Maud gave him a frustrated look. “Darned if I know, Roan. It isn’t right. Anyway, Shiloh asked if she could come out for a visit for two months. Stay with us. The only place I can put her is where you’re staying: It’s the only employee house that isn’t filled. It has three bedrooms and currently, you’re the only one in the house. I wanted to find out if you’d be all right with that arrangement. There’s a kitchen, living room, and office for anyone staying there. But you’d be sharing living quarters with her and I needed to feel you out before I tell her it’s okay to come West for a while.”
Roan studied the photo in his hand. Shiloh Gallagher had to be twenty-nine years old according to what Maud had told him. Damned if she didn’t look twenty-five or so, her features unlined. She wasn’t model pretty, but she had an arresting face, with huge intelligent-looking green eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he felt himself stir. Her mouth would make any man go crazy. Her upper lip was full, but thinner than her lower one. The shape of her mouth made him feel heat in his lower body. “Is she married?”
“No. Single. Never did marry. I don’t know why. Shiloh’s a beautiful girl.”
She was hardly a girl, but Roan said nothing because he was fully reacting to her as a woman. He wondered if she was curvy or rail thin. He was disgruntled over his avid curiosity. “I have no problem with it. You know I get up early and come in late. She’s going to have to fend for herself. I’m not cooking for her.”
“Right,” Maud agreed. “She’s pretty shaken up, Roan. You might find that stressful until, hopefully, Shiloh will start to relax.”
Shrugging, he slid the photo onto the desk. “Maud, I just hope I don’t stress her out with my award-winning personality,” he said, and he cracked a small, sour grin.
Maud cackled. “I think you’ll like her, Roan. She’s a very kind person. An introvert like you. Just remember, she’s trying to write. Because of the stalking, she’s suffering from writer’s block and she’s got a book due to her editor in six months. So, she’s under a lot of other pressure.”
“I’ll handle it, Maud. No problem.”
“Good,” Maud said, relieved. She sat up in the chair. “I’ll call Shiloh back, let her know she can come, and I’ll find out what time she’s arriving tomorrow. I’d like you to pick her up at the Jackson Hole Airport. So take that photo with you.”
He stood, settling the cowboy hat on his head. “Don’t need the photo.” Because her face was already stamped across his heart. Whatever that meant. “I’ll find her after she deplanes, don’t worry. Just get back to me on the time.” Roan thought Maud looked more than relieved. He knew from being around the matriarch for two years that she cared deeply not only for her family and friends, but for those who worked here at the ranch. Maud treated everyone as her children, loved them to death, nurtured them, held them when they were hurting, and celebrated when happy things happened in their lives. She was a well-loved icon in the long, oval valley. She’d even rubbed off on him, which was a miracle in itself. He smiled occasionally now, thanks to her mother-henning him. She was tall, five foot nine inches, but she’d hugged the hell out of him sometimes, just to let him know he was loved by her.
“Will do,” Maud murmured. She gave him a warm look. “Thanks for doing this, Roan.”
“Anything to be of service, Maud.” He lifted his hand, turned, and opened the door. Maud had allowed him to choose five acres on the ranch to build his own cabin, which he was in the process of doing. She wanted her employees to be happy. She paid them well and Roan felt damned lucky to have driven in one day and asked if they needed another wrangler. Thank God they did. Maud and Steve had given him respect and liked hiring military vets because they were such hard, consistent workers. Roan had thought getting a job after leaving Special Forces would be tough. But it hadn’t been. He owed the Whitcombs a lot.
Chapter Two
Shiloh wearily stepped beyond the security area of the Jackson Hole Airport, a knapsack on her back, her computer in a nylon carrying case across her shoulder. Maud had said she was sending one of her wranglers, a Roan Taggart, to meet her at the airport.
Midafternoon sunlight lanced through the windows of the small but busy airport. She thought it would be easy to pick out the wrangler, but every man here, just about, wore a cowboy hat, boots, or a baseball cap. The writer in her, the observer, took note of the clothes they wore, listened to their dialect, the words they used. She halted near the wall and looked around.