Read Chief Cook and Bottle Washer for Free Online Page B

used to being deceived."
    "I'm sorry. But you don't understand the
circumstances."
    He didn't say anything. Just stood there
staring.
    "Well–do I still have a job?" She asked not
understanding why this cuter-than-sin-cowboy was so upset with her
and the baby. And she hadn't exactly lied, she just hadn't told him
everything. She wasn't aware she held her breath for his answer,
either.
    "I don't usually hire people I can't
trust."
    She nodded, not looking at him, but rather
the toe of her uninteresting boot, "Then will you at least help me
get this thing back on the road and we won't be bothering you
again."
    He hesitated. So long in fact that she had to
look up at him. He sighed heavily again. "I still need a cook," he
said with tired resignation. But the light had gone out of those
blue eyes, and he stared at her with a troubled expression.
    He took his hat off, displaying a thick head
of rich chocolate brown hair, swept high and back. The kind of hair
that makes a woman's palm itch. In fact, he made her downright
uncomfortable all over. Maybe she should get out of here. Run.
    He wiped his brow with the back of his
sleeve. "Try the ignition again."
    Emma missed his smile. He had an easy on the
eyes kind of smile. Only she was sure he didn't use it enough, and
didn't realize it's power.
    "Okay." She gave him a quick appraisal and
wished she hadn't. The man was lethal. Every movement he made with
that drop dead gorgeous body put her on alert. She was sure he
wasn't exuding it purposely on her account. No, his muscles hadn't
flexed against the back of his shirt for her benefit. He probably
didn't realize his own potential. The way he walked and carried
himself blatantly said, "I'm all man."
    The truck rumbled, and Emma looked up.
    "We need water." He said his voice full of
strangled frustration each time he looked at her.
    "There's a jug in the back of the truck."
    "Good. Hopefully, it will be enough."
    "I filled it before we left town," Emma
watched him, saw his muscles tense as she neared him again. Saw the
muscle in his jaw wiggle. He was probably gritting his teeth to
keep from shouting at her. The way Frank often had when she'd done
something stupid. The way Charlie had when she'd told him she was
leaving.
    "Mr. Travers . . ." Emma called, but he
ignored her and got the water and took it around front. She
followed. He hadn't given her so much as a backward glance.
    He ignored her, and Emma was determined not
to allow him the pleasure.
    "Deke, call me Deke." He said when she came
to stand beside him. Her hands rested on her hips, her feet apart.
"We don't stand on formalities, Emma." He cast her another glance,
this time from head to foot, bold, assessing. If the truth were
known it was the most blatantly sexual assessment she encountered
with a man. Charlie certainly never looked at her in that
manner.
    Emma floundered. At that moment she wished
she had worn something more attractive, but her meager wardrobe
consisted of jeans, T-shirts, and one nice white shirt for dress.
Working ranch girls didn't run around in pretty dresses. They
dressed for work. Back home that was all she needed, a few jeans
and T-shirts. Suddenly that didn't seem quite enough. Reality told
her nothing would impress this cowboy though, and she had better
sense than to try. But she hadn't wanted to impress anyone when she
left home with Sammie Jo. Men were the furthest thing from
    her mind, after Charlie dumped her.
    Actually, that wasn't right either. She had
dumped him. Reluctantly. She had practically forced him into
instant fatherhood with her decision to keep Sammie Jo.
    Maybe it wasn't fair to Charlie. Forcing him
to make a choice. But it was all she could do, she had an
obligation to fulfill and nothing was going to stop her.
    She shook those memories away.
    She shouldn't be comparing Deke Travers to
Charlie. Charlie was the one man she had ever dated, ever cared
much about. She'd had no time for men in her life, and nothing had
changed.
    Still