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.”
“Are you threatening me?” he asked incredulously.
“Just don’t give me a reason to fill your backside with buckshot.”
“I thought you Texans didn’t shoot men in the back.”
“We shoot varmints anywhere we please,” she said, wishing she were back on her own property right now, safe behind the wire fencing and long driveway. Locked inside, where no one could bother her or her daughter.
He glared at her, but she’d seen and said enough. Carole spun on her heel, her boots digging into the dust-covered, dry grass. She felt his gaze burning into her back as surely as if he’d aimed his own weapon at her…at her backside.
He probably wasn’t giving her the once-over now. He was scorching holes in her with angry eyes, she’d bet, although she’d die before she turned around to check.
She’d seen enough of Greg Rafferty. He’d better not show up on her property. Despite her bravado, she wouldn’t really fill him with buckshot. No, she’d call Police Chief Parker and swear out a complaint. If Greg Rafferty didn’t leave her alone, the only people baking Ms. Carole’s cookies would be Ms. Carole herself.
Chapter Two
Greg planted both elbows on the darkened pine bar of Shultze’s Roadhouse and mentally kicked himself for the hundredth time. Just because Carole Jacks possessed killer legs, a body to make a man drool, and sun-kissed hair he longed to run his fingers through, he should have behaved in a professional, rational manner. Hell, he’d practically drooled on her figure-molding white T-shirt and jeans. If he’d come on any stronger, she would have accused him of seducing her to get what he wanted.
Come to think of it, that would probably be better than the assumptions she’d come up with. Thinking he’d use her daughter to get to her…. What kind of low-life sleaze did she think he was? Using a kid…
He straightened, his hand closing around the frosty longneck as he remembered the look on the little girl’s face as she’d realized she was going to lose that big steer to Big Jim’s barbecue grill. Greg glanced at his watch. Nearly one o’clock. What time did that auction start? He thought he’d heard two, but after the confrontation with his sexy cowgirl, who’d turned out to be the woman he’d come all this way to see, he hadn’t trusted his short-term memory. Hell, this whole trip to Texas was turning into a journey to another dimension, not just a trip to a different state.
He had time to get back to the arena before the bidding started. If he did manage to buy the steer, Carole Jacks would automatically assume he’d done so to get into her good graces. She’d accuse him of trying to influence her daughter. He’d never be able to convince her he’d thought of outbidding Big Jim before he’d known who the country’s favorite cookie queen was.
He should forget about the girl, the steer and the sexy cowgirl. Instead of planning to outbid the competition, he should put on his professional demeanor, just as he’d put on these cowboy clothes. Starting over again with Carole Jacks, beginning with an apology for his earlier outburst, was the only sensible strategy.
The plan not only sounded boring, but it totally ignored his feelings about saving the little girl’s prize pet. He wasn’t about to sit here sipping a cold one while some good ol’ boy ripped the animal away from the child who’d raised him. Greg took a long drink of his beer, grinding his teeth as the vision took hold. He’d deal with Carole Jacks’s suspicions after he handed the big black steer back to her daughter.
The fact that she’d be forced to deal with him at all was worth the expense of outbidding Big Jim. All he wanted was a fair chance to convince her that his plan was reasonable. Once she listened to him, calmly and without the overheated emotions of this afternoon, she might find she liked him. And if she softened just a bit, he’d have a chance to explore some of the non-professional aspects of their relationship.
Like the way her gaze had caressed him when they’d stood just inside the barn. The way she’d been interested in him as a man before she’d accused him of being a louse. He had a suspicion she’d rather eat dirt than admit she’d liked what she’d seen, but he knew a hungry look when he saw one. And Carole Jacks had an extraordinary pair of bedroom eyes that could arouse with just a glance. If he let his mind wander to what the rest of her could do, he’d never get to the auction in time.
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,