the long corridor, out of the stock barn. Telling herself that this was an important lesson, that Jenny would feel proud of earning part of her college money, that Puff was a beef animal, not a family pet, didn’t ease the pain. Only time would do that. Perhaps it was best that Jenny was leaving for camp in another week. A change of setting would help her forget. Seeing friends from last year, laughing and playing one last summer before she began the transformation from child into young woman was just what she needed right now.
Carole just wished Jenny could stay gone until Big Jim’s barbecue was history, but she couldn’t. School started in the third week of August, and Big Jim always served up the grand champion at his Labor Day event. Carole didn’t usually go out of town for the long weekend, but this year, she would take her daughter somewhere far away from Ranger Springs. Someplace fun, with no animals to remind them of Puff’s empty stall.
She’d nearly made it out of the barn when she saw a tall, broad-shouldered stranger standing in the wide doorway, staring at her in a way she didn’t usually see in the light of day. Maybe in a smoky honky-tonk with a country-western tune playing in the jukebox…
She slowed, wondering if perhaps he was someone she’d met a while back. Bright sunlight outlined his lean torso and long, straight legs. He’d dressed in jeans and a Western-cut plaid shirt, boots and a well-creased hat, but he didn’t stand like a cowboy. The shade inside the barn, the deeper shadow beneath the brim of the Stetson, made him seem mysterious. Instead of tipping his hat or dropping his gaze, he continued to look his fill, even smiling just a bit like he knew some secret.
Carole tipped her chin up and broke eye contact. She didn’t know this man. He wasn’t from around here. And he was darn rude to boot.
“Congratulations on the win,” he said as she walked by.
His deep, warm voice, totally without an accent, stopped her. “Thanks,” she said, feeling more unsettled than ever now that she knew he’d been watching her—and Jenny—during the competition. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“We haven’t met yet,” he said, turning toward her. The sun highlighted the right half of his face, showing smooth skin stretched over some mighty fine cheekbones. She suspected this man had his hair styled, not just cut like ordinary people, although she couldn’t see much but a few short, dark-brown strands peeking from beneath his tan Stetson and around his well-shaped ears.
This was no weathered cowboy. From the way he was dressed, in new clothes and expensive boots, she’d be more likely to believe he was one of those models in American Cowboy magazine. He looked as good as one. As a matter of fact, he reminded her of her brother-in-law, Prince Alexi of Belegovia, when he’d dressed like Hank McCauley and fooled her sister Kerry last summer. Alexi and Hank looked enough alike to be twins. Both were handsome as sin, but not as compelling as this stranger, in her opinion.
She realized she’d been giving the man a once-over for way too long. Not too many male-model types came to Ranger Springs, Texas, but that didn’t excuse her ogling. Her mother would have called it downright rude.
“Greg Rafferty,” he said with a smile, extending his hand. “And no, as I’ve already been reminded, I’m not from around here.”
She laughed despite her suspicion over strangers and good-looking men who liked to undress women with their eyes. “I didn’t mean to stare. The sun was in my eyes, and I couldn’t tell if I’d seen you before.”
She shook his hand, noticing his firm, enveloping grip that shot warmth all the way up her arm.
“I can’t use the excuse of sun in my eyes. I’ll admit I was staring.”
He stated the offhand compliment with an intimate kind of amusement that made Carole blush.
She hadn’t blushed in years. She thought she’d forgotten how. She’d apparently also forgotten how to shake hands, because she finally pulled away when she realized she’d been in his gentle grasp for about as long as she’d been staring at him moments ago.
“And you are…”
“I’m sorry. I’m still a little…excited about my daughter’s win.” She took a deep breath and looked into the blue-green eyes of the stranger. “Carole Jacks,” she said, forcing herself to smile pleasantly when she wanted to gawk like a sixteen-year-old.
His expression changed from intimate interest to disbelief in a flash. Seconds later he blinked and schooled his features into a painfully benign mask. “You…” He swallowed, grimacing slightly. “I don’t suppose you have another relative by the same name. A mother or aunt, perhaps?”
“I’m the only one around here that I know of,” she said, more confused by the second.
“I was expecting someone a little…older.” His eyes roamed over her body once more, and she felt that darn warmth seep through her, as hot at the Texas sun beating down on the metal roof above.
She shrugged off her hormone-induced condition. “Older?”
“I came to town expecting to find Alice, or maybe Aunt Bea, and instead I found—”
She stopped him before his eyes started wandering again. “What?”
“You know. Alice, that prototypical housekeeper on The Brady Bunch. And Aunt Bea was on—”
“Andy Griffith. Yes, I know, but what does that have to do with me? And why did you think I was older?”
“Because you bake cookies,” he said, as though that would clear up everything.
“Cookies,” she repeated carefully, wondering how someone this loony could be so good-looking.
“Yes. Ms. Carole’s Cookies. Huntington Foods needs your help to—”
“Oh, no,” she said, putting up both hands as if to ward him off. “I don’t believe this.” She took a step back, needing to put space between her and this…this city slicker. How could they have done this to her? Huntington had promised her no hassles, no demands. All they’d wanted were her cookie recipes. She’d written privacy clauses into her contract. She would never have licensed the rights to her cookies otherwise.
“Are you surprised that someone came down to see you?”
She nodded. “Darn right. Now you can just get back in your car or catch a plane back to Chicago.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to offer.”
“My privacy is not for sale.” She turned away, walking through the doorway and into the hot sunshine, leaving him standing in the shade of the barn.
Good thing she’d learned why he was here before she made an idiot of herself, acting like some silly teenager over a good-looking stranger. Been there, done that. Just because he had great bone structure and filled out his jeans didn’t amount to a hill of beans. He could go straight to—
“Jenny,” Carole whispered. Greg Rafferty might be low enough to try to get into her daughter’s good graces. He could be on his way to her little girl right now, full of phony congratulations on her win, hoping to get to the mother through the daughter.
Halfway to the concession stand, Carole spun around, nearly colliding with the person behind her.
Strong
