Chief Cook and Bottle Washer

by Rita Hestand

  "I'm sorry." She stepped away finally, letting her hands fall to her sides. God, he must have thought she was pitiful.

  "Yeah, uh, I brought you some linens for your bed and bath. Anything else you need–for the baby or such?" he asked looking down into her wide eyes.

  "No–thank you." She managed to sound relatively normal.

  "Okay, supper will be ready in about an hour. So come on down when you're ready."

  "Thanks, I will."

  His eyes traveled about the room, and stopped at the closet where she had hung her T-shirts and jeans. He made no comment but he must have noticed there were no fancy dresses.

  "We're all glad you're here, Emma," he said in a soft voice.

  "Thanks," Emma nodded and backed towards the bed.

  Then he was gone and Emma felt every kind of fool. She was sexually attracted to her boss! Not only was he the sexiest thing in jeans she'd every seen, but he was super kind and gentle with her and the baby. "Never love a cowboy," Kate's advice echoed in her head.

  Chapter Four

  The backyard barbecue was turning into an all out party, Deke mused as he watched Emma being introduced to the bunkhouse men. Clint manned the steaks on the open pit, Rusty grabbed his guitar every now and then. As usual he was the life of the party. The boys from the bunkhouse seemed to take right to Emma, as though she weren't a stranger at all.

  "Son, you sure know how to pick 'em," Cal said just behind him. "I think Emma's gonna work out real fine."

  Deke watched her with quiet satisfaction. Yes siree, Emma was a natural here on the ranch. He liked the way she wore her jeans, soft and faded, and comfortable, not skin tight and askin' for trouble. Her crisp white blouse was practical too. Emma was no show off, but she didn't have to be. She had the thickest long brown hair that hung just past her shoulders, and big whiskey colored eyes that a man could get lost in. She smiled a lot, joined into the conversations easily. A good choice.

  Now all he had to do was sit back and wait till his wayward brother Clint decided to take the bait. He watched them with curious intent.

  Sammie Jo had been the life of the party for the first couple of hours, but her short nap when they arrived hadn't been enough and she gave out quickly. Not surprising at all considering most the boys had hoisted her piggy-back here and there and fed her a double dose of home-made peach ice-cream. It was a wonder the kid wasn't sick.

  Deke had taken her himself and laid her in the playpen, covering her as she sighed in blissful sleep. There was something about babies that just naturally melted a cowboy's heart. Besides, she was a cute little thing, the kind of kid a man could get hooked on easily. "Funny," Deke stared at her a long time. "You don't look much like your mama."

  The baby had blond hair that tended to curl in all sorts of places, and big blue eyes that innocently captured the heart.

  During his absence someone produced a fiddle and a guitar and Emma was being shuffled from one man to another as Deke again took to the sidelines. He leaned negligently against the trunk of an elm and watched as Rusty took the first dance with Emma. She went into Rusty arms and Deke felt something in his gut tighten. Shrugging it off as heartburn, he continued to watch. Emma was a fair dancer and Rusty seemed almost interested, but Deke wasn't sure. Rusty was as loyal as his dog, Denver. It was more than obvious that Rusty was too young, or Emma was older than she looked. He hadn't bothered with those details, and didn't figure it would really matter.

  When Clint grabbed her for a dance a few minutes later, Deke was almost certain he saw a little interest in Emma's eyes, but who could tell with a woman. Funny how heartburn seemed to attack him at such times.

  Emma was no flirt, he acknowledged, and if he wasn't mistaken she was doing everything to dissuade flirtations. He liked that. She'd be a challenge, and if there was one thing Clint liked, it was a challenge.

  Perhaps she had a syndrome about being the cook. Maybe she thought she wasn't good enough. Or maybe she wasn't interested. He hadn't considered how she might feel about them. Talk about overlooking a few things. Well, he'd do his best. Whatever it took. The Travers boys were going to settle down whether they wanted to or not, Deke decided.

  "You don't dance?" Emma finally made her way around the group of men and stared through the darkness of trees at him.

  "Not any of that fast stuff," Deke glanced at the fiddler and smiled. And he certainly didn't want to dance a slow dance with Emma. He wasn't baiting his own hook. He was too aware of her to pull that sweet little body of Emma's against his own. He knew better. He'd dealt with temptation before, and it wasn't one of his strong points. Instead he nodded in the direction of a tall man approaching them.

  "I think it's time you met my other brother. Emma this is Jake, the serious one of the bunch." Deke almost guided Emma into Jake's arms.

  Now why had he done that? Emma wasn't for Jake, he reminded himself a little too late. He practically pushed her into Jake's arms. And Jake didn't seem to mind a bit. Not if that big grin on his face was any sign.

  "Emma," Jake tipped his hat, smiled and took her into his arms more fully. "Hank rode out to tell me we had company, but he didn't tell me she was a knockout in blue-jeans."

  Deke firmed his lips together. Since when did his oldest brother ever take to flirting? Jake was the serious type, not a flirt. So why didn't he beg off the dancing? Why had he taken Emma in his arms as though she belonged there and waltzed her around the big backyard patio as though they were made for each other? This wasn't what Deke had planned. He'd better inform Jake of what was going on before Jake spoiled everything.

  He watched them dance several dances, and saw Jake's hand tighten around her a bit as he twirled her into his arms and out again. He saw Emma smile at Jake and something like a sledge hammer hit Deke square in the head.

  This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to fall for Jake. She wasn't for him! It was wrong, all wrong, and all his fault.

  He had to stop this before it went too far. Before Emma set her sights for Jake. Didn't she know he was the wrong brother?

  Without thinking, Deke waited till Jake twirled Emma about one more time, and grabbed her hand from Jake's. Deke forgot he couldn't dance this kind of dance and took control. He made a few mock moves and then suddenly, the fiddler slowed the music and Emma was in his arms. All of her!

  Good Lord, the woman was soft and smelled so sweet like one of those flowers his mother used to plant near the house. She was smiling at him just like she smiled at Jake. He had to shake himself from enjoying just being this close to the woman and start thinking of how he could redirect her interest.

  "Jake's a good dancer," Deke acknowledged. God, he shouldn't have said Jake, he meant Clint. What was wrong with him?

  "You're not so bad yourself." She smiled.

  "But Clint is the best," Deke needed to include his younger brother in the conversation.

  "Yes, he's very good too," She smiled and glanced at the tall cowboy who was watching them with interest.

  "It's hard to believe none of you Travers men are married," she chuckled softly into the night air.

  He liked the sound of her voice, and when she chuckled it tickled his toes. A cowboy's toes shouldn't tickle, he warned himself and straightened the foolish grin on his face. But what was he getting so shook up about, she was just being friendly.

  "Jake was married a while."

  "Really, what happened. I mean–didn't it work out?" Emma was trying to be polite.

  "No it didn't. Jake has the habit of falling for women that aren't his type. He's a very quiet man, studious in fact. He married a young gal that hadn't sewn all her oats yet."

  "How terrible for Jake," Emma murmured as her eyes drifted to the tall cowboy in the shadows now.

  "Maybe, maybe not. It put his head on straight, no doubt about that."

  "And you?"

  "Me?"

  "Yes, why haven't you married? Aren't you the oldest?" Emma asked then instantly covered her mouth. "I'm
sorry, I shouldn't be so nosy."

  "That's alright Emma, you're practically family now. It's no secret I'm no ladies man. Besides, I don't have time for a family of my own. I've got a ranch to run, and a couple of fun-loving brothers to corral, not to mention my dad." Deke returned evenly.

  "I don't understand, your dad's fun loving, too?" Emma said, almost stopping.

  Deke nearly stumbled into her, causing their bodies to join in the most interesting and terrifying places. Deke drew in a breath as her breast slammed against him, and her hips sank near his thigh.

  God, she was soft as a feather pillow, and twice as warm. He had an urge to keep her just that way, but soon realized the stupidity of that kind of thinking.

  "Sorry," he corrected, pulling her away from him and holding her more at a distance. "No, my father's been ill now for a while. He has emphysema and doesn't have the stamina he used to. He won't quit the damned cigarettes, excuse my language."

  Emma smiled sadly and glanced at Cal Travers in the distance. He was stirring the beans on the open pit as Clint flipped another steak.

  "I'm sorry for that. He's a very nice man."

  "Yeah," Deke said quietly with a soft sigh, only this time his expression held weariness. "I'd just like to keep him around a lot longer."

  "Is he on medication?" Emma asked.

  "Sure. But a lot of good that will do if he doesn't stop smoking."

  ***

  The next morning Emma listened for sounds in the house and heard nothing. Good, they weren't up yet. She sighed with contentment. For the past six months she had gotten up at the crack of dawn with Sammie Jo and had breakfast. A few cherished moments of relaxation with her favorite person.

  "Mama," Sammie Jo cried and stretched her chubby little arms out to Emma.

  "That's right darling, I am. And things are going to change for us now, Sammie Jo, for the better. You'll see."

  Running a brush through her thick red hair, Emma pulled it back into a high ponytail. She grimaced as she glanced in the mirror to examine herself. Homely her dad had called her, average, she had decided long ago, even though her brothers called her a looker. She had no illusions of glamour. The freckles of youth had faded, but she hadn't filled out much over the years. Especially her bust. Still, she was grateful. Emma had inherited her mother's natural talent for taking things in her stride, finding a practical outlook safer.

  Despite everything, she had grown up without too many scars and she was probably all the better for them. So what if her father never appreciated or acted like he loved her. So what if he'd treated her like a boy instead of a girl. She was none the worse for wear. She had a life now, a baby to love, that was enough. She didn't need a man. Look what it got Kate!

  Throwing shorts and a T-shirt on Sammie Jo, she donned a pair of faded jeans and T-shirt for herself and rushed downstairs with the baby on her hip.

  Luckily the Travers men had set everything up for her last night so she wouldn't have any trouble this morning. They had shown her where to find everything and offered to run into Sweetwater if she found she needed anything.

  Emma hummed a familiar country tune to the baby while she worked, it seemed to soothe Sammie Jo as she played with her cup of orange juice.

  "Cack-cack!" Sammie Jo cried when Emma stopped humming long enough to lift the big iron skillet from the bottom drawer. It was heavy and it took both hands to lift it. She placed it on the stove and turned the fire on under it. After adjusting the flame she returned to the long block of home-made sausage she had placed on the cutting board.

  "Cack-cack!" Sammie Jo demanded louder.

  Emma glanced at her and shook her head, "No cack-cack before breakfast, darling. You know the rules. We're going to have sausage and eggs and biscuits this morning. Besides, you love biscuits, remember."

  "Cack-cack," Sammie Jo kept insisting as she hammered her cup on the tray, a definite frown lining her forehead.

  "Now–now darling, we must be quiet so Mommy can work," Emma said and shook her head while humming another tune, hoping to settle her down so she didn't make so much noise. After meeting the men on the ranch last night she was sure no one was used to having a strange female around, much less a child. She wanted to extend every courtesy. Even though everyone went out of their way to make her as comfortable as possible, it was obvious the two of them were a novelty.

  Sammie Jo refused to cooperate with Emma's plans this morning and immediately tried standing up in the high chair. A trick she had been developing lately much to Emma's chagrin. As if she didn't have enough to contend with.

  "Sit down, darling, you'll fall."

  Emma had her hands full with chopping the sausage as Sammie Jo stretched for the glass jar of crackers that she had sampled the night before on the counter.

  "Sammie Jo–no!" Emma cried thrusting a handful of sausage to the skillet and stretching to catch the baby all at the same time. A feat that was near impossible from where she stood.

  Emma was in a weird position when the high chair began to tip and only a firm big hand saved Sammie Jo from sailing to the floor. Emma didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She must have looked like a bad juggler as she glanced up in time to see Deke Travers holding the highchair. A big, warm hand, that completely covered hers, sent a riot of sensations through Emma.

  How could she have sensations jolting through her when she was trying to save her baby?

  She felt the grease on her hands almost melt from the contact. Embarrassment flooded her and she moved her hand away. She had to get over this silly reaction to the man. He was her boss, for heaven's sake, and had no personal interest in her whatsoever. He probably found her amusing, if anything.

  Flustered that he had seen her incompetence, Emma grabbed the baby from the high chair and cradled her protectively against her chest as she removed a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. Sammie Jo's mouth was wet and managed to get Emma wet in the process. She glanced down and shrieked. Orange juice all over her clean white T-shirt. Aiming at composure she was far from feeling, she put Sammie Jo on the floor.

  "Thank you, Mr. Travers." Silently she muttered a prayer. She didn't know why her heart raced except that everything Sammie Jo did seemed to cause havoc, and she didn't know how to stop or prevent it.

  "Emma we aren't going to get along if you keep calling me Mr. The name's Deke and I'd appreciate it if you'd call me that, in the future. Mr. is much too formal. That coffee smells good enough to eat. Where'd you learn to make it?"

  "My father taught me very early on to make a good pot of coffee. He said a woman could get by making biscuits half-way, but the coffee better be good."

  Sammie Jo glanced at Deke then Emma then she let out a loud wail.

  Emma sighed heavily, her face turning into an immediate frown. Deke's expression turned to mush the minute the baby began crying. The same hand that had covered Emma's now stretched to ruffle Sammie Jo's curls. "This highchair is pretty worn out, maybe you ought to consider replacing it."

  "Oh yes–I've been meaning to. It's on the list."

  "List?"

  "Of improvements."

  He still looked confused so she babbled on. "Oh, there are so many things I need to take care of. Lately I've been working so much, I simply haven't had the time to see to it. I'm not a shopper. You must think me a horrible mother," Emma said turning away from his probing gaze. She found Deke Travers just a little too disconcerting this early in the morning. His fresh scrubbed and cleaned-shaven appearance did things to her equilibrium that she didn't want to think about. And the fact that he was just now buttoning his shirt had her floundering.

  "Emma would you relax. You aren't on trial here. As a matter of fact, I think you're a very nice mother. I couldn't help but overhear you reading to her last night. My mother used to read to me. I really liked that."

  "I read to her every night." Emma flipped a sausage. "It seems to help her get to sleep."

  He nodded. "At first, when I realized what you were doing, I had t
o peek in. Been a long time since anyone around here did much reading, except the cattleman's journal. But one look on her little face, and I understood. She's enraptured by your voice."

  "Understood what?"

  "That only a loving mother would read to a child that couldn't understand for an hour and a half."

  "You listened–that long?" Emma's mouth flew open.

  "No, not exactly." Deke shifted uncomfortably. "I hope you don't think I was snooping but I went out to check on a couple of things and when I came back you were both still wrapped up in that rocker. She was asleep, like a little angel, and you were smiling at her as you read the same story, must have been three times."

  "It was her favorite and she was teething. I read to soothe her."

  "Don't apologize. I thought it was kinda sweet. Did your mother read to you when you were little?"

  "I don't remember. I was too young. Oh but you're wrong about not understanding. Doctors encourage reading even before they are born. They might not understand all the words, but it's the communications," Emma recited Kate's doctor's speech nearly word for word. The endless trips to the doctor with Kate had been a real eye opener for Emma. Little did she know how much she would need the information for herself.

  "I'd say you communicate very nicely, Emma. There's something kinda nice about having a woman and a baby in the house."

  Their eyes met for only a moment then Deke glanced away and cleared his throat. "Well, I'll have one of the boys look out in the old shed and see if we can find something better than this chair. We must have had some kind of contraption for eating when we were kids."

  "Oh please don't bother . . . ."

  "It's no bother." His eyes met hers for a long moment, then he cleared his throat again and looked away. "Don't act like I'm doing you such a favor all the time. I needed a cook. You needed a job. Your gratitude is not what I'm after."