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fast for him when he’d exploded into her life last year, she thought.
    At first sight she had been certain Rafe was the man of her dreams.
    Except for the boots, of course
. Looking back on the disaster Margaret knew she ought to have been warned when her dream man showed up in a Stetson, fancy boots and a silver belt buckle. In her books her heroes always wore European-styled suits and Italian leather shoes.
    Hard, savvy and successful businessmen for the most part, her male characters always had a ruthless edge that made them a real challenge for the heroines. But in the end, unlike Rafe, they all succumbed to love.
    A stylish-looking woman in a crisp suit who was standing directly behind Christine extended her copy of
Ruthless
. “Christine’s right. Give us another hero like Roarke. He was great. I love the tough-guy-who-can-be-taught-to-love type. I think of them as cowboys in business suits.”
    Margaret stared at her. “Cowboys? Good heavens, what makes you call them that? I like the sophisticated urban type. That’s the kind I always write about.”
    The woman shook her head with a knowing look in her eye. “But your heroes are all cowboys in disguise, didn’t you know that?”
    Margaret eyed her thoughtfully. She had long ago learned to appreciate some of the insights her readers had into her books but this one took her aback. “You really think so?”
    “Trust me. I know cowboys when I see them, even if they are wearing two-hundred-dollar silk shirts.”
    “She’s right, you know,” another woman in line announced with a grin. “When I’m reading one of your books, I always visualize a cowboy.”
    “What on earth makes you do that?” Margaret asked in utter amazement.
    The woman paused, considering her answer. “I think it’s got something to do with their basic philosophies of life—the way they think and act. They’ve got a lot of old-fashioned attitudes about women and honor and that kind of thing. The sort of attitudes we all associate with the Old West.”
    “It’s true,” someone else in line agreed. “The shootouts take place in 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 ofthe 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