she was a writer. And she seemed somewhat detached from the effect her face, body, and the way those sweet hips of hers moved had on men. From his perspective, she really was the total package. Even more, Roan liked her fearlessness. She’d made the move to kiss him first. She’d wanted him as much as he wanted her. That had surprised him, but it didn’t take a nanosecond to celebrate the discovery and then kiss her senseless in return.

  Roan heard the bathroom door open and Shiloh pad down the hall to her bedroom. He forced himself to focus on cooking. He was the one who told her they’d take it slow. His body was more than ready and so was he. But right now, their kiss had brought up a huge red-flag warning. Giving Shiloh credit for being honest with him about her pattern in relationships, Roan knew she cared enough for him to admit it. And he’d seen the shame in her eyes when she’d divulged the truth.

  Roan ruthlessly looked at himself, his part in all of this. He needed alone time to sift through the deeper meaning and his reaction toward Shiloh.

  The door to her bedroom opened and he cast a glance over his shoulder as he placed the fried trout onto a platter. She came into the kitchen, and he saw that she’d dried her hair and it was captured into a loose knot on top of her head. The clean pale-green tee made his lower body clench. And even though she wore a pair of white capris, her slender legs made him want to run his hand down them. In the capris Shiloh looked like a young girl with bare feet. Smiling to himself, Roan focused on the food. One moment, a woman. The next, a young girl. He liked discovering Shiloh’s quicksilver facets.

  “How can I help?” she asked.

  “Set the table?” Roan glanced over to see the dark green of her eyes, understanding she was still processing what had happened between them too. “Maud left us some fresh trout in the fridge. Thought we’d have that, some peas, and a salad?”

  “Sounds great. I’m starved.”

  So was he. For her. Roan didn’t say anything. He wanted to kiss her again. Take her all the way. Placing his considerable patience online, he told himself their relationship, or whatever he wanted to call it, was complicated. Shiloh was complex.

  The pleasant clink of plates and flatware made Roan realize just how lonely he’d become before Shiloh had stepped unexpectedly into his life. She moved quietly, saying nothing, but he could feel her warm, feminine presence just the same. This made Roan realize what he was missing in life: a relationship.

  Shaking his head, he brought the veggies from the fridge to make them into a salad. Since when had he ever wanted a long-term relationship with a woman? He wasn’t thinking a week or even a month with Shiloh Gallagher. He was thinking a lifetime. His heart clearly was not in sync with his head. Neither was his body. Her bold kiss vividly told him what he’d never really found. Until now. Until Shiloh.

  Taking a deep breath, Roan ordered himself to stand down. Her soft mouth had dismantled him on every conceivable level. He hadn’t been thinking about kissing her. His mind was focused on that porch. Did he like having her company while they installed it? Yes. It was new. It was . . . well . . . amazing. She had a way of getting inside walls he kept well in place around him. Shiloh was like silent fog stealing over the landscape of himself, subtly infiltrating him as a man before he ever realized it. And once he did, it was too late.

  Roan didn’t put the blame for the kiss on Shiloh. It had just HAPPENED. As if the chemistry had built and built, and the explosion that occurred as a result had taken them both by surprise. He wondered if Shiloh felt the same. Roan honestly didn’t know. Her green eyes were always alive with intelligence, but he couldn’t read her penetrating mind. Or her heart. Now, he wished he could.

  Within minutes, Roan had everything assembled for their dinner. Shiloh had taken the bowls of salad over to the table and he brought the fish and a dish of steaming peas slathered with fresh basil leaves in melted butter. She had thoughtfully brought out a half dozen of his biscuits left over, warmed them in the microwave, and placed the butter and honey next to them. Shiloh knew how much he liked his homemade biscuits and he smiled to himself.

  As Roan pulled her chair out for her to sit down, he said, “How are your hands?”

  Shiloh shrugged. “A few blisters is all.” She opened them as he sat down, showing her palms to him. “No big deal.”

  Roan settled into the chair and gently held one of her hands, looking at two small blisters caused by the nail gun she’d used all day. Her skin was soft. Fragrant. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of her lilac soap combined with the shampoo Shiloh had used. “You should have let me do most of the work,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. He opened his palm, showing her the thick calluses created by constant hard work around the ranch. “I’ve already built the calluses up to protect my skin.”

  “I’ll just put Band-Aids on them and they’ll be fine.” Shiloh placed one trout on her plate.

  “Did you get blisters when you worked on those other homes?” he wondered. It was a special hell watching her graceful movements as she added a hefty amount of peas to her dish.

  “Always.” Shiloh smiled a little. “I’ve got a sedentary career, sitting in a chair for hours at a time. When I volunteer to work on a house, the first couple of weeks my palms are a mess, but after that, I get calluses and I’m fine for the duration.”

  Roan put two trout on his plate, leaving the last one for Shiloh. She needed to eat more, but he said nothing. “I’m going out tomorrow morning to work on the cabin.” He wanted to ask her to come along, but thought better of it, not wanting Shiloh to feel as if he expected anything of her. She’d warned him off and h
e respected that.

  “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

  “Start putting up the railing.” Every cell in him wanted her to come along. Roan liked her quiet, feminine company. He had no fantasy about kissing Shiloh again. He’d promised to give her the room she needed. And frankly, she was stressed enough.

  “What kind of wood will you use for the railing?”

  “I’m using cedar. It’s insect-proof. I’ve got it stacked in the garage to keep it out of the elements and dry. The boards have to be straight.” And water always bent boards if they weren’t protected from the harsh elements. He watched her lashes lower as she consumed the trout. Damn, gazing at those lips of hers move as she ate was sending a twisting, needy ache straight down to his lower body. The woman was a certifiable riot to his body. She wrote romances. She had to know her effect on him. Didn’t she? Roan decided unhappily that Shiloh didn’t realize how she affected him at all. Reminding himself that if she’d only had three relationships in her life, her experience with men was limited. The same with sex. Or lust. Or . . . damn, his mind just wouldn’t get out of that life-changing kiss Shiloh had shared with him.

  “Whenever I worked on a house crew, I built porches, railing, and then went inside and we started the interior work. I did insulation, drywall, and painting.”

  “You’re multiskilled,” he teased, one corner of his mouth lifting as he met and held her gaze. Wanting to drown in those forest green eyes, Roan forced himself to break off contact. If he didn’t, he was going to give his soul to her. Could one kiss REALLY make him feel like this? He’d kissed plenty of women in his time, but no kiss had ever packed the punch, the depth, and the feverish heat that came with it when Shiloh shyly touched his lips in return.

  Shrugging, Shiloh hungrily finished off the first trout. “I’m not any good at plumbing or electrical.” She offered him a small smile. “I’m always worried I’ll get electrocuted. You know, put the two wrong wires together and get zapped?”

  He nodded. “Plumbing and electric are my specialties.”

  “Good thing,” Shiloh said with a quiet laugh. “Because I have a healthy respect for electric. I stay away from it.”

  “Did you get zapped once? Is that why you’re gun-shy?”

  “No. It just scares me. No logical reason,” she said, shrugging.

  “Take the second trout,” Roan urged, pointing his fork toward the platter. “You need to put some meat on your bones, Shiloh.” Her name rolled off his lips like an endearment.

  “Thanks.”

  Roan watched her lift the platter and slide the trout onto her plate. No matter what Shiloh did, it was done with grace. He wondered if she’d ever taken ballet lessons, but tamped down the question that almost flew out of his mouth. “Think you’ll work on your book tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure,” Shiloh admitted. “I’ve been ruminating on this great scene in my head, but I’m not sure it’s ready for birth yet.”

  “Do you see your books as children?”

  She lifted her chin, regarding him in the gathering silence. “Yes . . . I guess I do. I never thought of it like that.” Giving him a silly grin and tapping her head, she said, “Brain children.”

  When Shiloh smiled, Roan’s heart widened like windows being thrown open to allow sunlight into his dark soul. She didn’t realize her effect on him, and a lot HAD happened between them, Roan acknowledged. Even more reason to keep their conversation light and keep things status quo like before the kiss. Roan realized he was now going to be looking at Shiloh, at their situation as “before the kiss” and “after the kiss.” Unhappy with his heart that truly had an emotional mind of its own, he put his emptied plate aside and dug into the large salad.

  * * *

  Shiloh awoke slowly, the sun stealing around the edges of the curtains. Rubbing her eyes, she turned over, looking at the small round clock on the bed stand. It was nine A.M.! The house was quiet and she realized as she pulled off the covers, her feet touching the cool cedar flooring, that Roan had left many hours earlier. Probably at dawn. He was used to getting up as darkness was giving way to the coming day.

  Pushing hair out of her eyes, Shiloh sat in her lavender cotton nightgown, struggling to wake up. She didn’t wake up fast in the morning, anyway, needing that cup of coffee to jolt her back to reality.

  Yawning, she stood and stretched her hands over her head, feeling her body, feeling how her heart automatically centered around Roan. Shiloh touched her lips, remembering that life-affirming kiss she’d shared with him. Her heart wanted to be out with Roan at his cabin, working alongside him like the good team they were. She loved the cabin, loved the layout inside it. Roan had been creative in how he’d designed the rooms, leaving the kitchen and living room open-concept and airy. He was a man who clearly thought things out before starting a project.

  Was she a project to him? Shiloh gathered up a clean set of jeans, an orange tank top, and socks, and walked down the hall to the bathroom to get a hot shower. Why had she kissed Roan? It had been a blinding, spontaneous action on her part. She had kissed him. Not the other way around. Groaning, Shiloh stepped into the bathroom and set her clothes on the small vanity. She gathered up her tangled mass of hair and plopped it into a knot on top of her head. Turning on the faucets, she looked forward to the water and the scent of the lilac soap she loved so much.

  Even beneath the spray of water sluicing across her face and body, Shiloh couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop feeling Roan’s mouth moving against her lips. The man knew how to kiss! Just thinking about it made her clench inwardly and her body go into an instant ache of yearning.

  Her imagination took flight as she covered herself with the bubbles of the lilac soap across her arms. What would his long, roughened fingers feel like sliding across her flesh? How would she react? Shiloh could feel the fever of wanting him already making her breasts tighten. She felt restive, unsettled, needy and pining for his touch upon her.

  By the time Shiloh emerged from the bathroom, she decided her wild imagination had full control over her physical body. Padding out to the kitchen, she saw a hand-scrawled note left on the counter. Picking it up, she read, “Shiloh, pancake batter in the fridge. Left some for you. R.”

  Her fingertips tingled as she held the note. Her heart swelled. She sighed audibly and set the note aside. The man wasn’t selfish, that was for sure. Roan knew how much she loved pancakes. A soft smile played at the corners of her mouth as she opened the fridge and drew out the pitcher that held the batter. As Shiloh made herself a big stack of pancakes, her mind kept returning to the same question. Why was she afraid to step into a relationship with Roan?

  As she slathered butter between the stack and then poured warm maple syrup over it, she frowned. Roan played for keeps. Was that what scared the hell out of her? Feeling she wasn’t capable of commitment but knowing Roan was built that way was the dilemma. As Shiloh hungrily dug into the pancakes, savoring the nutty flavor, the hint of cinnamon combined with the sweet maple syrup, she knew the problem was with her. She didn’t want to hurt Roan. He’d demonstrated consistently that he was a gentleman, that he was sincere and he cared about her. He was sensitive to her needs, too. Knew how to share. Was a team player.

  She was in so such trouble.

  Shiloh was surprised she finished off the pancakes, feeling as if she’d eaten too much, but thinking about or being around Roan always spurred her appetite. Both stomach-wise and sexually. He’d been right: She was terribly underweight. Six months of being stalked had made her feel like a trapped, frightened animal, confined to her apartment. Just surviving. She’d lost her appetite long ago.

  Roan made her want to live again. To dream.

  The realization hit Shiloh and shook her to her core as she sat at the table finishing off her third cup of coffee. Roan was vital. A man of the earth. He relished hard, demanding work. His body was ripped and she ached to explore every inch of him in her bed. Her mind kept going there with him. Shiloh knew
from just that kiss, Roan would be an exquisite lover. He would take her to places she’d never known existed except in his arms, him inside her, him loving her until she melted like hot syrup all around him. Geez. She had it bad!

  Standing, Shiloh was frustrated sexually and emotionally. She rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Finishing off her coffee, she decided that keeping busy would get her mind off Roan and her lusting body. The house needed a good weekly cleaning. And it was her turn to do it, anyway. Right now, Shiloh wouldn’t be able to sit and create a thing. Putting some Band-Aids on her blisters, she got to work.

  * * *

  Sweat dripped off Roan’s brow as he sat up, resting against his boot heels and wiping his brow with the back of his arm. His stomach growled. It was noon. The sunlight was strong, lancing through the newly created railing he’d put up earlier. He liked the play of shadow and light, liked the dark bars sliding silently across the Trex porch.

  His mind and body automatically went to Shiloh, remembering her down on her hands and knees yesterday, placing nails into the Trex like a pro. She sure as hell caught on quickly. The nails were long and designed to solidly hold the wood in place. He’d seen the play of muscles in her forearms and biceps as she handled that nail gun with ease and familiarity. His mouth flexed. Let’s face it, he thought, he’d been in a male world without females around for the last twelve years of his life. In Special Forces, he was in the company of men only. He knew that would change now that women were allowed into combat. The point was, he was never around women.

  Women were forgotten in the combat of their black ops missions. While it was true half the team was married, the other half wasn’t. Roan had wanted it that way; not to be distracted by a woman or family left at home. He enjoyed the hell out of women in bed, and even having a meaningful relationship with one woman when he was stateside. Roan had never led that woman on as to their relationship and how it was going to end when he was redeployed.