Family Matters (The Travers Brothers Series): The Travers Brothers Series Page 3

  But it wasn't the food that made Deke heat up like a branding iron, as his eyes slowly slid over Emma, to just below the waist. Seeing her in broad daylight had stirred his interest. For the first time in a long time his body reacted. Not that her dirty white apron, nor her baggy jeans and T-shirt gave away any secrets to her slim little figure, but it merely hinted of a woman that couldn't be hid. And Emma had an outstanding backside. Yes sir, outstanding, Deke cleared his throat and raised his glance back to the warmth of her gaze as she turned around. Too red dots decorated her cheeks. Those red dots indicated the woman had character and values. He liked Emma Smith.

  The scuff on her boots belied the fact that she wasn't some city slicker. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. He had to choose his words, so as not to offend. Emma looked anything but happy that a crowd had suddenly gathered in her kitchen. He doubted from her expression that she recognized him. Although he couldn't understand why his voice hadn't given him away unless the storm had detracted from that, too.

  Deke wondered if Clint would be attracted to her, if he'd thank him later. Young enough, pretty enough, and to top it off Emma could cook. He couldn't lose with this deal.

  Deke eyed her more closely. Small and delicate, yet sturdy too, he decided quickly. Something about that stubborn set chin of hers told him she was from a healthy stock. A heart-shaped face stared up at him as he came to stand only inches from her.

  He towered over her, but she didn't shrink. If anything, she bowed up a little more. She was a woman with spirit.

  She continued to slap hamburgers on the grill as she watched Deke from the corner of her eye. She was a suspicious little creature.

  "Emma," he tipped his hat at her as she turned to stare and looked directly into eyes that made his heart trip a little faster. Those eyes could glue a man to the floor; make him forget what he was thinking. "I'm Deke Travers ma'am, and it seems we have a slight problem."

  "Oh?" Emma's brow shot upward as she backed away from the grill, a hot spatula in one hand, and a fresh sack of buns in the other. The expression on her face was serious, not smiling. Deke noted the death grip on the spatula. He watched as she laid the buns down, wiped her hands on her apron and glanced from one to the other. Obviously she was sizing him up too. She still didn't shrink. He liked that, too.

  "Yeah, you see, Andy here used to be the cook."

  Emma's eyes widened as Deke directed her attention to Andy, who stood a few feet away, a little slouched, a little guilty looking. Emma obviously sized Andy up too.

  "He's been here for a good ten years. He's the son, Bertha never had." Maybe he shouldn't pour it on so thick, Deke thought when he saw that frown appear on Emma's face. "He's probably not as good a cook as you, but he's family." It was the truth and it was thick as syrup.

  Bertha nodded.

  Emma tipped her nose a little higher and went back to the grill, flipped a hamburger with a vengeance then turned back to her audience. She folded her arms over her chest, still frowning at Deke, and still griping that spatula with a death grip. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened in her life to make her take things so seriously.

  "So?" Emma finally spoke.

  "Well, you see, a little over three months ago, he got a wild hair and took off after a gal. Now he's back, naturally wanting his job back. Bertha and Andy are friends. Friends in a small town are important."

  "I see. And what's all this got to do with being in my kitchen?" Emma backed up to the counter, gripping it 'til her knuckles turned white.

  "No ma'am." Deke moved decidedly closer. "You don't see." He wanted to wipe that worried look off Emma's face. He liked this little gal, and he didn't even know why. He knew that whatever her problems were, they were her own. She wasn't the criminal kind. He'd always prided himself in sizing up a person quick. He had to; he was the boss of a sizable ranch. "We don't do things that way in Devil's Corner. Bertha wouldn't feel right about firing a good cook. And she says you're good. Andy wouldn't feel right about taking a job away from a pretty little lady like you. So they are at a stalemate. But I think I can solve this."

  Emma watched them all carefully, and then looked at Deke suspiciously. "How's that?"

  Everyone stared at him.

  He twirled his hat in his hands, and rocked his boots back and forth against the wooden floor. "It just so happens–I need a cook and housekeeper. And I think you'd fit the bill nicely."

  Emma's mouth flew open to obviously object, but he went on before she had the chance.

  "Now wait, hear me out. I know this is kinda sudden. But we're all in a pickle. Bertha says you can cook. I believe her. It smells and looks like heaven in here."

  "But you've never eaten my cooking, have you?"

  "No ma'am. Never."

  "And you'd hire me, on Bertha's word?"

  "Well sure. Bertha doesn't lie, ma'am."

  Bertha took one step toward her and smiled. "Deke's fine people Emma. I'll vouch for that."

  Emma glanced from one to the other. Her frown dissolved into what looked like confusion. "Let me get this straight. You want me to work for you? A stranger! Just like that, without knowing a thing about me?"

  "Oh I'll get you to fill out an application, if you want. But it's not necessary. Bertha's word is good enough for me. You'd be working for the 4 Bar None Ranch. It's a good size spread, with a hardy bunch of cow punchers to feed every day. You'd do the cookin' and cleanin'. The cleaning's not much, laundry mostly. We're a hardworking bunch and we'd need a couple of square meals a day." When she tossed him another suspicious look he went on. "Look, it's like this, I can't spare the time to advertise. Around here we go by word of mouth more than anything. I could put an ad in the Sweetwater paper, but it would take a while, and my boys might starve in the meantime. We just don't get that many new people around here. It's as simple as that. Now, I realize you don't know us, but Bertha can vouch for me and my brothers. She's known us all our lives. We're locals. And if you need references, I can get all you'll need."

  "But-t you don't even know me. And I certainly don't know you."

  "Don't need to. You gotta recommendation already. Don't know where you're from ma'am but we don't stand on formalities out here. There just isn't time."

  A long silence stretched, as Deke waited for an answer.

  "So what do you say?"

  "What kind of pay?" Emma's brow shot up, her arms still folded, her frown still in place.

  "Five hundred a month with room and board." Deke wondered why it was taking her so long to answer.

  Emma chewed nervously at her bottom lip for a moment. "I don't know. The money sounds good, but you're a total stranger. You might be used to doing business this quickly but I like to think things through."

  She gave Deke a quick once over. And then after a wink and nod from Bertha she added, "I don't have much choice do I? I'd have to pack."

  "Naturally."

  "You'd take me on just like that?"

  "Just like that."

  "Then I should tell you–" She began only to be cut short.

  He raised a hand to stay her words. "No ma'am. Your life is your business. I'm looking for a cook, not a wife."

  Why that word shot out of his mouth he wasn't sure, but it was out and he wasn't about to retract it.

  "But you should know–."

  "You married?" He blurted. He'd be up front, and hoped she'd be the same. He didn't have time to pussyfoot around. He needed an answer.

  "No, but . . . ."

  Great, as long as she wasn't married, that was the main thing. There was plenty of time to unravel Emma Smith. Right now he was too busy putting his plan into action.

  "Then we can straighten out the details later. Right now, I just don't have the time."

  He glanced out the kitchen window and swore under his breath, "Dammit, Steve's out there talking to Clint. Run out there and tell Clint he better not run off with him, will ya Andy. We gotta eat and get back. The ranch is a ways from town, and we still got a
day's work to do when we get back."

  Andy nodded.

  "Look, we'd be taking you on for as long as you'd want to stay." He heard himself say, despite his reservations. "You'd be family. Be treated as such. How does that sound? I can personally guarantee no one would lay a hand on you."

  "It sounds . . . nice." Her voice suddenly softened. "But do you always hire on the spot like this?"

  "No, but that's just it. I'm in a spot, like everybody else. Besides, I got a nose for good people. Now, I'll tell you beforehand it's lonely out there. Some gals don't like all that quiet. It's understandable. And if you find you're one of those, you're free to leave, just give me some time to replace you. Is all I ask."

  "There'd be no problem there," Emma murmured.

  She was definitely hiding from someone. He'd find out, but right now he wasn't too anxious to add to his own problems.

  "So what do you say?"

  "I say, good luck Andy, and goodbye, Bertha. I guess I'm working for you–Mr.–uh, Travers, did you say?" She handed the apron to Andy who walked back into the kitchen.

  "Great, problem solved, Bertha. The ranch is about thirty miles south of town. Bertha will give you directions. Come as soon as you can."

  Deke left them all standing with their mouths open as he rejoined his brothers.

  "So what have you been up to, big brother?" Jake cast him a suspicious glance as Deke slid into the booth again.

  "I just hired us a cook and housekeeper." Deke declared his eyes going around the table stopping on Clint. He'd found a solution. The smell of Emma's cooking was making his mouth water.

  He knew just how to settle Clint's roaming butt down. If Clint couldn't read the signs from Abby, then Deke would do a little matchmaking himself. Marry him off. And poor unsuspecting Emma would be the first bride on the 4 Bar None Ranch in over thirty one years.

  Chapter Two

  "What have I done," Emma muttered aloud. "Taking a job with a complete stranger, heading for God only knows where, with the truck from hell."

  The old truck spit out one big puff of smoke, and died right in the middle of the road, as though on cue. She turned the ignition. Nothing happened. Steam sputtered from the hood. Emma groaned.

  She glanced over at Sammie Jo. Luckily the baby had gone to sleep. Emma envied her. Fifteen month old Sammie Jo constantly surprised her with her amazing ability to adapt to almost any situation.

  Lightly kissing her on the forehead, Emma slid out of the truck, and raised the hood. She jerked her hand away from the hot hood. She should have known better, she silently scolded herself. She'd looked under hoods before.

  Noticing a big puddle of water beneath the engine and steam rising from its source, she grimaced. This wasn't good! Melting rubber permeated the air. Tugging the hose she spotted a huge hole and jumped away before it spat in her face. How many times had Charlie warned her about busted hoses? Good thing he wasn't around, he'd certainly have a good laugh at her expense.

  Not the right time to think about Charlie, either. He was history. All cowboys were. From now on she was setting her cap for a man in a business suit with a nine-to-five job, if she set her cap at all. If she could juggle motherhood and a job she might not need or want a husband.

  For once in her life, there was no one to reprimand her, not her father, her three brothers, nor Charlie.

  If only she had checked the water before she left the gas station. How could she have been so stupid?

  "Now what?" She shaded her eyes and glanced down the road. From the looks of the map Bertha had drawn it was still miles to the ranch, too far to walk with a baby.

  "Just my luck."

  She glanced through the windshield at Sammie Jo. The baby needed feeding and changing. Her diaper had to be drenched, and Emma felt lucky she wasn't screaming her head off from teething.

  "Serves me right," Emma said shaking her head with disgust. "After all Charlie taught me, you'd think I'd learn."

  Charlie again. She should have put him entirely out of her mind by now. Still as time went on she found herself wondering if he hadn't been right all along, she couldn't handle this.

  What had he said? Funny, a few months ago she could quote him word for word. "You know nothing about babies. It isn't your place. You're deliberately ruining our chances of marriage. Let her grandfather take her."

  Grandfather? Sammie Jo for all general purposes didn't have a grandfather. It had been Mr. Collins himself that refused to believe Kate was having his son's baby. That's why Kate made her promise to take care of Sammie Jo. That's why she left Emma custody in her will.

  That had done it. Charlie clearly wanted no part of Emma if she was going to take the baby and raise it as her own. It wasn't right, he had said. It wasn't as if the baby didn't have kinfolk. And just remembering those words brought all her determination front and center.

  Joel Collins hadn't wanted that responsibility. Emma had. She loved Sammie Jo with all her heart and soul. But the elder Mr. Collins became interested after Kate died. He even wrote a letter requesting to see the baby. Fear of losing Sammie Jo had put Emma on the run.

  Hot, tired, and frustrated she leaned negligently against the side of the truck, feeling the sweat trickle down her back and stick to her T-shirt. Panic threatened, draining her strength. Shaking her head, she threw her hands on her hips. She could handle this. She slid her boot against the gravel and watched as the dust settled on top. Things could be worse.

  Six months of being mother, father, and sibling to Sammie Jo had taken its toll on Emma. Six months and still she couldn't be certain of her rights. She had to find a lawyer.

  In normal times Frank, her oldest brother would be around to help, but these weren't normal times. She left anything close to normal back in East Texas. For the first time in twenty-four years she was truly on her own. A year ago she might have thought it exciting. Now she knew better.

  "Oh Frank, where are you now?"

  She glanced at Sammie Jo again. Somehow, looking at the baby made her stronger. "Thank God you're such a good baby."

  Sammie Jo leaned to one side of her car seat, sweating and sleeping, an angelic expression on her face. Emma envied her again.

  Turning around she looked down the long dusty road. Six thirty and still hot enough to boil sweat. The sun exuded a bright orange haze in the lower western sky. Would her new boss be expecting his supper from her tonight? Something about the man seemed so familiar she only wished she could put her finger on it. Maybe she'd seen him in Devil's Corners before. Still, that mystery would have to wait; she had other, more immediate problems.

  Would she even have a job when she reached the ranch? And then there was the slight problem of Sammie Jo, and the fact that she hadn't mentioned the baby.

  First things first, she sighed, rule number one by Frank Smith. "Take care of yourself first, and then tend to the rest. And never go anywhere without water." He would say. Now she remembered it. God, she missed him. She missed Sam and Jesse too, but Frank had been her protector from the day she was born. Her oldest brother had protected her from their over-bearing father who refused to acknowledge he even had a daughter. Somehow none of that seemed to matter now. She was on her own and no one was going to step in and help.

  She walked to the back of the truck and hauled her big jug of water to the side so she could get a drink. She gulped it, and then took a dampened wipe to Sammie Jo's forehead. The baby sighed, but didn't wake.

  If it weren't for the baby, she could walk the distance and get help, but she couldn't leave Sammie Jo, and she doubted she could carry her as far as she needed. Sammie Jo could walk now, but not in that sad excuse for sandals, Emma grimaced. Shoes she meant to replace last Saturday but she had to work. She bit her lower lip. When was being a mother supposed to get easier?

  She opened the door to her side of the truck, allowing what little breeze there was to filter through the cab. Sitting on the sideboard, Emma occasionally glanced from the baby to the road.

  Sh
e'd wait a while, and if no miracles occurred she would try to start the truck again. She believed in miracles, hopes, dreams. Even Charlie hadn't ruined that for her. Hopes and dreams had kept her going.

  Minutes ticked in her head as the heat bore down on her.

  Finally checking her watch she decided to give it another try. The engine made a loud noise, but nothing happened and she didn't want to run the battery down, so she turned off the ignition, hopped out of the truck and began to pace.

  Second rule, don't panic. Frank would have told her in that same steady voice of his to calm down and take a long look at her troubles before she got all riled.

  She couldn't sit here in the middle of nowhere and do nothing, although it seemed the better part of valor. Third rule, act.

  Act?

  What did a woman with a fifteen month old baby do in the middle of the Texas desert with a broken down truck? Where were the manuals for such disasters?

  Emma had always coped with one problem at a time, as they arose. She felt proud she could. But life had become a nightmare since she'd left home, with new problems arising and no one to depend on to help her resolve them. She was tired of being alone, tired of struggling to make ends meet. What did she know how to do, besides cook and clean? If her father hadn't insisted that she had an obligation to fulfill to her brothers and him, she might have gone on to college. She had good enough grades. But her father was from the old school. He believed a woman's place was in the home. So that's where Emma had dutifully stayed for the past twenty-four years.

  Kate's dying had changed all that. Oh dear, she didn't want to think of Kate's dying again. It had left such a profound silence within her. The dry lump in her throat swelled.

  Poor Kate had died at the tender age of twenty of kidney failure. She had risked her very life to bring Sammie Jo into the world, knowing she had severe diabetes. Knowing it could kill her. Yet she had braved it with jubilation. The doctors had warned her. She wouldn't listen. She was already in love with the prospect of being a mother. What a beautiful mother Kate had been for those precious eleven months. Kate had fought such a brave struggle to regain her strength after Sammie Jo was born. But she'd had been too weak, and her illness had caught up to her. And Emma had lost her lifelong friend, closest female cousin, and the exuberance of her own youth. A tear rolled down Emma's cheek, a tear for her cousin and a tear for Sammie Jo. Emma gulped the sigh back and swiped her cheek with the tail of her T-shirt.