Telling herself that she’d get over the creep, she urged Lucifer to the crest near the edge of the ridge. From that vantage point she could see for miles, over the tops of the surrounding hills, past wineries and ranches and toward the town of Bittersweet.

Lucifer was spooked and blowing hard; the storm was getting to him. She’d only stay for a few minutes, then double back. By then she wouldn’t have to face Mason again. At that thought her heart wrenched and she silently called herself a dozen kinds of fool.

She’d get over him. She had to. When she got back to Seattle—

A sizzling streak of lightning forked from the sky, singeing the air.

Lucifer reared.

“Whoa—” Bliss slipped in the saddle.

Thunder cracked, reverberating through the hills.

“It’s okay—”

With a panicked shriek, Lucifer stumbled.

Bliss, already unbalanced, tumbled forward. “Hey, wait—” The reins slipped from her fingers. “Damn.”

Crack! Thunder crashed, snapping through the forest and reverberating against the outcropping of stone.

Lucifer shied.

The saddle seemed to shift.

She started to fall, grabbed for the pommel and missed. The rain-washed world spun crazily. She scrabbled for the reins. “Whoa—oh, God.”

With a wild, terrified whinny, the horse stumbled again. Bliss pitched forward. Wet strands of his mane slid through her fingers.

“Stop! Please—Lucifer!” The ground rushed up at her.

Thud! Pain shot through her shoulder, jarring her bones. Her head smacked against the ground. Lights exploded behind her eyes. Her boot, still caught in the stirrup, twisted, wrenching her leg.

A shaft of lightning struck, sizzling and sparking. Crack! An old oak tree split down the middle. Fire and sparks spit upward to the heavens.

Half the tree fell. The ground shook. Bliss screamed as she tried to free herself from the horse and saddle. Lucifer, spooked, bolted.

“No—no—oh, God!” she cried. Frantically she struggled to wiggle out of the boot or yank it from the stirrup as the frightened horse dragged her along the trail near the edge of the ravine.

Hot, blinding pain seared up her leg as she tried to grab at something, anything that she could find with fingers that were bleeding and torn. Still the horse ran forward, bolting at a fever pitch along the jagged edge of canyon that dropped hundreds of feet to the riverbed below.

“Stop! Lucifer, for God’s sake . . .”

A blast—a loud, eerie whistle—pierced the sodden air just as some of the rocks beneath them gave way. Through horrified eyes she saw the river, winding silvery and snake-like what seemed a million miles below.

For a second, day turned to night. Another piercing blare of the whistle. Lucifer shuddered to a stop. Bliss’s head slid over the edge of the canyon. Hair fell in front of her eyes. She was going to die.

She blinked, rolled over and clutched the rimrocks. Through a heavy curtain of raw pain she saw the vision of a rain-soaked cowboy atop a black stallion. Mason’s face, white with fear, came into view.