A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas. Maisey Yates

stranger.

      That artery had been bled dry.

      Still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that there was something incredibly vulnerable in the way she was sleeping. With the light on. Like she was afraid of monsters even out there in the middle of nowhere.

      “Okay,” Wyatt said slowly. “Then what do you suggest?”

      “She’s a tiny little woman,” Grant said. “I imagine we can handle her. Go in and talk to her. Maybe Lindy should talk to her.”

      “Hell, no,” Wyatt said. “We are not sending my wife in to talk to a random stranger squatting on our property.”

      Wyatt had gotten married only a couple months earlier—extremely quickly—after finally getting together with the woman he’d been obsessing over for years. Although Wyatt would never say he’d been obsessing over Lindy for that long, but Grant knew it was true.

      When you were a man with no social or sex life you had a lot of time to observe things. The entire world was Grant’s own personal Where’s Waldo game. He had nothing to do but sit around and identify hidden feelings and truths in the lives of other people.

      And drink. There was the drinking.

      “We’re going to end up giving her a damn heart attack,” Grant said.

      “She’s sleeping on our land,” Wyatt said. “As much as I don’t relish the idea of terrifying a woman, it’s not like she checked into the Embassy Suites and bought herself some privacy.”

      Grant shrugged. Mostly, he didn’t want to hassle with her personally. He wanted to go back to sleep and wake up in a world where he didn’t have to contend with another person or care about their feelings or whether or not he scared them.

      “You’re right there,” Wyatt pointed out. “Why don’t you wake her up?”

      “And then what?”

      “I don’t know. Bring her over to the house. Give her some breakfast. Unless she shoots you.”

      “Which is a good point,” Grant said. “I don’t want to get shot.”

      “Bring your gun.”

      “I don’t want to be in a shootout.”

      “Bring something.”

      Grant hung up the phone. His brother was just getting on his nerves now. He grumbled and grabbed hold of his hunting knife, which was in a leather case that snapped onto his belt. He put it on his hip, grabbed his cowboy hat and went back to the front door.

      He was not using a hunting knife on a woman, even if she came at him. But he supposed if there was a gun involved he might have to use something.

      He just felt resigned, really. If she wanted to shoot him he might let her.

      Then at least he could get some rest.

      He grunted and walked out of the house again, shoving his phone in his pocket, because he should probably bring that, too. In all honesty, he would need the phone before he needed the knife.

      He walked quietly across the heavily wooded ground, careful not to land any heavy footfalls. Of course, if he did, he might wake her up, startle her and send her off running. And if she did that, then she wasn’t his responsibility. Not anymore. If she wasn’t on the property, what did he care where she was?

      He didn’t.

      He gritted his teeth and stopped right in front of the cabin door. And then he pushed it open.

      * * *

      MCKENNA TATE WAS used to sleeping lightly. And tonight was no exception. She had been keeping one ear tuned into the sounds around her, just in case, even while she dozed.

      Not that deep sleeping in this place was likely. It was cold, and the floor of the little cabin was hard. Two days spent in it didn’t make it feel any more like home.

      Except it wasn’t fine right now, because she heard something. And that was why she’d stirred.

      Suddenly, reality slammed into her. The door to the cabin was opening.

      She scrambled into a sitting position, attempting to push herself onto her feet, but then the door flung open completely, and she found herself stumbling back, hitting the wall and curling up there like a startled animal ready to strike.

      It was a man. Which, out here in this big bad world, was the scariest thing she could think of. She would rather tangle with a bear any day. This was definitely a man.

      Silhouetted in the doorway, tall and broad and terrifying. He had a cowboy hat pulled down low over his face, and she couldn’t see any of his features. She could just see that he was big.

      “Calm down,” he said, as if a command issued from a stranger would make her feel calm.

      “What?” So, now she knew he was insane, which was great. Telling a woman whose sleep he’d just interrupted to be calm.

      “I said,” he responded, “calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

      “Like you would announce you were going to hurt me if that was your plan,” she said, curling up tighter.

      “I have no idea what I would do if I was going to hurt you. Because I’m not going to. I do, however, want to know what you’re doing here.”

       “Sleeping.”

      “I can see that. Or rather, I could. Though you aren’t sleeping now.”

      “Very observant. I’d give you a trophy, but I’m fresh out.”

      He shifted, crossing his arms. “You’re awfully mouthy for somebody sleeping on someone else’s property.”

      “And you’re awfully chatty for a guy who just found someone sleeping on his property. Don’t you have follow-up questions?”

      “Several. But I don’t want you crouched there in the corner like you think I’m about to stab you.”

      She snorted out a laugh. “Oh, I’m not really that worried you’re gonna randomly stab me. It’s other things I worry about with men.”

      “You don’t have to worry about that, either,” he said.

      His voice didn’t soften it all. He didn’t look like he felt bad for her, or like he pitied her in any way. That would not be the angle to take with him. Crying or anything like that. She could see that right away. She could paint a glorious picture of her tragic plight, and he would probably just stand there like a man carved from rock. Unmoved. Whoever he was, he was not a soft touch.

      She was pretty good at identifying a soft touch. They were the kind of people who came in handy in desperate situations. People who wanted to wrap you in a blanket, give you a piece of pie and say some encouraging words so that they could go on with their day feeling like they were decent human beings.

      She had a feeling this man did not care whether or not he was a decent human being.

      She recognized that in him, because it was the same thing in her.

      You couldn’t care much about whether or not you were decent when you mostly just wanted to be alive.

      “I just want to sleep here,” she said, holding her hand out. “That’s all.”

      “You don’t have anywhere else to sleep?”

      “Yeah, actually, I have a mansion up on the hill. But I like a little impromptu camping. Bonus points if it’s on someone else’s land, because it adds to the spirit of adventure. I love being woken up in the middle of the night by large, angry ranchers.”

      “It’s not really the middle of the night. It’s almost five in the morning.”

      She groaned. “Close enough to the middle of the night in my