dry grass. She felt his gaze burning into her back as surely as if he’d aimed his own weapon at her…at her backside.
He probably wasn’t giving her the once-over now. He was scorching holes in her with angry eyes, she’d bet, although she’d die before she turned around to check.
She’d seen enough of Greg Rafferty. He’d better not show up on her property. Despite her bravado, she wouldn’t really fill him with buckshot. No, she’d call Police Chief Parker and swear out a complaint. If Greg Rafferty didn’t leave her alone, the only people baking Ms. Carole’s cookies would be Ms. Carole herself.
Chapter Two
Greg planted both elbows on the darkened pine bar of Shultze’s Roadhouse and mentally kicked himself for the hundredth time. Just because Carole Jacks possessed killer legs, a body to make a man drool, and sun-kissed hair he longed to run his fingers through, he should have behaved in a professional, rational manner. Hell, he’d practically drooled on her figure-molding white T-shirt and jeans. If he’d come on any stronger, she would have accused him of seducing her to get what he wanted.
Come to think of it, that would probably be better than the assumptions she’d come up with. Thinking he’d use her daughter to get to her…. What kind of low-life sleaze did she think he was? Using a kid…
He straightened, his hand closing around the frosty longneck as he remembered the look on the little girl’s face as she’d realized she was going to lose that big steer to Big Jim’s barbecue grill. Greg glanced at his watch. Nearly one o’clock. What time did that auction start? He thought he’d heard two, but after the confrontation with his sexy cowgirl, who’d turned out to be the woman he’d come all this way to see, he hadn’t trusted his short-term memory. Hell, this whole trip to Texas was turning into a journey to another dimension, not just a trip to a different state.
He had time to get back to the arena before the bidding started. If he did manage to buy the steer, Carole Jacks would automatically assume he’d done so to get into her good graces. She’d accuse him of trying to influence her daughter. He’d never be able to convince her he’d thought of outbidding Big Jim before he’d known who the country’s favorite cookie queen was.
He should forget about the girl, the steer and the sexy cowgirl. Instead of planning to outbid the competition, he should put on his professional demeanor, just as he’d put on these cowboy clothes. Starting over again with Carole Jacks, beginning with an apology for his earlier outburst, was the only sensible strategy.
The plan not only sounded boring, but it totally ignored his feelings about saving the little girl’s prize pet. He wasn’t about to sit here sipping a cold one while some good ol’ boy ripped the animal away from the child who’d raised him. Greg took a long drink of his beer, grinding his teeth as the vision took hold. He’d deal with Carole Jacks’s suspicions after he handed the big black steer back to her daughter.
The fact that she’d be forced to deal with him at all was worth the expense of outbidding Big Jim. All he wanted was a fair chance to convince her that his plan was reasonable. Once she listened to him, calmly and without the overheated emotions of this afternoon, she might find she liked him. And if she softened just a bit, he’d have a chance to explore some of the non-professional aspects of their relationship.
Like the way her gaze had caressed him when they’d stood just inside the barn. The way she’d been interested in him as a man before she’d accused him of being a louse. He had a suspicion she’d rather eat dirt than admit she’d liked what she’d seen, but he knew a hungry look when he saw one. And Carole Jacks had an extraordinary pair of bedroom eyes that could arouse with just a glance. If he let his mind wander to what the rest of her could do, he’d never get to the auction in time.
With a last long swallow, Greg drained the longneck and slid the empty bottle toward the inside edge of the bar. He retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of the stiff new jeans, then slapped a twenty on the ring-marked pine. That should cover his beer and a grilled cheese sandwich—in honor of Puff and steers everywhere. He just hoped he had enough cash in his debit account to afford a prize steer. If not, the arena had better take plastic, because he was going to buy that big black animal even if Carole Jacks assumed the worst.
This would all turn out well in the end. He would save Huntington Foods from the corporate equivalent of Big Jim’s barbecue grill.
CAROLE WATCHED the bidders gather around the arena, spending more time talking to each other than looking at the animals inside the ring. And why not? They’d already decided which ones they’d bid on, and how much they were going to spend. The heifers they’d add to their breeding program, but the steers would all be used for some promotional or charitable event. Big Jim always bought the grand champion. He was gathering a crowd of cronies, his booming voice carrying across the ring.
Carole looked away from the overblown car dealer to her daughter, who stood straight and silent beside Puff. She was so proud of Jenny, her little girl who was growing up fast. After dealing with not having a father all her life, she was now learning how to lose something she loved. Not that she hadn’t known all along what Puff’s fate would be. Staring the inevitable in the eye was far different from considering a nebulous circumstance, especially for a ten-year-old.
Carole realized with a jolt that her daughter was only seven years younger than she was when she’d met and run away with Johnny Ray French. He’d played guitar in a country-western band performing at the rodeo in San Antonio. She’d thought they’d fallen instantly in love. Probably more like lust, looking back. They’d taken off for his big chance to play The Grand Ol’ Opry in Nashville, stopping in Arkansas to get married because, at heart, she was a good girl and that’s how she’d been raised.
As though she was still seventeen, she clearly remembered how shocked she’d been when her nineteen-year-old husband, drunk on beer and a taste of fame, practically made love to another woman in front of the cameras filming a documentary about the band. And that was right after she’d discovered she was pregnant. Talk about life throwing you a curve! She’d been afraid to call home, embarrassed to admit her stupidity to her mother and two sisters.
Fortunately, her mother saw the documentary on television and left immediately in the family sedan to bring her middle daughter home.
Back in Ranger Springs, Carole had wanted to pretend that nothing was wrong, that she hadn’t run away with a huge jerk and wasn’t going to blow up like a balloon in just a few months. But she had. Her tooled leather belt with the engraved silver buckle had gone only halfway around her middle. She’d waddled where she’d once strutted her stuff in tight jeans and body-hugging, snap-front shirts. She’d held her head up and pretended not to notice the stares of her neighbors, her classmates and her former teachers. Her family had stood beside her, saddened but determined to see her through her impetuous “mistake.” Her mother had gotten her out of her teenage marriage…and Johnny Ray had never wanted to see his child.
Carole leaned her chin on her crossed arms, resting on top of the wooden rail, and sighed. Up until the moment Jenny had been born, she hadn’t decided whether she was going to keep her child or give her up for adoption. She used to place her hands on her big belly and wonder what would be best for her baby—a single mother with only a high school education, or a two-parent household with educated people who desperately wanted a child.
Once she’d held the baby in her arms, the decision was made; she loved Jenny on sight. She’d vowed right then to be the best mother possible, to give her baby love and attention, and provide an extended family including a grandmother, aunts and lots of friends. And Jenny had grown into an intelligent, sensitive, talented daughter. In her
