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“She doesn’t seem too happy to have won,” Greg said out loud.
The man beside him nodded. “She got that steer from Billy Maddox over in Boerne when ever’body else said it weren’t big enough. Look at it now.”
“So she should be proud.”
“I ’spect she is, but she’s got to say goodbye to him now.”
“Why? She won.”
The man looked at him as though he was crazy. “What the hell do you think they do with the grand-champion steer?”
Greg searched his mind but couldn’t come up with an answer. “Give it a ribbon, I suppose. Maybe she can show it somewhere else.”
“None of these steers are going to the State Fair. That’s a whole ’nother class of animal.”
“So what do they do with them?”
The man spat into his can. “Auction ’em off.” He nodded toward the tent. “Big Jim usually bids the highest.”
“So what does Big Jim do with them?”
“Why, he has just about the finest barbecue you’ve ever seen for all his favorite customers over at Big Jim’s Autorama on Highway 281.”
As Greg watched in stunned silence, his cowgirl slipped between the rails of the fence and hurried to the little girl, who still had her face buried in the neck of the huge beast. Her thin shoulders shook, and Greg knew without a doubt that he couldn’t let that pet steer end up on Big Jim’s barbecue grill.
AS THEY WALKED out of the ring toward the barn, Carole could have kicked herself. She should have spent the extra money and bought a heifer instead of a steer. But she hadn’t expected that runty calf to grow into the grand champion at the county show. The look on her daughter’s face when she’d been handed the banner had nearly brought her to her knees, right there in the arena. Jenny had a soft heart, and darn it, Puff was a big old sweetheart—all twelve hundred pounds of him.
“We have a few hours, sweetie. What would you like to do?”
Jenny shrugged as if it didn’t make any difference, but Carole could see her daughter’s white-knuckled grip on Puff’s halter. “I think I’ll just hang around the barn. Put my stuff up.”
Say goodbye to Puff, Carole felt like adding. She had always told her daughter that she could do or be anything she wanted, but that didn’t mean life was always easy.
“I could bring you a snow cone or some cotton candy,” Carole offered as she wrapped her arm around her ten-year-old’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Mom, but I’m not hungry.”
“We’ll celebrate later, then.”
Jenny nodded, but couldn’t hide her sniff.
They stopped at their spot along the cattle rail. Carole hugged her arms around herself as Jenny attached the tie-down to Puff’s halter. “Sure I can’t get you anything? A cold drink?”
Jenny shrugged.
“Do you want to be alone?”
“Please,” she said in a small voice.
“Okay, then. I’m going to get us a soft drink.”
Carole took one more look at her little girl before turning and walking down the long corridor, out of the stock barn. Telling herself that this was an important lesson, that Jenny would feel proud of earning part of her college money, that Puff was a beef animal, not a family pet, didn’t ease the pain. Only time would do that. Perhaps it was best that Jenny was leaving for camp in another week. A change of setting would help her forget. Seeing friends from last year, laughing and playing one last summer before she began the transformation from child into young woman was just what she needed right now.
Carole just wished Jenny could stay gone until Big Jim’s barbecue was history, but she couldn’t. School started in the third week of August, and Big Jim always served up the grand champion at his Labor Day event. Carole didn’t usually go out of town for the long weekend, but this year, she would take her daughter somewhere far away from Ranger Springs. Someplace fun, with no animals to remind them of Puff’s empty stall.
She’d nearly made it out of the barn when she saw a tall, broad-shouldered stranger standing in the wide doorway, staring at her in a way she didn’t usually see in the light of day. Maybe in a smoky honky-tonk with a country-western tune playing in the jukebox…
She slowed, wondering if perhaps he was someone she’d met a while back. Bright sunlight outlined his lean torso and long, straight legs. He’d dressed in jeans and a Western-cut plaid shirt, boots and a well-creased hat, but he didn’t stand like a cowboy. The shade inside the barn, the deeper shadow beneath the brim of the Stetson, made him seem mysterious. Instead of tipping his hat or dropping his gaze, he continued to look his fill, even smiling just a bit like he knew some secret.
Carole tipped her chin up and broke eye contact. She didn’t know this man. He wasn’t from around here. And he was darn rude to boot.
“Congratulations on the win,” he said as she walked by.
His deep, warm voice, totally without an accent, stopped her. “Thanks,” she said, feeling more unsettled than ever now that she knew he’d been watching her—and Jenny—during the competition. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“We haven’t met yet,” he said, turning toward her. The sun highlighted the right half of his face, showing smooth skin stretched over some mighty fine cheekbones. She suspected this man had his hair styled, not just cut like ordinary people, although she couldn’t see much but a few short, dark-brown strands peeking from beneath his tan Stetson and around his well-shaped ears.
This was no weathered cowboy. From the way he was dressed, in new clothes and expensive boots, she’d be more likely to believe he was one of those models in American Cowboy magazine. He looked as good as one. As a matter of fact, he reminded her of her brother-in-law, Prince Alexi of Belegovia, when he’d dressed like Hank McCauley and fooled her sister Kerry last summer. Alexi and Hank looked enough alike to be twins. Both were handsome as sin, but not as compelling as this stranger, in her opinion.
She realized she’d been giving the man a once-over for way too long. Not too many male-model types came to Ranger Springs, Texas, but that didn’t excuse her ogling. Her mother would have called it downright rude.
“Greg Rafferty,” he said with a smile, extending his hand. “And no, as I’ve already been reminded, I’m not from around here.”
She laughed despite her suspicion over strangers and good-looking men who liked to undress women with their eyes. “I didn’t mean to stare. The sun was in my eyes, and I couldn’t tell if I’d seen you before.”
She shook his hand, noticing his firm, enveloping grip that shot warmth all the way up her arm.
“I can’t use the excuse of sun in my eyes. I’ll admit I was staring.”
He stated the offhand compliment with an intimate kind of amusement that made Carole blush.
She hadn’t blushed in years. She thought she’d forgotten how. She’d apparently also forgotten how to shake hands, because she finally pulled away when she realized she’d been in his gentle grasp for about as long as she’d been staring at him moments ago.
“And you are…”
“I’m sorry. I’m still a little…excited about my daughter’s win.” She took a deep breath and looked into the blue-green eyes of the stranger. “Carole Jacks,” she said, forcing herself to smile pleasantly when she wanted to gawk like a sixteen-year-old.
His expression changed from intimate interest to disbelief in a flash. Seconds later he blinked and schooled his features into a painfully benign mask. “You…” He swallowed, grimacing slightly. “I don’t suppose you have another relative by the same name. A mother or aunt, perhaps?”
“I’m the only one around here that I know of,” she said, more confused by the second.
“I was expecting someone a little…older.” His eyes roamed over her body once more, and she felt that darn warmth seep through her, as hot at the Texas sun beating down on the metal roof above.
She shrugged off her hormone-induced condition. “Older?”
“I came to town expecting to find Alice, or maybe Aunt Bea, and instead I found—”
She stopped him before his eyes started wandering again. “What?”
“You know. Alice, that prototypical housekeeper on The Brady Bunch. And Aunt Bea was on—”
“Andy Griffith. Yes, I know, but what does that have to do with me? And why did you think I was older?”
“Because you bake cookies,” he said, as though that would clear up everything.
“Cookies,” she repeated carefully, wondering how someone this loony could be so good-looking.
“Yes. Ms. Carole’s Cookies. Huntington Foods needs your help to—”
“Oh, no,” she said, putting up both hands as if to ward him off. “I don’t believe this.” She took a step back, needing to put space between her and this…this city slicker. How could they have done this to her? Huntington had promised her no hassles, no demands. All they’d wanted were her cookie recipes. She’d written privacy clauses into her contract. She would never have licensed the rights to her cookies otherwise.
“Are you surprised that someone came down to see you?”
She nodded. “Darn right. Now you can just get back in your car or catch a plane back to Chicago.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to offer.”
“My privacy is not for sale.” She turned away, walking through the doorway and into the hot sunshine, leaving him standing in the shade of the barn.
Good thing she’d learned why he was here before she made an idiot of herself, acting like some silly teenager over a good-looking stranger. Been there, done that. Just because he had great bone structure and filled out his jeans didn’t amount to a hill of beans. He could go straight to—
“Jenny,” Carole whispered. Greg Rafferty might be low enough to try to get into her daughter’s good graces. He could be on his way to her little girl right now, full of phony congratulations on her win, hoping to get to the mother through the daughter.
Halfway to the concession stand, Carole spun around, nearly colliding with the person behind her.
Strong hands steadied her. She looked up into Greg Rafferty’s blue-green eyes. “You,” she whispered. What was it about this man that sent her reeling—mentally and physically?
“You should get some signals installed if you’re going to make turnarounds on a crowded thoroughfare,” he said in a soft, deep voice that held more than a hint of amusement.
At her expense. “Let go.” She brushed off his hold, then dusted her arms as though he’d left some trace. Ridiculous. “Why were you following me?” she asked, deciding the best defense was a good offense.
“Because I came all the way from Chicago to see you, and you need to hear what I have to say.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“I can’t.” He shrugged. “I know about your contract, but things have changed. I need your cooperation.”
Carole sighed. She was going to have to listen to him whether she wanted to or not. “Okay, you can buy me a soft drink and we’ll sit in the shade. I’ll give you ten minutes, then I need to get back to my daughter.”
Within a few minutes they settled on a bench beneath a big cottonwood tree, just outside the barn. The familiar scents of sawdust, hay, animal sweat and manure grounded her in the present. By reminding her of the past, the attractive stranger sitting beside her filled her with insecurities over the future.
“So, why did you come all the way to Texas to talk me into something that is obviously opposite every privacy clause I had inserted into my contract with Huntington Foods?”
“I’m not sure if you heard about our previous C.E.O.’s very public argument with the ‘food police,’ but—”
“Yes, I heard about him calling the C.A.S.H.E.W. group a ‘bunch of nuts.’ Of course I was interested, since you produce my cookies. But like everything, the bad press he caused will pass.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple. When he, er, decided to resign, that also made news. And then the cable news outlets and primetime network shows started calling, asking for in-depth interviews. We’re being compared to the tobacco industry executives who said, before Congress, ‘I do not believe nicotine is addictive.’ That kind of bad publicity doesn’t go away until we clarify our position.”
Carole sat her soft drink on the bench with enough force that the liquid sloshed against the sides. “So clarify it. You’re the new C.E.O., right? I don’t see how—or why—my cooperation or endorsement would matter much.”
“I’m not sure that you know this, but your cookies are our bestselling product. We’d like to design a publicity tour. Some select appearances on the afternoon talk shows and soft news segments, perhaps a demonstration of your baking techniques on the morning shows. And there’s an upcoming food show we’d like for you to attend, perhaps as a featured presenter.”
The idea of becoming a public figure filled her with so much dread that she had a hard time holding back a shudder. Her stomach clenched and her palms began to sweat, but she managed to hold herself together. This was only his plan, she told herself. Not a reality. Forcing a calmness she didn’t feel, she managed to say flippantly, “That’s all, hmm?”
“Well, we’d need your permission to use your image on the packages. Oh, and we’d like to have some favorable articles written about you. Maybe with a photo spread of your home. You and your daughter sharing a plate of cookies. That sort of thing.”
His plan grew worse and worse. She couldn’t believe he would ask her to participate to this degree. She couldn’t believe he’d expect her to put Jenny in…well, not danger, but potential emotional distress. But then, this new C.E.O. didn’t know about her past. Not very many people outside of her family and friends in Ranger Springs remembered.
“You have got to be kidding,” she finally said.
“No.” He appeared a little baffled. “We’re not expecting anything unusual, Ms. Jacks.”
She took a deep breath. “How about I just write you a nice letter. You can tell everyone that I agree—you’re not really a rabidly crazy company who believes a high-sugar, high-fat diet is best for everyone.”
He started to get a little red in the face. The heat? She didn’t think so. She’d probably pushed him to the limit of his bottom-line heart.
“We’d like more than your vote of confidence, Ms. Jacks,” he said in a very controlled voice. “And we’re willing to pay quite a nice sum for your cooperation.”
“Did you read my contract, Mr. Rafferty?”
“Greg, please. And, yes, I did.”
“Then you know that I am under no obligation to publicize the cookies.” The very idea caused another barely controlled shudder.
“Yes, I know, but as I’ve just explained, circumstances have changed.”
“My position hasn’t. Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t want any publicity for myself or my family. My agreement with Huntington Foods has been perfect because my recipes are all that I had to give.”
“Surely you could use the money.”
“Not at the expense of my privacy,” she stated, grabbing her soft drink and rising from the bench. “Now it’s time for me to get back to my daughter. I hope you find another way to solve your problem, Greg Rafferty, because I am not going to change my mind.”
She marched off toward the barn, but hadn’t walked more than four steps when she thought of one more point. “By the way, don’t bother my daughter. She’s off-limits, understand?”
“Why would you think I’d bother your daughter?” he asked, frowning at her.
“I know you big-business types. You’re not above ‘congratulating’ her, too, just to get in my good graces. I’m telling you right now not to try it.”
For some reason Greg Rafferty was like a burr under her saddle. The only way to relieve the irritation was to get rid of the irritant. She hoped he got the point and high-tailed it out of Texas.
“I would have congratulated her, if I’d seen her. But I saw you first. Before I knew who you were,” he pointed out.
“So you say,” she returned, knowing she couldn’t trust his smooth-talking claims any farther than she could throw a twelve-hundred-pound steer. “Just leave, Mr. Rafferty. We’re not buying what you’re selling.”
“I can be as stubborn as you are,” he ground out.
“Maybe,” she conceded, placing one hand on her hip. “But I own my land, and it’s fenced in. If you cross my cattle guard, make sure you’re ready for a fight, because I protect what’s mine.” She glared at him through narrowed eyes. “And I own a shotgun that I know how to use.”
