Victoria Chancellor - The C.e.o. & The Cookie Queen

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 totally unbiased opinion, of course.

And now her daughter was getting a lesson in life that had to be learned at some point. That didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“All you bidders gather ’round,” the announcer called out from the box overlooking the stalls and chutes. “We’ll start our bidding for our grand champion, owned and shown by Miss Jennifer Jacks, at one thousand dollars.”

Carole watched her daughter bravely lead Puff to the center of the ring. Jenny had cried all her tears; she’d said her goodbyes and was ready to accept a check to go into her college fund. The outcome was certain, but they all had to go through the formality of watching and listening to Big Jim bellow out his bids. Across the arena, Carole heard his friends cheer him on, motivated, no doubt, by the thought of a choice serving of barbecue come Labor Day.

“Fifteen hundred from Ralph Biggerstaff,” the announcer stated.

Big Jim bellowed out, “Two thousand.”

Well, at least Jenny would be able to choose her college with a bit more freedom. And she wouldn’t have to work part-time unless she wanted to. That was good.

“Twenty-one hundred,” a different voice called out. A deep voice, without inflection or accent.

No! He wouldn’t! With an angry frown, Carole stepped up onto the bottom rail and searched the opposite side of the ring for the source of her irritation.

There he stood, tan Stetson covering the upper part of his face with shadow. She recognized his shirt, though, and those brand-new jeans. Was he bidding just to irritate her, or was he seriously considering buying Puff? If he thought he’d impress her by paying more than Big Jim, he had another think coming. She ought to march right over there and tell him she wasn’t about to accept his money. Or Huntington’s money. Had they authorized something this low, or was Greg Rafferty a runaway wagon?

“Twenty-two hundred,” Big Jim announced confidently.

“Twenty-three,” Rafferty said in an amused tone.

So, he thought this was funny, did he? Carole jumped down from the fence. She’d go over there and tell him again what he obviously didn’t believe this afternoon; she didn’t want to listen to his big plans for Ms. Carole’s Cookies, and she didn’t want him using her daughter.

“Twenty-four hundred,” Big Jim said, irritation obvious in his booming voice as Carole marched around the ring.

“Twenty-five.”

Show-off, Carole wanted to yell. Her boots couldn’t navigate through the deep dirt of the arena fast enough. When she got her hands on him…

“Twenty-six hundred,” Big Jim ground out, his voice showing more than irritation now. He sounded downright mean.

Greg Rafferty hadn’t seen mean yet. When she got her hands on him—

“Three thousand,” he said.

An audible gasp filled the big metal barn, followed by whispered comments. Carole stumbled, finding the metal rail with one shaking hand. For the first time she realized how odd this must appear to the rest of the folks witnessing the bidding. A stranger, a man they’ve never seen before, challenging Big Jim for the grand champion.

She held on to the rail and looked to the center of the ring, guiltily thinking about Jenny for the first time since Greg Rafferty started bidding. Her daughter appeared confused by the war going on between the two men. She’d expected Big Jim to buy Puff. She didn’t know this other man. She certainly hadn’t heard that he’d come to Texas to sweet-talk her mother into doing something unthinkable to save Huntington’s reputation.

What about my own reputation? she wanted to shout. True, Greg Rafferty didn’t know about her past. He didn’t accept how averse to publicity she was. But darn it, for ten years—with the exception of the foreign paparazzi who’d come to town back when Kerry Lynn was with Prince Alexi—everyone had forgotten her teenage behavior. They’d let her keep her emotional baggage stored very neatly in the back of the closet, where it didn’t bother anyone.

“This has got to stop,” Carole muttered, pushing away from the rail and marching toward the man who was giving her a pounding headache, not to mention causing her heart to ache for the little girl caught in the middle.

“Three thousand once.”

Carole zeroed in on him, maybe twenty feet away. He turned to watch her approach, what she had to assume was a gloating expression on his model-handsome face.

“Three thousand twice.”

She abandoned her plan to punch him in the nose. Besides going against her generally antiviolent approach to life, he’d probably have her arrested for assault. Instead, she grabbed two fistsful of his shirt as soon as she got within snatching distance of him.

“Sold for three thousand dollars to the stranger in the blue-plaid shirt.”

She stumbled as she tried to shake some sense into him, even though it was too late. Even though he’d already outbid Big Jim for the right to turn Puff into sirloin and hamburger.

He steadied her with two large hands to her waist. “Be careful,” he said, his tone amused as he looked down at her. “You don’t have to be so enthusiastic with your appreciation.”

“Go to hell,” she said through clenched teeth.

Thelma Rogers rushed up, eyes aglow, camera dangling. “What an exciting auction! I need a photo for the Gazette.”

“No!” Carole nearly shouted. Inside she was shaking, angry and protective and yes, afraid. Afraid of him dragging her into his publicity campaign without her permission. Afraid he was digging around in her closet for all her emotional baggage. No one had that right. Just because she’d sold them some cookie recipes—

“Why not?” Rafferty asked.