The C.E.O. & the Cookie Queen

by Victoria Chancellor

  And after his mostly sleepless night, he’d barely had time for a cup of instant coffee before his conference call, so he hadn’t gone out to feed the big black beast until almost ten o’clock. At which point he’d seen the steer’s wide rear end and wavy-hair-tipped tail disappear down the driveway.

  “I need a horse,” he wheezed, stopping to bend slightly and rest his hands on his knees as Puff veered off the drive and cut across the wide-open spaces. A cross-country motorcycle would be good. Or even one of those sissy little scooters. Anything but jeans and boots for chasing cows.

  Being a cowboy was a lot harder than he’d anticipated. He couldn’t explain to an animal why talking about a new contract for shipping their baked goods was more important than ten pounds of grain and fresh water. He couldn’t even apologize to the dumb beast for being late. All he could do was chase him down and hope that Puff would let himself be led all the way back to the pasture by his halter.

  Greg realized, now that it was too late, that he should have brought a lead rope.

  He stumbled on a clump of grass, then struggled to right himself just as he heard the sound of crunching gravel. Sure enough, Carole and Jennifer were right on time. He groaned as he straightened, half hoping they didn’t see him, but knowing he needed help more than he deserved to salvage his pride.

  Carole veered toward him across the unfenced pasture, her truck bouncing across the uneven ground. He shaded his eyes and looked inside. Jennifer was pointing beyond him, to where Puff meandered around, looking for more trouble, no doubt. Carole appeared intense. Maybe a little angry. He sure as hell hoped she didn’t plan to run him over with her truck. Losing her daughter’s prize steer might make her a little testy. Not that she needed much of a reason to dislike him, he reminded himself.

  At the last minute she steered to the side and came to a dusty stop. Leaning out the window, she asked, “What in the world are you doing?”

  Before he could answer, she sped off again, leaving him covered in more dust as she chased down the steer. With a sigh, he limped after the truck. Despite her more friendly tone last night on the phone, her opinion of him obviously hadn’t improved. Not that he really blamed her. He was sure that to a native Texan who grew up around cowboys, seeing someone limping after a runaway steer looked pretty odd.

  He watched Jennifer fling open the door and jump to the ground as soon as the truck came to a stop closer to Puff. She placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled, a surprisingly loud sound coming from such a little girl. Puff stopped his forward motion, then turned his head to look at the person who raised him. With a happy bellow, the steer turned around and trotted back to Jennifer, just like a well-mannered puppy.

  “If only I’d known how to whistle,” Greg complained as his boot rubbed another blister the size of Texas on his heel.

  CAROLE PLACED HER HANDS on her hips and glared at Greg. “I can’t believe you took off on foot to chase down a steer.”

  “He didn’t seem to be going very fast at first,” he replied, wincing as he tried to pull off his boot, one leg crossed over his other knee.

  Carole shook her head. He probably had some really nasty blisters. No telling what kind of socks this city-slicker wore with his Tony Lama boots.

  “Here, let me,” she offered gruffly. There was no sense in watching him suffer through his current silliness. Chasing a steer on foot! Only someone who’d grown up in the city would do such a fool thing.

  “What?”

  “Stick your leg out straight.”

  As soon as he complied, she swung one leg over his extended one, facing his foot. Of course, this gave him an excellent view of her worn jeans, which were relatively threadbare over her bottom, but she couldn’t do anything about that for the moment. Besides, he seemed to be able to control himself around her. After all, he wanted her cooperation with his company. He might be slightly interested in her as a woman, but he was a lot more intent on her as a potential spokesperson for Huntington Foods.

  “Er, Carole, what are you doing?”

  Doing? She was daydreaming, of course. “Just sit still, relax your foot, and I’ll have this boot off in a second.” She grasped the sole and the heel and pulled off the boot in a rolling motion guaranteed to cause the least amount of discomfort.

  “Ouch!”

  “Don’t be a baby,” she scolded mildly, placing the boot on the floor. “Give me your other foot.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she swiveled around to glare at him. “Hey, I don’t have all day here.”

  His gaze snapped to her face. He’d been staring at her rear end! Why, of all the ungrateful…But then she felt a little warmed by the fact he’d been staring at her. As if he liked what he saw. As if he couldn’t help himself.

  She kind of liked that feeling of power. However, she’d never let him know how she felt. Forcing a frown, she ordered, “Other foot, Rafferty, and make it quick.”

  He drew his leg back, his denim rubbing against her denim in a way that made her think of other reasons their body parts might be sliding back and forth. Suddenly his kitchen seemed way too warm, just like their position seemed way too intimate.

  “Be gentle with me,” he said, sliding his other foot between her legs.

  She grasped his foot and tried not to think about all the ways she could take that remark. “In your dreams,” she answered gruffly, jerking off the boot with a little more force than absolutely necessary.

  “Ouch! Again! I think you’re enjoying this torture.”

  “Like that old saying, If the Shoe Fits. Or maybe I should say ‘boot.”’ She let go of his foot and stepped away, turning quickly to face him. She didn’t want to encourage him to stare at her butt. Not really. That would be juvenile, vain and petty, since they weren’t going to have any sort of personal relationship.

  “Very funny.”

  “What?” Had he heard her thoughts?

  “That remarks about ‘if the shoe fits.’ What did you think I meant?”

  “Nothing. I’d just moved on. Now, about those blisters…” He’d mentioned them when he’d climbed into the truck for the short ride back to the house while Jenny led Puff back to the pasture.

  “I have blisters on my blisters.”

  “You’re a big baby.”

  “My boots are new.”

  “You’re not required to wear them all the time just because you’re cooling your heels in Texas for who knows how long. Until you come to your senses, I suppose.”

  “‘Cooling my heels’ is not the operative term. I feel like they’re being broiled, not chilled.”

  “Let me look.”

  “You don’t have to play nursemaid.”

  “I’m not playing. I’m a mom. I’m pretty good at patching up minor cuts and scrapes.”

  “I think this is major.”

  She laughed at his typically male response to a little pain. She’d always thought it was strange that guys could complain like crazy over a hangnail, but remain stoic and in denial over things like broken arms and dislocated shoulders. Especially if they got those injuries doing guy things, like rodeo, football or major home improvements. She’d observed this phenomena in Hank McCauley and several other friends. She’d also heard stories about her friends’ husbands that had her rolling on the floor.

  She wished she’d had the experience from her own father, but he hadn’t stuck around long enough for her to remember any humorous incidents from their time together. And she and her husband—her brief teenage fling—hadn’t been together long enough to know anything beyond burning up the sheets, eating fast food and dreaming about “making it big someday.”

  She sighed away the dark thoughts. “Take those socks off and let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”

  “The boots did it, not me,” he said as he pulled off the white athletic socks. At least he’d worn something sensible with his boots instead of those thin, sissy socks like some businessmen wore with their suits. Of course, she had a problem
visualizing Greg Rafferty in a suit. He’d worn nothing but casual Western wear since he arrived in Ranger Springs.

  Why was that?

  Yep, that’s pretty bad,” she said after seeing the red, blistered areas of his heel. “Next time, don’t run around in boots. These are ropers, made to settle into the stirrup real nice and give you some leverage for when the horse comes to a quick stop. Not made for running after steers.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try to remember that,” he said, poking at one of the blisters. “Can you fix these?”

  “Not really. I can put some antibiotic ointment on them, then cover it with a light bandage. Don’t worry. The blisters will go away in a few days.”

  “A few days! I can’t go around barefoot for days.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Greg narrowed his eyes, then smiled at her. “Since Jennifer’s steer caused the problem, I think maybe you owe me.”

  “Your steer caused the problem, and no, I don’t owe you anything.”

  “But you’re my only friend in town, and I could really use some help.”

  He said that line with such sincerity in his heavily lashed, blue-green eyes that Carole almost melted. Almost. “If I’m your only friend, you have more problems than a couple of blisters.”

  He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made her breath catch. “Come on, Carole. Be nice. I need to buy some more clothes. Some sandals with no back strap so I can walk around without pain. Maybe some tropical print shirts and baggy cotton shorts to go with them, since my new jeans or my old chinos are going to look a little strange. Is there a men’s clothing store in town?”

  “Not like you’re obviously used to. We have one of those big discount centers out on the highway. You could probably get an entire wardrobe for what you usually pay for one shirt.”

  “Hey, I’m not a snob. I’ll take what I can get.”

  “I can’t believe you realized that sandals wouldn’t look good with your existing clothes.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Appearances are important.”

  Carole sighed again. Greg was intent on pulling her into his life, one way or another. Not that he’d planned to run after Puff in a pair of boots. He just seemed to turn every challenge into an opportunity to spend more time with her. To bring her around to his way of thinking.

  Well, she wasn’t changing her mind just because he’d started to get under her skin. Just because he was attractive and sexy and had a good sense of humor. Just because he turned lemons into lemonade. Just because he was consistently nice to Jenny, even when her steer ran off and caused him problems.

  “Oh, okay. But I’m driving.”

  “That’s fine with me. I have nothing against women drivers.”

  She called for Jenny, who’d fed and groomed Puff, and they all got cleaned up from their dusty morning activities. Before long they were headed for her pickup. Only then did she realize what a mistake she’d made.

  Unlike some of the newer, more expensive models, her pickup only had one bench seat. No extended cab with a rear seat. She, Jenny and Greg would be pressed together.

  He grinned, obviously because the dilemma was reflected on her face. She’d never been good at poker.

  “Jenny, you sit in the middle.”

  “Ah, Mom. You know I get car sick if I can’t see out.”

  “You can see out the front.”

  “I want to see out the side, too. Just in case I feel a little queasy.”

  Darn it, why was Jenny being difficult? She’d sat in the middle before when her friends rode with them. She couldn’t be playing matchmaker, could she? Surely not at age ten!

  “Hey, I don’t mind sitting in the middle,” Greg offered.

  I’ll just bet you don’t, Carole felt like saying, but she kept her mouth shut. One thing she’d learned in the past few days was that she rarely got in the last word around Greg Rafferty.

  GREG SAT in the middle of the bench seat, both arms casually outstretched along the back. On Jennifer’s side, he kept his hands on the seat back. On Carole’s side, however, he let his hand drop occasionally to her shoulder. Or to brush the back of her spun-gold hair. She invariably stiffened, sometimes glaring at him, but she didn’t say anything. He had her daughter to thank for that. Apparently Carole didn’t want to make a scene she’d have to explain later to the ten-year-old.

  He also let his bare thigh gradually drift against Carole’s leg, lightly brushing her jeans until she noticed. At first she’d glare at him and try to move away—a difficult feat since she needed to use that foot for driving. But the last time he’d “accidentally” brushed against her, she’d done the unexpected. She’d used her leg, her knee whopping against his thigh, a lot more surprising than painful. He grinned and dropped his hand to her shoulder again. Feeling her denim-clad leg against his had reminded him of when she’d pulled off his boots, which was one of the most memorable experiences of his recent life. She had a great rear end and absolutely enticing thighs. He’d had to concentrate on the pain of his blisters to keep from running his hands up her legs, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her neck.

  Sitting next to her in the truck was only slightly less tempting, but at the same time, it was kind of fun. She drove while he got to “play.” And chat with Jennifer, too, as she pointed out landmarks like the turnoffs to her friends’ houses, a shortcut to a neighboring town, or a hidden favorite swimming hole. Jennifer was cute and charming, much like her mother must have been at that age.

  “Are we there yet, Mom?” Greg asked, eliciting a giggle from Jennifer. Since dressing down in clothes he usually reserved for working out, he felt a bit more playful than usual. He didn’t think the cotton knit shorts and sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off would be out of place in the discount store.

  “Thankfully,” she answered, shrugging off his wandering hand, “we’re almost there. Just around the next curve.”

  They pulled into one of those big supercenters Greg avoided, just as he stayed away from children’s movies and teen music concerts. But perhaps with Carole and Jenny, the experience wouldn’t be too bad.

  Thirty minutes and a shopping-cart load of clothes, bandages, pain-killing antibiotic spray and various other items he couldn’t live without, he had to admit he’d had a pretty good time. While the clothes he’d selected weren’t his usual style, Carole and Jennifer seemed to like them. Especially the tropical print shirt with the pink flamingos. He had a suspicion they were setting him up, but seeing their smiling faces was worth whatever embarrassment might follow.

  He also insisted on buying a treat for Jennifer because she’d retrieved Puff with such ease, and for Carole for removing his boots and doctoring his blisters. The ten-year-old picked out a favorite pop-rock CD she’d been waiting for, but Carole was a little harder to convince. Finally, after several “silly” suggestions including a new baking sheet for cookies and a racy nightgown that raised everyone’s eyebrows, she selected a box of chocolate-covered cherries she grudgingly admitted were a rare treat.

  Jennifer gave a hearty “uck.” Greg raised his eyebrows again, definitely having more naughty fantasies about Carole’s secret indulgences. And what he could do with those candy delights, a little candlelight and some silky smooth sheets.

  Not if you want her agreement to represent Huntington Foods, he reminded himself. He found himself thinking more and more about Carole, the woman, than Ms. Carole, the potential spokesperson. Especially today, after she’d taken care of him and his shopping needs.

  He paid for his purchases with a personal credit card. It wasn’t Huntington’s fault he’d lost the steer and chased him across the countryside.

  “Since we’re already out, why don’t I buy us some lunch?” Greg said as they tossed their purchases in the bed of the pickup.

  “Great!” Jennifer responded immediately, opening the passenger door.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Carole said almost as quickly.

  “Aw, Mom
.”

  Greg slid across the bench seat and smiled at Carole as she opened the other door. “Yeah. Aw, Mom. Come on. We’ll have a good time.”

  “I have things to do.” She slid in beside him.

  “I won’t keep you long. Besides, you have to eat, right?”

  “We could go see Grandma,” Jennifer pointed out.

  He felt Carole shudder as she gripped the wheel. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I met your mother. She’s very nice.”

  “Having lunch at the Four Square Café is not a good idea,” Carole insisted as she turned the key and started the engine.

  “Why not?” Jennifer asked. “I like the food there. Not as much as McDonald’s, but it’s good.”

  Greg laughed. Carole leaned forward, peering around him to frown at her daughter. “Don’t let Grandma hear you say that.”

  Jennifer giggled. “Come on, Mom. It’ll be fun.”

  SHE KNEW this wasn’t going to be a good idea. Unfortunately, Greg had used Jenny to overrule good sense. Two against one. And Carole wasn’t accustomed to having her daughter side with someone else against her.

  She watched Jenny, sitting next to Greg Rafferty, laughing as he charmed Charlene Jacks. Carole’s mother was smiling, looking much younger than she had in months. Everyone was having a great time. Even the regulars at the café were watching the happy family, smiling as they took in the scene. Mother, daughter, grandmother…and good-natured scoundrel.

  Darn it, he was doing it again. Wheedling his way into her family’s good graces, acting like the perfect gentleman, the absolute charmer. Everyone was eating out of the palm of his hand. Everyone except her. Was she the only person who knew he was doing all this for a reason? That he wasn’t as wonderful as her daughter, her mother—and probably much of the town—thought he was?

  As Thelma joined them and beamed at Greg, Carole suspected the answer to her question was yes. She was the only person who knew the real, succeed-at-all-costs, hard-edged businessman who lurked beneath that cut-off sweatshirt, cotton shorts and sports sandals.

  She didn’t have much of an appetite after watching Greg’s performance at the café. And also after enduring his casual touches during the ride to and from the store. The man was like an octopus, except a very teasing, playful one. She’d been out with men—boys, really—who did a lot more groping than Greg. He had a real finesse to his style, making the contact so casual, sometimes so seemingly innocent, that she couldn’t just come out and swat his hand away. Especially not with Jenny in the truck, taking in everything, even things that at ten years of age, she didn’t understand.