Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(8)

Giving her a sidelong glance, Roan saw she was blushing to her roots. He saw anxiety in her eyes, felt her defensiveness. It was even in her voice. “I don’t imagine you tell too many people what you write.”

Anger stirred in her. “I’m PROUD of what I write, Mr. Taggart. I’m not ashamed of it. I tend NOT to tell men precisely because of the way you’ve just reacted.”

So, the filly had some spunk in her after all. Roan wasn’t going to argue the point because she was right. “Maud said you were a best-seller. That means someone likes your books.” Roan really didn’t want to get into an adversarial position with Shiloh and upset her. Maud would be pissed off for starters. He thought he’d smoothed it over with that casual kind of comment.

It felt like steam was coming out of her ears as Shiloh sat there tensely, her hands knotted in her lap. It was a huge disappointment to her that Taggart was like any other male finding out about her occupation. Upon first meeting him, he seemed different. But in all fairness to him, Shiloh knew she was absolutely stressed out and she wasn’t seeing much of anything realistically right now because of the stalker. She rubbed her scrunched-up brow. “Look,” she whispered, “I’m really out of sorts, Mr. Taggart. Just the long flight. I don’t mean to come off as snarky.”

His heart winced. There was a wobble in her voice, as if she were going to cry. Giving Shiloh a glance, he saw her face hidden by a curtain of her red hair. “I’m the one who is at fault here, Ms. Gallagher. I apologize. You’re obviously a good writer and you have an audience who loves your books.” Roan wasn’t sure he should let her know he was aware of her stalker problems. She’d come out here to get away from them. He pulled into the grocery parking lot, glad for the diversion.

“Let’s go in and get you some grub,” he said, trying not to sound so gruff. Instantly, he saw her respond positively. How sensitive was this woman? He walked around and opened the door for her. Shiloh hesitantly took his hand and he helped her out. She looked at him as if he was going to bite her. He felt worse about the way he’d handled the conversation with her.

Shopping wasn’t really his thing. When Roan came to the store, he got what he wanted and was out as fast as possible, not liking crowds of people.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she laid her hand into his. There was regret in Taggart’s eyes. Her fingers tingled, encased by his rougher ones. In fact, it looked like her hand had been swallowed up by his.

To Roan’s surprise, she was quick and efficient. She knew what she wanted. There was enough food for a week in her cart and Roan carried the bags out to the truck for her. Shiloh was inquisitive, always looking around. Like him. Only she was very sensitive. She was a writer. Maybe there was some common ground he could plow with her. On the way back to the ranch, he decided to try again and, hopefully, not stir her up into defensiveness or anger.

“I noticed you observe a lot,” he said, sliding her a glance.

“Part of being a writer, I guess. My dad always did it. I probably picked it up unconsciously.”

“What are you looking for?” Roan wondered, driving down Highway 89 south, which would eventually allow them to leave the town behind. Fifty miles south lay the Wind River Valley.

Shrugging, Shiloh said, “Just the way people act or behave. Body language. Voice inflections. Facial expression. If I see something I haven’t got in my repertoire, I catalog up here,” and she tapped her head. “It helps me create believable and sympathetic characters my readers can fall in love with, root for, and put an emotional investment into.”

“Why do you say ‘sympathetic’?” Roan found himself wanting to talk to Shiloh. It wasn’t one of his finer points: carrying on a social conversation. He was usually abrupt and if one or two words would suffice, that was the end of his sentence. Maybe because he’d never been around a writer, she was like a bug under a microscope to him. His body begged to differ with him. There was something deep driving him to get to know her better. Maybe two months with a woman underfoot wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought it might be. He liked women. In bed. Outside of it? No. Of course, Maud Whitcomb was his employer, and he always enjoyed being around her.

Opening her hands, Shiloh said, “Readers of romances need to connect on a compassionate level with the hero and heroine. If one is unsympathetic, it turns them off and they’ll never buy another book from you. They want to emotionally connect with the characters.”

“Then,” Roan struggled, frowning, “these men are perfect?”

Shiloh laughed and felt heat moving into her face again. Every time Taggart looked at her, she felt as if he were looking through her and knew every secret she carried. “No. They have weaknesses and strengths, but not a fatal flaw.”

“Fatal flaw?”

“Yes. Some of the not-so-nice traits humans have like being a robber, a liar, or a murderer are some examples,” she said, her hand going to her neck as the gruesome spectacle rose in her once again. Shaking off memories of her mother’s murder, Shiloh said in a strained voice, “Developing a character is a lot of work. The hero and heroine have to be believable to the readers.”

“You’ll find plenty of characters here at the Wind River Ranch,” he said wryly, turning down the half-mile drive that would take them to the ranch.

Shiloh was thinking he was one himself, but said nothing. He’d probably take it the wrong way. “Have you always been a wrangler, Mr. Taggart?”