Amanda drew in a deep breath and blurted, "I know you think I'm odd-"

"To say the least," he muttered dryly. "But don't think you have to explain."

"I'm not a spy."

He stood up, raking a hand through his hair as he stared down at her upturned face. She looked so earnest, so- pleading, that he found himself wanting to believe her. 'All right. You're not a spy. I believe you."

"Do you?" Amanda stood up, brushing down the rumpled skirts of her gown, staring at him anxiously. "I want to help. I truly do."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you? Then you'll agree to show me how you got out of Memphis?"

"Oh, Lord-all right. If that's what it takes to convince you. But you won't be impressed. I keep telling you, I was just lucky."

"Maybe your luck will hold."

"I don't know," she muttered. "It hasn't been so great lately."

Unable to resist, Jesse reached out to curl a finger under her chin and lift her face to his. He heard her draw in a Jeep breath. As if drawn by invisible threads, he kissed her. half amazed at the strong desire to do so, and half dismayed that she didn't stop him. Instead she leaned into him, closing her eyes and breathing a soft sigh as if she had known he always meant to kiss her. It was a heady, magical moment, and he was reluctant to break the spell.

Summoning a strength he didn't know he had, he pulled away slightly and stared down at her. Her cheeks were flushed with more than summer heat, and her lashes were half lowered and languorous, her eyes a dreamy green. Dragging his thumb over the slightly swollen contour of her lower lip, he murmured, "I have a feeling your luck is about to change, Miss Brandon."

Lifting her hand, she curled her fingers around his wrist and held tightly, whispering, "I hope you're right."

Balanced atop her mount and moving along a narrow dirt path the following morning, Amanda wondered how on earth she was going to get them past sentries when she had no idea where they were. And why on earth had she even agreed to this ridiculous scheme? It was a harebrained notion that only a desperate man-or woman-would concoct. If not for the fact that Jesse had mentioned the possibility of meeting up with Jamie and Michael along the way, she would have changed her mind despite his electric blue eyes and devastating kiss.

"Careful," Jesse cautioned, and she jerked her attention back to her surroundings, pulling a shawl more closely over her head even though the early morning sun was already beating down with a vengeance. Heat shimmered up from the hard-packed dirt ruts of the main street of town. Holly Springs looked nothing like she knew it-no library, no familiar country café across from the courthouse, just brick buildings far apart and recently burned. She breathed a sigh of relief when they passed through the town without incident and were once more in the shaded, cooler environs of the woods.

Turning to look back at her, Jesse grinned. "Now all we have to worry about are Yankee patrols."

And that was another problem-Jesse. The mystery man of her dreams finally had a name. And a completely different personality than she had once envisioned.

Instead of being the strong, silent type, the Jesse of reality had a more forceful nature. And he was so distrustful. If she thought about it, she could hardly blame him for wondering about her. She could only imagine what he must be thinking, in light of the remarks she had been making and the unfamiliar references in her speech.

Smothering the sudden impulse to burst into laughter, Amanda studied Jesse's back. He rode just ahead of her, clad in the rough cotton shirt and tan butternut trousers of a backwoods farmer. He carried a heavy pistol stuck into his belt, an uncomfortable reminder of possible danger. Instead of horses, they rode mules, as more befitting farmers than soldiers. Or spies. She shuddered. If she remembered correctly, spies were usually hung if they were caught. Did that stricture apply to females as well? She wished she'd paid better attention to her local history.

Afternoon shadows deepened as they rode along the track Jesse apparently knew well. Hazy sunlight filtered through tree limbs. It was hot, but grew cooler the deeper they rode into the woods. Jesse said little to her, other than a few directions or a warning of low-hanging limbs, leaving Amanda alone with her tortured thoughts. Was it possible that a lifetime of dreaming and wishing had somehow engineered this phenomenon? If dreaming about a man could transport her to the past, perhaps so. In retrospect, she'd come to the conclusion that she'd somehow started this incredible journey by a combined desperation to save the house, a wish that she could change history, and a decision to put on a wedding dress that had been lost for a hundred and thirty years.

Jesse suddenly jerked his mule to a halt and hissed a command for Amanda to be still, startling her. She swallowed the urge to demand an explanation. Dark shadows stretched in the deep woods on each side of the road. Motionless in the shrouded silence surrounding them, she strained to hear what had made Jesse come to such an abrupt stop. It took several moments, but then she heard it, too-the unmistakable sounds of horses and men.

Silently, Jesse gestured for her to dismount, and Amanda did so with shaking hands. She held tight to her mule, putting a hand over its muzzle as she saw Jesse do to his, and followed him from the road into the woods. Sunlight wavered, revealing little more than hazy shadows. Hiding behind her mule in a thicket, Amanda was waiting nervously for something dreadful to happen when she saw Jesse draw his pistol and stand behind a tree.

Closing her eyes, she shivered with apprehension. When a hand fastened on her arm, she gasped, eyes jerking open. Jesse put a hand over her mouth.

"Hush. A Yankee patrol," he said with his lips against her ear. "Stay still and keep your mule quiet."

Nodding wordlessly, Amanda tried to still her wildly thumping heart. This was insane. What was she doing out here? Would she end up dead long before she'd ever been born? Did it work that way?

As the patrol drew close, Jesse seemed to sense her growing panic. He took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. She held tightly, as if he were the only link to safety and sanity. Leaves crunched underfoot, and occasionally a small twig or fallen branch would snap as the patrol passed by close enough for her to see individual features on the men. Though garbed in blue uniforms and carrying weapons, the majority looked to her like boys instead of the hardened soldiers she'd always envisioned.

Recent rains had soaked the earth, and in the deep woods the sun had not yet dried the roads, leaving them quagmires that sucked at wagon wheels, men, and beasts. It seemed to take forever for the patrol to pass by, and Amanda fretted that at any moment, they would be discovered.

When at last the Yankees had gone and only the echoes of tramping feet and rattling wagons could be heard in the distance, she breathed easier. "I thought one of them looked directly at me once," she murmured. "I just knew we were goners."

Realizing mat Jesse was still holding her hand, she turned to look at him. He regarded her with a strange intensity as he released her hand.

"You could have called out, you know," he said softly.

"Why would I do that?"

He shrugged and said, "The Yankees would love to get their hands on me. They've been chasing me for two years now, ever since Memphis fell. There's a price on my head."

"I told you-I'm not a Northern spy. I have no intention of betraying you."

Jesse studied her for another moment, then looked away and said, “Not even if I tell you that the Federals call me the Hawk?"