Chief Cook and Bottle Washer Read online

  Chief Cook and Bottle Washer

  by Rita Hestand

  Published by Smashwords

  ISBN # 978-1-4523-0345-1

  Copyright© 2009 Rita Hestand

  print copy at http://www.ritahestand.com

  Smashwords Edition

  License Note

  This book is licesed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebooks may not be resold or given away to other people. Please purchase an additional copy for each person you share with. If your reading this book and did not purchas it. or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Dedication:

  For all the new and would be Mom out there, this book is dedicated to all the mundane chores and nice things you do everyday to make your child's day better. God bless you…Rita Hestand!

  Other books in this series

  Courting Abby

  Hannah's Man

  Along Came Love

  Prologue

  A horn blared, metal crashed, shattering Emma Smith's concentration and jolting her against the steering wheel. She scrambled out of her truck, only to find a tall stranger with an accusing finger pointed straight at her. His flashlight and the blinding rain made it impossible to see him clearly.

  "Are you crazy or something, lady? Didn't you see me coming?"

  When she didn't answer, he rattled on. "Are you hurt, is your truck damaged?" The man demanded, oblivious to the raging spring storm. His voice was edged with concern and withheld anger.

  A stupid question if there ever was one. No one could see in this kind of a storm.

  Momentarily blinded by his flashlight, all she could see now was a tall, broad- shouldered, narrow-hipped dark shadow with a Stetson, and a condescending voice. A cowboy, she should have known. Just her luck.

  "In case you hadn't noticed," she said, shaking with indignation, "it's pouring cats and dogs out here. I couldn't see the hood of my own truck much less yours. I couldn't see you coming around that bend in the road."

  Perhaps he deserved an apology at the very least, but Emma didn't feel much like apologizing to a man with a finger in her face. She wished he'd put that flashlight away.

  Her hand shielded her eyes from the glare.

  Maybe it was better if she didn't see him. When he suddenly clammed up, and stared so long and hard, Emma glanced at herself.

  Oh God, in her hurry to get to the store for milk, she had slipped on that ridiculous t-shirt her brothers had given her for her last birthday. 'I'm over 21 and up for grabs!' Not to mention the t-shirt now clung to her like a second skin. She felt a hot blush bloom on her cheeks.

  Damnation!

  She hadn't planned on getting out in this mess in the middle of the night, but the baby needed milk, she had no choice. Thank God Bertha had enough sense to insist the baby stay with her. Just the thought of the baby being with her during the accident made her shudder.

  The fact that she didn't have a bra on only compounded her misery. But dammit it was too late to worry over something that trivial.

  "I hope you have insurance, 'cause I don't." She flailed her voice at him.

  "Well that figures!" he boomed. He didn't sound too surprised though.

  Probably figured her for a real airhead.

  He flashed the light first at his truck, then hers. A headlight dangled from his grill. She heard him draw breath, as though steadying his next outburst. Her truck was none the worse for wear.

  Emma shook, she didn't want to, but she was cold, angry, and a tad put out by this ogler. What had happened to good old fashioned manners?

  "Look, I'll be glad–"

  "Isn't that Bertha Martin's old truck?" The stranger interrupted flashing his light toward her truck again.

  "It was. I just bought it. You know Bertha?"

  "Sure, everyone around here knows Bertha," he said gruffly then cast her another glance. "But she wouldn't sell it. It belonged to her dead husband."

  "I don't know anything about her dead husband, but she did sell it to me. Just yesterday as a matter of fact. I haven't even had the title changed yet, but I intend to."

  Now the light was back on her face.

  "What's your name?"

  "Emma Smith."

  He made some kind of disgusted grunt and half turned away, then back to her. "Okay, this isn't getting us anywhere so let's get back to our problem. Now what are you going to do about this to make it right?"

  "Well naturally I'll pay for it."

  "Sure you will," came his condescending voice again. "Okay, let's get this out of the way and be done with it. This isn't the kind of weather to be exchanging trivialities. Let's just exchange names and addresses. You can send me the money."

  "You'd trust me?"

  "Not exactly, first I'd like to see a little identification."

  He moved closer, and she backed up, within arms length of him. Without thought she reached out and put her hand on his chest to stay him. As though he might come closer. She hadn't thought touching a stranger could affect her in any way, but the instant her hand came in contact with warm flesh, all her senses came alive. As though that touch made her conscious of him being a man.

  "Look cowboy," she said gulping and trying to sound sophisticated but knew she hadn't come off that good. "I don't have insurance, I'll admit that much. But this ought to cover it." She whipped out a small wad of bills from her front jean pocket and thrust them into his big warm hand. "Now leave me alone, will ya?"

  She turned away to escape him when she heard his voice lower to a husky note.

  "Ma'am a little identification and an apology would have been enough." The cowboy's words followed her to her truck door. She glanced at the ominous shadow in the rain. The money had fallen from his hands to the ground and he hadn't even bothered to pick it up. Her full paycheck, and he hadn't bothered to pick it up.

  "I pay for my mistakes mister."

  "I'll take that as an apology, then."

  Before he had time to move any closer, she slammed the truck door, jerked it in reverse and took off, spewing mud and water all over his truck in the process. She drove at least two miles down the road, glancing in her rear-view mirror as she went. The cowboy hadn't moved.

  ***

  Deke Travers moved his hand over his jaw as he stared at the money at his feet. Damn, the woman put him in one hellova awkward position. She'd paid for the accident so to speak, but he was nearly certain she'd stolen Bertha Martin old pickup. He sensed a desperation in this little gal. But he couldn't really see her as a thief. Still it looked like she had stolen the damn truck. He had no choice.

  Even if she was the prettiest thing he'd seen in a long time. He had to forget those perfect pouting breasts, and the gentle sway of her hips. Somehow.

  He spent the entire trip back to the ranch berating himself for what he was about to do. But Bertha Martin was a friend and he had no choice. He had to report this to the police.

  He'd have bet his last dollar the woman was no thief. Something about the look in her face told him that much. The way she faced him, open and direct. The way she threw that money meant she had to be running from something though. But what?

  She hadn't shown him any ID and he certainly didn't buy that name she gave him. Emma Smith. A real phony. Yep, he'd probably been took in this time. The Sheriff would laugh at him for that one.

  ***

  Emma shook all the way into town. She prayed the little store would be open so she could be on her way.

  The lights were just going out as she opened the old screen door to the store, "Mrs. Wharton, could I just get some milk, please?"

 
"Why sure honey. What are you doing out this late at night?" The woman turned the light on again and opened the door for her.

  "I–I, I was making a pie for the cafe tomorrow and I ran out of milk."

  "Well land sakes why you baking' so late, hon?"

  "I guess I'm a night owl. Bertha reminded me the store would close soon."

  "I heard you were staying' with Bertha. That's real nice, she gets kinda lonely stuck out there in the middle of nowhere. But you know when her husband died she wouldn't budge from that place. You'd think with the cafe bein' in town she'd move a little closer," Mrs. Wharton was saying.

  "It's hard to move away from your home, I guess."

  The woman glanced at Emma as she put the milk on the counter and dug change out of her pocket. Damn, she didn't have enough money left to pay for the milk. She shifted her weight and glanced up at the woman.

  Mrs. Wharton looked at her a little funny, then smiled.

  "You're only a dime short, honey. Don't fret. I'll stop by for some coffee, how's that?"

  "Thank you, Mrs. Wharton, I'm sorry."

  "It's only a dime, Emma. Don't fret about it. We're all glad to have you here. We don't get many young folks these days."

  "Thanks Mrs. Wharton."

  Emma practically ran back to her truck. She laid her head on the steering wheel and felt a hot tear sting her eye. She wouldn't cry. She just wouldn't. Things would get better. They had to. But that thought died the moment she pulled into the old gravel drive at Bertha's place. The Sheriff's car was there, his lights flashing.

  Dear God, he had come to take the baby away from her!

  ________________________________________

  Chapter One

  "You better get your eyes off that cute little wiggle and get over to the store, 'cause Rusty's on his way to tear into Lon," Cal Travers tapped his oldest son, on the shoulder as he hefted a large burlap sack off the ground and into the back of his Chevy S-10.

  "What cute little wiggle?" Deke Travers stopped long enough to scowl at his father.

  "The one you been gawkin' at for the past ten minutes. The one Bertha's been talkin' to. That pretty little red-head by the Cafe." Cal's heavy grey brow shot upward.

  "She's the one I was telling you about. The one that ran into me a couple of months back. I'm sure of it." Deke slanted a glance toward the Lone Star Cafe again. She did have a cute little wiggle, but darn if he'd admit it to his dad.

  "The one that threw money in your face? The one you thought stole Bertha's truck."

  "Yeah, that one." Deke nodded. "Guess I won't live that one down for a while. Will I?"

  "Not if I can help it."

  Deke glanced at his father again. "So why didn't you stop Rusty?"

  "Nope, gave that job to you when I officially retired. Thirty years of herdin' you boys is long enough. It's not my fault that none of you married and divided the land, like I suggested. You're the oldest, so–."

  "Can't you see I'm busy?" Deke grunted as he lifted another sack and shoved it into the back of the truck, slamming the tailgate harder than necessary. He peered over his shoulder at his dad and instantly regretted snapping at him.

  Cal Travers had once been a tall, muscular, hard-as-nails cowboy but his long bout with emphysema had taken its toll. The disease had left him a bent, frail looking man who had too many coughing spells and not enough stamina to sit in a saddle all day.

  "I sympathize son, but somebody's got to do it." Cal smiled thoughtfully as he rolled a cigarette paper and stuffed it in the corner of his mouth.

  "Yeah," Deke muttered grabbing the short end of the cigarette and pulling it from his father's mouth with disgust.

  The cigarette hit the hot pavement and rolled. Cal watched it roll, his forehead wrinkling into a frown.

  "No more of those for you, old man. You know what the doc said. I won't have you smoking and toting an oxygen machine."

  Deke squared his shoulders, forcing the tension from his body. Damn, he hated talking down to his father like that, but it was necessary and Deke always did what was necessary. "Guess someone should get a grip on Rusty's temper."

  The responsibility of his three younger brothers, his dad and the ranch had taken a toll on Deke nerves, lately. If it wasn't Rusty playing the town bully, it was Clint high-tailin' it for the rodeo every time he turned his back. Not only that, but handling his old man could be a task. The only one he could depend on was Jake, and he felt guilty about that. Destined for better things than running a ranch, Jake should be in law school. It was time the younger two took more responsibility.

  Taking long strides Deke reached the end of the boardwalk and turned the corner. A crowd built outside Tate's General Store. Somebody was putting on a good show and he could just imagine who that somebody was.

  "Rusty starting something again?" Deke asked one of the men in the crowd hanging outside the door.

  "Looks that way."

  "Then why aren't you in there stopping him, little brother?" Deke demanded, grabbing Clint Travers by the collar and dragging him inside the store.

  "I thought it was kinda interesting, Deke." Clint smiled innocently at his brother, as he held the door open with the heel of his boot and watched.

  "I've had enough of you, Lon. You know Jennifer's my girl."

  Rusty Travers looked like a gun-fighter about to draw with his feet spread wide and his hands at his sides. Only he had no gun, and the only advantage he had over Lon Sutton was about three inches and twenty pounds of muscle.

  Lon was building an ice-cream sundae for a little girl on the one and only bar stool, looking dumbfounded at Rusty.

  "Gee Rusty, I didn't mean to step on nobody's toes, but she ask me to dance. What could I do? I couldn't insult her," Lon explained, handing the sundae to the little girl, and drying his hands on a his make-shift apron.

  "You could have said no, that's what you could've done." Rusty swiped his brow, and narrowed his gaze. "Now, why don't you stop stallin' and step out from behind that counter and away from Susie. I'm here to see it don't happen again."

  "It won't happen again, Rusty, I promise." Lon backed himself against the counter.

  Rusty pushed back his hat from his forehead with the tip of a finger, and shot a quick glance over his shoulder.

  Deke frowned, knowing nothing sparked his brothers sense of humor easier than a building crowd. "I aim to see it don't. Come on, let's get this over with. I got stuff to do."

  Lon's face turned beet red. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He didn't swipe the sweat, Deke noted, his face firming into a instant frown.

  "That's right, little brother, you sure as heck do. You're gonna get your butt to work, and pronto." Deke grabbed his brother by the back of his jeans and gave him a slight toss

  toward the door. No easy feat considering Rusty was an inch over six foot and built like a human brick.

  "Aw come on Deke," Rusty said turning around with a huge grin. "I was Just funnin' him a little."

  Deke turned to Lon, who looked a little white around the gills. "Sorry Lon. It won't happen again. The Travers boys aren't bullies. School's out Rusty. And I got a cure for all your funnin'. It's called an honest days work."

  "Thanks Deke." Lon tossed an hesitant glance in Rusty's direction.

  "But Deke . . . ." Rusty protested as his brother continued to haul him out the door.

  Deke shot him a reproving glance and Rusty clamped up.

  "Finish loading the truck and meet me over at the Lone Star." Deke left without a backward glance.

  "Sure thing, big brother."

  Deke headed for the Lone Star Cafe, not knowing whether to laugh at his brother or stay mad a while. Although he knew he couldn't stay mad long. Rusty was harmless and everyone in town knew it. Still, one of these days he was going to bite off more than he could chew. Deke worried about Rusty, and Clint who'd ran off to the rodeo the moment a young local girl broke his heart. Clint hadn't been the same since.

  He'd reas
on that his brothers were grown, yet not worrying would be down-right unnatural.

  Deke heard familiar voices coming from the cafe. He wondered about the little lady that had been staying with Bertha. It was all over town. News like that traveled fast. He hadn't seen her leave town, so she must be there. She intrigued him. Not many women intrigued Deke these days, but that little gal he tangled with on the road was full of spit-fire.

  Half a dozen farmers and ranchers gathered about the first few tables, as Deke strode inside. He got a big whiff of french fries and hamburgers sizzling on the grill, his mouth watered. After a couple of quick hellos, Deke settled into a booth. He took off his hat and glanced about. No sign of her. So why did disappointment linger.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow with a kerchief, he stuck it in his back jean pocket. He'd done a day's work and it was barely past noon. Sweat trickled down his back and arms, reminding him how nice a shower was going to feel later. The loud window units in the back of the cafe worked overtime to cool the place down and drowned the Clint Black song on the jukebox.

  June was barely over and the temperature had already hit one hundred. July and August would be scorchers. Deke didn't want to think about that, though. He was already thinking along the lines of selling part of his herd to cut down expenses. He didn't want to think about the irrigation system he hadn't finished installing, either. He didn't want to think of the water shortages that would prevail once summer really kicked in. Tired of worrying over everything, he just wanted to kick back.

  Through the small cut-out window at the kitchen, he spotted a young woman. It was her! Damn if his blood didn't heat up just looking at her. He barely got a glimpse of her, she was moving about so much. But it was her. Steam rose around her, creating a ghost like appearance. Wisps of dark red hair pulled back in a long braid, caught his attention. She swiped the sweat from her brow, and then big, whiskey brown eyes met his gaze. Deke's heart did a bounce in his chest. Just a glimpse, just a moment out of time. A shy, smile curled her lips as she looked away.