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behind him.
    He was halfway to the house when the storm
hit. Rain pummeled the ground. Lightning crackled across the skies,
followed by long drum rolls of thunder.
    He had reached the porch when something made
him stop and turn around.
    Narrowing his eyes, he swore softly. It
couldn’t be. He had to be seeing things. He closed his eyes and
opened them again, but the great white stallion was still there,
trotting toward him.
    Gray swore softly. He didn’t know which was
more unbelievable, the appearance of the legendary ghost horse, or
the bedraggled white woman on its back.

Chapter 3
     
    “ Whoa, now, easy boy, easy
now.”
    Bonnie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a
man’s voice. Chilled to the bone, her teeth chattering, she stared
at the man standing by the horse’s head. Her first thought was to
wonder if she was hallucinating. She had never seen a flesh and
blood man so strikingly handsome.
    “ You all right?” he asked.
    She blinked several times, but he was still
there.
    “ Are you all right?” he asked again,
louder this time.
    She nodded.
    “ Come on,” he said, “let’s get you out
of the rain.”
    She would have argued, but the thought of
being warm and dry was too tempting.
    When he reached for her, she practically fell
into his arms. Not a very good first impression, she thought
as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
    He carried her quickly across the sodden
ground and into a small house built of logs. Setting her on her
feet, he pulled a blanket from the back of a worn sofa and draped
it around her shoulders.
    “ Just sit tight a minute,” he said,
“while I put some more wood on the fire.”
    She nodded. Clutching the blanket, she stood
there, shivering, while he added several logs to the fire. If he
was a figment of her imagination, she had certainly dreamed up a
hunk. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long black hair and
copper-hued skin. Muscles rippled beneath his flannel shirt. She
wondered if he was an Indian. She had seen one or two on the
ranch.
    “ Now, let’s get you out of those wet
clothes.”
    She clutched the blanket tighter. “I’m
fine.”
    “ You’re shaking like a leaf.” He jerked
his chin toward the doorway to her left. “You’ll find a change of
clothes in there. I reckon they’ll be a little big, but they’ll be
dry.”
    When she didn’t move, he shook his head.
“I’ll go out and look after your horse while you change.”
    She nodded. She didn’t like to think of
anyone going outside in this storm, but there was no way she was
going to change clothes while he was in the house.
    Grunting softly, he opened the door. The rain
was falling harder, faster.
    As soon as he left the house, she hurried
into the other room and closed the door, lamenting the fact that
there was no lock. Anxious to get out of her wet things, she
glanced around. The walls were rough wood, bare save for a black
and white picture of a buxom girl holding a bottle of beer. The
picture had obviously been torn out of an old newspaper. A single
bed, a rickety bedside table, and a battered chest were the room’s
only furnishings.
    When she opened the chest, she found a pair
of pants and two shirts – one red, one dark blue. She stood there a
moment, debating the wisdom of undressing with a stranger outside
and no lock on the door, but the chance to get out of her wet
clothes was too tempting. She undressed quickly, used the blanket
to dry her face and hands, then pulled on the red shirt, hoping the
color would give her courage. It was several sizes too large, the
tails hanging down to her knees, but it was warm and dry. She held
up the pants, which were miles too long. Muttering, “No way,” she
dropped them back into the chest. Taking up the blanket again, she
wrapped it around her like a skirt. Picking up her wet things, she
took a deep breath, and went back into the other room.
    He was standing in front of the fire, soaked
to the skin.
    A faint smile touched his lips when he