She was like no other.

For a fleeting second, he thought of Terri Fremont, the girl he’d dated before Bliss had come to visit her father this summer. At twenty-one, Terri still looked like a pixie. Petite with freckles, short brown hair and huge brown eyes, she’d chased Mason down mercilessly and vowed to love him despite the fact that he had, at the time, been dating several women.

A little prick of guilt jabbed at his brain because he knew in the deepest parts of his soul that he’d never cared for Terri the way she’d cared for him. He’d tried to explain it to her, over and over again, but she had refused to listen, assuring him instead that he would “learn to love her” as much as she loved him.

She was wrong and he’d been forced to break it off with her. They had no future. He had dreams and they didn’t include a wife. He glanced at Bliss’s form again, just as horse and rider disappeared into the dark shadow of pine trees that skirted the base of the hills. Maybe a woman like Bliss would eventually change his mind. But not now.

The rain began in earnest. Thick, fat drops shimmered from the dark, foreboding sky. In the next field, the horses, sensing the change in the atmosphere, lifted their heads, noses to the wind, nostrils quivering in anticipation. This storm would be a bad one. And Bliss Cawthorne, headstrong fool, was out in the middle of it.

He had no choice but to follow her and haul her back to the ranch.

Just stay away from me.

“No way, lady,” he growled, as if she could hear him. He squared his hat on his head and whistled sharply to Black Jack, a rawboned ebony gelding blessed with the speed of Pegasus and the temperament of an angel.

“You and me, partner,” he said as he hitched Black Jack to the fence, ran to the stables for a bridle and threw it over the gelding’s head. He buckled the leather straps with deft fingers and climbed onto the beast without a saddle. “Let’s go,” he said, digging in his heels as Black Jack took off.

Lightning sizzled above the hills.

Great. “Come on.”

The horse’s strides lengthened and they were through the open gate, flying over the bent grass and wildflowers mashed by the rain. Thunder rumbled ominously through the dark heavens.

He should never have let her go and he silently swore at himself as the wind pressed hard against his face and the downpour flattened his hair. There were too many things he shouldn’t have done to count them all.

He’d had no right to touch her. No reason other than lust to kiss her. No sane excuse for taking off her clothes and . . . “Oh, hell.” This wasn’t the time to think about how yielding she’d been, or how, out of some vague sense of duty he hadn’t, when offered the chance, made love to her.