Book Binge

Read an excerpt of Wanted by Vicki Lewis Thompson, available on June 1st by Harlequin Blaze.

____________

Present Day

Nick Chance was pissed. There was no logical reason to fence this rocky section of the Last Chance Ranch. It would make a lousy pasture and was too far from the barn to work as a corral.

But big brother Jack had decreed that it should be fenced "just in case" they'd need it someday. There went Nick's day off. Jack had discovered that Nick had no vet duties today, either at home or at any of the other ranches in the valley, so he'd handed Nick a posthole digger.

Nick had been tempted to suggest where Jack might shove his posthole digger, but going off on Jack wouldn't solve anything. The guy was harder on himself than he was on anyone else. The rollover that had killed their dad last fall wasn't Jack's fault, but nobody could tell him different.

So Nicholas Chance, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, was driving one of the battered ranch trucks instead of his primo medical rig, and he was digging postholes that didn't need digging. What the hell. He'd work on his tan. Climbing out of the truck, he took off his shirt and tossed it into the cab. Then he grabbed his worn leather gloves from the dashboard.

Before he lowered the tailgate and got serious about the project, he parked his butt on the fender and took a moment to appreciate the view of the Tetons. A raven gave him a flyby and what Nick interpreted as a caw of approval.

He couldn't stay mad in country like this. His gaze roamed over the soft gray-green of sage livened up with spring flowers, including two of his mom's favorites--pink wild geraniums and sunflowers. Rain had fallen the night before, swelling the creek that he could hear gurgling, although it was hidden by evergreens.

He caught a whiff of loamy earth and wet pine needles. The June sun was warm, but not warm enough to melt the snow still clinging to the jagged peaks. Nick never tired of looking at them.

A favorite memory surfaced, as it often did when he gazed at the mountains. Jack, leaning against the corral, had informed ten-year-old Nick and nine-year-old Gabe that the mountains were named by a French guy and Tetons was the French word for tits. Nick and Gabe had fallen over laughing, but Jack, a worldly fourteen, had predicted that someday they'd find the subject of tits fascinating instead of screamingly funny.

Nick smiled. As usual, Jack had been right, although Nick considered himself more of a leg man than a breast man. Gabe, on the other hand, liked his women generously endowed. Jack generally did, too, although since last fall he seemed to have lost all interest in anything frivolous, which apparently included dating.

Nick had plenty of interest in dating and didn't consider it the least bit frivolous. But he had no current girlfriend, and Jack's slave driver mentality didn't leave much time for developing a new relationship.

Nick sighed and levered himself away from the truck. Jack's mom had taken off when Jack was a toddler, so losing their dad had hit him extra hard. Nick and Gabe still had their mom. So did Jack, but despite all the love Sarah Chance had given him, he'd never forgotten he was her stepson.

The guy had issues, and Nick understood that, but things would have to change soon or Nick would be forced to take him on, even if Jack was officially in charge according to the terms of their dad's will. Jack might be top banana, but Nick, Gabe and their mother, Sarah, each owned a fourth interest in the ranch, which meant they had some leverage.

At least they'd all agreed not to sell the place despite the outrageous price the ranch would bring. With very little private land left near the Jackson region, the Last Chance was worth a fortune. But it was not for sale.

That had to be some comfort to the hands, who loved living and working on a privately owned spread. These days the Last Chance raised horses instead of cattle, but it was still a working ranch and that was a triumph in today's economy. Making ends meet could sometimes be a challenge.

Jack seemed to take that challenge a little too seriously, though. His idea of a workday had expanded until everyone was putting in twelve to fifteen hours. The hands were ready to mutiny and their foreman had dropped broad hints about quitting.

Gabe was the lucky one, Nick mused as he let down the tailgate and grabbed the posthole digger. Gabe's cutting-horse events gave him an excuse to leave for most of the summer. He was the best competitor of all of them, and by riding in those events he promoted the Last Chance horses and theoretically brought in buyers. He also didn't have to put up with Jack.

Pulling one of Jack's surveyor's stakes out of the ground, Nick tossed it in the back of the truck and jammed the posthole digger into the dirt.

By his tenth hole he'd dug up enough rocks to last him the rest of his life, and stacked them in a pile about three feet tall, his personal monument to stupidity. He was sweaty and bored. Like all the Chance men, he was perfectly capable of manual labor. But he'd spent years in school to become a large animal vet partly because he preferred a mental challenge to a physical one.

Planting the posthole digger in the ground, he took off his gloves and tucked them in his back pocket. Then he pulled a blue bandanna out of the other pocket, removed his straw cowboy hat and mopped his face. After replacing the bandanna and settling the sweat-stained hat on his head, he started counting the remaining surveyor's stakes to see how many holes he had left before he could be released from bondage.

That's when he saw her. She stood facing him, about twenty yards away on the dirt road he'd come in on. She slowly lowered her big-ass camera complete with telephoto lens, but he suspected she'd already taken at least one shot of him, if not more. He decided if she had the balls to take a picture of a perfect stranger without asking, he could give her the once-over without feeling like a male chauvinist pig.

She was on the tall side, at least five-eight. She'd dressed in fancy brown boots, a long tan skirt and a pale yellow, sleeveless blouse. Both the blouse and the skirt buttoned up the front. Apparently he was more sexually deprived than he'd realized because his first thought was easy access.

Technically her short, curly hair was brown, but that didn't really describe it. In the sun it seemed to be made up of a dozen shades ranging from milk chocolate to bronze. She was too far away for him to see the color of her eyes, but close enough for him to tell she was pretty, with high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose and full lips. Large gold hoops dangled from her earlobes.

She'd slung a brown leather backpack over one shoulder, and he expected her to put the camera and telephoto in it now that she'd been caught photographing the locals as if they were some form of exotic wildlife. But she surprised him. Curving her lips, she raised the camera again.

He couldn't resist. With a grin, he tightened his abs and flexed his biceps.

All her life Dominique Jeffries had been criticized for being too impulsive. But after a two-year stint as Herman's girlfriend, she'd learned to rein herself in. Now that she was no longer Herman's girlfriend, having been traded in for his boss's daughter, she wondered if she'd forgotten how to be impulsive.

At least she'd come this far. After being humiliated by her ex, she'd desperately needed to get away. She'd chosen the place she'd dreamed about all her life--the Wild West.

And yes, she'd considered the fact that she might find a wild cowboy here, too, someone who would soothe her damaged ego. Her trip to Wyoming was a test to see if the old Dominique was still in there, and whether she dared let her out to play.

This authentic cowboy would be a perfect way to discover if she still had what it took to be spontaneous. But not too spontaneous. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the portrait photography business she'd built in Indianapolis. Much as she hated to admit it, Herman had helped her become financially stable for the first time in her life, and having money in the bank felt good.

But she had another sort of good feeling in mind today, one that came from flirting with a hunky guy. Her newfound cowboy was already making her laugh with his muscle flexing routine. "Nice pose," she called out. "Care to show me the flip side?"

He turned, displaying buns to die for and back muscles like she hadn't seen in…well, in two years. Herman wasn't much for working out. She took a couple of shots, but she was here for more than the photography. A camera functioned as an excellent icebreaker.

Talk about overkill. Her shirtless cowboy was taking care of melting any ice that might be in the vicinity.

When she looked at him, she was surprised there was still snow on the mountains.

She couldn't believe she'd happened upon such a great specimen of rugged Western male on her first day. This guy was the anti-Herman. And that was really what she'd come here to find. After being a good girl for two years, which had gotten her…well…dumped, she longed to be a little bit wicked.

"Got what you needed?" he asked over his shoulder.

Not quite, but Rome wasn't built in a day. "Sure. Thanks."

He turned around. "I should be thanking you. You gave me a break from digging postholes."

"Glad to be of service." She unscrewed her lens from the camera and stowed everything carefully in her backpack before walking forward. "I'm here on vacation."

"No, really?"

She laughed. "I know. Hard to believe. I'm sure I look very Jackson Hole to you."

"Depends." His gaze lingered as he surveyed her outfit. "We get Hollywood types up here."

Being mistaken for a Hollywood type gave her a needed boost. Being ogled did, too. When she'd thought herself in love with Herman, she'd considered him frugal. Now she saw him as stingy, both with his money and his compliments.

This cowboy didn't seem like the stingy type. She loved the way he talked, slowly and deliberately, which she guessed came from living in the wide-open spaces.

His eyes, she discovered on closer inspection, were green.

"I'm not from Hollywood," she said. "I'm from… actually, never mind where I'm from. It doesn't matter. I'm on vacation from that place. No need to mention it."

"Where're you staying?"

She considered that a promising question, as if he might like to know how accessible she'd be while she was in the area. "Here."

"Ah. Overflow from the Bunk and Grub, I'll bet."

"That's right. Somebody ended up staying an extra week so Pam sent me down here."

"Happens all the time. I hope you're not too disappointed to find yourself on a ranch instead of a cozy B and B."

"Not at all. It's magnificent." And so are you. It was okay for him to ogle her, but she felt uncool ogling him. Yet she couldn't help it. His bare chest was a sight to behold--dusted with reddish-brown hair, muscled, and gleaming with sweat.

He nudged his hat back with his thumb. "Bet they put you in Roni's room."

"I'm not sure. Is she a NASCAR fan? There's lots of NASCAR stuff in there."

"She's a mechanic for one of the teams, only comes home for holidays."

Dominique hoped Roni wasn't his girlfriend. She hoped nobody was his girlfriend. "I'm glad her room is available." Are you? She peeked at his left hand, but lack of a ring meant little these days.

"First time in Wyoming?"

"Yes. I wanted to see something different."

"You mean like mountains and moose?" His green eyes sparkled with laughter.

"I suppose you think it's funny that I wanted to take your picture." She was close enough to catch his musky scent. She used to love sweaty sex. Herman had been an efficient lover, a competent lover, but he preferred air-conditioned bedrooms, so there hadn't been much sweat involved.

"Actually, I'm flattered. It's not often some good-looking woman points a camera at me for no good reason."

"I had a reason." She hadn't meant that to sound quite so husky and seductive. She cleared her throat. "What I meant was--"

"No, no, don't backtrack on me. I liked the implication of the first answer."

"Which was?"

"That you think I'm hot."

"Maybe." She found his swagger incredibly sexy.

His smile revealed even white teeth. "For the record, I think you're hot, too."

Now that was good to hear. With such white teeth, he must not chew tobacco. She'd thought about that as she'd fantasized a close encounter with a cowboy. A chaw of tobacco didn't figure into her fantasy. Eeuuww.

He stepped toward her, the first move he'd made in her direction. "So what are we going to do about our mutual hotness?"

Her breath caught. She'd started this interchange, but he'd just taken charge and issued a challenge. He probably expected her to turn tail and run.

She hadn't come all the way to Wyoming to run away at the first sign of adventure. She was bound and determined to rediscover her impulsive side. Her heart pounding, she stood her ground. "I'm not sure. Any suggestions?"

He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans so that his hands framed his crotch. "I can think of a way to handle it."

She could tell he still expected her to back down. Well, he was in for a surprise. Trying not to hyperventilate, she gazed into his green eyes. "So can I."

He stared at her. "You're not playing games, are you? "

"No." She swallowed and tried to breathe normally. "Are you? "

"I was a minute ago, but…damn, lady. Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Adrenaline poured through her system. "Look, the last month has been hell. My steady boyfriend dumped me when his boss's daughter proposed. I scheduled this vacation to get away, to be in a completely different environment, and I…" The adrenaline began to fade, leaving her shaky. "The thing is, we don't have cowboys in Indianapolis."

He studied her in silence.

Her words seemed to hang between them in an embarrassing display of misplaced chutzpah. She began to squirm. "Forget I said any of that. I'll be going now." She turned.

This book is available from Harlequin. You can buy it here or here in e-format.

When asked if I'd choose Team Vampire Lumberjack or Team Werewolf Bootlegger, I immediately chose Team Werewolf Bootlegger. I mean, come on, there's really no contest. A sexy bootlegger with a dark and dangerous secret - man by day, wolf by night (ok, so the man/wolf thing isn't only during the day or night, but it sounds cooler that way, so work with me here!) or a pale, reflection-less, emo creature who can only rise in the night, sucks blood and has an aversion to garlic (that last is important because I'm Italian..we live for garlic)?

Even the official definitions of each word make a Werewolf Bootlegger sound sexier...

boot·leg

 /ˈbutˌlɛg/ Show Spelled [boot-leg] Show IPA noun, verb,-legged, -leg·ging, adjective

- verb

4.

to deal in (liquor or other goods) unlawfully. 

were·wolf

 /ˈwɛərˌwʊlf, ˈwɪər-, ˈwɜr-/ Show Spelled[wair-woolf, weer-, wur-] Show IPA

–noun,plural-wolves  /-ˌwʊlvz/ Show Spelled[-woolvz] Show IPA.

(in folklore and superstition) a human being who has changed into a wolf, or is capable of assuming the form of a wolf, while retaining human intelligence.

lum·ber·jack

 /ˈlʌmbərˌdʒæk/ Show Spelled[luhm-ber-jak] Show IPA

–noun

Selling liquor illegally might not sound too sexy today, but if it was happening during the depression era and he's - sort of - reformed now, the idea takes on a whole other level of yum, right? Add in the "wolf" and  "human-intelligence" parts and..rawr. Especially when I start thinking about him in suspenders and a wide-brimmed hat. If he also happened to be kind, considerate, sensitive and willing to allow a woman to make her own choices, then fully support them, well then...I'm a fool for him.



Especially when you compare that to a reanimated corpse who sucks the blood of the unwitting sleepers of the world and there's no contest. Especially if all said blood-sucker does in his free time is cut down trees. That's not hot, man. Not hot at all.

But what if the Vampire Lumberjack in question isn't pale and afraid of daylight, reflection-less, emo or allergic to garlic? What if he's strong, sexy and likes pasta as much as I do? What if he doesn't just cut down trees, but then uses the wood to build the most amazing handmade furniture?


How do I choose then?

I'll tell you how..I don't. Instead I chose to be on Team Vampwere Bootjack. Er..maybe Team Werevamp Lumberlegger. Team Jackwolf Lumberboot?

(...)

I'm sensing a problem here. But I bet you get the idea.

That's right, I'm refusing to choose. I'm just going to sit right here in the middle, sandwiched between that sexy Vampire Lumberjack and the delicious Werewolf Bootlegger and boy is it good in the middle.

What about you? Care to choose? 

To find out more about each, check out Sanctuary Unbound (Samhain, June, 2010) and A Safe Harbor (Samhain, July, 2010)
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This post is a part of Moira Rogers' Creature Feature Kindle Throwdown Contest. By leaving a (meaningful) comment, you will be entered to win a Kindle from Amazon.com, or an alternate grand prize of $275 to spend at an online book retailer.  For a full list of rules and more ways to win, visit the contest page. Or check out the official blog post here.

Holly's review of Sanctuary Unbound (Red Rock Pass, Book 4) by Moira Rogers

New England is ideal for vampire Adam Dubois. His cozy home in the Great North Woods reminds him of a happier time when werewolves and witches were stuff of legends, and he was a simple lumberjack.


Hiding from past failures has worked for over eighty years, but a life debt owed to the Red Rock alpha has forced him to leave his retreat--and come face to face with a woman who challenges and tempts him on every level.


Hiding secrets is a lonely business, and Cindy Shepherd is lonely with a capital L. Red Rock isn't exactly crawling with available men, but her interest in the mystery-shrouded new vampire in town seems mutual. After all, it's only sex--there's no danger he'll dig deep enough to unleash the demons of her past.


Casual flirtation turns deadly serious when Adam discovers that the vampire plaguing Red Rock is using his mistakes as a road map. When it comes to his life, he knows Cindy has his back. But in order to secure the future, they both must trust each other with more--even if it means sacrificing themselves to save everything they hold dear.

I'm not a fan of vampires. I can't say there's one particular reason why, it's more of a collection of odd things here and there. I think for the most part I hate how stereotypical most of them are (I'll have to ponder that for a post at a later date). So I tend to avoid vampire stories. There are, as always, exceptions, but mostly if I see a novel featuring a vampire I skip right by it.

I have to be honest and say I probably would have skipped this one, too, if I hadn't read the one that comes before it and been intrigued by Adam. I'm adult enough to admit I would have missed out on a really great story if I'd done that.

Adam was strong and caring. For years he's been living in regret and shame, the things of his past eating away at him. He prefers the solitude of his isolated cabin the woods and though he's drawn to strong women, he tends to avoid strong attachments of any kind. To see him open himself up to Cindy was wonderful, especially since I knew the depth of his hurt from the past.

Cindy had dealt with her own pain and suffering. She was strong and capable, but soft enough to want someone to share her life with. She didn't necessarily offer her trust easily, but she wasn't closed to all relationships as she had every right to be. I liked that though she wanted to push Adam away, she didn't.

Cindy and Adam were fabulous together. I loved the way they balanced each other - the  Lumberjack Vampire and the Werewolf Doctor. Each had scars from things in their past, and each really helped the other overcome some of the lingering pain and grief. I especially liked that both were strong despite having suffered so much in the past. Neither of them need to be rescued, only healed.

I also liked that the overall story arc of the series is moving forward. Sam and Gavin are starting to let go and Keith and Abby are stepping up. As much as I love Sam and Gavin, it isn't realistic that they'd hang on forever. I'm glad Rogers recognizes that.  While I think this can be read as a stand-alone, there are references to things that have happened in the past, most recently in Sanctuary's Price, so you may want to read that one first.

4.25 out of 5

The Series:

 

This book is available from Samhain. You can buy it here or here in e-format.

Times are a changin' for me because there used to be a time when Holly would pimp these books on me and then I'd look them up online, see the covers and say, "Sure, sure, sounds good Holly" but she would know, just as I would know, that I wasn't going to touch the book, let alone buy the book because the covers are... how should I say this....not cute.

Holly has slaved over trying to get me to read a Harlequin, not for weeks, not for months...but for years and it was just a habit of mine to breeze right over her gushing about this book and that book and this author and that author. I just wasn't interested, I could not buy a book that I did not like the cover on. All of my favorite authors have been blessed with great looking covers so I didn't blink about buying and reading their books. My whole theory was there are so many good books out there with pretty covers that I didn't have to use my money for ugly books.

I know, snob, right?

I shudder at how snobbish I was.

But, I stand (or actually I sit) before you right now a changed woman.

I, Rowena of Book Binge, have finally read my first Harlequin Presents book and I liked it a lot.

And that's not all, I have a whole grip of HP's that I will be reading...and because I know she's not going to shut up until I do, I have to give credit where credit is due. I'd like to publicly thank Holly for never giving up on me. I'd like to thank her for showing me that you really can't judge a book by it's cover because there are treasures hidden behind some of the covers I've turned away and I know better now.

I won't be making the snobbish mistake I made before. I know what I'm missing out on now and I won't ever turn away these little gems, the HP's that I've read have been pretty great so far so ...I'm excited for more.

Let me ask you. Are you a cover snob? Do you need me to sic Holly on you to make you change your ways? haha...what was your first HP and what HP book made you love this line of books?

Rosie's review of Open Country (Blood Rose Trilogy, Book 2) by Kaki Warner

How do you forgive a brother's betrayal? How far do you go to protect the family you love? Hank and Molly find out in OPEN COUNTRY, Book II of the 1870s family saga, the Blood Rose Trilogy.

Molly McFarlane is as desperate as a woman can get. Forced to flee with her late sister's children, she must provide for her wards while outrunning the relentless tracker the children's vicious stepfather has set on their trail. Out of money and with no other options, she marries a man badly injured in a train derailment, assuming when he dies, the railroad settlement will provide the money they need to keep moving West.

But there is one small problem. The man doesn't die.

Hank Wilkins doesn't recall the accident he barely survived-and he certainly doesn't remember marrying Molly. But as he slowly recovers at the Wilkins ranch in New Mexico Territory, the idea of a real marriage takes hold...until his memory returns, and that fragile trust is shattered, and the tracker follows Molly to the ranch. Then things really start to unravel. 

As anyone who read the first of Ms. Warner’s Blood Trilogy, PIECES OF SKY, knows, the Blood Rose trilogy follows the lives, loves and struggles of three brothers and the ranch they’ve worked and struggled to see successful.

In this the second installment, we have middle brother Hank Wilkins and Molly McFarlane’s story.

Molly idolized her father who was something of a medical legend. Molly follows him faithfully for years in his practice assisting him even when she can barely tolerate to witness the human suffering she’s exposed to day after day. Blithely assuming her compliance her father brings Molly with him to treat the wounded of the Civil War, a circumstance that has left her bereft and devastated, doubly so after her father’s death. Not knowing what else to do Molly continues nursing until she receives word that her sister is ill.

After a hasty second marriage in a valiant attempt to secure their future, her sister realizes her husband is not the man she thought him to be. Arriving at her sister’s death bed, Molly agrees to take her sisters two children and flee.

With some vague idea to go to San Francisco, Molly and the children are involved in a horrible train wreck that has Molly claiming to be the unconscious Hank Wilkins fiancée. Realizing the gravity of Hank’s injuries and learning of the railroad’s decision to pay an insurance installment to the wives of the men injured or killed in the railroad accident, desperate for the money to help her escape her dangerous and cruel brother-in-law, Molly marries the injured and unconscious Hank.

And that’s just the beginning of the story…

The characters are fairly well drawn which is very important in a trilogy. There is a very strong ensemble cast of characters. Characters from the first book reappear in OPEN COUNTRY. I’m always sensitive about people and dialogue being interchangeable. Hank and Brady, the oldest of the brothers from the first book, are clearly drawn as are the women they choose. I very much enjoyed the continuity of the story and its connectedness to the first one. OPEN COUNTRY stands well on its own.

There was some unevenness in the plot and at times I felt it was stretched a bit thin. While Ms. Warner favors have strong women, an idea I’m not at all opposed to, I was very disappointed in her succumbing to the temptation and leading Molly to a TSTL moment. It just made no sense to me. I’d have given this book a 4.5 rating until then.

Even so, this could not destroy my enjoyment of the reading experience of this book. The vivid descriptions of the ranch in New Mexico are wonderful as are many other elements of the story. I hesitate to say this is an endearing story because I don’t particularly like to see that word in a review, but the story certainly has those elements. It is definitely a story with passion, but it is the measured and enduring sort.

I’m enjoying the trilogy and I think most lovers of westerns will. I’m looking forward to the third installment, Jack Wilkins story, CHASING THE SUN due out January 2011.

My grade = 4 out of 5

The series:

Chasing the Sun


Read more from Rose at Nobody Asked Me

This book is available from Berkley. You can buy it here or here in e-format.

Read an excerpt of Blackwolf's Redemption by Sandra Marton, available now from Harlequin Presents.

Blackwolf Canyon, Montana, 5:34 a.m., one hour before the summer solstice, June 21, 2010

The moon had set almost five hours ago. Still, night clung tenaciously to the land.

The high, rocky walls of the canyon seemed determined to hold to the chill of darkness; a razor-sharp wind swept down from the surrounding peaks and whipped through the scrub, its eerie sigh all that disturbed the silence.

Sienna Cummings shivered.

There was a wildness to this place, but in these last moments before the dawn light pierced the bottom of the canyon, she could almost sense the land's ancient, often bloody history.

A heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Here," Jack Burden said, "let me warm you up."

Sienna forced a smile and stepped free of the expedition leader's embrace.

"I'm fine," she said politely. "Just excited. About the solstice," she added quickly, before Burden could pull his usual trick of turning whatever she said into a suggestive remark.

No such luck.

"I'm excited, too," he said, managing to do it, anyway. "Lucky me. Alone with you, in the dark."

They were hardly alone. There were four others with them: two graduate students, an associate professor from the Anthropology Department and a girl Burden had described as his secretary. From the way she looked at him, Sienna doubted if that was her real job, but that was fine with her; for the most part, it kept her obnoxious boss from sniffing after her.

Except at certain moments.

Like right now.

Never mind that they were about to view something remarkable. That soon, the sun's light would be visible between the huge slabs of rock a third of the way up Black-wolf Mountain. That a shaft of that light would stream down and illuminate a circle some holy man had inscribed on a sacred stone thousands of years ago. Never mind that this would be the first summer solstice in decades that outsiders had been allowed in the canyon at all, or that everything here was about to change because the land was about to be sold to a developer.

All Jack Burden could think of was seducing her.

Yes, there were laws against sexual harassment. All she had to do was file a complaint with the university—and then live with the knowledge that her career would stall. It was the twenty-first century, women were the legal equals of men….

But in some of the ways that counted most, nothing had changed.

Some men still thought it was their right to take what they wanted, especially when it came to women.

"It's almost time," one of the grad students said breathlessly.

Sienna drew her thoughts together and focused on the jagged peak ahead of them. Half an hour, was more like it, but the waiting was part of the experience. She'd been on lots of ancient sites; she'd seen the summer sun rise at Chaco Canyon, traced the glyphs on the great temple at Chichén Itzá. One magical night, she'd been permitted to walk among the monoliths at Stonehenge.

And yet, there was something special about this place.

She could feel it. In her bones. In her heart. She would never say such a thing to anyone—she was a scientist, and science scoffed at what people claimed to feel in their bones. Still, there was something special here. About this night. About being here.

She must have made a little sound. A whisper. An indrawn breath, because Jack Burden leaned toward her.

"Aren't you glad I brought you with me?" he said.

He made it sound like a gift, but it wasn't. Sienna was months away from her doctorate; she had studied Blackwolf Canyon for two years. She had earned her place on this expedition. She knew everything about the canyon, from the ancients who had settled it, to the Comanche and Sioux warriors who had fought for it, to its mysterious last-known owner, Jesse Blackwolf, though what had become of him was uncertain.

He, too, had been a warrior. He'd fought in Vietnam a decade before she was born, returned home in what should have been triumph—and virtually disappeared.

She'd tried to find out what had become of him, telling herself it had to do with her studies, her thesis, but it wasn't true. The man had captured her imagination. Ridiculous, of course. Cultural anthropologists studied cultures, not individuals. But there was something about Jesse Blackwolf….

"Here it comes," one of the grad students yelled. "Just another couple of minutes!"

Sienna nodded, wrapped her arms around herself and waited.

Blackwolf Canyon, Montana, 5:34 a.m., one hour before the summer solstice, June 22, 1975

Jesse Blackwolf s horse shifted impatiently beneath him.

"Soon," Jesse said softly, stroking a calloused hand along the animal's satiny neck.

Eyes narrowed, Jesse looked at the jagged peak ahead of him.

Half an hour, and he could ride out of this place and never look back.

His ancestors had come here to celebrate their gods. He had come to say goodbye to them. There was no room in his life for nonsense.

He hadn't planned on this final visit. What for? A summer solstice was a summer solstice. The earth reached the top of its northernmost tilt and that was that.

His ancestors had figured it out and they'd venerated the process. They'd made a big thing out of these final minutes that marked the start of the longest stretch of daylight in the year.

Not him.

It wasn't belief in superstition that had brought Jesse here. On the contrary. It was disbelief. Looking at this foolishness as it happened seemed vital. He'd accepted it as a boy but he was a long way from boyhood. He was a man, older and wiser than the first time he'd ridden out to view the solstice.

The big gray stallion snorted softly. Jesse's hard, chiseled mouth turned up in what might almost have been a smile.

"Okay," he said, "maybe you're right. Older? Absolutely. Wiser? Who knows."

The horse snorted again and tossed his massive head as if to say, What are we doing out here when we both should be sleeping? Jesse couldn't fault the animal for that. Trouble was that an hour ago, he'd awakened from a fitful sleep, taken Cloud from the warmth of his stall, slipped a bridle over his head and obeyed the sudden impulse to ride out to the canyon and watch the sunrise.

Damn it, Jesse told himself coldly, be honest!

He was here by plan, by design, by the need to sever, once and for all, whatever ties remained between him and the old ways.

Impulse had nothing to do with it.

He'd known that the solstice was coming. You didn't have to be part Comanche and Sioux for that. His mother's Anglo blood was more than sufficient. So were the three wasted years he'd spent at university. The sun reached a certain declination, a certain height and angle in the sky, and twice a year, you had a solstice.

Solstices were real.

It was the god myths that were bull.

The stuff about the renewal of the earth, of the spirit. The nonsense about what it meant to a warrior to be on this very spot at the moment the sun rose behind the jagged peaks of Blackwolf Mountain, shone its light between the two enormous stony slabs on the rocky shelf some forty feet above the ground, then centered on the spiral the Old Ones had etched into the horizontal stone between them.

The idiocy about how viewing this particular rising sun could change a man's life forever.

Jesse gave a bitter laugh.

His father had believed in all of it, as had his grandfather, his great-grandfather and, most probably, every Blackwolf warrior whose DNA he'd inherited.

For most of his thirty years, he'd believed in it, too. Not all of it—a twentieth-century man with the better part of a university degree under his belt wasn't about to buy into mythology.

What he had believed in was respecting the old ways. Respecting the continuity of tradition. And, yes, he'd even believed in honoring, if only a little, events like the solstices.

What harm could there be, even if a man knew the scientific reasons for why such things occurred?

His father had brought him to this place when he was twelve.

"Soon the sun will rise," he had said, "and the light of time past and time yet to come will fall on the sacred circle. The vows a man takes at the summer solstice will determine his true path forever. Are you ready to make a vow, my son?"

At that age, Jesse's head and heart had brimmed with stories of his warrior ancestors. His father had told those tales to him all his life; his mother—born in the East, to parents who had never met an Indian until they met their new son-in-law—had read them to him from the children's books she wrote and illustrated.

And so, of course, Jesse had been ready.

As soon as the sun began its slow rise into the heavens, he'd tilted his face to its light, arms outstretched, hands open and cupped to receive its gift of brilliance and warmth, and he'd offered himself, everything he was, to the spirit of the warriors who had gone before him.

His father had smiled with pride. His mother, told of his vow when he and his father rode home, had hugged him. Even as he grew older and slowly began to understand that the old stories were just stories and nothing more, he'd been glad he'd made the vow, glad his father had included him in this ancient tradition.

But by the time Jesse was in college, everything seemed changed. There was a war taking place in a distant land. Boys he'd grown up with were dying in it. He would not be drafted; college kids were not going to be put in harm's way.

It seemed wrong. He was descended from warriors. What was he doing, hiding away in stuffy classrooms at a university where some had taken to ridiculing everything he believed?

At twenty, Jesse knew it was time to honor the vow he'd made when he was twelve.

He left college. Enlisted in the army. His father had been proud of him. His mother had wept. He went through basic training, was plucked from the others and offered the chance to become part of an elite group called Special Forces. He served with honorable men in what he thought was an honorable cause….

And watched everything he'd believed in turn to dust.

Cloud whinnied and pawed the ground. Jesse blinked, brought his thoughts back where they belonged, to this place where it had all begun, his descent into a way of life that had deceived him.

The solstice was starting.

The sky had taken on that faint purple light that marks the end of night as the sunlight began to fall on the mountain. Light filled the narrow space between the two great slabs of rocks placed there by his ancestors thousands of years ago.

The sun rose higher.

Jesse drew a deep breath.

The last time he'd sat a horse in this place, he'd been filled with childish idealism. Not anymore. He was a man, with a man's knowledge of the world. He had lost everything: his father to cancer, his mother to despair only months later, his own honor to a war that had been a sham.

So, yes. He would make another vow here as the sun rose. He would vow to rid the world of superstition. He would sell the canyon, sell his thousands of acres, and if some ambitious snake-oil salesman decided to charge admission to view the solstice or the equinox or the moon-rise, let him.

He had already put a stop to the age-old tradition of permitting his people to ride here to view what they considered a sacred rite. Men—boys, especially—should not be taught to put their faith in things that could someday make a mockery of their beliefs.

This was a place of lies and ignorance. It was time to put a stop to it.

The sale papers were already on his desk. He would sign them, courier them to his attorney, and all this nonsense would be—

Cloud whinnied. Jesse looked straight ahead at the beam of bright sunlight beginning to slip between the two slabs of stone.

He drew an unsteady breath. His pulse was racing; he felt light-headed. Damn it, superstition could be a powerful—

What in hell was that?

He'd expected the shaft of light to fall on the so-called sacred stone. One thing about science: once you understood it, you could count on it to perform the necessary parlor tricks.

But what was that other light? That sudden green zigzag overhead?

There it was again. An electric bolt of color that shattered the sky.

His horse danced backward, shying with fear. Jesse grasped the reins in his right hand more tightly, murmured words of assurance to the horse.

To himself.

Lightning, in a clear dawn sky? Lightning without thunder? Lightning the color of emeralds? The weather could be unpredictable here. This was northern Montana, after all, a place of mountains and valleys and…

"Damn!"

Another streak of lightning sizzled through the sky behind the jagged peak. The sun vanished; darkness covered the land. Cloud rose on his hind legs and pawed the air, crying out with fear. Jesse fought to calm the agitated animal.

The sky lit again. Green lightning flashed between the stone slabs and pulsed at the heart of the sacred circle.

The stallion went crazy, screaming, trying to throw Jesse to the ground.

The breath caught in Jessie's throat.

The lightning had stopped.

The darkness vanished.

The sun appeared, a bright yellow ball against a clear blue sky.

It lit the canyon, the peaks, the tenacious shrubs and lodge-pole pines that clung to the inhospitable slope before him, but Jesse had eyes for only one thing.

A figure. A human figure that lay, still as death, in the very center of the sacred stone.

The climb to the ledge was as tricky and dangerous as Jesse remembered, more like sixty feet instead of forty because of all the maneuvering necessary to find the right hand and footholds, and the rush of adrenaline pumping through him didn't help. He could feel his muscles tensing.

Jesse stopped, counted to ten, took half a dozen deep breaths as the sweat poured off his tanned skin. If he fell, then there'd be two of them for the vultures to pick over.

Two of what? his brain said. Had he actually seen somebody up there?

Hell. There was no time for that. He had to keep moving.

The ledge was right above him now. This was the trickiest part; he'd have to lean back with nothing behind him but air to get a decent handhold. Wouldn't it be a bitch if he'd gone through all this nonsense and the thing lying on the stone wasn't human at all? There was lots of wildlife here. Elk, deer, but neither of those could have scrambled up this high. A wolf? No, again. A bear, maybe. Or a mountain lion.

He might have made this climb just for a look at the carcass of a dead animal. Or an injured one. Hunters might have ignored his No Trespassing signs. Nobody from around here. They knew better. But an outsider…

This book is available from Harlequin. You can buy it here or here in e-format.

Holly: I can't believe how fast this month has flown by. It's almost summer already! I'm still in a slump. I read a couple books last week, but I'm not reading as much as I normally do. Yesterday I finally finished 10 Things I Love About You by Julia Quinn. It was really cute and I enjoyed it, but it isn't her best novel.

Last night I started When Marrying A Scoundrel by Kathryn Smith. I'm about halfway through and so far it's really good. I really like the "married couple reunites" trope and Smith is doing a credible job of it here. If I hadn't been so wiped out last night I would have stayed up to read it. As it happens, I plan to finish it today.

Rowena: I'm happy to say that I think I'm finally out of my reading slump because I've been on a little reading spree. This week I've read a total of 6 books which included, My Soul to Save and My Soul to Lose (short story) by Rachel Vincent, Kiss Me if You Can by Carly Phillips, The Boys Next Door and Endless Summer by Jennifer Echols and I just finished Christie Ridgway's Crush on You. That last book annoyed the snot out of me and you'll read why in my review which will be posted soon. Right now, I'm getting ready to start or well, actually finish Perfect Chemistry by Simone Elekeles. So yeah, that's what I've been reading this week. I'm going to go ahead and head back to it. Keep this reading frenzy going. Happy Reading!

Casee: I just finished Married by Morning by Lisa Kleypas. I really enjoyed it and can't wait for Beatrix's book. I think I'm going to stick with historicals for now. Either Meredith Duran or Celeste Bradley. I can't decide.  Lisa Kleypas always puts me in the mood for historicals, but nothing I read is quite as good.  This is only the second book I've read in a week.  Pathetic!