The Cowboy

whirlpool in which she had nearly drowned last year. "You are a very dangerous man for me, Rafe. I can't go through what I went through last time. I can't."
    He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. "You're not the only one who wouldn't survive it a second time. So there won't be a second time."
    She searched his eyes. "How can you be so certain?"
    "Two reasons. The first is that we learned something from that fiasco. We've both changed. We aren't quite the same people we were last year."
    "And the second reason?"
    He smiled faintly. "You aren't working for Moorcroft or anyone else, so the pressures you had on you last time don't exist."
    "But if they did exist?"
    Rafe's smile hardened briefly. "This time around your commitments are clearer, aren't they? This time around you'd know your first loyalty belongs to me."
    "What about
your
loyalty?" she challenged softly, knowing she was sliding deeper into the whirlpool. In another moment she would be caught and trapped.
    Rafe cradled her face between two rough palms. "You are the most important person in my life, Maggie, love. My first loyalty is to you."
    "Business has absolutely nothing to do with this?"
    "Hell, no."
    "If there were to be a conflict between our relationship and your business interests, would our relationship win?"
    "Hands down."
    Her fingers tightened around his wrists. Everything in her wanted to believe him. Margaret knew her future was at stake. If she had any sense she would get out while she still could.
    "Rafe…"
    "Say it, Maggie. Say you'll stay here and give me a real chance."
    She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "All right."
    He groaned and pulled her close against him, his arms locking around her. His mouth moved against her sleekly knotted hair. "You won't regret it, Maggie. This time it will work. You'll see. I'll make it work. I've missed you so much, sweetheart. Last night…"
    "What about last night?" she asked softly.
    "Last night was like taking the first glass of cool water after walking out of the desert. Except that you're never cool in bed. You're hotter than the sun in August. Lord, Maggie, last night was good."
    She hugged him, her head resting on his chest. "Yes."
    "Maggie?"
    "Um?"
    "You said a few minutes ago that I'd never asked for forgiveness because I was too arrogant to think I needed it. But I'm asking for it now. I'm sorry I was so rough with you last year."
    She took a breath. It was probably as much of an apology as she was likely to get. "All right, Rafe. And I'm sorry I assumed you'd been using me to beat Moorcroft. I should have known better."
    "Hush, love. It's all right." His hands stroked her back soothingly. "We'll make this a fresh start. No more talk about the past."
    "Agreed."
    For a long while they sat on the bale of hay, saying nothing. If anyone came or went in the barn, Margaret didn't notice. She was conscious only of the feel of Rafe's hands moving gently on her. With a deep sigh of newly found peace, she gave herself up to the luxury of once more being able to nestle in Rafe's strong arms.
A fresh start
.
    For the first time in a year something that had felt twisted and broken deep inside her relaxed and became whole again.
    "Boss?" Tom's shout from the far end of the barn had a trace of embarrassed hesitation in it. "Hatcher's here. Says he needs to talk to you."
    Rafe slowly released Margaret. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute."
    "Right."
    Rafe looked down at Margaret, his expression rueful. "Sorry about this. Hatcher's timing isn't always the best. Want to come say hello to him?"
    "Okay. But he probably doesn't want to say hello to me."
    "Maggie, love, you're getting paranoid. You thought my mother wouldn't want to see you again, either, but she could hardly wait for you to get down here, right? Don't worry about Hatcher's opinion. He works for me and he does what I say."
    Shaking her head, Margaret let Rafe tug her to her feet. He draped an arm possessively around her shoulders and guided her out of the barn. She blinked as she stepped out into the hot sunlight. There was an unfamiliar car in the drive.
    Doug Hatcher was already standing in the doorway of Rafe's home, a briefcase in one hand. Rafe's chief executive assistant looked very much as Margaret remembered him from the occasions he had accompanied his fast-moving boss to Seattle.
    Hatcher was in his early thirties, a thin, sharp-faced man with pale eyes. He was dressed in a light-colored business suit, his tie knotted crisply