True Wyatt prided himself on control—control over the multitude of responsibilities that came with riding herd over a successful ranch; control over his brother, who thought life should be enjoyed rather than conquered; and control over the desires he’d kept in rein since the demise of his marriage. And yet, the sight that greeted him this cold winter day told him he’d only been fooling himself.

From his perch high atop the ridge overlooking the lonely cabin, True Wyatt watched the shapely brunette as she made another trip to her car to pull boxes and suitcases from her backseat, one after the other. Grumpily, he wondered how she’d managed to stuff so much inside a Corolla. The trunk had held a similar assortment of printer-paper-sized boxes, which she’d manhandled into the house, her face growing rosy with exertion.

Despite the biting wind, she’d dispensed with her down coat and wore only a sweater with a crew neck, the sleeves pushed off her wrists. The dark blue knit hugged her upper torso, defining a lovely bosom and narrow waist. Every time she bent to pull out another box her designer jeans hugged her small rounded bottom, and his loins tightened.

Which annoyed the hell out of him. Fact was, he wished he could turn his horse away and pretend he hadn’t noticed trouble had arrived on his mountain—and he knew exactly who to blame. His anger smoldered like hot coals ready to erupt into a full blaze. The clop of hooves approaching behind him carried just the fuel to add to the fire.

“Did you know?” True barked without glancing back.

“Know what?” his brother asked, humor underlying his slow drawl as he pulled up alongside him.

“That our tenant is a woman.”

“Sure did. I’m surprised that you’re surprised since I gave you a copy of her latest book. Picture’s right there on the back cover.”

The book in question sat on the credenza in True’s office. Exactly where his brother had left it two days ago. The fact he hadn’t bothered turning it over made True’s cheeks heat. Dammit.

Lonny had asked him just last night if he’d read the story. The wicked gleam in his eyes when he’d said it should have clued True in that his little brother was enjoying a joke at his expense.

Tightening his hands on the reins, he bit out, “You do know this is gonna complicate things. If we weren’t busy enough after letting go of the seasonal hands, now we have to babysit—”

“She’s not looking for anyone to babysit her, True. She said she wants privacy to finish up a book.”

True speared him with a glare. “We can’t leave her alone. What the hell does she know about surviving a winter in high country?”

Lonny arched an eyebrow. “Probably not any more than the male author you thought you were gettin’.”

True gritted his teeth as Lonny’s mouth stretched into a gleeful smile.

“Tell the truth. No matter what you say, you planned on having to check up on Mr. H.A. Cahill. You don’t trust tenderfoots.”

“But I wouldn’t be as worried. If a man’s stupid enough to get himself into trouble out here, it’s a damn shame, but not something I’d lose sleep over. But she’s…” He waved his hand toward the woman hopping down the steps for another load.

Her breasts bounced enticingly, distracting him from what had to be said. At Lonny’s chuckle, True swung back with a narrowed gaze. “It’s not safe. Does she know she could be shut in for a month? That bears and wolves pretty much think a cabin is a drive-through?”

Lonny grunted. “The bears are hibernating. She’ll be gone before they stir. And you know wolves are shy of humans.”

“Does she know how to shoot a gun? Dammit, does she even own one?”

Lonny shrugged. “I asked if she needed me to leave one. She gave me a funny look.”

True cursed. “You show her how to light that cantankerous stove?”

“Showed her twice.”

The woman bent, reaching deep to the back floorboard of her car. Her sweater rode up, exposing a set of deep dimples right above her sweetly curved ass.

“Electricity’s bound to go out,” True muttered.

“There’s plenty of gas in the shed for the generator. ’Sides, she said candlelight gets her in the mood.”

True’s gaze swiveled back.

Lonny raised the hand not holding his reins. “For writing her stories. Although gotta wonder myself if she wasn’t talking about more. Her book was damn hot.”

“You thinking to give her inspiration?” True growled, his voice rising.

“Well, she did invite me down for a meal…” At True’s deepening scowl, his brother flashed a grin. “Out of gratitude. Said when Leroy’s hunting cabin went up in that brushfire her plans for a retreat were all shot to hell. She’s forever in my debt.” He waggled his eyebrows at the last statement.

True looked away, hoping to keep from saying something really nasty, because for whatever reason, the thought of his brother with the curvy woman below made him feel even meaner.

When he glanced back down the hill, his gut clenched. H.A. Cahill had stacked two boxes and was walking slowly toward the porch. The height of her burden was taller than the top of her head.

“Dammit,” he cussed and nudged his horse forward. She was gonna break her neck—and on his property. Sooner he helped her get inside, the sooner he could move on to more important things, like moving the last of the cattle to the box canyon where they’d stay to weather the worst of the winter.

As his horse picked its way down the slope, he kept sending darting glares her way, willing her silently to stay put. The brief thaw they’d experienced the past week had ended. Snow clung to patches of shaded earth but had melted away everywhere else, leaving mud and slicks of slush. However, today’s cold snap was re-freezing the ground, the roads—the damn steps.

She slowed as she approached the steps, kicking out one booted toe to find them. Then tentatively, she stepped up. His worst fear was realized when she took another step and her foot slid out from under her. She toppled backward to the ground, giving a startled yelp as her boxes opened and the wind carried away pages of paper.

He kicked his horse’s sides, hurrying him down, ignoring the pounding of his brother’s horse behind him.

Before his own palomino came to a full halt beside the woman struggling to sit, he was out of his saddle and glaring downward.

Ready to tear into her for her carelessness, he opened his mouth—but a strange thing happened. One look into her cornflower blue eyes, and his breath hitched. The caustic complaint he was about to voice stuck in his throat.

“You must be the brother,” she said breathlessly, her voice impossibly chipper for a woman who looked as though she’d gotten the wind knocked right out of her. “True, right? Your parents…got really creative with…your names,” she gasped. “I like that. Don’t be surprised…if they turn up in a book somewhere.” And then she grinned.

True’s dick hardened in one blazing instant, and he knew with a fatalistic certainty just what kind of books she wrote.

Honey had never seen a man look so angry and flummoxed at the same time. And that shouldn’t have been the case since she managed to ruffle men’s feathers faster than a hurricane. It was a talent.

She came up on her elbows in the mud and glanced at the papers cartwheeling across the yard. If you could call it a yard. The space around the cabin was more of a rough-cut clearing.

Nothing fancy, Lonny had warned her. He hadn’t over-represented the small two-room cabin with an efficiency kitchen and tiny bathroom.

And yet the rugged utility of the place appealed. The cabin smelled of pine sap and wood smoke, and when she’d stood on the porch, the view of the mountains around her took her breath away.

Right this second, the view from the ground wasn’t that bad either.

“I’ll get those,” Lone Wyatt said. He gave her a quick glance, raised an eyebrow at his brother, then dismounted in a fluid, graceful move that had her envious of every flex of muscle that delivered him to the ground. Could any two brothers be more alike, and conversely, so different at the same time?

True Wyatt moved with rugged force. She couldn’t help wondering how that economy of motion and deliberation translated to how he moved in a bed. True wore “Cowboy” like some men wore Armani.

Her gaze crept upward from his scarred boots, past legs encased in sturdy, mud-stained denim, to a dark, dirt-streaked coat that fell to his knees. He looked like he’d stepped out of an old western movie. Even the cowboy hat, broad-rimmed and shadowing his deep-set eyes, emphasized his individualistic, rugged appeal.

Her glance flew back to Lonny, who chased the newspaper clippings and her own dog-eared notes across the clearing.

Lonny was a sweetheart. A flirty man with wicked intentions written in his dark green eyes. She’d already decided she wouldn’t turn down an invitation to go to bed with the man. But that was before she’d clapped eyes on the brother…

She came back to True to find his gaze narrowed on her face. All brooding darkness and hard-edged features. Same dark green eyes, weathered skin, and dark brown hair as the brother, but his expression set him apart. Made him seem even older than the thirty-six years Lonny had volunteered.

Lonny was in his late twenties, still footloose and straining against obligation. Facts she’d gleaned easily the first time they’d met. After all, she was a writer and a master at pulling information from a person without him realizing just how she did it.

Something told her big brother wouldn’t be nearly as easy to pump for information. “Pump” stuck in her mind, and her brain again leapt to sexier pursuits.

She’d gathered a lot of information during her brief encounter with little brother at the diner in town. She’d arranged to meet her original landlord to pick up the keys to the hunting cabin she’d rented for a writing retreat. Lonny had been hovering over the counter, sweet-talking a waitress, when he’d overheard her dilemma. After accepting his invitation to coffee, where she’d winnowed out his life story, she’d also managed to acquire an invitation to stay in the Wyatts’ hunting cabin, situated in a “lonesome high meadow”. She’d smiled at his attempt at waxing poetic, amused that he was trying to impress her after hearing she was an author.

Likely, he’d hoped that she’d use some of her pain-staking research into human sexuality and desire to show him how truly grateful she was for his last-minute save. Not that she felt under pressure to provide a little sexy quid pro quo.

Lonny was easy on the eyes and built like a brick house. Very like his brother in that respect. Although she was pretty sure by the way his gaze burned over her that True didn’t need the benefit of her expertise.

Pulled between two forces of nature, her attention was drawn once again to the tall brooding man who stood over her, his thickly muscled legs braced apart, the impressive bulge at the apex holding her attention longer than was polite.

Since he hadn’t offered to help her up, she cleared her throat, pushed a half-filled box off her lap, and struggled to sit.

A hand dangled in front of her face. A large hand with thick, callused fingers.

Her heart hit a speed bump before hammering faster inside her chest. She accepted his firm grip and came up more quickly than she’d expected. She swayed against his chest before she got her feet underneath her. Then she had the whimsical thought that if he leaned forward just an inch, her mouth would graze the canvas material of his duster coat just over his heart. True was a big man.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly.

Slowly, he eased his hand from hers then took a step back, his glance going back to her car. “We’ll finish the unpacking. Those boots of yours aren’t made for walkin’.”

“Really?” she said, glancing down at the pretty cowboy boots she’d bought for her retreat that now had a thick layer of mud crusted around the bottom.

“Why do you think you fell on your ass?” He cleared his throat then stomped away.

Honey didn’t know whether to take his comment as an insult or not, but she liked the sound of his deep growl. It rasped along her nerves, stirring long-dormant desires she’d sublimated in order to write the kind of surly, dominant men her readers seemed to love. Fictional men were easier to say goodbye to.

She stepped forward to help him, unwilling to just stand by and watch him do her work. However, a twinge of pain pulled across the muscles of her lower back, and she grimaced, reaching back to rub the spot only to discover her backside was covered in mud. Her grimace deepened.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Lonny asked, striding toward her with his hands clutching her papers. His gaze trailed down her body to where her hand rubbed.

“Just a twinge,” she said. “What with the heavy lifting—”

True snorted and stepped past her, his arms filled with three boxes stacked high.

Her gaze followed him, wondering whether she should call him on his rudeness or let it pass. Something made her want to challenge him.

“He’s always like that,” Lonny said, smiling. “Don’t take any offense.”

“I didn’t. Much,” she murmured. She aimed a tight smile his way. “Would you two care for a hot cup of coffee when you’re through?”

“We don’t have time to chit-chat,” True said, stomping right back out the door and down the steps.

She stepped into his path, forcing him to halt or slam right into her. “Did I say something that offended you?”

True’s hands came up, gripped her waist and picked her up to set her to the side.

Her jaw dropped. Heat filled her cheeks. When he walked away, she glared at Lonny. “He always does that, too?”

Lonny’s eyebrows were high, a little smile curving one corner of his mouth. “That’s not something I’ve ever seen him do. Whatever you said to him—”

“I didn’t say a thing.”

He shook his head. “Something sure as hell set him off. I better go give him a hand before he tries to walk right through me without the courtesy of moving me first.” He handed her the papers he’d rescued and followed his brother to her car.

Feeling off-balance because she didn’t understand what had angered the gruff cowboy, or whether he’d simply taken an instant dislike, she wandered up the steps and into the cabin, scuffing off the mud on the doormat before striding inside. The boxes were stacked near the kitchen table where she’d decided to set up her office. The rectangular surface already held her laptop and portable printer.

She wondered what they thought of her array of boxes. There were reams of paper, a couple filled with research, but she’d shoved clothes and camera equipment into the rest because she’d been in a hurry to escape the telephone when she’d left her snowbird house on South Padre Island.

True stomped in again and set three more boxes beside her. “These are the last and kinda light,” he muttered.

Probably held her underwear. The thought tugged a grin from her mouth.

His gaze dropped to her lips for just a second, and then it swept her body—so quickly she might have mistaken the once-over for a blink. When he’d finished, he tipped his hat and stomped out of the house.

Maybe he always stomped. Might not have a thing to do with her.

Lonny hovered in the doorway. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come by later to check in and see if you need anything.”

Did she need anything? A hug? A smile to assure her she hadn’t grown a second head or a wart on her nose. “I’d like that.”

Lonny flashed a grin then hurried down the steps. Big brother was already riding back up the ridge, his broad shoulders stiff.

Still, the sight of him, his sturdy body outlined in the snowfall that had begun sometime in the last few minutes, made her chest hurt. He wore loneliness like he did his long, dark duster.

She closed the door, shutting out the cold and the view. A shiver reminded her she’d better check the wood-burning furnace again. It was time to get to work anyway.

She hadn’t come all the way to the Colorado mountains in the middle of winter to pine over a man she didn’t even know and probably wouldn’t like if she did.

Honey bent and tugged off box tops until she found the ones holding her favorite knit scarf, another pair of clean jeans and a gray sweater. She shucked off her boots and muddied clothes, dressed in the clean ones, and wound the sky-blue angora around her neck. Then she hunted for the bottle of scotch she’d packed, knowing she’d need it to get to sleep as the anniversary approached.

She poured herself a finger of amber anesthesia into a coffee cup she found in the small cupboard over the sink and settled down in front of her computer.

Her glance strayed one last time out the window beside the door. Snow had begun to fall steadily in fat flakes. Not that she minded. She’d wanted solitude.

Looked like she’d get it too—other than the occasional visit from one sexy young cowboy.