Free Expecting the Rancher's Heir by Kathie DeNosky Page B

sorry butt out of bed.”
    At the sound of the elderly gentleman’s comment, Melissa stopped abruptly just inside the kitchen doorway. Standing at the stove, wearing nothing but a pair of long underwear and boots that had seen better days, the man had his back to her and apparently only heard her approach. She assumed he was Shane’s housekeeper, Cactus, and he obviously thought that Shane had come downstairs for breakfast.
    How could she let him know that she wasn’t who he thought she was without startling him?
    When he suddenly turned around, they both jumped. “God’s nightgown! Where in the name of Sam Hill did you come from?”
    â€œYou must be Cactus,” she said, unsure of what else to say. “Shane’s told me a lot about you.”
    â€œWell, he never told me a damn…danged thing about you,” he stammered. “If he had, I sure wouldn’t be standin’ here in nothin’ but my long johns.” His wrinkled cheeks turned fiery red above his grizzled beard. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’ll go get myself decent.”
    The man disappeared into a room off the kitchen as quickly as his arthritic legs would allow. A moment later, Shane walked up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.
    â€œHow did you manage to get breakfast started so fast?” he asked, kissing her nape.
    Her skin tingled from the contact. “I didn’t. It appears that your housekeeper, Cactus, has arrived home a little earlier than expected.”
    He sighed as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lissa. I should have known this would happen. Whenever he goes to see his sister they always get into an argument and he ends up coming home early about half the time.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.” She turned within the circle of his arms to smile up at him. “Cactus probably doesn’t know anyone affiliated with the resort. Besides, I seriously doubt that he would tell them I was here, even if he did.”
    Shane kissed the tip of her nose. “Why is that, angel?”
    â€œBecause he knows I could tell them I caught himcooking breakfast in his long underwear,” she said, laughing. “If his blush was any indication, I think I embarrassed him all the way to the roots of his snow-white hair.”
    Rolling his eyes, Shane shook his head. “He definitely marches to the beat of his own drum. But don’t worry. He’ll get over it.”
    â€œBoy, I got a bone to pick with you,” Cactus groused as he limped back into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna have a lady friend comin’ for a visit this weekend?”
    â€œI didn’t figure it would matter, since you weren’t supposed to be here,” Shane answered, unaffected by the older man’s irritation. Releasing her, he walked over to the coffeemaker. “Have a seat at the table, Lissa, while I pour us a cup of coffee. Lissa, this is Cactus Parsons, my housekeeper and the orneriest old cuss you’d ever care to meet.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you, Cactus,” she said, smiling.
    He nodded. “Ma’am.”
    Remembering something one of her friends had mentioned about not drinking caffeinated beverages while pregnant, Lissa shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass on the coffee.”
    When Shane walked over to sit beside her at the table, Cactus asked, “How do you like your eggs, gal?”
    â€œSay scrambled,” Shane whispered. “That’s the only way he knows how to cook them.”
    â€œI heard that, and it ain’t true,” the old gentleman retorted. “I know how to put cheese in ’em or if your lady friend would like onions and green peppers, I can make ’em that way, too.”
    Shane laughed. “But they’re still scrambled.”
    â€œIt don’t matter,” Cactus insisted, his toothless grin wide. “They’re still