Dylan could’ve held Hazel in his arms forever. Number one, it meant the raging heat between them wasn’t just coiling through his bloodstream, but hers too. Number two, she smelled like everything he loved: grass and sunshine, sweat and horse and leather. Oh, and that peachy scent kept drifting from her hair too.

“So this is what you do?” he asked. “Sit in the grass and watch coyotes pace?”

“We’ll see where they show up every night and morning. See how brazen they are with us right here. Then we’ll tag ‘em by the end of the week.”

“All of them?”

“Just the big one, I think,” she said. “He’s clearly the leader.” He was a magnificent animal, with a big bushy head, and a black-tipped tail he kept tucked low. Of course, Dylan could just as easily shoot the animal if it weren’t for Hazel.

Not that he’d enjoy it, but his loyalty was with the cattle on Grape Seed Ranch, not a pack of coyotes on the other side of the fence.

“What do you do once they’re tagged?”

“We monitor the GPS signal. Come out and see where they’re living, why they can’t find the food they need outside the ranch, and make determinations on relocation from there.” She lifted one shoulder, which slightly pressed into his chest. “It doesn’t take long to know. Another week, perhaps.”

“Hm.” Dylan didn’t normally sit down when he went out at night, and a restlessness tortured him. “Should we go check the cattle?”

“You think the coyotes have already been over the fence?”

“They go under,” he said. “Or through.”

“All right. Technicality.” She gave a light laugh as she stood and brushed off her pants. Dylan left his gun on the ground as he stood, only shouldering it once he was ready to start walking.

“I just want to check them.” It was what he did. His responsibility was to make sure the fences stayed intact surrounding the ranch, report problems, and check the herd while it grazed in the wild. He couldn’t keep them away from this particular section of fence, but he’d noticed they’d moved further west since the slaughter a week or so ago.

“It’s a long walk,” he said. “Maybe a mile in the dark. You up for it?”

“Do you normally walk it?”

“Not usually, no.” He didn’t care either way how they got there. He just wanted to make sure his cows were safe. “We can drive.”

“You can be my chauffeur.” She tucked her arm into his again, and he smiled into the night.

“Sure can.” He put the shotgun in the back of the side-by-side, and got behind the wheel. When they were both buckled, he eased the vehicle along the fence, heading west.

He found the cows further south than they’d been last time he’d been out here, but the night air was clear—no scent of blood, no skin of worry, no sense of unease.

“Looks good,” he said, swinging around to go back. His headlights caught on a reflective pair of eyes, and he slammed his foot on the brake. “Did you see that?”

“I sure did.” Her voice hovered halfway between terrified and awed. Dylan’s heart thrashed in his chest, definitely leaning toward terrified.

“That wasn’t a coyote.” He put the side-by-side in reverse and inched it slowly back the way he’d come. Sure enough, the lamps illuminated a very feline pair of eyes, which shone like green orbs in the night.

“That’s a mountain lion.”

And his gun was in the backseat, out of arm’s reach. He kicked himself for letting his guard down, for thinking this was a romantic tryst when it was a very serious ranch situation.

The cougar remained very still, despite the lights shining right on it.

“That’s what took down those cows,” Hazel said. “We have to tag it.”

“You didn’t bring anything, did you?”

“Of course I did. Two darts. One tag.”

Where she was concealing that equipment, he didn’t know, but he heard clicking as she prepared her dart gun.

“Can you get closer to it?”

“We’re a hundred yards away,” he said. “If it wanted to go through that fence, it could. I don’t think closer is wise.”

“I can’t dart it through the chicken wire anyway. I mean, maybe if I was a better shot.”

Dylan looked at her and found her hands shaking. So she wouldn’t be able to hit the mountain lion through the one-inch holes in the chicken wire. And she probably wouldn’t be able to hit it unless it was right in front of her, teeth bared.

“Should we switch?” he asked. “I can try to dart it. You can drive?”

“Yeah, okay.” She nodded, handing him the dart gun and sliding over on the seat before he could even unbuckle.

He kept his eye on the wild animal—a very large, very deadly wild animal—as he rounded the side-by-side. “Go slow,” he said, only settling himself half into the vehicle. “Real slow.”

Hazel obliged, barely inching the vehicle forward. “The darts don’t go super far,” she whispered. “Maybe twenty yards.”

Dylan nodded though they didn’t look at each other. He wasn’t giving anything or anyone his attention until that cat was asleep or gone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hazel hunched forward, both hands gripping the wheel like it was her lifeline.

The cat hissed and crouched low in the grasses. “Easy,” Dylan said, trying to get a grip on the dart gun in his hand. It felt like a toy, like no way he could incapacitate the one-hundred-twenty pound animal with it.

He held his arm out in front of him, steadying the gun and his right hand with his left, the way his father had taught him to shoot a revolver. Just like that, he coached himself. This gun had a sight too, but the animal really wasn’t showing much of himself. Just his face and a couple of bony shoulders.

Dylan aimed in the shoulder area as Hazel moved them closer foot by foot. His muscles ached; he took in a deep breath and held it; whispered, “All right.”

Hazel brought the vehicle to a stop, and Dylan pulled the trigger. The mountain lion yowled, and he sent the other dart at it too. He had no idea if he’d hit his mark or not. The cougar disappeared from the headlight beams, and Dylan slumped against the seat.

“Well.” He exhaled. “How do we know if we got it?”

“We go looking,” Hazel said. “And the sleepers only last three hours.”

So they couldn’t wait until morning. “Maybe we should’ve waited until it was light,” he said.

“There was no guarantee that we’d ever seen that mountain lion again,” she said. “We did the right thing.” She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and blew out her breath. “So let’s go find it.” She turned and their eyes finally met. A slow grin cascaded across her delicate features, and Dylan found himself returning it.

“There’s never a dull moment with you, is there?” she asked.

He chuckled, because he was anything but exciting. “Just wait,” he said. “There’s a birthday party for Greta this weekend.”

Her eyebrows bunched together in cute confusion. “Greta.”

“Gonna be a real barn-raiser,” Dylan said, standing and peering into the darkness beyond the fence. He met Hazel near the driver’s side. “After all, a baby’s first birthday is usually a riot.”

An hour later, Hazel said, “Right there.”

Dylan swung the vehicle in the direction of her finger, and sure enough, there was a mass holding down the grass. He stopped a healthy distance away, the cougar in the direct line of his headlights.

“Is it safe?”

“I’d say so,” she said. “He made it pretty far, but he’s down now.”

Dylan got out of the side-by-side, adjusting the shotgun he’d been wearing since firing the dart gun. He didn’t want to take any chances with his life—nor Hazel’s. She hadn’t questioned the presence of the weapon again, and he led the way, the gun poised and ready to shoot.

A low growl filled the air, and he stopped short.

“It’s snoring,” she whispered. She unzipped something, and went to go around him.

“Hazel,” he reprimanded.

“It’s fine,” she said. “It’s out cold, but it could wake at any time. Let’s move fast.”

Dylan didn’t know what needed to be done, so he stood over the cougar with the gun pointed at it while she made short work of a patch of hair on its shoulder. She fitted something into what looked like a tube with a flat end, and she held it right against the animal’s shoulder and leaned into it with all her weight as she depressed a trigger.

She grunted, and the cougar’s arm flinched a little. She straightened and backed up fast, saying, “Done,” in a slightly triumphant tone.

Dylan stared at her. “That was….” He knew what he wanted to say—hot—but he felt like it would be inappropriate. “Incredible.” She was incredible. She’d gotten right up to that cougar, and asleep or not, his heart was still pounding in fear and anticipation.

“We don’t want to be here when it wakes up.” She gestured for him to step away. “Oh, and it’s a girl. Could be a mama or something.”

Dylan hurried back to the vehicle with her, but he didn’t put the gun in the back. “Well, we don’t want her teaching her cubs how to destroy our fences and take down our cows.”

“No,” Hazel murmured. “We don’t.”

Back at the cabin, she paced from one door diagonally to the other. “I can’t believe it,” she kept saying. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and they were safe, Dylan had crashed on the couch he liked best, third from the front.

Hazel, on the other hand, seemed more hyped than ever. “I mean, a real cougar sighting, right here in Gillespie County!” She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “It’s unbelievable.”

“There have been cougar sightings here before,” he said, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back. It was only ten o’clock, but considering that his day started before the sun rose, his exhaustion was normal.

“Supposed sightings,” she said. “We got pictures and actually put a tracker on one.” The couch cushions jostled as she sank next to him. “Thank you.” Her hand trailed over his, and he jerked his eyes open.

“Thank you? For what?”

“For letting me come out here with you.” Her dark honey eyes sparkled with heat, with mischief, with excitement. Maybe all three. He wasn’t sure. “I just put a tracker on a cougar.” A laugh slipped from her mouth, and Dylan wanted to kiss those lips as strongly now as he ever had.

“Are you gonna call it in?” she asked.

“In the morning,” he said, closing his eyes again. “Cowboys go to bed early, sweetheart.”

She lifted his arm and snuggled into his side. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, the shape of her beside him welcome and comforting.

“Oh, all right,” she said, her voice softening “What time do we get up?”

“I think the herd will be all right,” he said. “So we probably don’t need to be out there at dawn to see what’s been attacking them.”

“Still could be coyotes.” Her tone suggested she was coming off her high.

“Could be.”

She cuddled closer, and Dylan gripped her shoulder to keep her there, happy to share this cabin with her when company usually bothered him. Her breathing evened before his did, and he silently pressed his lips to the top of her head, hoping to be able to share a real kiss with her very, very soon.

Then he dreamt of cougars, coyotes, and Hazel’s liquid gold eyes.