The C.E.O. & the Cookie Queen

by Victoria Chancellor

  With a last long swallow, Greg drained the longneck and slid the empty bottle toward the inside edge of the bar. He retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of the stiff new jeans, then slapped a twenty on the ring-marked pine. That should cover his beer and a grilled cheese sandwich—in honor of Puff and steers everywhere. He just hoped he had enough cash in his debit account to afford a prize steer. If not, the arena had better take plastic, because he was going to buy that big black animal even if Carole Jacks assumed the worst.

  This would all turn out well in the end. He would save Huntington Foods from the corporate equivalent of Big Jim’s barbecue grill.

  CAROLE WATCHED the bidders gather around the arena, spending more time talking to each other than looking at the animals inside the ring. And why not? They’d already decided which ones they’d bid on, and how much they were going to spend. The heifers they’d add to their breeding program, but the steers would all be used for some promotional or charitable event. Big Jim always bought the grand champion. He was gathering a crowd of cronies, his booming voice carrying across the ring.

  Carole looked away from the overblown car dealer to her daughter, who stood straight and silent beside Puff. She was so proud of Jenny, her little girl who was growing up fast. After dealing with not having a father all her life, she was now learning how to lose something she loved. Not that she hadn’t known all along what Puff’s fate would be. Staring the inevitable in the eye was far different from considering a nebulous circumstance, especially for a ten-year-old.

  Carole realized with a jolt that her daughter was only seven years younger than she was when she’d met and run away with Johnny Ray French. He’d played guitar in a country-western band performing at the rodeo in San Antonio. She’d thought they’d fallen instantly in love. Probably more like lust, looking back. They’d taken off for his big chance to play The Grand Ol’ Opry in Nashville, stopping in Arkansas to get married because, at heart, she was a good girl and that’s how she’d been raised.

  As though she was still seventeen, she clearly remembered how shocked she’d been when her nineteen-year-old husband, drunk on beer and a taste of fame, practically made love to another woman in front of the cameras filming a documentary about the band. And that was right after she’d discovered she was pregnant. Talk about life throwing you a curve! She’d been afraid to call home, embarrassed to admit her stupidity to her mother and two sisters.

  Fortunately, her mother saw the documentary on television and left immediately in the family sedan to bring her middle daughter home.

  Back in Ranger Springs, Carole had wanted to pretend that nothing was wrong, that she hadn’t run away with a huge jerk and wasn’t going to blow up like a balloon in just a few months. But she had. Her tooled leather belt with the engraved silver buckle had gone only halfway around her middle. She’d waddled where she’d once strutted her stuff in tight jeans and body-hugging, snap-front shirts. She’d held her head up and pretended not to notice the stares of her neighbors, her classmates and her former teachers. Her family had stood beside her, saddened but determined to see her through her impetuous “mistake.” Her mother had gotten her out of her teenage marriage…and Johnny Ray had never wanted to see his child.

  Carole leaned her chin on her crossed arms, resting on top of the wooden rail, and sighed. Up until the moment Jenny had been born, she hadn’t decided whether she was going to keep her child or give her up for adoption. She used to place her hands on her big belly and wonder what would be best for her baby—a single mother with only a high school education, or a two-parent household with educated people who desperately wanted a child.

  Once she’d held the baby in her arms, the decision was made; she loved Jenny on sight. She’d vowed right then to be the best mother possible, to give her baby love and attention, and provide an extended family including a grandmother, aunts and lots of friends. And Jenny had grown into an intelligent, sensitive, talented daughter. In her totally unbiased opinion, of course.

  And now her daughter was getting a lesson in life that had to be learned at some point. That didn’t make it any easier to watch.

  “All you bidders gather ’round,” the announcer called out from the box overlooking the stalls and chutes. “We’ll start our bidding for our grand champion, owned and shown by Miss Jennifer Jacks, at one thousand dollars.”

  Carole watched her daughter bravely lead Puff to the center of the ring. Jenny had cried all her tears; she’d said her goodbyes and was ready to accept a check to go into her college fund. The outcome was certain, but they all had to go through the formality of watching and listening to Big Jim bellow out his bids. Across the arena, Carole heard his friends cheer him on, motivated, no doubt, by the thought of a choice serving of barbecue come Labor Day.

  “Fifteen hundred from Ralph Biggerstaff,” the announcer stated.

  Big Jim bellowed out, “Two thousand.”

  Well, at least Jenny would be able to choose her college with a bit more freedom. And she wouldn’t have to work part-time unless she wanted to. That was good.

  “Twenty-one hundred,” a different voice called out. A deep voice, without inflection or accent.

  No! He wouldn’t! With an angry frown, Carole stepped up onto the bottom rail and searched the opposite side of the ring for the source of her irritation.

  There he stood, tan Stetson covering the upper part of his face with shadow. She recognized his shirt, though, and those brand-new jeans. Was he bidding just to irritate her, or was he seriously considering buying Puff? If he thought he’d impress her by paying more than Big Jim, he had another think coming. She ought to march right over there and tell him she wasn’t about to accept his money. Or Huntington’s money. Had they authorized something this low, or was Greg Rafferty a runaway wagon?

  “Twenty-two hundred,” Big Jim announced confidently.

  “Twenty-three,” Rafferty said in an amused tone.

  So, he thought this was funny, did he? Carole jumped down from the fence. She’d go over there and tell him again what he obviously didn’t believe this afternoon; she didn’t want to listen to his big plans for Ms. Carole’s Cookies, and she didn’t want him using her daughter.

  “Twenty-four hundred,” Big Jim said, irritation obvious in his booming voice as Carole marched around the ring.

  “Twenty-five.”

  Show-off, Carole wanted to yell. Her boots couldn’t navigate through the deep dirt of the arena fast enough. When she got her hands on him…

  “Twenty-six hundred,” Big Jim ground out, his voice showing more than irritation now. He sounded downright mean.

  Greg Rafferty hadn’t seen mean yet. When she got her hands on him—

  “Three thousand,” he said.

  An audible gasp filled the big metal barn, followed by whispered comments. Carole stumbled, finding the metal rail with one shaking hand. For the first time she realized how odd this must appear to the rest of the folks witnessing the bidding. A stranger, a man they’ve never seen before, challenging Big Jim for the grand champion.

  She held on to the rail and looked to the center of the ring, guiltily thinking about Jenny for the first time since Greg Rafferty started bidding. Her daughter appeared confused by the war going on between the two men. She’d expected Big Jim to buy Puff. She didn’t know this other man. She certainly hadn’t heard that he’d come to Texas to sweet-talk her mother into doing something unthinkable to save Huntington’s reputation.

  What about my own reputation? she wanted to shout. True, Greg Rafferty didn’t know about her past. He didn’t accept how averse to publicity she was. But darn it, for ten years—with the exception of the foreign paparazzi who’d come to town back when Kerry Lynn was with Prince Alexi—everyone had forgotten her teenage behavior. They’d let her keep her emotional baggage stored very neatly in the back of the closet, where it didn’t bother anyone.

  “This has got to stop,” Carole muttered, pushing away from the rail and marching toward the man who w
as giving her a pounding headache, not to mention causing her heart to ache for the little girl caught in the middle.

  “Three thousand once.”

  Carole zeroed in on him, maybe twenty feet away. He turned to watch her approach, what she had to assume was a gloating expression on his model-handsome face.

  “Three thousand twice.”

  She abandoned her plan to punch him in the nose. Besides going against her generally antiviolent approach to life, he’d probably have her arrested for assault. Instead, she grabbed two fistsful of his shirt as soon as she got within snatching distance of him.

  “Sold for three thousand dollars to the stranger in the blue-plaid shirt.”

  She stumbled as she tried to shake some sense into him, even though it was too late. Even though he’d already outbid Big Jim for the right to turn Puff into sirloin and hamburger.

  He steadied her with two large hands to her waist. “Be careful,” he said, his tone amused as he looked down at her. “You don’t have to be so enthusiastic with your appreciation.”

  “Go to hell,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Thelma Rogers rushed up, eyes aglow, camera dangling. “What an exciting auction! I need a photo for the Gazette.”

  “No!” Carole nearly shouted. Inside she was shaking, angry and protective and yes, afraid. Afraid of him dragging her into his publicity campaign without her permission. Afraid he was digging around in her closet for all her emotional baggage. No one had that right. Just because she’d sold them some cookie recipes—

  “Why not?” Rafferty asked.

  “I don’t do photos,” she snapped at him. “If you want one with your new steer, you go right ahead. Just keep me out of it.” She paused and narrowed her eyes. “And keep Jenny out of it, too.”

  “That’s okay,” Thelma said tentatively, looking between the two of them. “I already took one of Jenny with the steer when she won the championship earlier.”

  “Great. Then that should be fine for the paper.”

  “Yes, I don’t think we need a photo of Ms. Jacks assaulting me.”

  Thelma glanced between them, then said, “I think I’ll go over and see what’s happening with the heifers.”

  Good idea, Carole thought. “I did not assault you,” she ground out as, from of the corner of her eye, she saw a crowd gathering. The last thing she wanted was an audience for what she had to say to this annoying man, so she turned her back on her neighbors, hoping they’d take the hint. “I just want you to go away and leave us alone.”

  “I already told you why I came down here. If you’d just keep an open mind, we might make some progress.”

  “Progress! I suppose you think you know what’s best for me and my family?”

  Greg Rafferty put his hands on his hips and looked around. Her friends and neighbors looked back, although at least they were keeping their distance. Slowly he smiled as he turned back to her. “For someone who thinks she knows just what she wants, you seem to have a little problem executing your plans.”

  “Not until you showed up,” she said, pointing her finger at him. She couldn’t stand a smug man, and this one had smugness down to a science. He knew he was darned good-looking, even in clothes he obviously didn’t wear every day. The fact that he could carry off wearing the “uniform” of a cowboy instead of what had to be more familiar—the uniform of a businessman—said a lot about how much confidence he had. Not that she admired his guts. Not at all.

  “All I wanted to do was talk to you.”

  “Then why did you buy Puff?”

  “Puff?” He looked toward the ring, his smile returning. “That big black beast’s name is Puff?” he asked with nearly contagious amusement.

  “Jennifer named him,” Carole admitted, turning to watch her daughter walk toward them. “And don’t upset her any more than she already is. She got too attached to him. I knew this was going to be a problem, but I couldn’t stop her from loving that stupid steer.”

  “I have no intention of upsetting her. In fact, that’s why I bid on him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Carole asked, turning back to search his face for the truth.

  “Before I knew who you were, I noticed how sensitive she was. When the guy standing nearby told me what happened to the grand champion steer, I decided to buy him myself.”

  “What…what are you going to do with a steer?”

  Before he could answer, Jenny stopped at the fence, Puff in tow.

  “Mom, what are you doing over here?” she asked in an accusing tone that only a child could achieve. “Everyone’s looking!”

  Carole moaned inside. She wanted to sink into the soft dirt and pretend this day had never existed. “I’m just talking to Mr. Rafferty, honey. That’s all.”

  “Mom, you grabbed him!”

  Carole narrowed her eyes and frowned at the object of her frustration. “Just his shirt.”

  He smiled back. She wanted to shake him, then swing him around and put a boot to his backside. So much for her nonviolent tendencies. The faster he got out of town, the quicker life could return to normal. She and Jenny would go back to their nice, calm life.

  Dismissing her glare, he turned to Jenny. “Hi. My name is Greg Rafferty, and I think your steer is…well, he’s a good-looking animal.”

  “Yeah, he is, and he’s nice, too.” Her young face fell. “But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Carole acknowledged that he sounded genuinely confused, which was an act, of course. He’d known what he was doing all along—searching her out, buying the steer, making her pay attention to him when all she wanted was to be left alone.

  “Since you bought him, I guess you’re going to have a…a barbecue like Big Jim.”

  Carole heard the quaver in her daughter’s voice, saw the way her lip trembled when she stumbled over the word that signified the fate of all the grand champion steers. She wanted to reach across the metal railing and hug Jenny close, but her daughter wouldn’t appreciate the public display any more than Carole appreciated public attention of any kind.

  “No, no, I’m not,” Rafferty said in a gentle voice that surprised Carole as much as his claim. “I don’t want to take your steer away from you.”

  “But you bought him,” Jenny said.

  “Only because I needed to outbid Big Jim,” he said with a wink. “I couldn’t let that big airbag buy a steer as nice as Puff.”

  Jenny giggled.

  Carole blinked, not sure she’d heard him correctly. This was the businessman who wanted to violate her contract? This man who spoke so gently to her daughter, and made her laugh? And what did he mean that he didn’t want to take Puff away from Jenny?

  “Wait a minute,” Carole said. “What are you going to do with him if you aren’t planning some…event like Big Jim’s?”

  He smiled broadly, looking between her and her daughter. Just like the cowboy he was pretending to be, he puffed up a little bigger as he spoke to Jenny. “I saw how attached you were to your steer. I’ve never had anything that large myself, but I did have a dog when I was about your age. I thought maybe you’d like to keep Puff.”

  “Keep him?” Jenny asked, looking really confused as her hand tightened around Puff’s lead rope.

  “Sure. I know I bought him, but I’m going to sign him back over to you and your mom. That way, you won’t ever have to worry about Big Jim getting his hooks on Puff again.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Carole interrupted, holding up her hand for silence. “You can’t just give Puff back to Jenny. Besides, I don’t trust your motives.”

  “I already told you—”

  “And I told you I don’t trust you.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “Not now, Jenny.” Carole put her hands on her hips and faced Greg Rafferty. “You bought that steer fair and square at the auction, Mr. Greg Rafferty. You can’t give him back.”

  “Of course I can. I know some people might thin
k it’s extravagant, but—”

  “That’s not what I’m thinking at all,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “And I don’t mean that you shouldn’t give him back. I mean you can’t give him back.”

  “Mom—”

  “Now, Jenny, I know this is hard for you, but we all have to accept the fact that Mr. Rafferty owes three thousand dollars toward your college fund, and he now owns Puff.”

  “I don’t want to own Puff!”

  “Mr. Rafferty,” Carole said, leaning close and saying each word succinctly, “that steer eats about thirty-five pounds of feed each day. Even though I’ve grown a little attached to him, too, I don’t want to own him, either.”

  GREG USED his monogrammed handkerchief to wipe the sweat and dirt from his forehead, wincing at the sight of dark, wet smears across the white linen. So this is why cowboys wear bandannas, he thought as he leaned against the fence and watched his three-thousand-dollar rack of prime rib graze contentedly in the rented pasture.

  “This is all your fault,” he muttered to the unconcerned steer, even though he knew the culprit didn’t have four legs. No, Greg acknowledged, at least to himself, yesterday he’d gotten himself into this mess by making a bunch of assumptions. The words of a college professor came back to haunt him: “Assume makes an ass out of u and me.” Well, he’d made one big fool of himself this afternoon. Every action he’d taken had dug him deeper and deeper into a pit of mistakes and culture clashes.

  Of course, Carole Jacks hadn’t helped him dig his way out of the hole. In fact, she seemed happy to shovel dirt in around him as he’d flailed away, wondering which way was up. The only thing he’d been sure of was that he was even more attracted to Carole Jacks, reclusive cookie queen, than he was to his blond cowgirl.

  Damned if he could figure out why, though. She fought him at every opportunity. She made a point of showing how much she disliked him, making a scene yesterday at the arena even though she claimed she hated publicity. Maybe she felt comfortable enough around her neighbors to be a bit more…expressive.