The stallion lurched and swayed across the amber sweep of an autumn plain.0

A woman in white sat sidesaddle, sleeves and black hair whipping about like pennants in the wind. Every time those silky strands snapped backward they brushed the burly man behind her, tickling his chin.1

She nestled half-reclining against his chest. If the fellow had also been a lean, handsome swordsman in white, it would have looked picture-perfect. Sadly, he was built like a gorilla in homespun, she like a porcelain doll. The pairing was more beauty-and-the-beast than lover-and-beloved.1

Worse yet, their hearts were miles apart, separated by layer upon layer of half-truths. Worse still, neither of them suffered from rom-com brain. Sharing a horse would...2