The tall man’s scowl deepened. “Who are you? And what are you doing here? You do realize you’re on private property, don’t you?” As soon as he released her, Tabby took a deep breath and brushed her hair off her face. Back under control, she looked up, not that she had to tilt her head far. He paused for a moment, his thick brows still drawn together over dark gray eyes. “Who are you?” he asked again, now with an underlying curiosity that bordered on intense. He wore authority like a well-worn coat, an obviously complex man who, right now, was frowning ferociously. “Tabitha MacVie,” she whispered, desperately trying to think of an excuse for why she was there. She cleared her throat. “The new art teacher in Mountain Meadow. I—I’m sorry. I was riding and thought this was a road, and then—then I got up here and saw the trees, and…” “…And you’re a very bad liar,”
