Madeline Baker

On The Run ...
The stallion emerged from the swirling mist, sunlight dancing on its white coat, glinting like liquid silver in its flowing mane and tail. It was a spirit horse, Trey had been told, one that would always carry him away from danger. And if ever he'd needed such an animal, now was the time. With a bullet in his back and a posse on his trail, he wouldn't last long unless the words of his Apache grandfather came true.

From The Law
Amanda couldn't believe her eyes when the beautiful white stallion appeared in her corral with a wounded man on its back. Dark and ruggedly handsome, the stranger fascinated her. He had about him an aura of danger and desire that excited her as her law-abiding fiancé never could. But something didn't add up: Trey seemed bewildered by the amenities of modern life; he wanted nothing to do with the police; and he had a stack of 1863 bank notes in his saddlebags. Then one soul stirring kiss made it all clear. - Trey might have held up a bank and stolen through time but when he took her love, it would be no robbery, but a gift of the heart.

Prologue

The Apache warrior faced his enemies defiantly. Surrounded by the bodies of his slain comrades, he lifted his war lance high overhead, his death cry riding on the wings of the wind.

His enemies laughed and made rude gestures at him. The warrior would die this day. And tonight they would sing of the Apache’s death while they danced, his scalp and that of the other Apaches dangling from their scalp poles.

The Apache warrior watched them impassively as he chanted softly, his prayer for deliverance wending its way to the Great Spirit even as he set his face toward death. “Hear me, Usen, grant me courage that I may die well.”

A sudden stillness fell over the land.

The wind moaned through the tall prairie grass.

Curling fingers of thick gray mist rose up from the ground.

The Apache warrior fell silent. Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he saw a horse emerge from the gathering mist. The stallion’s hooves echoed like thunder, striking lightning from the earth as it galloped toward him. Sunlight danced over the stallion’s dazzling white coat, glinting like liquid silver in its flowing mane and tail. A thin black scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, adorned its right flank.

The warrior’s enemies fell back in superstitious awe as the ghost horse approached. The Apache warrior stood his ground, the eagle feathers in his hair fluttering in the rising wind.

The stallion slowed as it drew near, stopped to paw the ground.

Grasping the stallion’s mane, the warrior swung onto its back, and with a wild cry, he rode through the midst of his enemies, toward freedom, toward home.