"Really. Then I'm in famous company, I see. Should I be impressed?"

A faint smile tucked in one corner of his mouth, and the suggestion of a dimple creased his cheek. "You should be. Are you?"

"Very. I can truly say I've never before met one of Forrest's raiders."

"Rangers," he corrected with a grin. "And I hate to disappoint you, but I'm a free agent for the South. I work for whoever needs me most. Of course, since I'm pretty familiar with Memphis and northern Mississippi, I'm most effective here. When Forrest conducts his campaigns in Georgia and Alabama, I give whatever services I can to the next Confederate commander in this area."

"Ah. A man of versatility, then."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she could feel a subtle change in the way he turned to look at her. “I can be very versatile," he murmured.

Amanda caught her breath. The rush of fear she'd felt when danger was near didn't compare with the sparks that vibrated between them now. She didn't quite understand it, but there was electricity in the air, almost as if a bolt of summer lightning had struck nearby. Never before had she felt this way, not even with her late husband. There had been none of the tension, the feeling as if she were a delicate instrument strung too tightly-the feeling that if she didn't somehow gain release, she would explode.

"Jesse," she said tentatively, her voice a whisper, "I can't explain what's happening to me anymore. Everything is so-so strange."

Filtered sunlight flickered through tree limbs to cast shadows on his face as he studied her for a long moment. "Strange?" he repeated. "Or just different?"

"Different, I suppose. No-strange as well. Oh, not just you. It's more than that."

"I don't suppose you could explain that a little bit better," he muttered, but the cynicism she'd half expected was absent from his tone.

"I wish I could. If I told you what has really happened to me, you'd be shocked. You wouldn't believe it. I'm not sure I do."

Reaching out, he curled his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face so that he could look into her eyes. "There are times things happen to people through no fault of their own. I would never condemn someone for what they did not do of their own free will."

Realizing that he thought she meant something else, Amanda opened her mouth to explain, but Jesse leaned forward and kissed her. Her instant reaction to the kiss took her so by surprise, she could not think. His lips were warm and firm on hers, and she couldn't help the surge of response that made her lift her arms and put them around his neck.

Before she quite knew what was happening, she found herself clinging to him in a passionate embrace that left her breathless and aching. Jesse kissed her mouth, then the line of her jaw up to her ear, bunching her hair in his fist to hold it, his breath heated against her skin. Amanda shivered and clung to him as if drowning.

It was like drowning. The tides of overwhelming reaction left her floundering, and she was helpless to do more than curve her hands over his shoulders and hold on when he trailed kisses down the arch of her throat. He was holding her up with one arm behind her back while his other hand tunneled into her hair to hold her head. The neat coils of hair she'd put atop her head that morning loosened, tumbling around her shoulders in a disorderly mass.

"This is crazy," he muttered, lips moving against the pulse at the base of her throat. His arm tightened behind her, pulling her hard against him. "We're likely to be shot if we don't pay better attention to what's going on around us."

Through a foggy haze, Amanda heard herself say, "Yes. You're right."

But neither of them relinquished the other. Her fingers were tangled in the material of his shirt, caressing his muscled back. Heat and humidity only added to the inferno that raged inside her, and she wondered vaguely if she'd truly lost her mind. This was even more unbelievable than finding herself in another century.

When Jesse finally pulled away, his chest was rising and falling rapidly and there was a pinched look on his face. "It will be dark soon," he said thickly. "I know a place where we can camp for the night."

It was crazy and she knew it, but her entire world had careened out of control. Amanda shivered. Sexual tension only added to the physical strain of hours of unaccustomed riding. It felt as if every muscle in her body were protesting, and all her internal organs were in revolt. She briefly closed her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Amanda glanced up to find Jesse's night-blue eyes resting on her. She managed a smile. "I'm fine. I can keep up."

"I've no doubt of that," he replied in a murmur. "You seem to be full of surprises."

"I'm not nearly as fragile as you may think. I take all the proper vitamins, read all the right magazines-never mind. I'm fine."

Giving her a half smile, Jesse turned his attention to the narrow road a short distance ahead. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone, standing still and silent in the shadow of a huge elm. Finally he motioned for her to remount and follow him. Wagon ruts were the only indication that it was some sort of road, and Amanda could barely see them in places. Apparently, Jesse knew exactly where he was and where he was going. She only wished she did.

Chapter Seven

Night was closing in around them, and Amanda had no idea how far they had gone. Jesse seemed to be taking a circuitous route, weaving in and out of thickets, back onto the road, and then into the woods again. None of which added up to a feeling of security. Or did it? Odd, but she felt safe with him despite the gravity of their mission. Even when she'd seen the Yankees, she'd not felt as threatened as she should have. As a child she'd sensed strength and promise in the handsome man in the photograph. That impression of the man in her dreams was not lessened by the reality of him. Jesse Jordan exuded a strong sensuality and strength of will that could never have been totally captured by mere photographic equipment or even imagination.

"This is where we'll camp for the night," Jesse said finally, dragging his mule to a halt in a small thicket surrounded by well-laden blackberry bushes. He dismounted with an agile leap, apparently suffering no ill effects from their daylong ride.

Amanda dismounted stiffly, silently cursing the uncomfortable, restrictive clothing she was forced to wear. Of all the things in the twentieth century she missed, shorts and trousers were at the top of the list. How had women ever managed to get around in long skirts and these wretched undergarments? The pantalets went to her knees, and Deborah had been so horrified when she'd suggested cutting them off she'd quickly said she was only teasing. Now here she was in the middle of the woods in hot summer weather wearing enough layers of clothing to smother her mule.

Jesse eyed her with a lifted brow, apparently misreading her discontent. "I know this isn't exactly the Gayoso House, but it'll do."

"Gayoso House? Oh, I remember. It's the nineteenth-century equivalent of The Peabody."

As he reached for her reins, Jesse gave her a speculative glance from beneath the thick bristle of his lashes. "I never heard of the Peabody. Is that a Memphis hotel?"

"It will be the South's finest one day," she replied with an amused smile. "Don't look so worried. That's just a prediction."

Resting one arm across the saddle, Jesse studied her in the late light. His face was dark and shadowed, highlighted only by a hazy glow from the setting sun. "A prediction," he repeated slowly. "Are you saying that you can predict the future?"

"Let's just say that there are certain things I may be able to predict correctly. And I don't need a crystal ball or pack of cards." She stretched her arms to ease cramped muscles, well aware of his intent gaze. How much should she say and how much should she let him discover for himself? He probably wouldn't believe her if she said the Southern cause was doomed, and might even consider her a traitor. No, best to allow him to think whatever he wished.