It wounded her. It shouldn’t have. She had nothing invested in the cowboy who worked for Bart. She had to stop thinking about him. There was one way, at least. She carried her hot coffee to her desk in the living room and turned on her computer. When the world was sitting on her shoulders, writing was her salvation. She’d lived in her fantasy world for years, escaping her mother and the drunken boyfriends her mother brought home. It was a bright and beautiful place, where her heroes and heroines lived, and no ugliness was allowed there.

She smiled as she pulled up the chapter she was working on and began to type. She often wondered where the words came from. She had no idea what the characters were going to do until she started writing, and then they told their own story. It was a fascinating, delicious process that never failed to intrigue her. She didn’t try to understand it. She simply accepted it.

SHE WAS INVITED over to the Simpsons’ house later in the week by Pam Simpson, who’d had the party for her.

“You simply have to come,” she told Mina excitedly. “One of your biggest fans is just home from Australia and he wants to meet you. He reads your books while he’s watching over first-time mama cows until they give birth! He says he’ll be doing it at the Catelow ranch for a while. Well, you know that your cousin Rogan is partners with him, and Rogan’s still in Australia managing the station there.”

“Yes, I knew. Is it Mr. McGuire?” she wondered aloud. “I think I met him once a long time ago. When my mother was alive,” she added quietly. She didn’t tell Pam that her mother had made a play for McGuire, who was years her junior, and he’d turned her down. His name was never mentioned at home after that.

“It is,” Pam said. “Jake McGuire. He’s really nice. I’ve had the cook prepare a special meal, just in his honor. Well, in yours, too. So you have to come for lunch.”

Mina laughed. “Okay, then. It will save me from having to cook. Not that I don’t love it, but there are a lot of leftovers when you’re just cooking for one person.”

“I can imagine. So then, we’ll expect you.”

“What time?”

“Eleven sharp.”

“I’ll be there.”

MINA HADN’T SEEN Jake McGuire in a very long time. She was a little intimidated by him. After all, he was a millionaire many times over and she was just beginning to make her mark as an author.

He’d be used to women who were sophisticated and wore haute couture. All Mina had were clothes off-the-rack. But she was going to wear the best she had. She put on her prettiest spring dress, a pastel floral concoction with a V-neckline and wide sleeves, belted at the waist and midcalf length. She’d left her hair long and experimented, lightly, with the makeup Sassy Callister had given her. She didn’t look half-bad, she thought.