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corporate boardrooms instead of in front of the saloon, but the feeling is the same." She leaned forward to extend her copy of
Ruthless
. "The name is Rachel."
    "Rachel." Margaret hurriedly signed the book and handed it back. "Thank you."
    "Thank you." Rachel winked mischievously. "Speaking of cowboys," she said, exchanging a smile with the other woman, "maybe one of these days you can give us the real thing, horse and all."
    "We'll look forward to it," the first woman declared as she collected her signed book.
    Margaret managed a laugh and shook her head, feeling slightly dazed. "We'll see," she temporized, not wanting to offend the readers by telling them she'd once run into a real corporate gunslinger who was very much a cowboy and the result had been something other than a happy ending.
    She turned, smiling, to greet the next person in line and nearly dropped her pen when she caught sight of the familiar figure standing in front of her. It never rained but it poured, she thought ironically.
    "Hello, Jack. What are you doing here? I didn't know you read romance."
    Jack Moorcroft smiled down at her, his light hazel eyes full of genuine curiosity. "So you really made it work, did you?"
    "Made what work? My writing? Yes, I've been fortunate."
    "I didn't think you could turn it into a full-fledged career."
    "Neither did anyone else."
    "Can I buy you a coffee or a drink when you're finished here? I'd like to talk to you."
    "Let me guess what this is all about. I haven't seen you since the day I resigned. You moved the headquarters of Moorcroft Industries to San Diego nearly a year ago, according to the papers. And now, out of a clear blue sky you suddenly show up again in Seattle two days after Rafe Cassidy magically reappears. Can I assume there's a connection or is this one of those incredible coincidences that makes life so interesting?"
    "You always were one smart lady. That's why I hired you in the first place."
    "Forget the flattery, Jack. I'm immune."
    "I get the feeling you're not enjoying old ties with your former business associates?"
    "You're very perceptive for a businessman."
    Jack nodded, accepting the rebuff. "I think I can understand. You got a little mauled there at the end, didn't you? Cassidy can play rough. But I do have to talk to you. It's important, Margaret. Coffee? For old times' sake?"
    She sighed, wishing she could think of a polite way out of the invitation. But the truth was Jack had been a reasonably good boss. And he'd never actually asked for her resignation. It had been her idea to leave the firm. "All right. Coffee. I'll be finished here in another fifteen minutes or so."
    "I'll wait."
    Twenty minutes later Margaret bid goodbye to the bookstore manager and the last of the readers who had dropped by the store to say hello. Slinging her stylish leather shoulder bag over her arm, she went to join Jack Moorcroft who was waiting patiently at the entrance of the store near the magazine racks.
    He smiled when he saw her and put back the copy of
Forbes
he had been perusing. She studied him objectively as he held the door for her. Moorcroft was five years older than Rafe, which made him forty-three. On the surface he fit her mental image of a hero better than Rafe ever did. For one thing, there wasn't a trace of the cowboy in Moorcroft's attire or his accent. He was pure corporate polish.
    Moorcroft was also a genuinely good-looking man. He kept himself trim by daily workouts at an exclusive health club and he dressed with impeccable finesse. His light brown hair was streaked with silver and thinning a bit, but that only served to give him a distinguished look. His suit was European in cut and the tie was silk.
    By right Moorcroft should have been a living, breathing replica of one of her heroes but Margaret had never once thought of him that way.
    In addition to his beautifully cut suits, Jack Moorcroft also wore a wedding ring. He was married and that fact had made him off-limits from the day she had