Chief Cook and Bottle Washer (8 page)

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.