eyes reminded her of a soft midday summer sky, and it warmed Dev for no obvious reason.
He shrugged. “My ma and pa always said I was part eagle.” He held out his hand. “I’m Sloan Rankin.”
Taking his gloved hand, she said, “Dev McGuire. Thanks for stopping.”
“Let me help you change that tire?” he said, releasing her hand. Looking toward the gunmetal-gray sky, he added, “Going to rain or snow shortly. Where do you keep your jack? In the forward compartment of your horse trailer?”
Dev nodded. Her heart wouldn’t settle down. The man had a soft drawl, not quite full Southern, but he was definitely not a northerner by the inflection in his deep, unhurried tone. “Yes, forward compartment. I can help you. I’m really used to doing this on my own.” She flashed him a slight smile of thanks as they walked toward the trailer.
“Well,” Sloan drawled, slowing his lanky pace for her benefit, “a woman shouldn’t have to change tires if she doesn’t have to.”
Dev pushed some of her shoulder-length black hair away from her face, the wind carrying it around her. “I appreciate the help, believe me.”
“Where you comin’ from?” he asked, halting and opening the door. He pointed at the license plate on the rear of the trailer.
Dev leaned down, drawing out the tools to fix the tire. “From the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I’ve just been transferred from there to out here, to the Teton National Park.”
Picking up the tools, Sloan’s brows moved up in surprise. “You a forest ranger?”
“I am indeed.”
He shut the door. “Well, this is your lucky day, Miss McGuire. I just happen to be a ranger at Teton Park.” He gave her a grin as he walked around the trailer.
“Seriously? You are?” Dev leaned down and picked up rocks the size of cantaloupes and placed them behind and in front of the four tires. It would stop the trailer from rocking back and forth as he worked. Or if Goldy shifted. It was a safety measure.
Sloan gently patted the gold rump of her horse as he walked by her. “I’m dead serious,” he told her.
“But,” Dev said, frowning, “it says ‘farrier’ on your truck door.”
“Oh, that.” Sloan crouched down on the dry, gravelly soil, using his glove to make the area clean of small rocks that might bite into his knees. “I’m officially a US forest ranger and I’m in charge of shoeing all the mules and horses for Grand Teton Park and Yellowstone Park. On my days off, I pick up some money on the side by shoeing at the local ranches around the valley.”
Dev quickly found more rocks. She placed them around the tire next to the blown one. It was critical when changing a horse trailer tire that it be stable. “Wow, what luck this is, then.” She smiled as he knelt down and slid the jack beneath the frame of the trailer. If Goldy had been on the side that had blown the tire, Dev would have had to unload the mare. As it was, she was on the other side, taking most of the weight off the left side where Sloan would be working. The wind was icy and Dev slid her hands beneath her armpits, wishing she’d put on her gloves.
“Quite a change,” Sloan told her, quickly putting the trailer up high enough on the left side to raise the blown tire off the soil, “from the Smoky Mountains to the Tetons. You probably know we get eight months of winter out here.” He moved his gloved hands with knowing ease, quickly removing the lug nuts and pulling the tire off the axle and setting it aside.
“I was warned,” Dev said. “I’ve got the spare. Hold on, I’ll get it for you.”
She hurried around and found it in the front compartment, lugging it around with both hands in front of her. Sloan met her, easily taking it out of her grasp. “Thanks,” she said.
“No problem.” He settled the tire on the axle, pulled off his gloves and put on the lug nuts to hold it in place.
Dev watched him work with speed and efficiency. Sloan had long, almost graceful-looking hands, but they were the hands of a farrier, for sure. She saw the thick calluses across his palms and on his fingers where he held his tools to fire and shape iron horseshoes. He wasn’t heavily muscled. Most farriers she’d met were short and on the thin side. Sloan was tall and lean. For whatever ridiculous reason, Dev wondered if he was married. Most likely. And from his easygoing nature and genteel drawl, he probably had a bunch of kids, too. He seemed like a fatherly type: calm, quiet and patient.
This man was a far cry from her stalker, Bart Gordon, another forest ranger at the park she’d just left. She couldn’t help but be deluged by memories, especially out alone like this. He too was tall, with dark brown, alert-looking eyes. But his face resembled a mean horse’s face: eyes set closely together, small and malicious looking. As Dev stood nearby, watching Sloan quickly tighten up the lug nuts, she automatically placed her fingers against her exposed throat, her skin cold to her touch. Gordon had stalked her for a year, always trying to corner her, touch her, ask for a kiss, which she’d refused to give him.
Don’t go there. But her heart automatically began to pound as Dev starkly recalled the evening at the ranger headquarters when she had been alone, getting ready to close up the visitor’s center. Gordon had waited, hidden, when she went into the back room to put the money in the safe. He’d jumped her, then knocked her down and started tearing at her shirt, popping the buttons off. Dev closed her eyes, willing away that terrifying experience, the fear skittering through her like a knife blade sliding through her tightening gut.
“You all right, Miss McGuire?”
Sloan’s low voice was near and it startled her. Ever since Gordon had jumped her, she’d been filled with anxiety, afraid of her own shadow. With a gasp, Dev’s eyes flew open and she leaped back. Staring up at him, she saw confusion and then regret come to Sloan’s expression.
“Sorry,” he said. “I startled you.” He turned and pointed toward the trailer. “Tire’s fixed and you’re ready to go.”
Gulping, Dev whispered, “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I...” She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m just jumpy.”
Nodding, Sloan said, “Understandable. You’re in a new state, new area with a new job. That’s enough to make a polecat wanna leap around.”
He pushed the brim of his hat up a little, studying her. Dev McGuire had gone pale on him except for two red spots on her cheeks from the near-freezing temperature. His low, soothing words seemed to calm her and her eyes no longer reflected menace. There was nothing threatening around him that he could discern, so Sloan wrote it off as that blown tire. It would spook anyone when they were carrying a beloved animal in a trailer. It took a damn good driver to safely bring a horse in a trailer to a standstill after a tire had blown. She had the skills.
“C-could you tell me how to get to Teton Park, Mr. Rankin?” Dev said, trying to collect her strewn thoughts. Every time she had a flashback on Gordon jumping her, she was shaking for the next few hours. She could feel her stomach curling and tightening, her breath a little ragged and shallow. “I need to put my mare, Goldy, in the barn area.”
“Call me Sloan. I’ll do you one better than that,” he reassured her. “Follow me. I’ll take you right to the barn. That way, you won’t get lost. Sound good to you?”
Did it ever! Dev
