Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)

“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.

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