The C.E.O. & the Cookie Queen

by Victoria Chancellor

  Chapter Five

  Although delving into the history of others wasn’t something he enjoyed, Greg decided he had no choice. Carole wasn’t going to tell him anything about her past—she’d firmly refused to discuss her life outside of the contractual obligations, except to mention her daughter a few times: Jenny participated in 4-H; Jenny went to camp every year. Not exactly groundbreaking revelations. He’d have to dig deeper to understand both Carole’s aversion to expanding her role with Huntington and Thelma Rogers’s cryptic comment.

  After pulling out his briefcase and locating the file folder, he opened the report on Carole Jacks that Huntington’s legal department had run on her when he’d first thought of her as a spokesperson. They routinely did background checks on potential employees in key positions, so this wasn’t unusual. However, most people who underwent the background check were applying for jobs.

  Carole didn’t want the job he’d offered. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him or his company except supply them with recipes and receive a quarterly check.

  His conscience only bothered him a little, since he rationalized the research as necessary for saving his family business. If he convinced Carole to cooperate, he had to make sure she didn’t have any skeletons lurking in her closet. No arrests or convictions that might be referred to by her friends and family as an “unfortunate incident.”

  Twenty-four hours a day his life revolved around one blond cowgirl. She had him tied in knots, and not just from her obvious physical attributes. She was also intriguing and admirable. Although she made him angry with her stubborn refusal to listen to his proposal to save Huntington’s reputation, he believed she had her reasons.

  He just needed to know those reasons.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk as he read the report again. There simply wasn’t much here. Carole didn’t even have a traffic ticket or a misdemeanor on her record. She didn’t have any alias or pending lawsuits, either. Her credit rating was excellent. The incident that Thelma Rogers had referred to obviously wasn’t criminal.

  She was as squeaky clean as her all-American good looks. So what was she hiding? Why was she so afraid of publicity?

  The answer had to be something personal. Something had happened to her that didn’t appear on any credit or criminal report. Something that made her wary of outsiders, afraid of placing herself and her daughter in the spotlight.

  He flipped open his cell phone and called Stewart Allen, head of Huntington’s legal department.

  “Stew, we have a little problem down here in Texas.” Greg briefly outlined his conversations with Carole, leaving out any of the personal stuff. He ended by mentioning his conversation with the newspaper lady. “I think we need a more in-depth investigation. Whatever has Ms. Jacks spooked is something personal. Something from her past. It may have to do with her ten-year-old daughter.”

  “I can get someone on it right away. We have a contract with a P.I. firm, although we seldom need their services.”

  “Good, because I sure wouldn’t want to think we had to be this invasive into someone’s privacy very often.”

  “I’m not sure how long this will take. Maybe a few hours, maybe a few days.”

  “I don’t care as much about time as I do about discretion. I don’t want any word of this investigation getting out. If Carole—Ms. Jacks, learned we were invading her privacy, there’s no way in hell she’d ever agree to my plan.”

  “I understand. I’ll call you as soon as I have something solid.”

  “Call me anytime. It’s not like I have anything urgent going on down here in Texas, other than feeding my new pet.”

  “Pet?”

  “Never mind. It’s a long story. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Greg hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair. Several hours or several days, he really didn’t have any plans. The only activity that interested him was strictly off-limits for several reasons, the most obvious one being that Carole Jacks had already asked him to leave her house once today. Going back would just be asking for more rejection.

  He might be as stubborn as the mysterious cookie queen, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to screw up his only chance of making her see reason.

  CAROLE PARKED behind the Four Square Café right at closing time. Her mother’s car was parked beside the stairs leading upstairs to her beloved museum. Not that it was completely her endeavor. Since she’d been an ardent royal watcher for years and was now the mother-in-law to Prince Alexi of Belegovia, everyone called it “her” museum.

  That was also one of the reasons Carole was now called the “cookie queen” when she’d previously been known as the “cookie mom,” even though her older sister, Kerry, would one day be the queen of Belegovia.

  After switching off the air-conditioning, then the engine, Carole quickly gathered the coffee cake and cookies she’d baked earlier. The café didn’t get her baked goods every day, but she tried to keep them supplied on a regular basis. With Jenny gone all day and her encounter with Greg making her as jumpy as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, baking an extra batch or two of goodies seemed like a good way to work out her energy…and frustrations.

  She knocked on the back door and was admitted by Hans, the cook. He was just tossing his apron in the dirty clothes hamper.

  “Let me help you with that armload,” he said, reaching for a couple of the containers.

  “You’re working late today.”

  “I was just leaving. We had a later than usual lunch crowd. Or I should say, they lingered longer than usual.”

  “Oh? Was there a Fall Festival meeting today?” she asked as they walked into the kitchen with their loads.

  “No, just a little gossip. A little talk about a certain out-of-town man you might know.”

  “Greg Rafferty?” she asked, her containers landing with a thud on the work island.

  “The same. He was in earlier. Thelma talked to him, then she talked about him to the regulars.”

  Carole groaned. That meant Pastor Carl, Ralph Biggerstaff, Jimmy Mack Branson, Joyce Wheatley and maybe a couple of others had been discussing her, as well. Everyone in town was probably aware, by now, that an out-of-towner had paid three thousand dollars for Jenny’s steer, even though he had no dinner plans for the animal.

  Not very many men would pay that much for a steer unless he was trying to get into the good graces—or something—of the child’s mother.

  “Did they reach any earth-shattering conclusions?”

  “Not that I heard. Of course, I was busy keeping them supplied with pie.”

  “I’m sure Mom will tell me,” Carole said with a sigh. “Thanks for the warning, Hans.”

  “Sure thing. Thanks for bringing in the goodies. Your coffee cake is always a morning favorite.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll see you in a couple of days with a fresh batch.”

  Carole walked down the tile hallway, past the stairs leading to the second floor, past the office, then the rest rooms and entered the main dining area. Her mother sat in the back booth, rolling flatware inside white paper napkins as she’d done for years.

  “You should get someone else to do that, Mom,” Carole said, settling into the bench seat across from Charlene Jacks. She reached for a stack of napkins and moved the tray of knives, forks and spoons into the middle of the gray Formica table. She hadn’t rolled as many napkins as her sister, Kerry, a former waitress who was now a princess in Belegovia, but she’d helped out enough to remember the routine.

  “I know, but we’re shorthanded at the moment. Darlene moved away, not that she was a lot of help, and we haven’t been able to hire anyone else right now with school starting in a couple of weeks and everyone taking last-minute vacations.”

  Carole sighed, knowing her mother didn’t like to participate in the interviews. She always fell for a hard-luck story and ended up recommending someone who wasn’t suitable for waiting tables. Most people didn’t realize what hard work was involved,
from getting the orders straight to refilling coffee cups and glasses at just the right time.

  “I heard Greg Rafferty was in earlier and that he talked to Thelma.”

  “She did most of the talking, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not worried,” Carole said. “Well, not really. Of course I don’t like the fact that he’s made me the topic of idle conversation. I just wish he’d go back to Chicago. I don’t understand why he’s so certain he can make me change my mind when I’ve been very clear that I didn’t want to cooperate with his plans.”

  “I don’t know what to say, since you haven’t told me what plans you’re talking about,” her mother gently chastised.

  Carole stared at her blankly for a moment. “I thought I did. That’s about all I’ve been thinking about for so long that I assumed…I’m sorry. I should have called and let you know.”

  “You don’t have to let me know everything that’s going on in your life, Carole Lynn. You’re an adult.”

  “I know, but…if I’d thought that talking about him—I mean, his plan—would have helped, I’d have called you in a New York minute.”

  “So, do you feel like telling me why he’s in town?”

  “He wants me to represent his company, Mom. Huntington Foods. He had the gall to expect me to jump at the chance to be interviewed day and night, to have my home invaded by cameras and fly all over the country pushing plates of cookies at every local talk show host.”

  Her mother was silent for a moment, rolling the flatware, stacking the napkins. “Well, he obviously doesn’t know you.”

  “That’s for darn sure!”

  “I suppose you told him no.”

  “Of course.”

  Her mother paused again, then asked, “Was there anything good about his plans?”

  “No! Of course not. Oh, he offered me money. You know how those business executives are. They think throwing money at any problem will solve it.”

  “That’s an unusual choice of words—problem. Is there a particular reason he wanted you to become Huntington’s spokesperson?”

  “You remember when Brad Rafferty, the former C.E.O., popped off to the food activist group on TV?” At one Saturday night family dinner they’d talked about his angry remarks, worrying that sales of Carole’s cookies might suffer. Thankfully, they hadn’t.

  At her mother’s nod, she continued. “Well, apparently the verbal battle has escalated to the point where Brad, who is Greg’s brother by the way, had to resign and Greg is now stuck with rebuilding the company’s image.”

  “Then it seems reasonable he’d ask you for help.”

  “He’s not being reasonable! I have a contract that says I won’t do any of the things he asked me to do.”

  “Well, he didn’t know for sure unless he asked.”

  Carole narrowed her eyes at her mother. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours, of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t point out the obvious. Greg Rafferty needs help, you’re the logical choice, and he offered you money to cooperate.”

  “Well, I’m not going to do it!”

  Her mother nodded and continued to roll napkins. Sometimes she could be so…reasonable. Why wasn’t she outraged that some Yankee had upset her daughter?

  “I told him no, but he hasn’t left. He doesn’t believe I mean it, but I do. I swear, Mom, I’m not going to become a paid spokesperson for anyone.”

  “I believe you, sweetie. And like you said, you certainly don’t have to. You have a contract with Huntington Foods that pays you money without making you say one word on their behalf.”

  “That’s right! Now if Greg Rafferty would just get that through his thick head.”

  Her mother sighed. “You have to admit, he has a pretty darn good-looking thick head.”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m just stating a fact.”

  Good thing her mother hadn’t seen him in the Speedo, Carole thought. “How attractive he is has nothing to do with the facts. He’s been way too pushy. I don’t appreciate him barging into my life, asking me to violate my principles, making Jenny giggle, for heaven’s sake!”

  “He sounds like he really needs help. That’s probably made him a bit desperate.”

  “Maybe, but that’s his problem.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Carole frowned at her small stack of rolled-up flatware. “Why won’t he go away, Mom?”

  “Because he hasn’t gotten what he came here for.”

  “He’s never going to get my cooperation.”

  “Then you don’t really have a problem, do you, Carole Lynn?”

  If only it were that simple.

  JUST BEFORE SUNSET a very exhausted Jennifer arrived home from the amusement park in San Antonio. She waved wearily to her friends Ashley and Meagan while leaning against Carole’s side. Still, she looked up with forced brightness and asked, “Can I go see Puff tonight?”

  Carole hugged her warm little body close. “Not tonight, Jenny. It’s late and you’re tired.”

  “Ah, Mom. I want to see him.”

  But I don’t want to see him, Carole felt like whining. Him being Greg Rafferty. She’d already seen him once today, and once was more than enough for her peace of mind.

  “Not tonight, Jenny.”

  “Can we go tomorrow?”

  “Probably. I’ll call Mr. Rafferty.”

  “He’ll want us to come out. He said I could come and see Puff anytime I wanted.”

  Carole sighed. Talking to a ten-year-old who was physically exhausted would try the patience of a saint. “Are you hungry?” she asked, steering her daughter into the house.

  “No. We ate hot dogs and nachos right before we left.”

  “Then let’s get you into the bathtub.”

  “Ah, Mom,” Jenny moaned, shuffling into the house like a condemned person.

  “Into the tub, young lady.”

  While Jenny bathed and sang a pop song she must have heard on the radio today, Carole took out Greg Rafferty’s impressively embossed business card. On the back he’d written his cell phone and the number at the house. His handwriting was neat and precise, not too small but not sprawling, either. Rather nice handwriting for a man, she had to admit.

  She turned it over again and again between her fingers as if she were twirling a baton. You have to call him sometime. Do it now. Then you can tell Jenny whether we’ll be going over there tomorrow. Before she chickened out, she picked up the phone and dialed his number.

  “Rafferty here.”

  “Jacks here,” Carole heard herself responding, wincing at the playfulness she heard in her own voice. Where had that come from? She was nervous. She didn’t want to talk to him. Yet she found some humor in the situation? She must be as punchy tired as her daughter.

  “Good evening, Ms. Jacks. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

  “Thank you. I…that is, Jenny wanted to know if we could come by tomorrow and see Puff.”

  “Of course. He’ll be glad to see Jenny.”

  “Good.”

  “And I’ll be glad to see you.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that remark. “What time would be convenient?”

  “I have an early conference call to my office, but after around ten o’clock I should be free for several hours. Do you have time to talk while Jennifer visits her steer?”

  “I’m not sure, and actually, he’s your steer.”

  “Try telling him that. He still cries for her. It’s very sad, really. I think I should send him home where he belongs. Just tell me when and I’ll make arrangements with the feed store.”

  Carole chuckled. “That wasn’t the deal.”

  “Do you have any idea how demanding a pet steer can be? It’s like having a twelve-hundred-pound lapdog.”

  “Yes, I know exactly what you mean. Why do you think it was so hard for Jennifer to give him up, even for the sake of her college fund?”

  “This whole 4-H thing see
ms rather barbaric.”

  “Only a Yankee city-slicker would make such a ridiculous comment. I’ll bet you aren’t even a vegetarian.”

  “No, I’m not, but I like to retain some space between myself and my meals. I haven’t been able to eat any beef since Saturday without seeing Puff’s big brown eyes staring at me. Condemning me.”

  Carole laughed. “Maybe you should become a vegetarian.”

  “I may start by eating only fish and chicken.” He paused for a moment. “Jennifer doesn’t raise pet chickens, does she?”

  “No, but that’s an idea for next year.”

  Greg Rafferty groaned. “So come by around ten o’clock. While Jennifer visits her big baby, we’ll talk. I’ll even make coffee.”

  Carole sighed. “You aren’t going to leave this alone, are you?”

  “I want to finish our conversation. I want you to give me a chance.”

  “I’m not changing my mind.”

  “Then help me come up with an alternative.”

  Would he really listen to her ideas? Did she even have any? Maybe she should think about his dilemma. After all, as her mother had pointed out, he must feel pretty desperate to come all the way to Texas, buy a steer, rent a house with acreage and keep pestering her to talk.

  What man ever wanted to talk? From what she’d heard, a woman usually had to tie him up and threaten him with a cattle prod to get him to speak.

  “Carole?”

  Finally she said, “Make it iced tea and you’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter Six

  Greg learned two things as he jogged down the rutted driveway, his lungs burning with the hot, dry air, every muscle screaming in protest. First, cowboy boots were not meant for extended walking, much less running. Second, big, overgrown steers could run a lot faster than he’d ever imagined.

  He’d been a little late feeding the huge baby because he’d spent a mostly sleepless night thinking about Carole. About what those curve-hugging jeans concealed…and what personal information she might be hiding. About how she’d called him last night to ask about coming over…and how he’d wanted to talk about so much more than business.