The C.e.o. & The Cookie Queen

“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 think 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.

So maybe the attraction he felt for her wasn’t one-sided. Maybe she felt it, too, and that frightened her. He had no doubt she really didn’t believe him, or trust his motives. That obstacle didn’t bother him, because she was obviously the kind of person who needed proof. Simply telling her that he hadn’t bought Puff, the grand champion steer, to impress her didn’t carry much weight with Carole Jacks.

A smile spread across Greg’s face as he recalled the way she’d grabbed his shirt. And the way his hands had settled so naturally around her waist, as though they belonged there and nowhere else.

At least, nowhere he could put them in public.

Thinking about Carole Jacks made him even hotter than this Texas summer. Not even noon and the temperature must be nearly ninety degrees! Pushing away from the wooden fence post, Greg walked through the brown, dying grass toward the brick and frame house he’d rented late yesterday afternoon. As soon as he’d realized he was stuck with Puff—at least temporarily—he’d looked up realty companies in the phone book and made an appointment with a cute, efficient redheaded lady named Gina Summers.

Fortunately, this house had been available on a monthly lease. Fully furnished, it was more than he needed, but at least he’d be comfortable during his stay in Ranger Springs, Texas. He walked up the three steps to the front porch, pulled open the storm door and slipped into the absolute necessity of air-conditioning.

Of course, if Carole Jacks hadn’t been so bullheaded, he thought as he walked across the hardwood floors toward the back patio, she could have taken the steer home with her. Greg would have been more than happy to check into a hotel or motel until he could convince her to modify her contract with Huntington Foods. Everyone, including Jenny and Puff, would have been much more content with that arrangement. But leasing a house and forty acres for a month was just another example of how unusual this trip had become.

At least the house had a pool. He loved to swim, and having the water to himself rather than sharing it with fifteen screaming kids at a hotel was worth a lot. He didn’t particularly enjoy children, maybe because he hadn’t been around them very much. His older brother, Brad, the hotheaded former C.E.O. of his mother’s family-owned company, hadn’t married yet. Neither had his younger sister, Stephanie, the current C.F.O. of Huntington Foods. Some of his college friends were married, but most of them had babies, and they got baby-sitters when he went out with them.

Older children like Jennifer were okay, he guessed, but he struggled to talk to them intelligently. At least with her he’d had a topic of conversation. One of his biggest fears was being left alone with a small child who wanted to talk. He was afraid he’d say the wrong thing.

Just like everything else he’d done or thought since arriving at the county livestock arena, his attention came back to Carole Jacks. His blond cowgirl. The object of his professional quest. The mother of a ten-year-old girl with a pet who ate thirty-five pounds of feed a day. Plus grass and hay, he’d been informed by a helpful rancher at the arena.

With a sigh, cursing his luck for becoming mentally obsessed and physically attracted to a woman who was all wrong for him, Greg began removing his clothes, all the way down to the stretchy black Speedo beneath those stiff new jeans.

He’d take a swim right now. The exercise would do him good, and maybe the water would be cold enough to take his mind—and other parts of his body—off the exciting, unusual Ms. Carole.

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