Page 57 of Her Boss, Her Rancher: Sunrise On The Ranch

Expecting the Rancher’s Child

Sara Orwig

One

Eagerness gripped Sierra Benson as the time arrived for her appointment with Blake Callahan.

She had done interior design for him, but that had been nearly two years ago and she’d never actually met him. Since she’d finished that job, and received a personal note of thanks from him, she’d changed careers. She was now director of Brigmore Charities of Kansas City, Kansas.

She hoped he’d asked to meet with her to make a contribution.

She’d read enough about him to know he was thirty-four, six years older than she was, a Texas multimillionaire, a hotel mogul and a rancher with interests in commercial real estate. Excitement bubbled in her to think their nonprofit might be getting a sizable donation.

Breaking into her thoughts, her assistant, Nan Waverley, announced her visitor’s arrival.

“Send him in, please,” Sierra said, as she stood and gave a pat to her light brown hair, pinned at the back of her head. She smoothed her straight brown skirt and looked up as Nan opened her office door.

“Thank you, Nan,” she said—or that’s what she hoped she said, anyway. Coming face to face with Blake momentarily took her breath.

She had seen pictures of Blake Callahan and knew he was nice looking, single and had an active social life, but she wasn’t prepared for the dynamic man who, without one word, seemed to charge the air with energy as he entered her office. Even more startling, she was caught and held by brown eyes so dark they looked black. With their gazes locked, a sizzling current rocked her.

An even bigger surprise shook her when she noticed a flicker in the depths of his eyes. His chest expanded with a deep breath—he appeared jolted by the same magnetic charge that captured her. With an effort, she gathered her wits and turned away, ending the eye contact. She crossed the room to shake hands with him.

“Mr. Callahan, I’m Sierra Benson, and it’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, trying to regain her poise.

The handshake was a mistake. The instant his warm fingers closed over hers, the same riveting current jumpstarted again, only stronger this time.

Snagged by another exchange with his mesmerizing gaze, she stood breathless, aware of the physical contact, even more conscious that he was as immobile as she. How long did they stand in silence, held by a handshake and eye contact?

She slipped her hand out of his.

“It’s Blake and, I hope, Sierra,” he said easily in a deep voice. His tone sounded casual, friendly, but his look was probing, as if trying to find something that would explain why they were caught in an invisible current.

“Fine,” she answered, striving to get a firm note into her tone. “Please, have a seat. I missed meeting you at the grand opening of your hotel because of a family emergency. Decorating your hotel was an exciting project.”

Blake sat across from her, with her ancient hardwood desk between them. In an impeccable navy suit and a shirt with French cuffs that revealed gold cufflinks, Blake could have been a model—except he conveyed the signs of a man accustomed to more physical activity. He moved with an ease that indicated a high degree of fitness.

She suspected he had not been in any office in his life that was as run-down as hers. In his elegant clothes, he looked out of place in the eighty-three-year-old building that had not been maintained well. Tattered, faded books lined her shelves. The wooden floor had long ago lost its luster. Gusts of March wind rattled the aging windowpanes behind her.

“You did the best job on that hotel of any interior designer we’ve ever hired,” Blake said.

“Thank you,” she answered, pleased to hear that kind of praise.

“I was surprised to discover you’ve left the business when you have a natural talent for design.”

“Thanks again. Helping others is my first love, so when this opportunity arose, I took it. We do a lot of good for people, which I’ll be happy to tell you about. I assume that’s why you’re here.” She settled back in her chair.

When he shook his head, her spirits plummeted. “No? Your response is an immense disappointment,” she admitted. “If you’re not here to make a donation, why are you here, Mr. Callahan?”

“It’s Blake,” he reminded her with a smile that momentarily made her forget business. It was warm, disarming and added to his appeal. She tried to focus and pay attention to what he was saying.

“I’m building a new wing on my ranch house in Texas. You’re the best at interior design, and I’d like to hire you.”

“I’d hoped you were here to learn about our charities and to possibly help in some way. I appreciate the job offer, but I have to decline,” she answered as her disappointment increased. “I’m sorry you wasted time and effort to come talk to me in person.” She smiled at him. “I wish you’d give me some time and let me tell you about all we do here to help those who need a lift.”

“We have a problem,” he said, studying her with those riveting eyes that scrambled her thoughts. “If we try, perhaps we can do both—I’ll help with your charities and you consider my ranch job,” he answered pleasantly, but she knew he was telling her he would listen if she agreed to what he wanted.

“I appreciate your offer. It’s flattering, but I’m not leaving this work. It means too much to me. This was the work my grandfather loved, and before he died I promised to continue it.”