Man/woman things. Things she’d never had to deal with because her mother didn’t have relationships. There had been no boyfriends to worry about introducing to her daughter, no “uncles” that spent the night. At times Carole was really proud of her lifestyle, focusing on her daughter and family, but at other times, her lack of a personal life seemed pretty pathetic.
She could barely remember what she was missing. Teenage sex, filtered through memories of teen angst, had seemed exciting, forbidden and urgent. Not especially enjoyable, however. Johnny Ray had been only nineteen, and although he’d been with a few other girls, he didn’t know all that much, she suspected. At least, not compared to the men she read about in books and watched in the movies.
Now Greg Rafferty…there was a man who probably knew what a woman wanted. What she needed.
Not that she needed what Greg had offered. And not exactly that he’d offered it, come to think of it. Or had he? She felt so confused.
“Are you hot, sweetie?” her mother asked as she placed iced tea in front of the adults plus a lemonade for Jenny.
Her mother’s voiced jolted her back to awareness. She was sitting inside the Four Square Café, not in some dark motel room. Not in the back seat of a car. And definitely not doing the wild thing with Greg Rafferty.
“It is a little warm in here, isn’t it?” she answered, dabbing at her forehead with her napkin.
Greg smiled, almost as if he knew what she’d been thinking. She sincerely hoped that her thoughts weren’t that easy to read. If so, she was in serious trouble.
She was saved from further comment when Travis Whitaker walked in. Carole knew he was an architect, but he’d taken to ranching with ease, settling on land adjacent to Hank McCauley’s spread a couple of years ago when he tired of the city. He still traveled quite a bit, accepting only those jobs he really wanted. She’d heard he took lots of vacations, too, usually with a trophy girlfriend. Rumor was he didn’t date anyone very long and had no intention of getting serious.
His life sounded like a lot of fun. Too bad she didn’t feel any sparks when she looked at him. A nice tropical vacation with no strings attached sounded pretty good sometimes. Not that she’d actually go….
“Hi, Thelma, Charlene. How are you, Jennifer, Carole?”
“We’re just fine, Travis. Would you like to join us?” she asked, scooting over. Maybe having another man around would keep Greg from charming everyone so easily.
“Maybe just for a few minutes. I’m meeting Hank and Gwendolyn to talk about horses.”
“You’re getting into cutting horses?” Carole asked.
“No, but I thought I’d upgrade my stock, now that I’ve learned to ride with a little more skill. Maybe get a couple of mounts with more training and spirit. I still need a few horses that are nice and calm for when my niece and nephew come to visit.”
“I could have used a horse this morning,” Greg commented. “I felt like that scene from Richard III. ‘A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.”’
Everyone laughed, and Carole smiled at the memory of Greg painfully loping across the field after Puff. So much for him being less charming with a little competition for attention.
Greg explained to Travis, “Jennifer’s steer thought I wasn’t going to feed him breakfast, so he broke out of the pasture and went after it on his own.”
“Mr. Rafferty was really funny, Grandma, chasing Puff across the field.”
“Now, Jennifer, it’s not nice to laugh at someone else,” Carole’s mother gently chastised.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Jacks. I’m sure I looked pretty funny. At the time, all I could think about was catching Jennifer’s steer.”
“He’s your steer now,” Carole pointed out.
Everyone seemed to ignore her. “That’s so sweet,” Thelma said.
Carole rolled her eyes while Travis chuckled and Jenny giggled. She knew coming to the Four Square Café for lunch wasn’t a good idea.
And she’d already promised Greg that she would talk to him today about ideas for saving Huntington Foods. Would he hold her to that promise after all the excitement of this morning? Or would she get a reprieve so she could remind herself that he wasn’t really as charming and sincere as everyone else thought?
Chapter Seven
“Is it too late to have our talk now?” Greg asked as Carole pulled the truck to a stop in front of his house. After all, they had planned to talk at ten o’clock this morning, and they’d spent the past three hours together doing everything but discussing Huntington Foods’ problems.
“Well…I had planned on getting some work done this afternoon,” she said, putting the gear in park but not turning off the engine.
“And don’t forget, Mom, that I have a sleepover tonight at Ashley’s house and you promised to bake cookies,” Jennifer said, leaning around Greg so she could look at Carole.
“Oh, yes. I had forgotten.” Carole looked at him and shrugged. “I do have some other commitments.”
“You aren’t trying to get out of our talk, are you?”
“Of course not. I made a promise, and I’ll stand by my word.”
“Good, because I really do want to hear your ideas.”
“What ideas?” Jennifer asked.
He turned to smile at the girl. “About making people like Huntington Foods better so they’ll buy more of your mom’s cookies.”
“Oh. How come your family owns the company and your name’s not Huntington?” she asked.
“Because my mother’s name was Huntington before she married my father. His name is Rafferty, so now the Raffertys are running the company.”
“That’s kind of like my mom, except we got to use her name instead of my dad’s because he’s not really my dad like other dads who live with their family. But that’s okay because we’re all Jacks instead of me being a—”
“Jenny, I don’t think Mr. Rafferty will find our family history very interesting.”
He turned back and smiled at Carole. “On the contrary, I find it fascinating.”
Carole glared at him.
“My mom and dad got married, then got ’nulled.”
“Annulled,” Carole corrected. “And that’s enough family history, young lady.”
Very interesting, he thought as Jennifer opened the car door and hopped out. So Carole married Jennifer’s father, but they didn’t stay married long enough to warrant a divorce. Or was the annulment story just that? Had she really married the guy? Maybe she’d never been married but didn’t want her daughter to know.
He scooted across the bench seat as hot air filled the truck’s interior from the open door. Was a rushed annulment the “unfortunate incident” Thelma Rogers had referred to, or were there more secrets in Carole Jacks’s past?
Jennifer gave a dramatic sigh as she stood outside, then asked, “Will you be able to feed Puff his dinner, Mr. Rafferty? I could come back over if you need me to.”
“I think I can manage,” Greg answered, hopping down to the gravel. “I’ll remember to feed him on time.”
“Mom could come by when she takes me to the sleepover. Then you could talk about ideas.”
Greg didn’t comment that Carole would be welcome anytime for their own personal sleepover. He had enough ideas for both of them. “That would be great. What do you say, Carole?” he asked, turning back to look inside the truck. “Do you have time to stop by later to talk? I still owe you an iced tea.”
“It’s been a long day,” she said, hedging.
Yes, but we could sit down and relax. Have a cool drink and try to figure out what’s best for all of us.” He paused, placing his hands on the roof of the truck and leaning inside just slightly. “I could really use your advice on how to proceed. After all, my family’s company is still in trouble.”
He could tell she was wavering by the sympathetic look in her eyes, combined with a worried, I-don’t-want-to-be-alone-with-you expression that reminded him how he’d playfully flirted with her all day. The chal
lenge of making her aware of him as a man while they were in public or riding in her truck, her daughter sitting next to him, gave him an adrenaline rush. That must explain why his libido kept overriding his good sense. No matter how often he told himself that Carole was more important as a spokesperson than as a romantic interlude, he kept thinking of her smooth, lightly tanned skin, blond hair and sparkling eyes. He kept hearing her slightly husky, Southern-accented voice, and he wanted her to be his. His what, he wasn’t sure.
Around Carole, an urge more primitive than his business education or goals guided his words and gestures at times, which was a new experience for him. He’d always thought of himself as someone in complete control of his actions. He’d always known that he wouldn’t achieve his goals by goofing off and proving to his parents that he wasn’t fit for the job he’d always wanted.
Now he’d gotten what he’d wanted, but he kept forgetting his position with the company when he started thinking about all the positions in which he’d like to get Carole. With her complete cooperation and enthusiastic response, of course.
“I suppose I could stop by around seven o’clock this evening.”
“Great. I’m really looking forward to seeing you later.” And because that sounded too much like a date, he added, “To discuss your ideas.” He moved away from the open passenger door.
“Yes, of course,” she said, appearing almost as flustered as he felt. “Seven o’clock,” she repeated as Jennifer jumped up on the seat, gave him a smile and waved goodbye.
ONCE AGAIN Carole debated about what to wear. How to wear her hair. Whether she should take cookies to their “meeting,” as she preferred to call the discussion she and Greg would have tonight. It definitely wasn’t a date, even though the time was evening and they would not be chaperoned by a ten-year-old busybody who thought nothing of telling strangers the family secrets.
Okay, maybe Greg Rafferty wasn’t a stranger, and maybe Carole’s early marriage to Johnny Ray wasn’t exactly a secret, but still, Jenny shouldn’t just blurt out her mother’s marriage history to anyone. Especially to people—like Greg—who seemed exceptionally interested in her past, present and future, Carole thought as she laid out yet another change of clothes on her bed. She’d already discarded the idea of wearing a T-shirt and overalls, or white shorts and a red striped top, or yet another pair of blue jeans.
Thank heavens the paparazzi weren’t hanging around any longer. No telling what they’d learn from Jenny, she thought with a shudder. When Kerry had married Prince Alexi, the whole family had kept Jennifer, who had been nine at the time, away from prying eyes and pushy reporters who wanted to find something naughty and juicy to report in their rags.
Carole knew that keeping her daughter isolated at age ten would be a heck of a lot harder. Which gave her even more reason not to become a public figure. She had no right to put her daughter into the position of either lying to protect their privacy or accidentally letting something slip that could be considered scandalous.
No, Jenny was a lot happier in her current life than she would be as the daughter of a celebrity. Some people might think that since her friends and neighbors knew she was the Carole behind Ms. Carole’s cookies, she was already semifamous, but that just wasn’t true. No one thought anything of the fact she’d licensed her recipes to Huntington Foods. They were a lot more excited when she donated cakes to the church bake sale or tried out a new recipe at the Four Square Café. To them, Huntington Foods was a big, northern-based company that didn’t have much relevance in their daily lives. A good coffee cake or batch of chocolate chip cookies—now that was something to get excited about!
Carole smiled as she assessed the latest outfit she’d chosen, a short but modest denim skirt and a peasant-style blouse that was cool and comfortable. She’d worn these clothes out in public before, so no one should think they were special. Or assume she was dressing up for Greg Rafferty. Which she wasn’t, of course. She just wanted to be at ease for her meeting with the smooth talker from Chicago.
Decision made, she quickly dressed, then brushed her hair until it fell smooth and straight, tucked behind her ears. She added a pair of dangling silver earrings her sister Cheryl had given her and slipped her feet into some simple sandals with a small heel. Looking down, she wiggled her toes. Good thing she’d given herself a pedicure the other night.
That would have been the night she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about Greg Rafferty.
“You look nice, Mom,” Jenny said from the doorway, jerking Carole’s thoughts back to the present.
“Thanks, honey. It’s so hot that I wanted to be comfortable.”
“My friends would say you look hot,” her precocious ten-year-old said with a cheeky grin.
“Quit teasing your old mother and get your overnight bag.”
“You’re not old. You’re not even thirty yet. All the other mothers are older.”
That’s because I ran away and got married when I was only seventeen, Carole wanted to say. And don’t make the same mistake!
But how could she ever call her teen marriage a mistake when she’d conceived Jenny? At eighteen, single and pregnant, she hadn’t felt very lucky. But she’d soon held her baby in her arms and fallen in love with the little imp. Now she couldn’t imagine life without Jenny.
A few minutes later they were in the truck and on their way to Ashley’s house. With every mile they drove, Carole’s trepidation increased. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to see him again tonight. The timing was all wrong. They’d practically spent the day together.
She’d removed his boots, for goodness’ sake! She’d held his foot in her hands, then later batted away his wandering leg while they were driving around. He sat right there, she remembered, glancing at the middle of the black tweed seat cover, and flirted with her in front of Jenny. Okay, maybe he wasn’t really flirting, but he was teasing her with his nearness. Overwhelming her senses with his presence. Too close. Too male.
She didn’t know how to react to a man she was attracted to. She didn’t know how to interpret his signals. Was he seriously attracted to her, or did he treat all women this way? She’d tried to tell when they were in the café, but she’d been too worried about other things. Like how he was taking over the conversation, charming everyone. She didn’t know him well enough to know what to believe about him, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to get to know him well.
She pulled to a stop in front of the rambling ranch-style brick home of Ashley’s parents. “Be polite and don’t stay up too late,” Carole advised, shifting automatically into “mom” mode.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll call you in the morning when it’s time to leave. I might get a ride home with Meagan.”
“That’s fine, but let me know so I won’t worry.”
“Okay,” Jenny said, leaning over the plate of cookies for a kiss.
Carole hugged and kissed her baby, then watched her rush into the house, overnight bag bumping against her still-girlish hips, long brown braid flying. She sighed. Soon her little girl would become a young woman. She wasn’t ready. She might never be ready for those teen challenges. She hoped Jenny had more sense than she had as a teen. Carole wondered how her mother had survived all the trouble she’d caused by running off, getting married and coming home alone and pregnant.
But Jenny didn’t know about that part of the family history. She accepted the fact her father wasn’t a part of their lives, although she sometimes wished she had a real dad. Carole wished she could have provided a real father to her daughter, just as she wished Jenny had a grandfather. But wishing wasn’t going to provide the strong male influence that many books said was necessary for girls. All Carole could do was provide opportunities to be around men on a temporary basis, like Hank McCauley, who’d always been a good friend, before and after he’d dated Kerry. Even now, after marrying Lady Gwendolyn, he still included the Jacks family in barbecues, horseback rides and other gatherings at his ranch. And Gwendolyn, who was the daughter of
an English earl, had become a surrogate aunt to Jenny.
But enough of her musings, she thought, putting the truck into gear. She had made a commitment to Greg Rafferty to discuss his company’s problems. She drove away from Ashley’s house before she thought of any excuses to stay away from the smooth-talking businessman.
GREG FELT as nervous as a college kid who’d scored a date with the homecoming queen. His palms grew damp as he placed napkins on the coffee table next to two sweating glasses of iced tea. He then lined up the two spoons next to a sugar bowl, hoping he’d thought of everything.
Hoping Carole showed up, he thought, frowning at the clock on the wall. Five minutes after seven. Had she decided she didn’t want to speak to him about his family’s business? Had something else come up, something she’d rather do than talk to him?
Just when he’d decided pacing was the only answer, he heard her truck crunch the gravel of his driveway. Striding to the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. As long as she was willing to talk, he had a chance to convince her to become Huntington’s spokesperson.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she decided not to discuss the issue anymore. At that point he’d probably pack up and go home to Chicago. Come up with another plan. And try to forget Carole, the woman, even as he gave up on Ms. Carole, the cookie queen.
She parked facing the house, then pushed the door open. One shapely leg descended, then another. Instead of her usual jeans and boots or athletic shoes, she wore something short with sandals. The truck’s door hid most of her from view, but still, his breath caught.
The C.E.O. & the Cookie Queen Page 9
