Free Expecting the Cowboy's Baby by Charlene Sands

appeared rigid, as though he didn’t know what a friendly smile could do, and his dark eyes seemed relentless. His eagle-like scrutiny was tempered only by the quiet tone of his voice.
    Cassie’s stomach did a little tumble. She’d been queasy all morning and she attributed the sensation to the stress of the move, the tearful farewell and the long drive. Lookingat this man only heightened her queasiness. “Yes, I’m Cassandra Munroe.”
    He nodded and put out his hand. “John T. Anderson.”
    â€œOh, uh, Mr. Anderson.” Cassie took his hand and engaged in a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”
    He backed away from the door, allowing her entrance. “Come in.”
    She followed him into the parlor, but he didn’t offer her a seat. He turned when he reached the mantel of a gigantic, white-stone fireplace. “You come highly recommended. I understand Lottie, my…well, she used to be my assistant until the fool woman decided to retire. Lottie Fairchild says you’re from around here.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Sir seemed to fit. The man commanded respect. Cassie’s stomach did another little flip-flop. “I was born and raised just outside of Reno. I lived there for twelve years. I’ve always wanted to come back.”
    â€œGood. I like that. Don’t place much trust in city folk. We got a big spread here. We’re a stock contract ranch. We raise bucking broncos mostly, to breed, to sell and to rent out to the rodeo. It’s a place where rodeo animals come to rest up during the off-season or between rodeo runs. Got some steer and calves here, too. There’re a lot of transactions going on all the time.” He sighed, glancing at her as if suddenly suspicious. “You’re almost a mite too pretty to be an accountant.”
    Cassie blushed, the heat rising up her neck to burn her cheeks and adding anxiety to her already-blinking stomach. She didn’t know how to respond. Was he giving her a compliment or doubting her ability? “I have a head for numbers. Always have. For instance, I can tell you that I drove exactly four hundred, thirty-six miles to get here. I passed five waterholes on my way in, counted twelve oaks lining the entrance to the property, you’ve got seven buildings includingthe house on your land and that Garth Brooks is probably your favorite country singer.”
    He raised a brow in question.
    â€œYou’ve got four of his CDs behind you on the mantel.”
    â€œOh, Lottie gave them to me.” Then the man cracked a small smile, enough for Cassie to see his dark eyes light up some and his face soften. “That’s not bad. You’re gonna fit in around here, Miss Munroe.”
    Cassie grinned. She’d passed the test, she supposed, but her stomach wasn’t smiling. And now her head felt funny, as if she were floating on air. She put a hand to her belly, wishing this wasn’t happening. “Uh-oh. I don’t feel so good.”
    Mr. Anderson reached for her, taking her arm. “Darn my bad manners. I didn’t offer you a seat or something to drink. You’ve been on the road for hours. What can I do?”
    â€œThe bathroom?”
    He held her arm and guided her to a room just off the parlor. “Let me know if you need anything.”
    Cassie barely made it inside to lock the door before she heaved. Her muscles clenched and when she was all done, her stomach was better and she felt human again. Except for the embarrassment. Well, she sure made a memorable first impression, didn’t she?
    Cassie washed her face then reached into her bag to reapply lip gloss. She ran a brush through her hair, tidied up her skirt and blouse, then walked back into the parlor.
    â€œIn here,” she heard Mr. Anderson call.
    She headed for the sound of his voice, finding him in a large room on the opposite side of the house. Mr. Anderson sat in a bulky, chocolate-brown leather