The Cowboy

been that unfortunate incident, it probably would have been something else sooner or later. Rafe was obviously ready to believe the worst.
    And apparently he had a reason to worry about a Moorcroft spy, Margaret thought vengefully. He was plotting some form of revenge against his old rival. She just knew it. She was caught in the middle again between the two men and she was furious. They had no right to do this to her.
    She would take the Mercedes, Margaret told herself. The keys were on the hall table. Rafe could damn well make arrangements to get his car out of the airport lot.
    It was intolerable that he had dared to question her reason for being here in Tucson. He was the one who had forced her to come down here in the first place.
    Margaret tossed one sandal into the suitcase and looked around for the other. She dropped to her knees to peer under the bed and to her horror, the tears started to fall.
    It was too much.
    She cried there on the floor until the rage finally burned itself out. Then, wearily, she climbed to her feet and went into the bathroom to wash her face.
    She grimaced at the sight of herself in the mirror and reached for a brush. She wondered if Rafe was still in the study.
    It flashed through her mind that he probably wouldn't come after her a second time. No, not a chance. In his own way he had sacrificed his pride once before to get her back and that was all anyone could reasonably expect. He was, when all was said and done, a tough, arrogant cowboy who was as hard and unforgiving as the desert itself.
    And she loved him.
    Heaven help her, she loved him. Margaret stared at herself in the mirror knowing that if she walked out this time, he would not come after her.
    There was only one chance to salvage the situation. She was woman enough to know that this time she would have to be the one who rose above her own pride.
    She forced herself to think back on the past few days. She clung to the knowledge that Rafe had changed since last year. He had tried hard to modify his work habits and to realign some of his priorities. He had worked hard to please her, to make her fall in love with him.
    In his own way, he had tried to prove that he loved her.
    Slowly Margaret put the brush back down on the counter. Turning on her heel, she went back through the bedroom and into the hall. The first few steps took all the willpower she had. Her instinct was to turn and run again but she kept going.
    She rounded the corner and saw Rafe leaning in the open doorway of the study, thumb hooked onto his belt. In his other hand he coolly tossed the keys to the Mercedes. He watched her with an unreadable expression. Margaret halted. For a moment they just stared at each other and then Rafe broke the charged silence.
    "Looking for these?" he asked, giving the keys another toss.
    "No," Margaret said, starting forward deliberately. "No, I do not want the keys to the Mercedes."
    "How are you going to get to the airport? You expect me to drive you?"
    "That won't be necessary. I am not going to the airport."
    "Sure you are. You're going to run, just like you did last time."
    "Damn you, Rafe, I did not run away from you last year, I was
kicked out
."
    "Depends on your point of view, I guess."
    "It is not a point of view, it's a fact." Margaret came to a halt right in front of him and lifted both hands to grab him by the open collar of his shirt. She stood on tiptoe and brought her face very close to his. "Listen up, cowboy. I have a few more facts to tell you. And you, by heaven, are going to pay attention this time."
    "Yeah?"
    "Yeah." She pushed him backward into the study, too incensed and too determined to pursue her mission to notice just how easily he went. She forced him all the way back to his chair and then she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed downward. Rafe sat.
    Margaret released him and stalked around to the other side of the desk. She planted her hands on the polished wood surface and leaned forward.
    "If this were a romance novel instead of the real world, this little scene would not be necessary. Because of our great love for each other, you would trust me implicitly, you see. You would know without being told that I would never go to bed with you and then turn around and spy on you so that I could report to Moorcroft."
    "Is that right? Your heroes can read minds?"
    "The bonds of love make them intuitive, sensitive and insightful and don't you dare mock me, Cassidy."
    "I thought I made it clear I'm not