Rita Hestand - Chief Cook and Bottle Washer

Chief Cook and BottleWasher

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 personalenjoyment only. This ebooks may not be resold or given away toother people. Please purchase an additional copy for each personyou share with. If your reading this book and did not purchas it.or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should returnit to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you forrespecting 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 thingsyou do everyday to make your child's day better. God bless youRitaHestand!

Other books in this series

Courting Abby

Hannah's Man

Along Came Love

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

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

When she didn't answer, he rattled on. "Areyou hurt, is your truck damaged?" The man demanded, oblivious tothe raging spring storm. His voice was edged with concern andwithheld anger.

A stupid question if there ever was one. Noone could see in this kind of a storm.

Momentarily blinded by his flashlight, allshe could see now was a tall, broad- shouldered, narrow-hipped darkshadow with a Stetson, and a condescending voice. A cowboy, sheshould have known. Just her luck.

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

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

Her hand shielded her eyes from theglare.

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

Oh God, in her hurry to get to the store formilk, she had slipped on that ridiculous t-shirt her brothers hadgiven 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. Shefelt a hot blush bloom on her cheeks.

Damnation!

She hadn't planned on getting out in thismess in the middle of the night, but the baby needed milk, she hadno choice. Thank God Bertha had enough sense to insist the babystay with her. Just the thought of the baby being with her duringthe accident made her shudder.

The fact that she didn't have a bra on onlycompounded her misery. But dammit it was too late to worry oversomething that trivial.

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

"Well that figures!" he boomed. He didn'tsound too surprised though.

Probably figured her for a real airhead.

He flashed the light first at his truck, thenhers. A headlight dangled from his grill. She heard him drawbreath, as though steadying his next outburst. Her truck was nonethe worse for wear.

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

"Look, I'll be glad"

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

"It was. I just bought it. You knowBertha?"

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

"I don't know anything about her deadhusband, but she did sell it to me. Just yesterday as a matter offact. I haven't even had the title changed yet, but I intendto."

Now the light was back on her face.

"What's your name?"

"Emma Smith."

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

"Well naturally I'll pay for it."

"Sure you will," came his condescending voiceagain. "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'sjust exchange names and addresses. You can send me the money."

"You'd trust me?"

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

He moved closer, and she backed up, withinarms length of him. Without thought she reached out and put herhand on his chest to stay him. As though he might come closer. Shehadn't thought touching a stranger could affect her in any way, butthe instant her hand came in contact with warm flesh, all hersenses came alive. As though that touch made her conscious of himbeing a man.

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

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

"Ma'am a little identification and an apologywould have been enough." The cowboy's words followed her to hertruck door. She glanced at the ominous shadow in the rain. Themoney had fallen from his hands to the ground and he hadn't evenbothered to pick it up. Her full paycheck, and he hadn't botheredto 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, sheslammed the truck door, jerked it in reverse and took off, spewingmud and water all over his truck in the process. She drove at leasttwo miles down the road, glancing in her rear-view mirror as shewent. The cowboy hadn't moved.

***

Deke Travers moved his hand over his jaw ashe stared at the money at his feet. Damn, the woman put him in onehellova awkward position. She'd paid for the accident so to speak,but he was nearly certain she'd stolen Bertha Martin old pickup. Hesensed a desperation in this little gal. But he couldn't really seeher 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 seenin a long time. He had to forget those perfect pouting breasts, andthe gentle sway of her hips. Somehow.

He spent the entire trip back to the ranchberating himself for what he was about to do. But Bertha Martin wasa friend and he had no choice. He had to report this to thepolice.

He'd have bet his last dollar the woman wasno thief. Something about the look in her face told him that much.The way she faced him, open and direct. The way she threw thatmoney meant she had to be running from something though. Butwhat?

She hadn't shown him any ID and he certainlydidn'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 athim for that one.

***

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

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

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

"II, I was making a pie for the cafetomorrow and I ran out of milk."

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