Out Rider
Sloan thought back to his growing-up years in an old log cabin that sat on top of a tree-clad hill deep in the woods of Black Mountain. They had electricity and every night his mother, Wilma, would read to him as a young child. She loved myths and in particular he remembered Helen of Troy and how beautiful she was. Sloan thought that Dev could be a black-haired version of her. What bothered him, however, was her reaction when he accidentally scared the bejesus out of her. She’d reacted violently when he’d approached her. Looking back on it, he did walk quietly and Dev hadn’t heard him coming her way. Sloan felt bad about jolting her. The woman was under enough stress hauling a horse halfway across the United States, then having a flat tire, which could all have contributed to her reaction.
It was the look in her green eyes that had struck him deeply, the raw terror he’d seen in them. Her face had gone completely white except for her red cheeks caused by the cold weather and wind. He’d seen that look in Afghan villagers’ eyes too often, particularly the women and children who had been terrorized by Taliban who’d come through killing and torturing fathers and husbands. And raping the women. It was a look he’d never forget from his deployments. And it was reflected in Dev’s eyes. Why? Shaking his head, Sloan couldn’t put it together. At least, not yet. And probably never.
As they reached the outskirts of the town, there was a long, long hill they had to climb. On his right was the ten-foot-high elk fence. Below it was the valley where thousands of deer and elk were fed all winter long so they wouldn’t die of starvation. On his left rose a thousand-foot hill, rocks craggy and gleaming with wetness from small springs that wound unseen and then oozed out of the fissures and cracks on the surface.
Sloan could always tell a lot about a person by the animals they kept. That buckskin mare of hers wasn’t jumpy, nervous or tense. She was real relaxed in that trailer, alert but not jerking and jumping around like some horses did. That was a reflection of Dev’s real nature, for sure. Animals always mirrored their owners, plain and simple. So his initial sense of the woman was that she was grounded, quiet and mature. Just like her horse. That was a good combination in Sloan’s book. Giggly, flighty, nervous women made him tense. But then, Cary had been like that, hadn’t she? But that was because she’d been high on drugs and he hadn’t realized it until much too late.
Sloan had only caught a glimpse of the yellow Labrador in the front of Dev’s truck. By the fineness of the dog’s large, broad head, she looked to be a female. He’d find out soon enough, he though, and then he grinned over at Mouse, who was decidedly an alpha male. “I think you already know that good-lookin’ yellow Lab is a female.”
Mouse cocked his black head, his large, intelligent eyes dancing with excitement. He whined. His tail kept thumping against the seat.
Reaching out, Sloan petted his combat-assault dog that had, for two years, helped save his ass over in Afghanistan. When he got out of the Army, he was able to bring Mouse with him because the dog had developed stress from too many IEDs and explosions. He’d been a brave dog, often going after fleeing enemies in nights so dark Sloan couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Mouse would nail them, take them down and grip a leg with his teeth until the Army soldiers could arrive to take the screaming enemy prisoner.
Now his brindle dog was eight years old, well past his prime, but he was in better shape than 90 percent of the dogs in the United States. And Mouse had slowly, over time, let go of his combat-dog training as Sloan gently but firmly got his best four-legged friend to adjust to civilian life instead. As he moved his long fingers through the dog’s short, thick fur, Sloan smiled a little.
“Hey, this may be your lucky day, fella. That woman has a yellow Lab and who knows? You might get to befriend that dog of hers.” He chuckled. “And I might be able to befriend her owner.”
Mouse thumped his tail mightily, ears up, eyes on the back window where Dev’s truck and trailer were visible. He gave a long, excited whine.
Sloan knew Mouse could see the other dog through the windows, no question. The Belgian Malinois was one of the most intelligent dog breeds on the planet and nothing, but nothing, escaped Mouse’s attention.
It made Sloan grin. Giving Mouse a last pat, Sloan wrapped his hand around the steering wheel, urging the truck up the long, easy slope of the hill. As they crested it, the mighty Tetons sat on his left. They were clothed in deep white snow with blue granite flanks and skirts of evergreens around their bases. May was still a winter month up here, but Sloan knew come June 1, the tourists would descend like a plague of locusts on this park and Yellowstone, which sat fifty miles north of them.
Mouse whined. His thin, long tail was whipping against Sloan’s thigh.
“Patience, pardner,” he drawled to his dog. “We’re almost there. As soon as we can get this gal and her horse over to the barn, I might let you out and we’ll introduce you to her dog. But no promises. Okay? Gotta see what the lady wants to do with her horse first.”
The dog’s tail hit Sloan with great regularity across his hard thigh. They were bruising hits.
“Calm down,” he told Mouse. “Easy.” And Sloan slowly stroked the dog’s long, powerful back. He felt the dog’s muscles relax beneath his stroking fingers. Mouse stopped whining. If Mouse thought he could crash through that rear-window glass, run across the bed of his truck and leap up onto the hood of Dev’s truck, he’d do it. Such was his dog’s type-A nature. Belgian Malinois were basically sheep-herding dogs in Europe. And their nature was to bring everyone together in a nice, tight, safe group, with the dog prowling around the edges, watching for bears, wolves or apex predators from the sky.
Sloan couldn’t lie to himself. He was mirroring his dog. Only Mouse was a helluva lot more obvious about it than he was. No question, Dev turned him on. Caution told him not to put much stock in first impressions. He’d fallen so hard and fast for Cary, married her three months after meeting her in a bar, and look what had happened. Sloan frowned; he knew the price. And it was far too much for him to ever pay again.
CHAPTER TWO
DEV FELT NOTHING but gratefulness for Sloan as he pulled into the large gravel circle in front of a dark green three-story barn. She’d seen the headquarters building, a two-story yellow-brick affair on the right, after they’d passed through the area that allowed visitors into the park. Her heart picked up in tempo and she felt anticipation and relief while she parked the truck and trailer in front of the open barn doors.
Bella, her yellow Lab, whined, her head stuck out the window, her long, slender yellow tail beating happily against the seat.
Patting her rump, Dev said, “Stay here, girl. First things first. We have to get Goldy out of that trailer and into an assigned box stall in that barn.”
As she opened the door to climb out, she watched Sloan ease his tall frame out of the truck in front of her. There was a casualness about him, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but Dev saw something else. He seemed to look around, not in an easygoing manner, but in a way that suggested he was thoroughly checking out the territory around him. Further, her own senses told her this man wasn’t who or what he seemed to be. That was unsettling to her because Bart Gordon hadn’t been, either. He was a stalker, a sexual predator beneath those good looks of his. Only she’d found out too late.
Dev compressed her lips and shut the truck door. She waited for Sloan to walk up to where she stood. A rocky hiking and horse trail existed beyond the barn area. The Douglas firs stood tall and straight everywhere she looked on that side of the path. Inhaling deeply, she drew the scent of pine into her lungs. The air was cold, the breeze brisk and there were patches of white snow everywhere, telling her spring had yet to make an entrance into this area of Wyoming.
“Welcome home,” Sloan said, gesturing to the barn. “Let me connect with Charlotte Hastings. She’s our supervisor. Chances are her assistant, Linda Chambers, will know which box stall has been reserved for your mare.” He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket.
Nodding, Dev looked around as he made the call for her. She could feel Sloan’s quiet power radiating around him. Bella had poked her head out the driver’s-side window, panting and watching Sloan. He seemed to draw women like bees found flowers. Somewhat skittish, Dev walked away from Sloan, wanting to get out of that warm, sunlit aura that surrounded him. It was too tempting and she was too raw from Gordon’s attack on her. There was no way she could afford to trust this ranger, even if he seemed helpful. He might have ulterior motives toward her, too.
Dev hated that she thought that way since Gordon’s attack. Now she was looking at every man who approached her as a potential predator. Dev knew not every man was out to get her like Gordon did, but she couldn’t stop the emotional internal reactions that automatically popped up whenever she was around a strange unknown male. And worse, the rangers she worked with at the other park, she began to question and distrust them, as well. Rubbing her furrowed brow, she walked around the back of the trailer.
Goldy nickered.
“Hey, big girl, we’re going to get you into your new home in just a bit,” she promised, patting her mare gently on her big golden rump. Dev liked the black dorsal stripe that ran from the mare’s withers, or shoulders, all the way across her back and connected with her long black tail. Buckskins, depending upon their genetic history, often had the dorsal stripe. Goldy also had the black horizontal bars across her upper legs, another indicator of mustang genes far back in her family tree. She was a true mustang buckskin in color and personality.
“Hey, we’ve got you a box stall,” Sloan called, coming around the corner, tucking his cell into his back pocket. “Stall number five.” He gestured toward the opened barn doors. “It’s down at the other end of the aisle on the right. Do you need any help unloading your mare?”
“No, I’m fine. She’s an easy hauler,” Dev said.
“Okay, let me get down there and I’ll slide the door open to that stall and make sure she’s got water. Want her to have a bit of alfalfa or some timothy grass hay?”
“I’ve got some grass hay up in the compartment,” she said, waving in that general direction. “With the stress of trailering, I only want Goldy on regular grass hay for now.” She saw the pleased look come to Sloan’s weathered face.
“You know your horses,” he praised, turning and walking up the slight gravel slope to the barn.
Dev tried not to feel good about the compliment in Sloan’s blue eyes and low voice. She felt that sense of warmth surround her like a wonderful, protective blanket. It startled her and she tried to figure out what was going on between them. After she opened the latches, the door to Goldy’s side of the trailer swung wide. Going to the front compartment, Dev quickly snapped a nylon lead on her halter and freed her from the trailer tie. She patted her mare, who was more than ready to get out of the trailer.
Dev hurried to the rear and removed the rubber hose and chain safeguard that kept the horse from backing out of the trailer too soon. Patting Goldy’s rear, she moved quickly up to the compartment. She squeezed in beside her mare, clucked her tongue and said, “Back.”
Horses didn’t understand English per se, Dev knew, but they associated sounds with a particular command and knew what was being asked of them. Goldy daintily backed out and Dev followed with the nylon lead in her hand. Once the mare was out of the trailer, Goldy perked up, lifting her chiseled head, eagerly looking around, her nostrils flared to pick up all the new scents.
As Dev walked to her side, smoothing out her long ruffled black mane, Sloan reappeared at the entrance to the barn. “Is it ready?” she called.
“Sure is. Come on in.”
Smiling a little, Dev led her mare toward the barn. Already, she could hear the welcoming nickers of other horses who heard the buckskin coming their way. Horses were social animals and always preferred being in a herd. Dev was sure that Goldy would make some good friends soon.
“She’s a nice-looking animal,” Sloan said, walking with her down the clean, swept concrete aisle between the ten box stalls. “Mustang?”
“Part,” Dev said, watching Goldy as she swung her head one way or another as she clip-clopped down the aisle way. “Part mustang and part Arabian.”
“Nice combo,” Sloan said. “You’re slender and delicate, and so is she. A good match.”
Dev wasn’t sure she was small at five feet seven inches tall, but she supposed in comparison to Sloan, she was. “I wanted a trail horse that had her instincts,” she explained.
“That’s wise,” Sloan agreed. He stepped out of the way because she was going to have to swing Goldy wide to step into her awaiting oak box stall.
The whinnies of the other animals grew in volume, a pleasant horse chorus welcoming Goldy to her new home. Her mare whickered back in a friendly fashion, as if thanking them for their welcome. All the curious horses had their faces pressed against the wide iron bars across the upper half of each of the stall gates, watching their progress. The sweet smell of alfalfa and timothy hay made Dev inhale deeply. It was like perfume to her. She spotted the open door at the end, on the right stall. The other enclosures were all filled, probably with either USFS-owned horses or horses privately owned by some of the rangers.
It was warmer in the barn due to the body heat of the ten animals. The breeze was cold, flowing in and out of the barn. Dev was pleased to see thick cedar shavings in Goldy’s new stall. To her left was a steel watering bowl that had a heater in it to keep the water from icing up when below freezing. Hanging in a net in the corner near the bars at the front was a flake of timothy hay. Goldy eagerly stepped up into the roomy stall, plunging her nose into the large watering bowl.
Looking around, Dev wanted to see if there were any nails or other items that could accidentally injure her mare. The stall was bright, large and airy with a second window opposite the sliding door. Horses hated being in dark stalls. They got depressed just like a human without adequate light. Slipping the snap off Goldy’s halter, she pulled the door halfway shut and slowly examined every oak panel in the stall. She could feel Sloan’s silent interest, her back prickling lightly where his gaze rested upon her. Before Gordon’s attack, Dev wouldn’t have reacted to any male interest with anxiety, but now, she did. Moving her hand along the wall, fingertips skimming the sanded, honey-colored hardwood, Dev told herself that Sloan was not Gordon. Or was he? Looks were so damned deceiving. Feeling guilty because Sloan did not deserve this kind of paranoid reaction from her, Dev turned and walked to the other side of her mare, who was lifting her muzzle from the bowl, water dripping from it.
“This is nice,” Dev said, pointing to the water dish. “Not only self-filling, but with the temperature gauge in there, it will keep ice from forming over the top of it.”
Sloan leaned against the stall and nodded. “I think you’ll find everything in the stall in shipshape. Charlotte is a nice lady, but she’s strict about keeping the animals clean and safe, too. She’s a good supervisor and I think you’ll like meeting her.”
Pushing her hair away from her face, Dev patted Goldy on her broad wither one more time and then slid the door open and stepped out. The horse next to her, a big gray gelding with a black mane and tail, had his nose pressed between the iron bars, wanting to say hello to Goldy. But Goldy was more interested in that clean-smelling timothy hay in the hanging net after sating her thirst.
“I have an appointment to officially meet her tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m.,” Dev said. Glancing at her watch, she said, “Next order of business is to find my new apartment. I leased it over the phone after going on the internet and looking at what was available in this area.”
Sloan took the heavy oak door and slid it closed, and then latched it so the mare couldn’t possibly get out. “I’ll bet you had sticker shock on the prices of an apartment and condo here in Jackson Hole.”
Groaning, Dev said, “Yes. Even worse, I have a dog and most places don’t allow you to have a pet, so it got pretty worrisome.” She rubbed her hands down the thighs of her Levi’s and hung Goldy’s red nylon lead on a horseshoe that was attached to the door.
“There are two places that allow pets,” Sloan said. “The Pines, where I live, and a condo group known as Winterhaven. Which did you rent at?”
Dev walked slowly down the aisle toward her truck at the other end. “I took a two-bedroom apartment at The Pines. It was a lot cheaper. I mean, it wasn’t really cheap at all, just less than Winterhaven.”
“That’s a good choice. It’s a nice place. I live there with my dog, Mouse.”
She smiled a little, feeling a sense of protection coming from Sloan as he walked at her shoulder. He’d pulled his gloves off and stuffed them in his back pocket. The male grace of the man told her he was in top shape, although pretty much hidden from the waist up with his utilitarian Carhartt heavy canvas jacket. She could always tell a real rancher or farmer from the wannabes. That particular line of clothing was built tough for hardworking men and women. Instead of buttons, they were fastened with rivets. Dev had a dark brown Carhartt jacket packed away in her suitcase and would always be wearing it anytime she was working in the barn or around Goldy when it was cold. “What were the chances we’d meet each other on that highway? And that you’d be a ranger like myself? And then we end up living at the same apartment complex?”
Sloan shrugged and slanted her an amused look. “Dharma? Or Karma, depending upon how you take it all in.”
“Kismet,” Dev said. His low, husky teasing flowed through her and touched her heart. She chided herself inwardly for thinking Sloan was a wolf in sheep’s clothing just like Gordon. The warmth dancing in Sloan’s blue eyes made her feel safe. And since the assault, Dev had not felt safe at all. Anywhere. With any man. Except Sloan. Frowning a little, she tucked her feelings away, concentrating on leaving the barn. Above, some sunlight managed to peek through the gray fluffy clouds gathering with what looked like rain or snow.
Sloan lifted his Stetson, ran his fingers through his short hair and settled it on his head. “I’m going that way. Got to get out to the Triple H to shoe some of their horses. Want to follow me?”
“Yes, you’re really being a guardian angel for me, Sloan.”
“Okay, but first, back your trailer over there.” He pointed to five other trailers that sat in a neat row east of the barn.
Dev was used to hauling and backing up her horse trailer. It wasn’t hard to do, but one had to know how to turn the wheels on the truck to back the trailer straight and next to the red-and-white one at the end. “Got it.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I appreciate it,” she murmured, climbing into the cab of her truck. Horsemen usually helped one another and Sloan wasn’t disappointing her at all. She turned on the truck’s engine and then drove around the circle, jockeying her truck and trailer. Within minutes, thanks to Sloan’s hand signals, she had her trailer parked. By the time she got out of the truck, he had lifted the trailer hitch off the truck and had it standing and ready for the next time she would want to hook it up.
“You’re going to spoil me,” Dev said, smiling up at him. “Thanks.” She saw that gleam come to his eyes again, and she swore she could feel his care and protection once more.
“Horse people always help one another,” Sloan said, shrugging a bit. “What building and apartment are you in, do you know? There are three units to The Pines.”
Frowning, Dev pulled out a note from her jacket pocket and opened it up. “It says ‘unit two, apartment 224.’” She saw his brows rise, and a surprised look come to his face. “Why? Is this not a good apartment?”
A grin edged Sloan’s mouth. “You aren’t going to believe this, but I’m in the same unit and my apartment is directly across from yours, 225.”
Her lips parted and Dev wasn’t sure she felt good or bad about that news. “Well...uh...this is really something, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Sloan said, shaking his head with amusement. “Look at it this way. If you need to borrow a cup of sugar, I more than likely will have it on hand. It’ll save you a trip to the grocery store.”
“At least I’ll know one person in Jackson Hole,” Dev said, stunned by the development. When Sloan smiled that slow, lazy smile of his, heat flooded her lower body. The reaction surprised the hell out of her. The man was not flirting with her. He was simply being a gentleman, trying to help her out, her heart told her. He was a ranger, and so was she. Sloan was just doing his duty was all. But the heat in his gaze for a split second unnerved her. Dev wasn’t even sure she’d seen it. Maybe she wished she had? God, she didn’t know—her emotions were still a tangled mess within her since Gordon’s attack.
“Come on,” Sloan urged. “I’ll get you over to the manager’s office at The Pines and then I’m going to skedaddle down the road to go shoe those Triple H horses.”
Without thinking, Dev reached out and briefly touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Thanks...really. I truly appreciate the time and care you’re giving us, Sloan.” Her fingertips tingled slightly and she saw his expression darken for just a moment, as if he hadn’t been expecting her to reach out and make physical contact with him. Maybe she had overstepped her bounds with him? “I’m sure your wife can also loan me anything I need,” she added.
Sloan said, “Not married. I’m divorced. Me and Mouse are the only ones in that apartment and I don’t think my dog, as smart as he is, is up to pouring you a cup of sugar.” He cracked a grin.
“Point taken.” She saw Mouse with his head hanging out the passenger window of Sloan’s truck. “Pretty dog. What breed is he?”
“Belgian Malinois,” Sloan said, slowing his pace for her sake. “He used to be my combat-assault dog when I was in the Army.” Hitching his shoulder, he added, “But that’s another story for another day. We got places to go and people to see right now.”
The first raindrops plopped around Dev. She glanced up, seeing the clouds had lowered and become dark and threatening. “Good timing. Looks like it’s going to pour any minute.”
“Oh, it’ll turn to snow up here real quick.” Sloan gestured south as he opened the door to her truck for her. “Jackson Hole will more than likely get rain because it’s a thousand feet lower in elevation than where we are here. Follow me?”
Dev climbed in. Bella whined and tried reaching across her to smell Sloan, but he left too quickly for her to get a friendly and curious sniff. As she petted Bella, the yellow Lab placed herself on the passenger side, her brown eyes alight with excitement. “Soon, we will have a new home,” Dev promised her dog.
Bella thumped her tail, watching Sloan climb into his truck. Her eyes, though, were on Mouse, who was craning his neck out the partially opened passenger-side window, staring intently at her.
“You already have an admirer,” Dev teased Bella, putting her truck in gear and slowly following Sloan out of the barnyard. And she almost added that she had an admirer in the form and shape of hunky Sloan Rankin. Did she really want that kind of attention? No. Not right now. Dev was still sorting out the assault, trying not to take every male she saw as a potential attacker. It was a terrible thing for Dev to see her once overly trusting self shattered and destroyed by one man. Gordon had changed her life in those moments. Forever.
* * *
SLOAN TOLD HIMSELF to slow down with Dev. What the hell were the chances they’d meet on a highway and then find out their other connections with one another? It was almost scary. Certainly surprising. As he drove through Jackson Hole at a crawl, tourists everywhere, he told his body to settle down. There was nothing to dislike about Dev. His mind churned over things she’d said. Damned if she hadn’t looked relieved when he told her he was divorced. Why? Was he misreading that look? Was Dev personally interested in him, man to woman? Or was it wishful thinking on his part, because he was lonely and craving a serious, healthy relationship with a woman once again?