Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Even if her new boss is demanding and grouchy.
Stafford is drawn to his new housekeeper, but he hasn’t got the time or energy for a relationship.
Can Blakely work some magic and gain a cowboy Daddy to call her own.
*Please Note: This story was in the anthology. Nothing has been changed
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
“Now the brilliant, brave Blakely will attempt to free herself from the ropes of doom. Ta-da!” Blakely tugged at the piece of rope in her hand.
And nothing happened.
When she pulled on the rope, the whole thing was meant to fall off and free her.
So why wasn’t it working?
She pulled again. Was it her imagination or was the rope around her getting tighter?
No, no, no!
“Oh! Witches and wizards!” she cried as she jumped around. The rope was secured around her torso, over her bottom, and around the tops of her thighs.
Not good. Really not good.
She glanced over at her audience for help, but they just gaped at her in horror.
“Well, don’t just sit there, help!” she cried.
Not one of them moved.
Well. Wasn’t that just lovely? She’d always helped them when they needed it. When Mr. Whiskers lost an eye, who had sewn it back on?
She had. That’s who.
And when Mrs. Flopsy’s dress had a rip in it, who mended it?
She did.
And what thanks did she get? They just sat there and watched her flail around like an idiot.
What was that smell?
No time for strange smells, Blakely! You have to get out of the ropes.
“That’s it! No Christmas presents for you,” she threatened as she attempted to free her arm.
“Why did I have to tie it all the way around me? I’m not even that good at tying knots. I can’t tie my shoelaces properly and yet here I am trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving with no way to get free!”
Okay, she was really starting to panic now.
Her breathing grew choppy as she broke out into a sweat.
Got to get free.
What was that smell?
Hmm, it smelled like . . .
“Smoke!” she screamed.
An alarm suddenly blasted through the small apartment.
No! My tuna noodle casserole!
She had to turn that alarm off! If Mr. Brandt heard it, he wouldn’t be pleased. He hated any sort of noise. And Blakely needed this apartment. It was the only place she’d been able to find that she could afford.
As she spun, the ropes suddenly slid off her.
Huh. How had that happened?
“Magic,” she whispered with a smile. It worked!
Well, sort of.
The blasting of the smoke alarm infiltrated her happiness.
Shoot!
Rushing into the tiny kitchen, she saw the smoke drifting from the oven.
“No.” She reached for the door and smoke billowed into her face. “No. No. No.”
Smoke stinging her eyes, she searched around for her oven mitts. She grabbed something, not paying attention to what it was as she used it to lift out the hot dish.
But whatever she’d grasped hold of, they weren’t her thick oven mitts. And the heat from the dish seared her hands.
She quickly dumped the dish into the sink.
Sobs broke free as she stared down at her hands in horror.
“Ouch,” she cried. “Ouch, ouch, ouchie!”
Don’t just stand there. The alarm!
Shit! She searched around for something that she could stand on to turn it off.
Spotting a dining chair, she ignored the pain in her hands as she dragged it over to the alarm and stood on it. She hit the button on the alarm, but it still kept going.
Urgh!
She finally managed to remove the alarm so she could pop out the batteries.
The noise immediately stopped, and she sat down on the chair with a sob of relief.
This was all too much.
Tears filled her eyes. Her hands hurt, her casserole was ruined, and the apartment smelled of smoke. If Mr. Brandt was home, then he’d probably be here soon to complain about the noise.
Another noise blared at her. It sounded cymbals chiming. Ooh or a magic wand.
Oh, witches and wizards!
That was her phone alarm.
Standing, she scrambled around for her phone. Her hands throbbed and burned and in the back of her mind she knew that she should be running them under cool water.
But she had to know why her phone alarm was going off.
If it wasn’t for her phone’s calendar and reminder alarms, she’d never remember to do anything. So she never ignored that chiming.
Finally, she found it lying on the coffee table in the living room.
No!
No, no, no.
She had her interview this afternoon. And in thirty minutes! It was going to take her nearly that long to drive out to the ranch!
Scrambling around, she found her handbag and keys. She stuffed her phone into her handbag and quickly pulled open a couple of windows.
She was on the second floor, so she wasn’t worried about anyone trying to break into her apartment. If they did, they’d be severely disappointed because there was nothing worth stealing.
What was she going to do about her hands, though? They hurt so badly and they were all red.
Bandages. She needed bandages.
“Where is my first aid kit?” she grumbled to herself. “Wait, I don’t have a freaking first aid kit! Why?”
Calm down.
She might not have a first aid kit, but she had a drawer filled with bits and pieces that she’d gathered over the years. Wincing, she searched through it until she found some petroleum jelly and bandages. Hands shaking, she slathered on the jelly, then hastily wrapped some bandages around her hands.