Out Rider

“Do you go home at all?” Sloan asked.

“No. I talk to my mom on Skype and we send emails back and forth, but I won’t go home. I know my father doesn’t like me around. And I don’t want to be around someone like that.” Dev gave him a wry look. “Life’s hard enough without going out and walking into the lion’s den to get bitten again.”

Shaking his head, Sloan said quietly, “I’m sorry, Dev. You deserve a helluva lot better than that.”

“I don’t know many people who have completely happy families, Sloan. Mine is completely dysfunctional. But so are a lot of other families. There are no happy endings from what I can see, for most people. We’re all wounded. It’s just a question of whether the wounds run our lives or not.” She dropped the shredded grass by her side, pushing her hands down her Levi’s. “I refuse to let the wounds my parents gave me run my life. I’m working through them, one at a time. I’m slowly winning my freedom...”

Sloan stretched out on the grass, an elbow propping him up as he studied her. “I’m pretty lucky,” he told her. “My parents gave me a happy childhood in comparison to yours. I was an only child, by the way.”

“Tell me about it?” Because Dev found herself starved to know more about Sloan, how he had become the man he was today. She saw amusement linger in his blue eyes as he pondered her question. “I could use some good news,” she added with a slight grin.

“We didn’t have much money,” he told her. “My pa, Custus, is a farrier, plus a leather, saddle and harness maker. Between these skills, he had a nice business and was able to support our family. My ma, Wilma, stayed at home, gardened, canned, cooked and kept us in clean clothes and a clean house. She loves cooking, baking especially. She was also a seamstress, and often other Hill people would come to her to make special clothing, like a wedding dress for a daughter that was getting married, things like that. She also makes school-age clothes for the Hill children whose mothers didn’t have the talent my ma has.”

“I love to sew, too,” Dev said wistfully. “Your mother sounds like she’s incredibly skilled at it. I don’t know anyone else who could make a wedding dress.” She saw Sloan’s dark features begin to relax as he shared the story of his parents. She was glad that someone had parents who loved them. She was beginning to understand why he was so calm and at ease and confident with himself.

“She also does tatting, crocheting, knitting and needlework,” he offered. “There’re some beautiful doilies made by my grandmother that my mother uses to this day.”

“Those things should be cherished forever and handed down from one generation to another,” Dev agreed. “She sounds wonderful.”

“She is,” he said with a slight smile. “Now, she has her bad days, and I grew up hearing my parents argue, but they discussed things. They didn’t get angry and yell at one another. And I think that makes a huge difference for a child.”

She raised her brows. “Oh, I think it does. I grew up thinking everyone, when they got angry, screamed and yelled at one another. It was only when I’d do sleepovers with my friends at their houses that I realized my parents were not the norm.”

“My pa is a pretty stubborn man,” Sloan said, amusement in his tone. “My ma calls him mule headed upon occasion. She said I take after him.”

Dev grinned. “So far, I haven’t seen you be mule headed.”

“I like to think I learned from my pa’s stubbornness at times, and modified it a bit.”

“Where did you get your calmness, Sloan? From your mother or father?” Dev wanted to delve deeply into this man who made her feel incredibly at ease in his presence.

“From both of them. My ma never gets rattled and neither does my pa. I guess I have a family calmness gene?” He laughed a little.

Dev chuckled. “Well, whether you know it or not, when you’re around me, I always feel that deep sense of calm around you.” More shyly, she added, “And it helps me ramp down, take a deep breath and just be.”

“You seem mighty calm from the outside,” Sloan noted, searching her eyes.

“It’s a game face,” Dev admitted. Opening her hands, she said, “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel anxious.”

“Well,” he drawled, “you grew up in a household where there were threats and you were in survival mode. It would make any innocent and vulnerable child feel unsafe, don’t you think?”

“I guess I never quantified my childhood like that,” Dev admitted.

“Do most people make you feel edgy?” he asked.

“Yes, if I’m truthful.” Dev sighed and gave him a confused look. “But with you, Sloan, I let my guard down. I relax. I don’t feel anxiety when I’m around you. It’s really odd. That’s never happened to me before.” She saw him give her an assessing look, a momentary burning expression in his eyes that quickly disappeared and was replaced with a hint of kindness.

“That’s a nice compliment. You know, farriers are good at soothing a fractious horse or mule they have to shoe. They generally work real quiet and slow around an animal to get it to relax and get it to trust them.”

Dev straightened, his words filling her heart with a new realization. Trust. That was it! For whatever inexplicable reason, Dev trusted Sloan. And on the heels of that, she suddenly realized for the first time that she had never trusted her father, and that had directly led to her always feeling anxious around him growing up. Even now, when she thought of him her anxiety would amp up. And just as quickly, when she was around Sloan her anxiety dissolved. Instantly. Always. It was trust. Moistening her lips, she said softly, “You’re right. Farriers can calm the most scared horse or mule.” And he could calm not only her general anxiety, but mysteriously dissolve the fear of men she’d developed since Gordon’s attack.

Sloan slowly sat up. He gazed up at the waterfall, appreciation in his expression. “I could stay here all day,” he confided to her. “There’s just something about running water, the sound of it, that fills my thirsty soul and sates it.” He slanted a glance in Dev’s direction. “What about you? Does water have that kind of effect on you?”

“Oh, yes. I remember as a kid we had a creek that ran through that large meadow out behind our home. When I was feeling really upset, me and Ghost would go to the creek. There’s a part of it where there’s a little two-foot waterfall and I always used to sit down there. I’d cry, get out whatever I was feeling, and then let the water heal me. I always felt better being around water, Sloan.” And she almost blurted, You’re like water to me. Healing. Wonderful. Soothing my soul. But she didn’t.

“I wish I’d known you growing up,” Sloan said, rising and brushing off his lower legs. “I’d have let you cry on my shoulder and just held you.”

His piercing gaze cut straight through to her opening heart and Dev felt Sloan’s protectiveness and something else that she couldn’t define. It made her go all warm and fuzzy inside. When he offered her his hand, she slipped her fingers into his. She felt the thick calluses on his fingers and palm, the strength that he called on as he pulled her to her feet. There was a storminess in his eyes and she sensed he was upset for her about her childhood. Sloan didn’t try to mask how he felt and that was refreshing to Dev. Reluctantly, she pulled her fingers from his large worn hand. Her heart wanted her to move closer to him, slide her arms around his neck and broad shoulders. The ache within her lower body caught her by surprise. He was so tall, so solid and reassuring to her emotionally that Dev found herself falling into his blue gaze, reading that he wanted to kiss her.

That snapped Dev out of her reverie. A kiss?

They barely knew one another, her head warned her. Dev took a step back, suddenly unsure of herself, not of Sloan. She had no idea what was taking place between them because no man had ever affected her as deeply and wonderfully as Sloan did. And yet, Dev knew he wasn’t stalking her. He was casual. Not chasing her. This cowboy was the opposite of Gordon. Night-and-day difference.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_58206298-91fd-51fc-8de1-69aa750a7748)

BART SMILED A LITTLE. He had the weekend off as a truck driver for Ace. He’d been working for two weeks, showing his boss he had the right stuff. Rivas, the owner, seemed happy with him, and that was all that counted. Even better, Rivas had given him a cot in a back room near the repair bay, a place to stay, until he could find somewhere to live. There was more to it than that, of course, Bart thought as he drove in his silver Dodge Ram. The day was sunny even though the sun was sinking in the West across the Tetons. The mid-June weather had been welcoming and warming. No more snow flurries, thank God.

He was driving down Moose Road toward a set of condo buildings on the left. On the right were apartment complexes sticking out on the flat land. So far, he’d found out that Dev Blake was at the Teton Park HQ. They wouldn’t give out her phone number or address and so he’d hung up on the person answering the phone. He had learned that, yes, Dev was working at the visitor’s center.

Today, he was going to check out the condos and the apartment complexes. The only way to find out where she was living was to go into the condo office and ask for her. So far, he’d turned up nothing. His mind roved over other possibilities, such as Dev living with another woman ranger and splitting the rent somewhere in town. If it was a house, she was going to be harder to trace. Bart was hoping she had opted for one of these places on Moose Road because he’d exhausted all other rental properties, working from southern to northern Jackson Hole. He’d gone east and now he was finishing up by going west. The bitch had to be living somewhere.

And finding out she was working at the visitor’s center was a piece of good luck. If nothing else, on his day off, he could hang out in the large parking lot and observe. Bart knew Dev McGuire owned a blue-and-white Ford pickup truck. It was another piece of vital info he needed in order to find out where she was living. Making a right turn, he decided to go into the apartment complex and parked near the office. Bart climbed out of the cab. He had made sure he looked like a tourist in a red polo shirt, a fisherman’s hat and ivory chinos.

“Hey,” he called, coming in the door and smiling at the young blond-haired woman behind the desk, “how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “May I help you?”

Folding his hands on the pine counter Bart said, “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Dev McGuire. By any chance is she living here? I’d like to connect with her.” Bart saw the girl’s young face redden a little as she put the name into the computer behind the counter. Bart knew she would not give Dev’s apartment number or phone number. That was just the way it was.

“Why...yes, she moved in here two weeks ago.”

“Great,” he murmured, rewarding her with a flirty look. “I’ll get in touch with her, then. Thanks. Have a good day.”

Once in his pickup, Bart grinned and decided to drive around the three major parking lots to the three apartment towers. He tapped the wheel with his index finger, feeling a surge of triumph. The bitch thought she was done with him? He chuckled, feeling a sense of overwhelming victory.

There was no blue-and-white Ford pickup parked in any of the lots. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:30 p.m. He wasn’t sure what shift Dev had. And those shifts changed every three months, anyway. As he got out, his gut told him to park at the first tower. At his back was the second tower and parking lot. Seeing a number of people coming home for the evening, he figured the mailboxes just inside the door would have names on them—possibly. That wasn’t always the case, but he’d find out.

He went up to the main entry door but found it locked. An older woman in her fifties approached. He pretended to be looking in his pockets as she drew abreast of him.

“You know what?” he said, smiling at her. “I can’t find my card. By any chance, can you let me in? I just moved in three days ago.” Bart knew his megawatt smile always affected women. That was how he lured them in. The woman flushed and nodded.

“Oh, moving is so rough. Of course I can.” She went forward and slid her card into the slot. The door clicked.

Bart moved toward it, opened it and gestured grandly for her to go in ahead of him.

“Thank you,” she said. There was a bank of elevators to the left and she headed toward them.

Spotting the row of aluminum mailboxes, Bart quickly peeled off to the right, eyes narrowed, hoping to find Dev’s name. Each one had a number. Some had names on them, too. Others did not. About half were just numbers. He was frustrated. If Dev was in this tower, she had a number only. Damn. So close...