Blackwolf's Redemption. Sandra Marton

animal’s flanks and the horse surged forward as if he were going to leap into the air and fly.

      Sienna gave a muffled shriek and tightened her grip on Jesse until her breasts and belly were pressed tightly against his back.

      “Good girl,” he shouted.

      Sienna rolled her eyes. Another metaphorical sexist pat on the head, but what could she do about it? And, really, what did it matter?

      If this was all happening, she’d be free of this man as soon as they reached, well, wherever they were heading. Bozeman, she hoped. Jack was probably there, waiting for her with the others, and surely he’d have some rational explanation for everything.

      If this wasn’t happening, if she was dreaming, she’d wake up.

      Those were the only two possibilities, and neither involved dealing with Jesse Blackwolf for more than just another little while.

      Those were the only two possibilities.. .weren’t they?

      No, she thought uneasily, they weren’t.

      What if that green lightning had struck her? What if she was in a coma? What if she were lying comatose in a hospital bed, having wildly exotic dreams or whatever you called the stuff that filled your head while your brain was on medical hiatus?

      It made sense that she might dream of a place she’d spent months and months studying. And, okay, it even made sense that she might dream of being rescued by a dark and dangerous man. Her life centered around her studies, but she was still a woman. And she was a scholar of ancient civilizations.

      She’d never been the type for romantic fantasies, but if she were…

      If she were, this man would fit the bill.

      A coma made absolute sense.

      And, actually, it was the far better choice, because otherwise, she was back to square one. How had she ended up on that ledge? Where was Jack? What was she doing, racing through a flooding canyon with a man who looked like an Indian warrior?

      Sienna jammed her eyes closed. A coma, for sure. Any minute now, she’d wake up, see that she was in a hospital room…

      “Hang on tight,” Jesse said.

      Her eyes snapped open. What looked like the ocean was dead ahead, a rushing torrent of water that they surely could not ford. But the stallion plunged into the swollen stream without hesitation.

      Could you drown in a stream you’d created in your mind?

      God, she was going crazy!

      Water coursed over her feet, her calves, her thighs. The horse couldn’t keep his footing, not in this, but he did, he did as Jesse urged him on.

      “Good boy,” he said, and Sienna laughed and laughed and she knew, she knew there was a note of hysteria in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. All she could do was clutch the man who was not real despite what he’d said, press her cheek to his strong, hard, not-real-either back, and wait for the moment this would end.

      An eternity later, the horse slowed to a walk.

      “We’re here,” Jesse said.

      Sienna sat up straight. They’d stopped moving, but the world was a blur of heavily falling rain. Good. She wasn’t ready to see past it. Not just yet.

      “Where?”

      He threw a long leg over the stallion’s head and dismounted. His big hands closed around her waist; he lifted her from the horse to the ground and she sent up a silent, tiny prayer of hope.

      Maybe she was coming out of the coma. Maybe she’d see the comforting white walls of a hospital room.

      Or maybe not. Maybe she was still trapped in a place that didn’t exist, and when she opened her eyes, she’d see, what? A log cabin? A tepee? A corral full of piebald ponies?

      She took a deep breath. And forced herself to look. At the torrent of rain falling from a leaden sky…

      And at all the rest.

      There was no hospital room. No tepee. No log cabin. Well, not unless you called a sprawling, magnificent structure of cypress and glass, acres of glass, a cabin. There was also a corral. A huge barn. And a side yard.

       Not a dream. Not a dream. Not a dream.

      And not a coma. It couldn’t be. She didn’t know enough about cars and trucks to have populated the side yard with a bright red car so long and low she knew it had to be foreign, a black pickup truck and what she figured was a battered Jeep.

      Each vehicle bore a license plate. Each read “Montana.” And each read—each read…

      Sienna’s heart leaped into her throat. She swung toward Jesse.

      “The date,” she whispered. “What’s the date?”

      He stared at her. Maybe he hadn’t understood her. She knew her voice sounded choked. She cleared her throat, not certain she could form the words again. But she didn’t have to.

      His eyes narrowed. “What now?” he said coldly. “Is this another part of the game?”

      “No game. Just tell me, please. What’s the date?”

      “June 22, as you well know.”

      “Not June 21? The solstice…”

      “It fell on the twenty-second this year. That only happens—”

      She could almost feel the blood draining from her head.

      “It only happens every four hundred years. I know that.”

      “So?”

      “So…” She licked her lips. There was only one last question to ask, but she was afraid to ask it. “So the last time it happened the year was—the year was 1975.”

      Jesse put his fists on his hips. Legs apart, eyes locked to hers, he looked less savage but twice as dangerous.

      “Was 1975? Give me a break, okay? This is 1975.”

      “Now?” Sienna said calmly. “Right now, it’s—”

      Her eyes rolled up into her head and she crumpled to the ground.