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.
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