A Laramie, Texas Christmas. Cathy Thacker Gillen

name he had given her for one instant. She didn’t need this kind of trouble two weeks before Christmas. And the six-foot-tall hunk in front of her was heartache personified.

      Or at least he would have been if he’d bothered to clean up. The golden-brown hair peeking from beneath the brim of a bone-colored Stetson hat and falling haphazardly across his brows, over his ears and down the nape of his neck needed to be combed and cut. She estimated it had been weeks since his boyishly handsome face had been shaved. And that, she couldn’t help but note a little wistfully, was a shame. The scraggly, dark brown whiskers on his face detracted from his nicely chiseled features and the sexy cleft in his chin. Not that she needed to be admiring the sensual lips, square masculine chin and arresting brown eyes of a man in ripped jeans, and a grime-smeared flannel shirt and gray Henley that had both seen better days. Especially when she feared she knew exactly why he was surreptitiously scoping out everything about the place—and her. He’d heard the rumors, too.

      He moved closer, drawing her attention to the implicit threat in his broad shoulders and street-fighter’s build. This was not a man she’d want to meet in a dark alley. This was a man she would want on her side. Although for whatever reason, despite his outwardly laid-back manner, he did not seem to be. “I stopped by to see Miss Sadie, if she’s available,” he began, casually enough.

      After the way she had been raised, Noelle could spot a pretender a mile away. Not that he needed to know she was onto his game. “Actually, she’s not,” Noelle replied with another cool smile, urging him to hurry on back to wherever he had come from.

      He kept his eyes on hers. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

      “No.” Noelle chanced a look behind her toward the interior of the house and, to her immense relief, heard nothing but the strains of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.”

      “I don’t.”

      “I see.” He propped one boot on the bottom step. Leaning forward, he rested an elbow on his thigh. Settling in for the duration, he charmed her with a smile. “And you are…?”

      Noelle ignored the shiver of awareness that sifted through her. There was no way she was giving out that information in this day and age. She glanced at the wintry gray sky, wishing for a burst of rain that would send him running. “Too busy to stand here chatting with you.” She finished his sentence for him, turning to go back in the house.

      He straightened and moved along the outside of the railing. He walked right next to her so she couldn’t avoid looking at him, even as he peered past her at the closed draperies and blinds that obscured the windows of every room of the house. He seemed to be tactically assessing the situation even as he formulated his next move. Another very bad sign, she thought as her pulse picked up even more.

      “You seem stressed,” he stated.

      You don’t know the half of it.

      “Is there a problem in there?”

      She listened hard and, to her continued relief, still heard no “suspicious” sounds coming from inside.

      He paused, offered another ingratiating look. “Anything I can help you—or Miss Sadie—with?”

      Noelle stopped at the edge of the landing and gripped the big plastic candy cane in front of her. “No. And there won’t be a problem if you leave now.” She made no effort to disguise the warning.

      As she had suspected, the sexy stranger did not respond well to the veiled threat. “And if I don’t?”

      Noelle scanned the drive for the help that should be coming. Any minute now. All she had to do was stall… And if that meant take her bravado to the next level, so be it. She let him squirm for a few minutes. “Then I’ll be forced to make a citizen’s arrest.”

      Something shifted in his gaze, and his choked laughter turned into a cough. “On what grounds?” he asked in obvious disbelief.

      She held her head high and kept her expression composed. “Coming onto Miss Sadie’s property without an invitation and then refusing to leave when asked.”

      He tipped his hat back, letting her see his insulted expression. “I am not trespassing.”

      She regarded him dubiously, letting him know that she wasn’t stupid, either. “We’ll let the sheriff’s department decide that. Frankly, I think they’re going to be on my side.”

      The corners of his lips crooked up. “Doubtful, since I work for the sheriff’s department.”

      She tilted her head and gave him the look she reserved for anyone who tried to snow her. “Really.”

      “Yes.”

      She scanned him quickly, beginning to enjoy this verbal sparring match. “Then they must have some very peculiar uniforms.”

      He took off his hat and shoved his hand through clean, rumpled hair. “Obviously, I’m not on duty now.”

      “If you ever were,” Noelle muttered beneath her breath, wondering why coming outside to let this potential felon know the house was indeed occupied and thereby not available for any yuletide plundering had ever seemed like a good idea. She should have just stayed inside and hoped he didn’t do anything crazy—like break a window or jimmy a door lock—while she waited for help to arrive. Instead, she was out here, with only a plastic candy cane to protect her, chatting with a smooth-talking hottie whose self-confidence apparently knew no bounds.

      “Hey—” he angled a thumb at his chest, looking harmless enough for the moment “—no need to insult me.”

      Noelle refused to let down her guard. Still trying to buy time and keep him from figuring out she was not alone, she bantered right back, “You started it.”

      His brows knit together. “How?”

      Telling herself she was definitely not enjoying their repartee, Noelle gave him a look that let him know she was not impressed. “By insulting my intelligence.”

      Frowning, he waited for her to go on.

      Noelle studied his hands, wondering how his body could be so clean when his clothes were so impossibly grungy. “Pretending to be a McCabe, for starters.”

      “What makes you think I’m not?” he asked.

      Because, as she had learned very early in life, the first rule of thumb when it came to running a con was to gain trust—and entrée—to your mark, find common ground and get close any way you could. A swift way to do that was by selecting a respected last name and claiming a familial connection. Rule number two—most people never doubted the name you gave upon introduction. It simply didn’t occur to them to question it. When a con met a mark who did, he or she usually just saved themselves the trouble and moved on. “The McCabes are one of the most well-respected families in the state.” Noelle gave a phony smile. “They don’t have a slacker among them.”

      His spine stiffened. “I assure you I am quite hardworking and successful.”

      “Not to mention a member of law enforcement.”

      The scowl on his face deepened. “I am a deputy with the Laramie County Sheriff’s Department.”

      She nodded in exaggerated agreement, aware he hadn’t so much as flashed a badge. Another telltale sign. “Sure you are. They always employ unkempt and unshaven—” although not unwashed “—bums in filthy clothing.”

      He looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or strike back. “So now I’m a trespassing bum?” He rubbed his jaw with the flat of his hand in a parody of thoughtfulness. “Is that a technical term?” He tilted his head. “Maybe you should call that in and let them know you’ve got a vagrant on your hands. And while you’re at it, that the bum’s name is Kevin McCabe.”

      Noelle tapped her foot on the landing and felt the rotting wood shift uncertainly beneath her feet. “No need,” she announced, “since they’ll be here at any minute.”