signals installed if you’re going to make turnarounds on a crowded thoroughfare,” he said in a soft, deep voice that held more than a hint of amusement.
At her expense. “Let go.” She brushed off his hold, then dusted her arms as though he’d left some trace. Ridiculous. “Why were you following me?” she asked, deciding the best defense was a good offense.
“Because I came all the way from Chicago to see you, and you need to hear what I have to say.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“I can’t.” He shrugged. “I know about your contract, but things have changed. I need your cooperation.”
Carole sighed. She was going to have to listen to him whether she wanted to or not. “Okay, you can buy me a soft drink and we’ll sit in the shade. I’ll give you ten minutes, then I need to get back to my daughter.”
Within a few minutes they settled on a bench beneath a big cottonwood tree, just outside the barn. The familiar scents of sawdust, hay, animal sweat and manure grounded her in the present. By reminding her of the past, the attractive stranger sitting beside her filled her with insecurities over the future.
“So, why did you come all the way to Texas to talk me into something that is obviously opposite every privacy clause I had inserted into my contract with Huntington Foods?”
“I’m not sure if you heard about our previous C.E.O.’s very public argument with the ‘food police,’ but—”
“Yes, I heard about him calling the C.A.S.H.E.W. group a ‘bunch of nuts.’ Of course I was interested, since you produce my cookies. But like everything, the bad press he caused will pass.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple. When he, er, decided to resign, that also made news. And then the cable news outlets and primetime network shows started calling, asking for in-depth interviews. We’re being compared to the tobacco industry executives who said, before Congress, ‘I do not believe nicotine is addictive.’ That kind of bad publicity doesn’t go away until we clarify our position.”
Carole sat her soft drink on the bench with enough force that the liquid sloshed against the sides. “So clarify it. You’re the new C.E.O., right? I don’t see how—or why—my cooperation or endorsement would matter much.”
“I’m not sure that you know this, but your cookies are our bestselling product. We’d like to design a publicity tour. Some select appearances on the afternoon talk shows and soft news segments, perhaps a demonstration of your baking techniques on the morning shows. And there’s an upcoming food show we’d like for you to attend, perhaps as a featured presenter.”
The idea of becoming a public figure filled her with so much dread that she had a hard time holding back a shudder. Her stomach clenched and her palms began to sweat, but she managed to hold herself together. This was only his plan, she told herself. Not a reality. Forcing a calmness she didn’t feel, she managed to say flippantly, “That’s all, hmm?”
“Well, we’d need your permission to use your image on the packages. Oh, and we’d like to have some favorable articles written about you. Maybe with a photo spread of your home. You and your daughter sharing a plate of cookies. That sort of thing.”
His plan grew worse and worse. She couldn’t believe he would ask her to participate to this degree. She couldn’t believe he’d expect her to put Jenny in…well, not danger, but potential emotional distress. But then, this new C.E.O. didn’t know about her past. Not very many people outside of her family and friends in Ranger Springs remembered.
“You have got to be kidding,” she finally said.
“No.” He appeared a little baffled. “We’re not expecting anything unusual, Ms. Jacks.”
She took a deep breath. “How about I just write you a nice letter. You can tell everyone that I agree—you’re not really a rabidly crazy company who believes a high-sugar, high-fat diet is best for everyone.”
He started to get a little red in the face. The heat? She didn’t think so. She’d probably pushed him to the limit of his bottom-line heart.
“We’d like more than your 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
