Expecting The Rancher's Child. Sara Orwig

Sierra unpacked her few belongings, she couldn’t keep from comparing the ranch house to her condo, which was large enough to be comfortable for her, but not too big, and she thought about the home where she grew up with her five siblings.

      Her family’s two-story house had been large enough for her big family, kid friendly and nothing fancy. Always a place any of them could bring their friends, their house was usually filled with company. Many meals had included twelve to fifteen around their table.

      Now, because of her work with Brigmore, she interacted daily with people who needed help, and helping them seemed so much more important than jobs like this one for Blake. They were good people who had had misfortune—illness or just bad luck. He was cynical, yet ironically, his money would be such a help. Most people would appreciate the help, and use it to make their lives better, something Blake didn’t seem to believe.

      She needed to get this job done and get back to Kansas City. She was attracted to Blake to a degree she had never been attracted to another man before. He hadn’t done one thing to cause the attraction other than be himself, but she knew he felt it as much as she did.

      His handsome looks and sexy appeal took her breath. While he seemed laid-back and easygoing, his air of supreme confidence was so strong it was almost tangible. He was sure of himself, accustomed to getting what he wanted, and it showed in his attitude, his demeanor and his walk. His assurance was obvious when he entered a room.

      To her relief, he had been impersonal, businesslike, since her arrival. She hoped that didn’t change. She appreciated him not flirting or trying to charm her. She hoped she could stay businesslike, too.

      Yes, she’d agreed to dinner tonight, but after this getting-to-know you session, she hoped to spend as little time around him as possible. When she thought of the enormous check he had given her to get her to take this job, a staggering amount, she had to wonder what was behind that offer. Why had he wanted her that badly? She might have once been good at interior decorating, but so were others.

      Feeling suspicious about his motives, she hoped he had paid that much for purely business reasons. She couldn’t keep from thinking about the CEO she’d worked for previously. She had been an executive ready to move up when he had propositioned her, promising to make her a vice president if she would become his mistress. She hadn’t seen that coming from him and he had held no sexual appeal.

      His startling offer had shaken her judgment in men and angered her. Unlike with her CEO, a physical attraction had existed between her and Blake from the first second they had met.

      She would have dinner with him tonight, get the layout of the new wing and find out what he wanted and then, hopefully, he would go on about his business. He didn’t look the type to hover.

      She showered and changed, dressing in a skirt, a matching red silk shirt and high-heeled pumps. She tied her hair behind her head with another silk scarf and went downstairs to meet him at six.

      As she walked down the curving stairs, she saw him stop at the foot to wait. And watch her.

      His dark gaze made her tingle. Taking him in at a glance, she smiled at him. He had changed, too. He wore jeans, boots and a different short-sleeve shirt that emphasized his dark, handsome looks.

      “You don’t look as if you’ve traveled most of the day. You look as fresh as the proverbial daisy,” he said.

      “Traveling in your private jet and a limo was not difficult or tiring. Both were about as comfortable as one can get,” she said, falling into step beside him.

      “Want to look around a little, or wait until later?” he asked.

      “Now’s fine so I’ll have some idea where things are located and what kind of house you have.”

      “Let’s go to the formal living area. It’s rarely used, but I felt I needed it, and I know my mother would have been unhappy if we didn’t have it.”

      “Does she entertain here?”

      “Never on her own, but she’s been hostess for me a few times. More in the past, when I first moved out here. This is it,” he said, and she walked through double doors into a room with a marble floor, elegant furniture and chairs upholstered in deep blue antique satin and brocade. Ornate, gilt mirrors and original oils of landscapes hung on the walls. The vaulted ceiling was two stories high, and floor-to-ceiling glass comprised a wall of windows overlooking the front drive.

      “This is beautiful, Blake.”

      “Thanks. The formal dining room adjoins this room,” he said, motioning toward more wide double doors that were open. They entered a room with a large ornate crystal chandelier centered over a gleaming fruitwood dining table that could easily seat two dozen people.

      Silver candelabra sat on a buffet with a sterling tea set. The stone fireplace and hearth were flanked by paintings of hunting scenes.

      “This is another beautiful room.”

      “This one has been used more than that front room. I seem to have more dinner parties, although most of them are casual, the patio and backyard type. Much easier for everyone, and the food is still Etta’s cooking.”

      “I think the cooking is what everyone remembers,” she said.

      They moved through a study, a library filled with books that he had not read, and she laughed with him over his plans to read them someday. He showed her a downstairs bedroom that had more ancient, beautiful furniture—old-fashioned, heavy pieces, hand carved and made of mahogany, including a four-poster bed.

      “This is absolutely gorgeous, Blake.”

      “I think it’s time for a drink, and later we can continue the tour. I have three more bedrooms on this floor, an office on the ground floor and another smaller one adjoining my bedroom upstairs. Let’s go to the sitting room across the back. There’s a bar and it’s more comfortable.”

      She walked beside him into a room filled with light thanks to more floor-to-ceiling glass. It overlooked a patio, a garden and a kidney-shaped swimming pool of crystal blue water with a waterfall.

      When he crossed to the bar, she scooted onto a stool across the counter from him.

      “This is quite a contrast to your Dallas life,” she said, gazing outside and seeing unending fields beyond his fenced yard.

      “I love this place, and I need the ranch life. You’ve switched from New York City to Kansas City—still cities, but that’s a switch.”

      “It’s quieter, and I love my work now far more than what I was doing.”

      “I don’t see how you can. You could have opened your own design firm, but now all your energy goes to people who won’t thank you for it. You’ll see. These people you help will just want more help again—no one really changes. This,” he said, motioning to the expanse of his ranch home, “is where you can do something that will really last and be appreciated. You seem to have deep beliefs about how good people are—I’m sorry to say, you’ll be disillusioned eventually.”

      “Blake, you’re a cynical man. Look for the goodness in people. Believe in it, and you’ll find it.”

      He smiled at her indulgently.

      “You’re looking at me as if you’re going to pat me on the head and try to set me straight on what people are really like.”

      “That’s a thought.” He laughed.

      She watched his hands as he poured drinks. He had fine, strong hands, which were probably good for ranch work. Maybe the isolation of this spread was what he preferred because he had a warped view of the world and a poor opinion of people in general.

      When he held out a glass of pale white wine, she reached to take it, her fingers touching his lightly. He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. “Thanks,” she said, taking her drink and sliding off the bar stool to cross the room and look at his pool. But she didn’t see the water as questions swirled in her