Deirdre Dougherty never cursed at anyone, much less put a curse on the potato crop of her remote Irish village. She?d rather take her chances with the Atlantic lapping at the bottom of the cliff than the mob intent on burning her as they have her cottage. Deirdre leaps . . . and plops down over 160 years later in a Texas lake. She doesn't understand how she's ended up with the man from her recent visions or why he has the same name as the saint to whom she prayed. She's in danger of falling for the handsome policeman who rescued her, in spite of the fact that he thinks she's lying to him. How can she convince him her story is true when she's finding it difficult to believe the tale herself? Police Detective Brendan Hunter wants answers. Who shot him and killed his partner? Why? And why does Deirdre know details of the event? Her story has to be a colossal fabrication or else she's a beautiful psycho. Either way, he wants her gone before he becomes even more fascinated with her. But he can't let her out of his sight until she confesses to how she learned details no one but he and his late partner knew.