Working her way out the garage door, she kept a low profile as she tried to figure out what to do. She could call the cops, but it would take them at least fifteen minutes to get here—and that was with sirens wailing. Twenty-five minutes was more likely. Twenty-five minutes was an eternity—especially because she didn’t want anyone to know she harbored an illegal reindeer in her barn.
A shadowy figure sneaked along the side of the building toward the door.
Her heart stopped. It wasn’t Ely.
This guy had broad shoulders and a thick trunk. He wore winter camo and a cowboy hat. She’d never seen Ely wear either. Her heart beat broke into a dead run, and something inside of her honked to life, sounding an awful lot like a mad goose. Some women had a mother-bear instinct; she must have a mother-goose one.
Rum balls! She was on her own. So be it. She’d been a single mother for almost two years now—what was one reindeer-napper?
Picking up the tire iron, she hurried across the icy driveway, grateful for the slippery stuff because it was quieter than snow. The man didn’t see her. He was intent on finding the lever to open the door. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. If Mitzi hadn’t known her own yard well enough, she wouldn’t be able to make out his shape.
“Hey!” she yelled not far from him, hoping to startle him into running away.
The man jumped and spun on her. She screamed, startled by the bearded face of a stranger. Acting out of self-preservation, she swung the tire iron—all the while screaming like a banshee.
“Whoa. Lady!” The man raised his arm to protect himself, and the feeling of iron against bone made her sick to her stomach. As fast as she’d hit him, his other arm was around her, pinning her against his solid body.
“Let go,” she ground out, wiggling and kicking for all she was worth.
“Lady.”
“I’m no lady.” She managed to get some traction and wiggle out of his one-armed hold.
He gasped and stepped back, holding his other arm out and staring at it like it’d betrayed him.
“Who are you?” she demanded. She lifted her weapon, ready to strike again. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for my reindeer—what did you hit me with?” He tried to turn his hand over and winced.
“What did you say?” she asked again. “Your reindeer?”Oh shoot. Oh shoot, oh shoot, oh shoot.
“I think you broke my arm.” He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. His gaze was steady in the half-moonlight. The shape of his brow and his blue eyes were familiar. They tugged at her memory, looking for something to hold on to. “Mitzi?” His eyes glazed over and he went down on one knee.
Mitzi lowered the iron bar. He said her name like … like he knew her. But that was impossible. She didn’t know anyone who looked like this guy, all rugged and handsome. Not that she was in the habit of noticing a man. It was just that this guy was striking even in the dark. “Who are you?”
His face winced in the way a man does when he’s in more pain than he wants to let on. He pulled his hurt arm to his chest. “Is there an Instacare in town?”
She shook her head to clear it. As she did, the realization that she’d injured a man on her property—attacked him, really, possibly breaking his arm—washed over her. A man who knew her name. A man who claimed Snowflake was his reindeer. Oh man. What was she doing running around here like she was Rambo? She dropped the metal, and the sound clanged across the yard.
“Fruitcake! Yes. I’ll just—I’ll drive you?” She said the last bit as a question, wondering if she’d lost her mind. Was she really offering to help the man who was sneaking around her property? Why hadn’t he come to the door?
He squeezed his eyes shut tight and took a deep breath.
They could figure that out later. She leaned over, placing a hand on his large shoulder. “Can you walk?”
“Give me a second. I can’t believe how much this hurts.” He sucked air in through his teeth, held his breath, and then nodded his head, all without breathing.
She went to help him up, but he gave her the stink eye, so she backed off. He managed to get to his feet by using the barn for support. She ran ahead to open the passenger door to her car. Once it was open, she ran in the house to get the keys and then came back out. He’d settled himself in the car and shut the door.
Okay, he was a tough guy.
She jumped in and cranked the engine. “Please start. Please start. Please start,” she prayed under her breath, as she did every time she turned the key. The car fired up, almost as if it was telling her she was being too dramatic.
The man—who knew her name—laid his head back and threw his unbroken arm across his face.
Mitzi navigated the potholes in the road to minimize the jostle. “So … do you have a name?”
He didn’t move. She’d killed him.
