The spring of her fifth year of incarceration arrived, and with it came an unexpected visit from her family. They appeared in the lounge in an obvious state of nervousness. Her uncle smiled and smiled, rolling the edge of his hat compulsively. Her aunt looked angry. Marina received them dubiously, for once letting their unusual mood pull her out of her essential lethargy. What they, or rather her aunt, had to report was shocking. An older male inmate in the Santa Fe penitentiary had confessed to setting fire to the Hansen’s barn where he had been sleeping off a drunken bout after quarreling with Juliet’s father. His story was confirmed by several details that matched holes in the case against Marina; a better lawyer would have pressed further at the time but her relatives’ choice of legal assistance was more accustomed to handling real estate and wills.

Matters accelerated after this but were tempered by tragedy. Marina’s aunt and uncle were returning in their car to Socorro on I-40 when a tractor trailer driver fell asleep at his wheel; the accident knocked their car into a ditch just outside of Albuquerque. Her aunt died forty-eight hours later from her injuries, and her uncle’s spine was severely damaged, requiring his removal to a nursing home. Marina was told that distant relatives had stepped in on her behalf to see to her uncle’s care and arrange for their small ranch to be maintained. One month after the accident, Marina was transferred to Albuquerque, reappeared in court and found her sentence repealed by the very judge who’d overseen her trial. His irate attitude toward her remained the same, however.

Court officials got her onto the I-10 bus to Socorro and now she sat in her uncle’s law office, dusty suitcase at her side. Marina was conscious of an active desire to get away from her immediate surroundings. When a small flurry of activity and voices sounded in the main office, she saw her chance to leave at once. Father Barry Flanagan had arrived. He was a large, bluff figure, a genuine Irish priest who’d been sent from the East to New Mexico; his parish included the local Apache population, and Marina remembered he was some sort of scholar in their language and culture. Her aunt and uncle had been devoted members of his congregation. He’d come now to take her home. For the first time, she felt tears prick her eyes.

Father Barry was as good as her word. He swooped her out of there in record time, deposited her in the passenger side of his worn grey SUV and took off for the Wilde ranch. True to his style, the priest took this time to launch into a lecture. “You’ve got to wake up now, Marina. You’ve got responsibilities to handle. No more sleepwalking through life.” After she nodded her head tentatively, his tone rose. “Good God, girl, your passivity has almost ruined you. You knew you were innocent, why didn’t you fight back?”

“I’m not so sure I really believed I was innocent, Father. I wanted to kill them at the time. They destroyed all my dreams.” When his sigh boomed through the car, she added, “Maybe I wanted to punish myself. For choosing the wrong dream.”

He braked at an intersection, and swung his head to stare at her. “This ends now. Your cousin Peter Hoskins is a good man. He’s got some ideas for you to consider.” An unexpected smile split his craggy sunburned face. “He’s probably also a romantic like you, Marina. But it’s time you faced life and joined it. No hiding out at the ranch, tending stock. You listen to him.” And then he laughed.

Marina was bewildered. Happy endings belonged in books, not real life. Yet she felt an active curiosity now. The turnoff to the ranch appeared and as Father Barry wheeled the vehicle down the dirt track he was humming. The woman next to him sensed an improbable happiness, and suddenly her heart started thudding in her chest. She wasn’t returning to disapproving relatives after all. Something new was in the air.

As they pulled up in front of the house, she saw two men standing and talking. The taller one she recognized as Joe Strang, one of her uncle’s longtime ranch hands. He waved at the approaching car and ambled off. The remaining man was someone she hadn’t met before. He must be her cousin. Marina felt another pang as she exited the car. This guy was good-looking and his eyes were glued to her face. He looked just like one of her Regency heroes come to life! She could almost envisage him in the tightly tailored cutaway jacket and snug breeches or trousers of that time. Instead, he wore a blue denim shirt and jeans that had an expensive aura. His eyes were a deep lapis-like blue. Now he was smiling as he came forward.

Marina was barely conscious of Father Barry pulling out her suitcase and heading for the porch. All her focus was one this stranger, someone who looked at her as if he knew her, really knew her. His dark hair curled around his shirt collar and he clasped her hand; the warmth of that touch sent tendrils of shock into her passivity.

“Marina, it’s wonderful to meet you at last. You’re even lovelier in person than in photos.”

She flushed in return, knowing what articles those pictures accompanied. Thank heaven she had put on some lipstick and blush before leaving the bus. He was being kind when meeting his notorious relative; what else could it be? Except, he did really seem genuinely glad to see her. Even Father Barry was smiling as he came back from the house to provide the more formal introductions and take his leave. Marina lived through this flurry of activity with distraction. Inside, she was having a battle.

But when the priest was backing his SUV out of the clearing, heading for the driveway and then the road, her internal turmoil resolved itself. Peter was telling her about himself — successful novelist, horse ranch up near Taos — when she interrupted him. Was it possible that she could go on a short holiday, someplace private with no trailing reporters?

“My dear,” Peter said, “I’ll take you anywhere you wish. Just as long as I can come along with you.”

No more romance in books and imagination only. Marina was going to make it real, as of this very moment.