“For now it will feel good,” he agreed. “But an hour in the saddle is going to test you in all kinds of ways.” She wouldn’t be able to walk straight, after her thighs had stretched wide across Charley’s broad back. Shiloh would be stiff and sore for days to come but if she rode every day, her muscles would adapt, stretch, and no longer bother her. She’d have a pair of riding legs then. Roan would like to get his hands on her legs. With a muffled curse she couldn’t hear, Roan grimly thinned his lips, unhappy with his libido that had a brain of its own.
The warmth of the sunlight embraced Shiloh and she rode close to where Roan rode, their feet occasionally brushing up against each other. He rode tall and proud, his broad shoulders thrown back with confidence. Every inch a tough, rugged cowboy, it inspired Shiloh’s active imagination. Maybe she should write about cowboys next? They were iconic. The Wild West. Hardy. Independent. Unsmiling. She looked around at the activity now going on. A string of families on horseback were going in another direction, riding between several large pastures. She saw a herd of brown and white Herefords on the other side. The breeze was soft, grazing her cheeks, and she inhaled deeply, smelling the lush grass and the clumps of pine trees here and there. The gentle sway of Charley between her legs seemed perfect. She was warm, lulled almost into a semi-meditative state, and she had one of the most handsome men in the world right next to her!
Soon, they left the busy center of the Wind River Ranch behind and were on a wide, well-beaten trail leading toward a thick grove of pine trees that looked as if it stretched about half a mile in length and width out in the middle of flat, grassy floor. Everywhere she looked green pastures covered the land. It looked to her like combed strands of hair, only it was thick grass instead. Shiloh appreciated the grove as they drew near. The pine trees reminded her of pincushions, sticking up from the slight knoll where they grew. She couldn’t see the screeching blue jays hidden among the pines. There were two trails ahead. One led down toward the middle of the grove, the other went around to the end of it and disappeared.
“See that red-tailed hawk sailing above us?” Roan asked, pointing upward.
Looking up, glad she had sunglasses on, Shiloh saw a hawk flying about a thousand feet above them in lazy circles. “He has a red tail?”
“Yes. He and his mate live on the edge of the grove. When we ride around it, I’ll point it out. They have a big nest made of wooden sticks up in the tallest, oldest pine.”
“So beautiful,” Shiloh sighed, turning and giving him a wispy look. “The sky is so wide and large out here. It’s nothing like New York City.”
“You can’t see the sky for all the skyscrapers,” he snorted.
Laughing, she nodded. “I just love how big and bold this country is,” she said, and she turned in the saddle, looking around, appreciating the greenness of the pastures, the content animals eating and the powder-blue sky surrounding them from above.
Roan was beginning to see Shiloh honestly relax. Maybe for the first time in a long time. The sun glinted in her red hair, burgundy and gold threads among the strands. He found himself wanting to pull that thick, slightly curly hair out of the clip she wore to keep it gathered up. What would the strands feel like running through his exploring fingers? How would Shiloh respond as he kissed her lips? Her mouth was driving him to distraction. His erection stirred. Not now. Not in a saddle. He’d be in constant agony, firmly willing himself not to respond.
“This is . . .” she sighed, tipping her head toward him, meeting his dark eyes, “. . . wonderful, Roan. Thank you so much for putting up with me this morning. I’m sure you don’t want to be teaching a city slicker how to ride a horse.”
“Don’t worry about it, Shiloh.” Her name slid off his tongue like hot honey. He was in so much damned trouble. Roan could see the transfixed look in her green eyes; she was overwhelmed and mesmerized by all the ongoing beauty surrounding her. He understood Shiloh’s awe and appreciation. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel like you do. It’s beautiful country.”
You are beautiful. The words almost escaped his mouth. Fuming with himself, Roan wondered why in the hell he couldn’t remain immune to Shiloh. The way the breeze picked up strands at her temples, the glint of gold and red in them, emphasizing her large, intelligent eyes, all conspired to make him harder, not softer. Dammit.
“I just never realized how big the West was,” she admitted. “I feel like I’ve missed something really important.” She rested her hand holding the reins on the saddle horn, loving the soft sway of Charley. It was like getting rocked by her mother when she was a child; a wonderful, maternal, and nurturing feeling that always had made Shiloh feel not only loved, but safe.