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pleasant, before she'd figured out what was going on, to wake up in his arms. Roseanne hadn't shared such simple physical intimacy with a man for quite some time. Most of the guys she dated were left firmly at the front door.
    "Win!" A burly, balding man called out to him as they entered the terminal. The man hurried forward, dressed in an ill-fitting blue business suit. A wide smile lit his face. "Right on time, as always," he joshed, shaking hands with Winthrop. "I've never known an airplane that dared bring you in late to the gate."
    "Boyd." Winthrop greeted him with a smile that turned into a sigh when he gestured toward Roseanne. "Please meet Miz Archer. Miz Archer, Boyd Henderson, my chief of operations."
    "Miz Archer." Boyd had the same manner as Winthrop of generalizing the title before her name. "A pleasure."
    "Roseanne, please." She shook his hand and caught the quick assessment in his eyes. She could almost read the questions as if they were in a cartoon bubble over his head. Winthrop, with a woman? The first woman in four years? Is there something going on here?
    Although Boyd appeared to dismiss the questions, they'd been there for at least a moment. Which meant Winthrop had been wrong. Given a nudge of encouragement, people could easily believe he and she were having a romantic relationship.
    Boyd took a position on Winthrop's right as the three walked toward the baggage claim area. Roseanne claimed a position on his left.
    "Anything I need to know?" Winthrop's tone was businesslike.
    "Everything's under control at the plant," Boyd replied, "if that's what you mean. But, Win..." He stopped and ventured a glance in Roseanne's direction.
    Winthrop glanced that way too, then turned back to Boyd. "It's okay, you can talk freely."
    "Win, there was a big drop in the stock this past week."
    A frown creased Winthrop's forehead. "Yes, I noticed. What do you think is causing it? The Boeing contract we haven't signed yet?"
    Boyd looked frustrated. "No, Win. It's— Well, it's the news of your, er, reconciliation with Sylvia. People don't know, uh, what effect that might have on your productivity."
    A faint smile stretched Winthrop's lips. "Sounds as though the general consensus is the effect will be negative."
    "It does look that way," Boyd concurred unhappily. "But what really worries me is the size of the drop. People aren't going to hang onto something that's decreasing so quickly."
    Winthrop nodded, resigned.
    The problems Sylvia had caused with her gossip article seemed to be growing, Roseanne thought as they entered the baggage claim area.
    The moment they walked through the door, as though on cue, the carousel's motor revved up and the machine started to revolve.
    "Watch this." Boyd leaned behind Winthrop to wink at Roseanne.
    Over the top of the machine's ski slope ramp slid a medium-sized leather suitcase. Winthrop stepped forward and yanked it off the carousel.
    "Is yours always first?" Roseanne queried, following up on Boyd's cue.
    Winthrop grunted something and then said aloud, "Yes."
    "How do you do that?" she asked, now curious. "Time your arrival at the airport or something?"
    Boyd shook his head, his grin wider than ever. "It doesn't matter when he comes. Machines obey Win."
    Roseanne raised an eyebrow. "I see." Now she remembered the way he'd fixed her office chair, just giving it a slight shake. Was it possible Winthrop had some sixth sense, some strange connection with machines and mechanical devices? Even if this were true, he didn't appear to enjoy it very much. At the moment he looked downright sour to have retrieved his luggage first off the carousel.
    "I'm afraid I'm not as lucky." Roseanne smiled at the irrepressible Boyd. It was hard not to like the man. "My bag is usually dead last."
    "Figures," Win grumbled, keeping his eye on the carousel.
    Roseanne shot him a glance, wondering if this were some sort of an obscure, engineering insult.
    "About Sylvia," Boyd went on as the three stood there