Читать книгу The C.e.o. & The Cookie Queen - Victoria Chancellor - Страница 11

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Carole said as she drove up the gravel road toward the formerly empty brick house. Only Jenny’s overly dramatic reminder that she’d be leaving for camp soon and might not ever see Puff again had prodded Carole into finding out where Rafferty had holed up.

“Why don’t you like him, Mom?” Jenny asked, leaning forward to see over the dash of Carole’s pickup. “I thought he was pretty nice.”

Carole sighed, remembering the way her normally reserved daughter had actually giggled—giggled, for heaven’s sake!—at Greg Rafferty’s teasing comments yesterday. He had charmed her daughter, but his obvious talents weren’t going to work on the mother. No way. All she had to do was keep reminding herself that he was a businessman whose only concern was his company. He didn’t even care that she had a very clear, very valid contract with Huntington Foods! Before he’d come to Ranger Springs, she’d been perfectly happy with her arrangement, which allowed her the financial freedom to work part-time baking desserts for the Four Square Café and giving cooking classes at upscale retail stores periodically in Austin and San Antonio. Most of all, she got to be a full-time mother to Jenny.

But she did owe her daughter an explanation of why Greg Rafferty wasn’t the greatest thing since sliced bread, just because he’d saved Puff from Big Jim’s big Labor Day chow-down.

“He’s in Texas to convince me to change my agreement with Huntington Foods, Jenny. Even after I told him I wasn’t interested in his proposal, he came back to the arena and bid on your steer. His motives seem pretty obvious to me.”

“What do you mean?”

Carole winced as the pickup hit a pothole in the gravel road. She steered to the other side of the drive and slowed down. “I mean he bought Puff because he thought it would get him in our good graces.”

“Mom, he spent three thousand dollars! Are you sure he’s just trying to get you to change your agreement? And what kind of things does he want you to do?”

“He wants me to do all kinds of things! Go on a publicity tour, make television appearances and get interviewed by everyone and their cousin. He wants my picture on the cookie packages, and worst of all, he wants people to write articles about us. He tried to make it sound very normal, like I should be glad to do this for him.” She snorted in a very unladylike way that she hoped Jenny didn’t emulate. “I’m not about to change my life just to help his company get out of some bad publicity.”

“That’s kind of stubborn of you,” Jenny observed with the wisdom of youth. “If I said something like that, you’d get after me for being bullheaded.”

Carole smiled. “You’re probably right, honey, but believe me, I don’t want to become a public figure. Once you do, there’s no end to the things people can say about you.”

“So did you explain all that to him?”

“Oh, I think he knows exactly how I feel.”

Carole pulled behind a luxury auto parked on the concrete pad in front of the garage. A discreet sticker on the bumper identified the rental car company. Greg Rafferty obviously went first-class, from his extravagant gestures of “goodwill” to his expensive new boots. And he was the kind of man who could pull off such shows of wealth, with his lean but muscular build and model good looks.

He probably spent a lot of time posturing in front of a full-length mirror, she speculated as she turned the key to kill the engine. He’d better not object to her parking their four-year-old, slightly battered pickup in the same driveway as his fancy rental car, because she wouldn’t mind giving him another piece of her mind.

“Mom, you’re getting that look on your face again.”

Carole nearly jumped at the sound of Jenny’s voice. She’d blocked out everything but the infuriating man who’d come to town just to torment her. For the second time in as many days, he’d made her forget her daughter. Another black mark against Greg Rafferty.

“Sorry, honey. I was just thinking about what I was going to say to Mr. Rafferty when I saw him.”

“You’re not going to yell at him again, are you?”

“I never yell.” She didn’t meet her daughter’s eyes, scanning the darkened windows of the house for signs of movement.

“Yes, you do, and you look really mad.” Jenny placed her hand on Carole’s arm, bringing her attention back to the interior of the pickup. “You should think about what he wants you to do. Maybe you could do just a little bit. He seemed like a nice man.”

“Jenny, just because he was nice to you doesn’t mean his intentions are good.”

“But you always tell me to keep an open mind when I meet new people. I’m just saying you should do the same thing.”

Carole reached for the door handle. “Okay, I’ll talk to him again. But I’m not promising to agree with him. I like our life just fine, thank-you-very-much.”

Jenny giggled at their familiar banter. From the beginning, they’d been closer than mother and daughter. Without a father around to distract them, they’d clung to each other through good times and bad. Carole had once worried that Jenny would suffer from not having a dad, but with the help of friends and relatives, they’d coped just fine. Jenny rarely talked about her biological father anymore, and for that, Carole was grateful. Her ex hadn’t wanted a child ten years ago; he didn’t deserve one now.

“I don’t see Puff,” Jenny said as Carole rang the door bell.

“He’s probably in the shade of those cottonwood trees by the stock tank, or maybe inside the barn.”

“I hope Mr. Rafferty knows how to take care of him. Puff isn’t used to being outside all day. His coat will just fry in this sun.”

Carole smiled, glad that her daughter was thinking about her former steer’s welfare rather than his imminent trip to the meat packer’s. “You can tell Mr. Rafferty what he needs to know. I doubt he knows anything about cattle other than what he learned yesterday at the arena.”

There was no answer to her summons, so she rang the bell again, folded her hands across her chest and tried not to concentrate on all of his faults, much less wishing him a miserable stay in Texas. Thinking such thoughts wasn’t exactly the charitable thing to do for a Sunday visit.

“Maybe he’s outside with Puff,” Jenny speculated.

“Okay. Let’s walk around back and see.”

The drone of the air-conditioning unit kept Carole from hearing anything that would give away Rafferty’s location. They walked toward the small barn that had been vacant a long time. The former owners hadn’t run any cattle or horses on their small ranch since their kids had outgrown 4-H.

“Puff!” Jenny called out, looking over the fence to the dark interior of the barn.

A dusky shadow moved, then slowly materialized into the large shape of Jenny’s steer—or her former steer, Carole corrected herself. She held her breath, wondering if Rafferty was also in the barn, until she realized what she was doing. She resisted the urge to call out to the man, to find out where he was lurking. With a disgusted sigh, she looked around the pasture, finding no trace of him.

“Do you want to stay and see Puff? I’m going back to the house to find Mr. Rafferty.”

“I’ll stay in the barn, Mom.” Jenny unlatched the gate and hurried toward the steer.

“Don’t wander off,” Carole warned as she walked toward the house.

The sun beat down on her back and shoulders, reminding her that she hadn’t worn a hat. And why was that? Because she wanted to look less like a cowgirl and more like a woman. A twenty-eight-year-old mother, a single head of her household, who had no business worrying about how she looked to visit a man who no doubt wanted her to dress up in an old-fashioned ruffled apron, display a plate of cookies and smile for the cameras.

But a little bit of doubt remained about her motives. Far back in her mind, she wondered if she’d dressed in soft, worn, body-hugging jeans and fitted, Western-cut shirt to make Greg Rafferty’s gaze roam over her the way he’d done yesterday at the arena. Could she possibly enjoy enticing his interest when she didn’t like him as a person? Surely she wasn’t that shallow.

She nearly stumbled over an exposed rock when she realized that she was exactly that superficial. With no conscious awareness, she was soliciting the interest of a man who was here to coax her into doing something she didn’t want to do, who would go to endless trouble and expense to impress her from a professional standpoint. Why, he was probably acting interested in her as another coercion tactic!

By the time she arrived back at the house, she was flushed from more than the heat. Something about Greg Rafferty rubbed her the wrong way. She’d never had this reaction to another man. In the past ten years, not once had she been even slightly tempted by the wrong kind of guy. Eleven years ago, as flighty as a green-broke filly…now that was a different story.

Carole pushed open the gate on the side of the house, grateful for the slight shade under the roof overhang. As soon as she turned the corner into the backyard, however, she was back in the sunlight again. She blinked, then squinted, then stared. Standing beside the pool, dressed in what could only be described as a scrap of black fabric stretched across an incredible male butt, stood the best-looking man her imagination could have dreamed up.

He must have heard her enter the yard because he turned, giving her a different view. His backside wasn’t the only part of his anatomy that scrap of a swimsuit struggled to cover. She sucked in a deep breath through her mouth, then started coughing.

Rafferty advanced on her until she put up a hand to stop him. If he got too close, she wasn’t real sure what she’d do. His lean, muscular body glistened with drops of water that slid from his wide shoulders to his smooth chest, then down his stomach, racing toward the low band of black fabric. She had the insane urge to taste those drops of water before they made their final destination.

After all, she was awfully thirsty.

She closed her eyes, thankful that she’d stopped coughing, hoping she could control these wild, out-of-character urges that had suddenly taken over her psyche. She wasn’t a loose woman. She wasn’t desperate. But she had been celibate for most of her adult life. Maybe there was something to those articles about hormones kicking in when a woman approached thirty.

“Are you all right?”

Without opening her eyes, she could tell he was close. Too close. Water-drop-licking close. “I’m fine,” she managed to whisper. Directing her gaze about six feet off the ground, she opened her eyes.

“I thought I was going to have to pound you on the back,” he said in an amused tone. “Or maybe give you the Heimlich maneuver.”

“I’ll take my chances on choking.”

Rafferty laughed. “You still don’t trust me.”

I don’t trust myself, she wanted to say, but kept silent. She found the idea of him locking his arms around her from behind, pressing that damp, hard body against her as his hands put pressure right below her breasts, way too tempting.

“You surprised me,” she said, trying to explain why she’d gone loco at the sight of him. “I rang the bell earlier, but no one answered.”

“I like to swim.”

Which meant he spent lots of time in such abbreviated attire. Or, if he had his own pool, maybe none at all. “Really?” Carole swallowed again, this time more successfully.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, his gaze taking in her shirt and jeans. She felt extremely overdressed, considering his state, but then reminded herself that she certainly didn’t need to be wearing any less around Greg Rafferty. He’s all wrong for you, she warned herself, even as she stopped her wayward eyes and thoughts from drifting southward.

“I’m glad you came to see me, but I am rather surprised. You weren’t thrilled that I bought your daughter’s steer.”

“My daughter? Yes, my daughter! She’s in the barn. That’s why we came to see you. Both of us. Because she wanted to make sure you knew how to take care of Puff.”

“Both of you,” he repeated, sounding disappointed. He ran a hand through his thick, wet hair.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’d better go check on her.” She tore her gaze away from his face and turned around, ready to hurry back to the barn. Ready to drive her pickup down that gravel road as if the devil himself was chasing her.

The devil in a black Speedo.

His hand stopped her, clamped around her upper arm gently but firmly. She felt the dampness through her suddenly thin cotton shirt and shivered. “Wait a minute. Let me get a towel and I’ll go with you.”

So much for making a hasty retreat. “You need more than a towel,” she said before thinking.

He let go of her arm, then shrugged when she looked at him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Apparently not,” Carole murmured, cursing herself for giving him another once-over with her wickedly independent eyes. Why couldn’t her body obey her firm resolve not to pay the least amount of attention to this totally unsuitable man?

“Are you shocked by what I’m wearing, Ms. Carole?” Rafferty asked in a teasing tone.

“You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest and looking over the high fence toward the barn. Not that she could see anything.

She wasn’t about to tell him that she hadn’t seen anything exactly like he displayed. If the rest of him was as good as—Don’t go there, she warned herself. Stop thinking about him that way!

“I’ll bet you don’t have a lot of cowboys running around in competitive swimwear,” he said with a chuckle. “I assume the community is a little more conservative than that.”

“You’ve got that right,” Carole agreed, still not looking at him. “We tend to be a bit more modest.”

“So you think I’m an exhibitionist for swimming in my own pool?”

“I didn’t call you names.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his voice coming from very close beside her. She couldn’t resist looking.

“Is this better?” He held his arms out, revealing a partially buttoned cotton shirt and a yellow towel wrapped around his waist.

“Different,” she admitted with a smile. He didn’t look sophisticated and urban at the moment. Tousled and with the strange get-up, no one could consider him a threat to anyone’s peace of mind.

Of course, she still remembered what he looked like without the shirt and towel.

“I do have some questions that you and Jenny can answer,” he said as they started walked toward the gate, “about feeding Puff. What time, how much at a time, that sort of thing.”

He was right behind her, and Carole could swear that she felt his hot breath on her neck. Ridiculous. Her mind was playing tricks on her. The weather was warm, the pool made the breeze humid.

“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” he asked as he reached around her to open the gate.

“I’m not wearing any,” she managed to answer as she squeezed through the opening.

“Really? You smell like vanilla.”

“I baked this morning,” she admitted, walking quickly toward the barn.

“A batch of Ms. Carole’s cookies?” he asked in an amused tone.

She turned back and frowned at him. “No, coffee cake. There’s more to life than cookies, Mr. Rafferty.”

His gaze roamed over her jeans and shirt, pausing to look her in the eye. “I’m aware of that, Ms. Jacks.”

She set her lips in a thin line and turned back to where her daughter was waiting. Irritating man. She should have said, “There’s more to life than cookies and sex.”

CAROLE WAVED as Jenny scrambled into the back seat of the minivan with her friends Ashley and Meagan. The other two moms had offered to take the three girls to San Antonio for a day at their favorite amusement park, Schlitterbahn. Which was great for Jenny, because it took her mind off the auction and distracted her from the present location of Puff. Carole was pretty sure she’d want to go over there twice a day if possible.

Jenny had giggled yesterday at Greg Rafferty’s towel-wrapped ensemble, but Carole hadn’t laughed. Not when she remembered how he’d looked before he’d covered up. There was only so much potent male she could tolerate before retreating to the safety of her home. And staying there.

Except today he was invading her space, courtesy of the invitation she’d grudgingly extended. Jenny had insisted on open-mindedness, and Carole wouldn’t disappoint her daughter. That didn’t mean she would agree to whatever Rafferty was suggesting.

As soon as the minivan was out of sight, Carole sighed and walked into the house. The absolute silence reminded her that in another week, Jenny would be gone to camp and every day would sound like this. Quiet. Still. After growing up in a small house with two sisters, then having a baby of her own, she wasn’t accustomed to what some people called peaceful. She much preferred the sound of her daughter’s chatter, the ding-ding of electronic games, the singsong nature of children’s music.

Even Puff was gone, living at the rented house with a man from Chicago who didn’t know alfalfa pellets from sweet feed.

And said stranger was going to arrive here in less than an hour.

With a sigh, she switched on the radio and let the sound of soft rock—since she no longer listened to country music—fill the silent kitchen as she gazed outside. A side bay window overlooked the pasture, but there wasn’t much there to see today. The Texas sun had bleached the grass to a pale golden beige, and until the rains came again in September, the fields would remain lifeless.

“Why did I agree to meet with him?” Carole mumbled as she smelled the coffee still simmering in the bottom of the glass carafe. She wrinkled her nose at the foul odor, quickly pouring out the dark liquid. She wasn’t mean enough to serve that gunk to Rafferty, even if they were adversaries.

Of course, she thought with a smile, she might be able to convince him that “real cowboys” drank that kind of hot acid, but she wasn’t about to subject her stomach to such abuse. She’d make a fresh pot right before he arrived, but darned if she was going to bake any cookies to go along with the coffee. No way. This was strictly business.

GREG PULLED TO A STOP in the gravel driveway behind the nondescript white pickup truck that Carole had driven to his rental property yesterday. Perhaps today they could focus on the issue to Huntington Foods’ image problem—if they could ignore the sexual attraction that simmered right below the surface of her incredibly smooth, vanilla-scented skin.

He promised himself he’d try as he exited the air-conditioned interior of his rental car for the sauna heat of Texas in August. How did these people stand it? At least he had the pool to help him cool off. He enjoyed the luxury of swimming anytime he wanted, although he felt a bit guilty about not working harder on getting this situation straightened out. He hadn’t become C.E.O. of his family’s business by lying around a pool—much less daydreaming about Carole Jacks.

And he wouldn’t solve Huntington’s problem by lusting after their “cash cow,” which was a terrible misnomer, he thought with a frown as he rang the doorbell to her modest brick home. He could either deal with her on a professional level or appeal to her on a private one. He couldn’t do both.

She’d added some homey touches to her house, he noticed as he waited for her to answer the doorbell. A wreath of twisted vines and sunflowers adorned the dark-red front door. A window box of multicolored flowers around the side of the house added color to the brown-speckled brick and beige trim. Even in the flower beds beside the walkway, painted rocks and a few seashells made them special. He assumed Jenny had some hand in those decorations. Overall, the Jacks residence looked very nice and inviting.

“Hello,” she said a bit breathlessly as she opened the dark-red panel all the way, then flicked open the storm door. She smoothed her hair back from her cheek in an unconscious gesture, leaving a slight smudge of flour as she took a deep breath. Three of the buttons on her Western-style shirt threatened to pop.

Oh, man, was he in trouble. Personally, professionally, every which way he could manage.

His gaze jerked from her breasts to her face. “I hope I didn’t interrupt something,” Greg said, taking the open door as a summons to enter. He hadn’t worn his new Stetson today, but he imagined quite a few cowboys had come calling through this doorway, removing their hats as they waited for Carole Jacks to smile at them.

“No,” she said, taking a step back and wiping her hands on her jeans-covered thighs, “I was just doing something in the kitchen.”

He had a mental flash of hooking his hands around her thighs, lifting her to the kitchen counter and exploring every inch of her vanilla-scented body.

Not a good beginning to a business meeting, he told himself as she gestured toward the couch and chairs in the living room. Oh, yes. Those would work, too.

“Where’s Jenny?” he asked, looking around the country-style furnishings that featured little-girl touches and several framed ribbons. He needed a buffer, something to take his mind off Carole Jacks, the desirable woman.

“Gone with friends to San Antonio for the day.” She paused. “Thank you for listening to her advice yesterday and inviting her to visit Puff. She’s still experiencing some separation anxiety.”

“So’s the steer. Last night he bawled like a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Carole said with amusement in her voice. “Jenny is apparently doing better than Puff.”

“Don’t worry about it. He was fine after I gave him an extra scoop of feed.” Greg grinned. “Of course, I could bring him back here anytime. I’d even contribute a substantial amount to his feed bill.”

Carole rolled her eyes and ignored his comment. “Take a seat. Would you like some coffee? I just made a pot.”

“Coffee would be great. Black is fine.”

She took a deep breath, which again threatened the buttons on her blue plaid shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

Greg wandered into the small living room and put his portfolio down on the couch. He saw evidence of Carole’s homey touch in the fresh-cut flowers on the pine table and the stenciling around the top of the wall.

Within moments she was back with a tray, mugs, and a coffeepot. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Rafferty.”

“Please, call me Greg,” he reminded her again.

They settled on opposite ends of the sofa, and she handed him a mug of coffee. “Would you like a cookie?”

He couldn’t hold back a grin at the irony. “Sure.” He took a bite and let the taste roll around on his tongue like a fine wine. “A new recipe?” he finally asked when he couldn’t identify the specific product.

She nodded.

“These definitely aren’t Prairie Pralines, or Chisolm Trail Chocolate Chip, or even Stampede Surprise.”

She raised her eyebrow at his recitation of her recipes, smiling slightly. “These don’t have a name yet, but what do you think?”

“I think Huntington would love to get the recipe,” he answered, reaching for another one. “I’m no expert on food, but I’m tasting pecans, vanilla and chocolate chunks. What’s that other ingredient?”

“A secret,” she said, sitting back against the couch. “I didn’t fix them to entice you with a new recipe.”

“Ms. Carole,” he said in his best imitation of a Western drawl, “darn near everything about you is enticing.”

She looked shocked, then she laughed. He hadn’t seen her so amused before, and the joy transformed her face from beautiful to radiant. Her eyes crinkled and her cheeks took on a darker shade of pink. He wanted to hold on to the warmth that flowed so freely from this woman, but knew that any move would halt her laughter quicker than anything.

“You have potential to be more than a catalog cowboy,” she said finally, wiping the corner of her eye.

“Thanks, I think. What’s a catalog cowboy?”

“Someone who orders all the appropriate gear from a catalog, but hasn’t sat a horse or roped a steer.”

“That wouldn’t be me,” Greg vowed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I have definitely ridden a horse before.”

“Cutting? Roping? Western pleasure?”

“Eastern-riding-stable nag,” he answered, hoping for another smile.

She didn’t disappoint him. “I should have known.”

Greg shrugged. “I don’t have anything against horses. We just didn’t have lots of them in our high-rise condo when I was growing up.” His family also owned a weekend house in the wooded countryside, but he didn’t mention that detail, since they didn’t have horses there, either.

“I don’t suppose so,” she admitted, reaching for a cookie. “I’ve heard the grazing on those small balconies is pretty scarce.”

Greg laughed at the mental image of taking Puff home with him to his Chicago apartment. “You could teach me to ride and rope,” he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his crossed legs. “I’m a fairly athletic guy.”

“I—” She obviously started to say something, then stopped herself. Her blush gave away her thoughts, though. She was remembering finding him by the pool yesterday. Like the rest of the conservative community, Ms. Carole obviously wasn’t accustomed to seeing men in Speedos.

He wondered if she saw very many men without their Speedos. The thought wasn’t nearly as easy to swallow as her cookies.

“Never mind. I probably won’t be here that long,” he said, mentally shaking away the thoughts of her with another man. “If you’re ready, let me tell you a little about our company so you’ll understand how important repairing our image is to the whole family, even the whole company.”

“Okay,” she said, setting her mug on the tray. “What did you have in mind?”

Greg finished his coffee, then set his mug beside hers. He leaned forward and clasped his hands. “You know Huntington Foods is an old, reputable company. My great-grandfather founded the firm in the 1920s, but really it grew in size by providing staple elements of the post-World-War-II American diet.”

“As American as apple pie and cheese crackers.”

“Exactly. And until my hotheaded older brother, Brad, the former C.E.O., decided to call a nutritional expert from C.A.S.H.E.W. a ‘food nut’ and appear to come at her across the table on national television, everything was going well.”

“What happened to him? I couldn’t believe the tape I saw on TV. It looked as though he snapped.”

Greg shrugged. “The family is still debating that point, with my mother winning most of the arguments by blaming my father’s Scottish ancestors. But at least he resigned quickly. Unfortunately, we still have a mess to clean up.”

“Yes, but it’s like a funny poster someone gave my sister, ‘Poor planning on your part does not constitute a crisis on mine.”’

“That’s a cute saying, and it might work fine if your job is stocking shelves at the grocery, or working as a clerk in the driver’s license bureau, but that’s not the same kind of situation you’re in. I’m not sure how much of your income Huntington provides, but I do know how much we’re paying you. That could take a big chunk out of your budget. If we can’t get our image improved, sales of all our products, including your cookies, may suffer.”