Chill Factor by Sandra Brown

sold articles to magazines; she was a magazine editor.
    When the group put ashore for lunch, they separated from the others and sat together on a large boulder that was cantilevered over the rushing water below.
    â€œYou’re editor in chief?” he exclaimed when she told him the position she held.
    â€œGoing on three years now.”
    â€œI’m impressed. That’s a slick publication.”
    â€œIt started out as a magazine for the southern woman. We now have national distribution, and the numbers are increasing with each issue.”
    Smart contained features on home decorating, fashion, food, and travel. Its target reader was the woman who combined homemaking with a career, who wanted it all and made it happen. An article might be about how to convert carry-out dinnersinto gourmet delights simply by adding a few spices from the kitchen pantry and serving the meal on good china, or a preview of shoe trends for the upcoming season.
    â€œWe certainly don’t exclude stay-at-home moms from our readership,” she’d explained, “but our focus is on the woman who wants to succeed in the office, plan the perfect family vacation, and host fabulous dinner parties she can throw together at a moment’s notice.”
    â€œIs that possible?”
    â€œYou’ll find out how in the July issue.”
    Laughing, he had toasted her success with his water bottle. The sun was warm and the conversation relaxed. They developed an easy I-like-the-looks-and-sound-of-you rapport. As much fun as they’d had in the river before lunch, they were a bit reluctant to resume when the guide announced an end to the lunch break.
    Throughout the afternoon, they chatted when they could, although they were forced to concentrate on the challenge of the sport. But they were constantly aware of each other. They communicated with hand signals and smiles. Their admiration for each other’s skill allowed for good-natured teasing when one or the other went belly-up.
    He shared his sunblock cream when she discovered she’d come away without any. But he also shared it with two college girls who flirted with him shamelessly and strove all day to attract his attention.
    When they put in at the area where they’d left their cars that morning, Lilly went her way, he wenthis. But after stowing his gear in his Cherokee, he jogged over to her. “Where are you staying?”
    â€œCleary. I’m there most weekends during the summer. I have a cabin.”
    â€œNice.”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    The college girls pulled their open Jeep even with them. “See ya later, Tierney,” the driver said.
    â€œUh, yeah, sure.”
    â€œYou remember the name of the place?” the other asked from the passenger seat.
    He tapped his forehead. “Committed to memory.”
    Ignoring Lilly but grinning conspiratorially at him, they drove away, raising a cloud of dust.
    As he waved them off, he shook his head. “Party girls, begging for trouble.” Then he turned back to Lilly and smiled. “It hurts my manly pride to admit it, but you bested me with your rodeo moves coming through that last Class Four.”
    She gave a mock curtsy. “Thank you very much. Coming from someone as skilled as you, that’s a real compliment.”
    â€œThe least I can do is buy you a congratulatory drink. Can we meet somewhere?”
    She nodded toward the wake of dust created by the girls’ Jeep. “I thought you had plans.”
    â€œI do,” he said. “I plan to see you.”
    Her smile faltered. She got busy searching for her car keys. “Thank you, Tierney, but I have to decline.”
    â€œOh. What about tomorrow night?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I can’t.” She took a deep breath andlooked up at him. “My husband and I have a dinner engagement.”
    His smile didn’t falter, it collapsed. “You’re married.” He said it as a statement, not a