Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(6)
“Yes, ma’am, I am. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. May I get your luggage over at the carousel? If you’ll point out the bags to me?”
Now her heart was swelling in her chest and it wasn’t from fear. Sexuality oozed off this man like rain being soaked into thirsty, dry ground. Her lower body felt suddenly hot and needy. When he swept his gaze across her face, lingering on her breasts beneath the pale green tee she wore, to her chagrin, her nipples began to harden. Oh! Embarrassment! She saw a flicker of some emotion in his narrowing gray eyes for a split second, and then it disappeared. Her pulse leaped.
The man was not pretty-boy handsome. Rather, he was stoic-looking and simmering with closeted power she felt tightly wrapped around him. The elements had sculpted his flesh and as he had lifted his hand to place the cowboy hat over his short brown hair, she saw the calluses across his palm and fingers. An unexpected warmth sizzled through her, easing her nervousness. Did she see concern in his eyes? Shiloh wasn’t sure as she wove in and out of the crowd toward the carousel where luggage was arriving.
“I’m afraid I have a lot of bags,” she apologized.
Roan deliberately cut his long stride in half for her. Damned if Shiloh Gallagher wasn’t twice as good-looking in person as in that photo of her. She had long red hair and when they crossed a slat of sunlight, Roan saw the gold and ginger highlights among the strands. Tall and willowy, she was small-breasted. He liked the natural sway of her rounded hips, thinking her butt was one fine piece of real estate. Roan wasn’t immune to an attractive woman. He always appreciated them. Shiloh, however, for being a best-selling author, looked more like a young woman who was a hiker and outdoors person, not some stuffy, famous person. She wore comfortable jeans and had on a pair of tennis shoes. No one would ever look at her and think she was a writer, used to sitting at a computer. Roan smiled to himself. Looks were always deceiving. Or? What was the saying? Don’t judge a book by its cover?
As a Special Forces operator, his life depended upon being observant. He was ruthless in his observation of Shiloh Gallagher. Some of her red hair was in a long, thick braid, falling between her shoulder blades. He could tell she was working out by just her graceful walk. Her hands were supple, fingers long, nails blunt cut. The only scent around her was her own, unique feminine scent that stirred up lust in him. Glad she didn’t wear perfume; in the house it would be hell on his sensitive nose. He did pick up a subtle honeysuckle fragrance, figuring it was probably the soap she used either on her hair or her skin.
More than anything, he liked the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. It made him feel good that she didn’t try to cover them up with makeup. She wore pink lipstick, but he could discern no other cosmetics. It seemed that Shiloh, despite being a bona fide city slicker, liked to be au natural.
Roan wondered if her mother, Isabella, had been the same way. Maybe he’d find out later because Shiloh seemed shy. He sensed a lot of vulnerability about her and wondered if she was able to protect herself. Could she defend herself if needed?
Shiloh had walked ahead of him and Roan watched as she halted and helped a gray-haired lady among the travelers who had accidentally dropped her purse. Roan stopped, assessing the interaction. Shiloh was the only one who seemed concerned. She quickly picked up the purse, smiling at the woman, chatting with her, helping her place the strap back upon her rounded shoulder. She asked if she needed more help. The woman said she did, so Roan walked over and cocked his head toward Shiloh.
“Can I be of help here?” he asked her.
Nodding, Shiloh kept her hand on the elder’s arm. “Yes. This is Mrs. Ellie Sanders. She has a bag, Mr. Taggart. Could you possibly get it and carry it out for her? She’s meeting her brother who hasn’t shown up yet.”
Tipping his hat to the elder, Roan said, “Ma’am? Why not show me which bag is yours? I’ll be happy to carry it out for you.”
Ellie gave him a look of relief. “Oh, thank you, son. My brother will be here shortly. If you can just carry it outside to the benches, I’ll wait for him there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.
Shiloh kept her arm on the woman because she limped badly and didn’t seem all that sturdy.
Grateful that Roan would do this for her, Shiloh wondered if the hardness of his facial features was only skin-deep. She’d watched his eyes turn kind, his deep voice grow gentle as he chatted respectfully with unsteady Ellie. As a writer, she gleaned information from small things, such as voice, body language, and watching a person’s eyes. Humorously, Shiloh thought Taggart would make a great romance hero. He wasn’t pretty and he wasn’t exactly charming, rather rough-hewn. But he had courtly manners and he was kind to the flustered Ellie, so he got a gold star from her because of that.
As Shiloh stood at the carousel waiting for her luggage to appear, she watched Roan with the elder who was half his size. He didn’t try to hurry her or force her to walk faster than she could. She watched Ellie fall under his spell. Who wouldn’t? Shiloh almost swore she saw the woman become more plucky, more active, smiling all the time with rugged Roan Taggart at her side. Yeah, this cowboy could make a woman feel really good about herself.
Frowning, she turned and saw her first bag arrive, so she hauled it off the carousel and set it nearby. She had six bags in total since she was going to stay with Maud for two months. She knew Roan would be back in a few minutes after settling Ellie outside to wait for her brother.